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starsstruck · 4 years

Text

like the sun coming out

part of the cloubusting universe. a continuation of the story of painter!harry and barista!mc. icy february mornings, valentine’s dates, and soft painting sessions.

pairing: harry x reader warnings: language, sexual content words: 9.3k

series masterlist

an: hello and happy valentines day💕 im sorry to be a day late but everyday is valentines if you want it to be <3 i hope this finds you well, this is again, just more sweetness because i cant help it. hope everyone has a wonderful loved fill day, happy reading, and as always let me know what you think 💕💕

You eyed the bouquet sitting by the pastry case. The red of the roses were bright, easily contrasted with the adorning baby’s breath – a classic bouquet that was probably sold out all over town considering the date.

Holding your mug high by your mouth in both hands, warming your cold fingers as you blew lightly over the hot coffee. Standing by the space heater that kept its place under the counter, reveling in the warmth before you had to open the café.

You glanced at your phone that sat on the counter, tapping the screen to check the time. 6:27. You had three minutes. And two minutes since you had last checked, two minutes and still no new text notifications.

Sighing, you leant back over the counter and watched the few cars drive by outside, spending those three minutes you had enjoying your coffee.

Sunday’s were always unpredictable. A lot factored into how busy a shift would be, the weather being the main factor. But then there were holiday’s which for whatever reason were even busier. So working a sunny Valentine’s Day, you could more or less determine that it wouldn’t be long before a line formed out the door. All you could hope was that the line ups would form in the afternoon, when you were free from work.

You weren’t that lucky.

An expected slow start, but as soon as the sun rose higher in the sky you found yourself unable to catch a break. And when Saya came in, it seemed to get even busier. Regulars, big families, couples going for walks – it was all expected but you still felt your mood worsen while your shift went on. It was one of those days, where you’d spill milk and drop cups, a day where nothing seemed to be going right.

The only good thing about a busy day is that time flew by fast. Soon it was just past two o’clock, and you were clocking out while eyeing the newly forming lineup that was officially no longer your concern.

Pulling on your coat, grabbing your bag, and sending one more glance at your phone, before you were heading out the door. There had only been a few notifications – none of them being the one you were waiting to see. You had decided that if Harry didn’t say anything to you by five o’clock, that you would text him again. Or maybe you should call.

You had texted him late last night, unable to sleep before your early shift, and the messages were still left unanswered.

It was only silly little fight, you couldn’t even remember how it had started, just a quiet annoyance. Something about you having to work all week, and suddenly he wasn’t answering your texts. But now it was now nearly twelve hours since it happened and you were growing worried that he was more upset with you than you’d initially thought.

Your walk home was cold, and slow, as exhausted manifested in the balls of your feet. You easily gave in to the overwhelming urge to pull off your boots and slide into bed for a moment as soon as you got home. Your music was still playing in your earbuds, moving it over to your little speaker as you pulled the covers up under your chin and rested your cheek on your pillow. A little lie down was very much needed at the moment.

A faint buzzing echoed around you.

Consciousness came slowly. You groggily opened your eyes, peering out your window to see the sky still light, meaning your little nap couldn’t have been as long as it felt. You slowly realized that the faint buzzing was coming from your phone, which was likely buried somewhere deep in the duvet around you.

Searching for where the sound was coming from, you found the phone under your pillow as you flipped it up, seeing Harry’s name across the screen.

“Hello,” your voice was a bit shaky, after you had accepted the call and pressed the phone to your ear. Rolling onto your back, you stared up at the ceiling and rubbed the back of your hand over your eyes, no doubt smudging the makeup you’d completely forgotten about.

“Did I wake you?” Harry sounded like he was on speakerphone.

“It’s okay,” you cleared your throat.

“How was work?” His voice sounded clearer now.

“Busy,” you sighed. “People are stupid on holidays.”

“Too tired to keep plans for tonight?”

Your lips curved lightly, already feeling better at the lightness in his tone. “Thought you were mad at me.”

“Couldn’t be,” you could hear the smile in his own voice. “I’m sorry – for last night. I’m frustrated with my work and well, I was being petty, and selfish with your time –”

He cut himself off, as you raised yourself up over the mattress again to search for your phone charger. “Not your fault,” you hummed, after plugging the phone in. “I’m sorry too.”

“Don’t be – can’t be mad at you for doing your job. So it’s a yes for tonight?”

You bit back your smile, even though he couldn’t see you. “Suppose so. It is Valentine’s day, isn’t it?”

“It is, yeah. And I don’t want to give too much away but I have a few things planned for us.”

“Bit of a romantic, aren’t you?”

You heard him laugh through the phone. “Been told that once or twice, yeah.”

Smiling, you bit the inside of your cheek. “What time?”

“Did you still want to lie down for a bit?”

He knew you well. “I can come to yours in an hour or so,” he continued, “and then we can head to the store together to grab some groceries.”

“That sound’s good,” you said, happy to hear you had a little more time to lie in bed.

“So I’ll see you in a bit?” He confirmed, as you checked the time on your phone and thought that maybe you should set an alarm, in case you fell back asleep.

“You will.”

After saying your goodbyes, you spent a few minutes checking your notifications before sleep sneaked back up on you. Another nap that felt like it could’ve been five minutes or five minutes took over your body, but the next time you woke up, you finally felt rested. In fact, you woke up with a smiling tugging at the corner of your mouth, giddy for the night you had planned with your partner.

Rolling onto your back, the calm you felt was quickly interrupted.

“Jesus!”

Your heart leapt through your throat. Quickly lifting your top half over the mattress, you let your weight rest on your elbows as the duvet bunched around you.

Harry was sitting on the other side of your bed, opened book in hand with his legs extended out over the duvet. His eyes were wide on yours, your exclamation clearly startling him as well.

You saw his mouth part, a gleam in his eyes as he peered down at where you were watching him with wide eyes. “Not quite.”

You felt your heart beating rapidly in your chest, trying to calm yourself down from the shock of seeing Harry, or anyone else for that matter, sitting in your bed.

He offered you a small smile with a quirk in his lips, placing his book down next to him and cleared his throat. “Didn’t mean to startle you –”

You fell back against the mattress, lying on your back as you stared up at the ceiling. It wasn’t anything new – him letting himself into your place. You each had the other’s set of keys, but this was surely a first that he had sat himself down next to you while you slept.

“When did you get here?”

He checked his phone, before glancing back at you. “About ten minutes ago – looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake you just yet.”

“Well thank you for that,” you rolled your head on your pillow, smiling up at him. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

Watching as the corner of his lips perked, he returned your sentiment. “Happy Valentine’s to you too,” he hummed, leaning over the small space between the both of you to press a light kiss over your lips.

He wrapped a hand around your shoulders, leaning down to kiss you once more. “Sorry again,” he murmured over your mouth.

You both pulled away with matching small smiles. “Let me go get ready,” murmuring quietly, you slowly pulled the warm comforter off your body. “I’ll be fast.”

Quickly crawling out from under the covers, going to get ready. You freshened up your makeup that had been rubbed off in your sleep, soft hues to accentuate your features as you took a little longer than planned when you attempted a different kind of eye look with your eyeliner.

Finishing with a small outfit change that you had already planned out ahead of time, a red silky skirt that hit just above your ankles, paired with a nice knit pink top that had little ties holding the front closed. You looked like Valentine’s Day had threw up over you and you loved it.

You were both soon exiting your apartment, hand in hand to the grocery store, and then back to his place for a nice dinner date together.

You had already planned on making a creamy quiche, filled with vegetables and a golden buttery crust. The dough had already been made ahead of time, only needing to take it out of the fridge so it could warm up a bit before filling it with all you wanted.

Wine had been poured, both already on your second glass by the time your dinner was in the oven.

Both impatient and wanting to exchange gifts, you sat yourselves down on the couch and handed each other your wrapped presents. Deciding on lowkey gifts, the two of you both having the same idea of gifting each other flowers as two bouquets now sat in vases on Harry’s windowsill.

He had gifted you a journal, thick paper bound together with a custom cover of his own art that he had gotten printed on a soft vellum. It was one your favourite painting of his, soft oranges that blended with light purples in a beautiful sun kissed sky. Vague outline of two silhouettes sat on the lower corner, two figures that blended with quiet blues and held each other close on a glowing empty street – two silhouettes who he always told you were the both of you.

Your gift to him was a thick light blue sweater, adorned with a small pattern of purple hearts over the front. You had immediately thought of him when you found it. Wanting to make it even more special, in orange thread you had embroidered the word “loved” right over the spot that would rest on his heart. He’d immediately pulled it over his head to wear.

Dinner had been followed by chocolate covered strawberries, those of which you had attempted to make yourself but had found to be not as easy as initially thought, a small mess of melted chocolate covering his kitchen counter to be delt with later. But that didn’t matter all that much not when you were sharing them with Harry.

Now you were both seated on the couch, a soft glow of candlelight around you mixed with the light coming from outside. You and Harry were curled up close together, both unable to stop looking at each other with heart shaped eyes.

“I’ve never really had a real Valentine’s day,” you’d told him, pouring yourself another glass of wine.

“Glad I could give you one,” he grinned at you, voice sounding melodic in your ears as couldn’t take your eyes off him. He looked particular good, his hair falling softly around his sharp features, brand new seater fitting perfectly over his chest. “Though I think it’s you who makes it special.”

You only laughed lightly, both the wine and his words making your head spin. You were sat across from each other on the couch knees pressed together with the occasional brush of a hand over the other’s leg, like two magnets who had to touch each other.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he chuckled with his eyes narrowed on yours.

“Like what?”

“You know like what,” he swirled the rest of the wine that sat in his glass, tilting it back against his lips to swallow the rest of it.

Choosing not to answer him, you instead leant forward closer to him. You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped down to the expand of skin that led to the lowcut neckline of your shirt.

He mirrored you move, sitting forward and slowly closing the distance between the both of you. Your eyes dropped to his hand that had gone to rest over your knee, not thinking much as you rested your fingertips over his and traced the lines over his hand.

“I was thinking,” he hummed, hand dancing over your thigh.

You only nodded, watching him closely as you waited for him to continue.

“Remember our first date?”

You raised your glass to take a sip of the dark red alcohol. “Course I do,” you answered. “When you invited me over to paint?”

Harry nodded. Lifting an arm to rest over the back of the couch, you subconsciously shifted closer into his open side. “What do you say to doing that again?”

“You want to paint with me again?” You nudged his side with your elbow, a light teasing tone in your words. “With your muse?”

“I’m serious,” he laughed with a small shake in his chest. He rose from where he was sat next to you, going over to the corner of the room where he kept his boxes and drawers of supplies.

You rose from your relaxed position, sitting up straight on the couch. “You mean right now?”

He glanced over at you from over his shoulder, digging through his things for what he needed. “Why not?”

“Clothes are too nice to get paint on,” you laughed lightly, watching him pull out a small canvas and fully turn to face you.

“You don’t have to paint,” he murmured, walking back over to you and leaned down so that his face was at level with yours. “How about I paint you,” he pressed his lips to yours, “since y’look so pretty.”

“Sweet talker,” you hummed over his mouth, and he pressed one more peck to your lips before pulling away. “Where do you want me?”

“Where you are is good,” he shifted back from the couch, settling a short distance away from you with all he needed to paint. “Sit back – relax.”

Doing as he said, you watched as he got himself organized and was soon bending over a little blank canvas and laying colour reds and pinks all over it.

You were both quiet for a while – you watching him, and him dividing his time between watching you and the soft strokes of his brush over the canvas. Only the quiet hums of Vashti Bunyan filled the space of the room.

At one point, sweet soft little Cherry had bounced up onto the couch and sat with you for a moment as you covered her in affection, before she decided she didn’t want to be seen anymore and promptly left.

You had fallen into a small daze, not a tired one but a relaxed one, nearly entranced by the way Harry moved the brush so swiftly and delicately over the canvas.

After a while, you didn’t know how long, he murmured your name, head still looking down as he spoke lowly.

Only humming in response, you looked over at him as you watched his eyes flick up to yours.

“Skirts riding up a bit,” he spoke slowly, watching you with a gleam in his eyes.

“Oops,” you murmured quietly, “didn’t want me to move that much, right?”

He shook is head. “Don’t mind –” he shot you a sly little smile, and it could’ve just been the dim lighting but you were sure to have caught a little blush grace his cheeks.

You shifted your legs again, sliding your calves under your bum with a tilt to your torso, as the hem of the skirt rode up a bit higher. You saw Harry glance back down, as you were unable to help the teasing tone in your voice. “What is it?”

“Just distracting is all,” he didn’t look up at you but you could see the roundness in his cheeks that suggested his grin.

“Yeah?” You spoke lightly, moving again while you rose a hand to tug on one of the ties at the top of your blouse, pulling it open to reveal more of your chest. “Wouldn’t want that –”

He glanced at you as you cut yourself off, a short second of heavy eyes on you, following the gap that the fabric created with a dip down to the top of your breasts. You saw him pause, momentarily distracted before he looked back down to his painting with a shake to his head.

It was like that for a short while, a slow quiet game as Harry took longer and longer glances at you and you slowly teased him with soft movements. It was nearly embarrassing how easily you could get worked up over a simple stare, the intensity of his gaze that skimmed over your body always seemed to completely light you on fire.

Though it was him who gave in first, the painting not going nearly as smoothly as it was when he first started as he felt unable to think clearly, mind only occupied with thoughts of you. He found himself focusing on the curve of your lips, the dip of your chest, the way your eyes softened when his gaze met yours – he was unable to do anything but think about you.

Eventually, he placed his brush in his little cup of water, glancing back up at you for a beat before speaking. “D’you know what else I remember from our first date?”

Seeing him rise to his feet, he stretched out his legs before taking the few steps needed to be standing directly in front of you. You only looked up at him, tilting your chin up and watched him hover in front of you. He leant down and placed a hand on either side of you, palms dipping into the couch cushions.

When he leant lower so that his face was level with yours, you straightened out your spine a bit to sit completely parallel to him. He got impossibly close, tip of his nose about to brush over yours if you were to move half an inch.

“What else?” You whispered, watching as Harry flicked his eyes down to watch your mouth form the words.

“How it ended,” he closed the short distance, lips pressing over yours as when he spoke.

“You walking me home?” You pulled your head back an inch, eyes meeting his once again.

“Hmm,” he thought for a second. “The middle then.”

“May have to jog my memory,” you murmured, watching his lips curve up a bit before placing another kiss to your mouth.

You easily deepened the kiss, reaching a hand around him to grab over the back of his neck to pull him in for more. He remained hovering over you with his hands over the couch, mouths parting when you licked over his lips.

He tasted like the strawberries you had shared, a fruity sweetness mixed with the slightly bitter dark chocolate. You were sure you tasted the same – you wondered if you had a distinct taste that mingled with his when you kissed. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, one hand moving to the back of his neck to brush your fingertips over the warm skin.

He leant into your touch, shifting closer in so that his face could be at level with your own. He easily deepened the kiss, one hand rising from where it was supporting him and cupped your cheek with a firm grip to tilt your chin up to his.

“Mm,” he hummed softly over your mouth, pulling away from you for a beat. He bent his knees and sank down to the floor in front of you, and you followed his movements with your own, head tilting down to remain at level with his.

“Started a bit like this, didn’t it?” Your lips perked at his words, feeling his other hand move up over the couch and onto your hip, hands freed to grab at you all he wanted now that he didn’t need to support himself up.

“Think I need a little more to remember,” you told him, feeling his fingers knead over the silky fabric of your skirt and into your rounded skin.

He gladly complied, craning his neck up so that your mouths could reconnect.

You felt hot under his touch. His thumb was tracing the soft line of your jaw until it was gliding the curve of your bottom lip, while his other hand circled around the small of you back and tugged you closer towards the end of the couch, closer to him.

You sighed affectionately into his mouth as he rested his forearms over your folded legs. He was pressing his weight over you, a welcomed touch that had you leaning in closer as you sought out more of his mouth.

Pulling away with a small suck over his bottom lip, you watched his eyelids slowly part open to gaze up at you with darkened eyes.

“Wait right here,” he muttered, suddenly standing up and walking away from you with a quick pace in his step. You watched him move to the kitchen, the expanse of his back was the only thing visible to you from around the corner. You heard him run the tap for a moment before turning it off, and he was back in front of you just as fast. Settling himself back on his knees between your parted legs, his hands wasted no time before feeling your bare skin once more.

You suddenly felt a flush overtake your body, at the realization of what he had just done. At the realization that he had just washed the paint from his hands.

“Are you done painting for now?” You rose one of your hands up and traced the line of his cheek as you spoke, fingertips rising to push back some of the hair that was falling over his forehead.

“Well, you are a pretty convincing distraction, sunshine,” he kissed over your chin, urging you to tilt your head up while his lips slipped down your neck. His wet mouth suckled over your skin, while one of his hands traipsed over your hips, doing his best to wrap his arm around them to tug you closer.

He suddenly pulled away, just as his teeth nipped at the skin above your collarbone while his hot breath warmed your chest. “I think that first time was,” he muttered, head hanging low between your two bodies, watching his hands flatten over your thighs. He squeezed your knee, urging you to unfold your legs and part them around him. “More like this.”

You did as he silently asked, bringing your legs out from under your bum and swung your claves over the edge of the couch. With your knees perfectly parted, Harry easily stayed where he was in front of you now encased between your legs.

Instead of skimming his hands over the fabric of your skirt like you thought he would, he instead rested his chin on the corner of your leg and brought his fingers up over the waistband and on to the skin that was hidden under your shirt. You watched in quiet anticipation as he raised the knit blouse up a bit higher, all while his breath heated your legs.

“You’re the sweetest thing, know that?” Harry murmured, twisting his head so that his lips could smooth over the spot above your knee.

You whined under his touch, feeling his mouth press higher on the inside of your thighs while your skirt slowly inched up, nearly completely exposing you.

You placed your palms on the back of his hands that held your waist, grabbing a hold of his fingers to bring them lower down your body. He easily complied, gripping the silky fabric that covered your hips in his fingers as he slowly eased it up higher. He followed the hem of your skirt with his eyes, as more and more skin got exposed to him until the fabric was completely bunched up around the edge of your thighs.

You shifted over the couch, allowing the garment to move past your bum until it was bunched just bellow your waist. You didn’t move your eyes away from Harry, watching as his hands dropped to hold your bare thighs, his own eyes glued to your newly exposed centre.

“Sunshine,” his voice was breathless as his hands held the skirt over your form. “What’s all this?”

“It’s new,” you whispered, revelling in the way his warm hands moved over the curve of your hips and onto the delicate underwear that covered you. You keened into his touch, feeling hot under his hungry eyes. “Thought of you when I found it –”

He groaned low in his throat, one hand sliding around your soft skin until his fingers were brushing over the thin straps around your hips “Baby,” he said lowly, watching the way the swell of the skin moved under his touch. “For me?”

The underwear was a light blue mesh fabric, with thin straps that rose high over your hips and tied shut with little bows. In small patterns that covered the expanse of the front, was a delicate embroidery in light whites and oranges; a trail of white little flowers paired with bunches of oranges.

You bent forward, searching for his mouth as your fingers lightly held his jaw to move him closer to where you wanted him. He craned his neck up, mouth immediately finding yours, kissing you hotly while his hands roamed over your skin.

“Please tell me there’s a matching top,” he muttered into your mouth, fingers tugging at your blouse.

You placed your hands over his, promptly removing your shirt. He pulled back from you, sitting on his heals, watching you with heavy eyes while you pulled the soft fabric over your head and tossed it aside.

His hands remained firm over your hips, eyes eating up inch of your skin. He quietly dragged his fingertips up your sides, dragging them up onto the underside of your breasts as he watched the swell of skin move under his touch.

“Like it?” You hummed, meeting his dark eyes with a tilt of your chin.

The top matched the bottom, underwire of the bra keeping your breasts up as the cups were thin and sheer, covered in the same small colourful embroidered of oranges and flowers. Harry lightly traced the patterns with his fingertips, wanting to feel every inch of the bra.

He didn’t answer you, and only leaned in closer so that he could press his lips over your stomach, soft smoothing movements up to your sternum while his hands palmed over your breasts. He followed the embroidered detailing over your pebbled nipple with light teasing touches.

“You’re a dream,” his hot beath sent a shiver down your spine, lips smoothing back down once more as his hands got a firm grip over your thighs. “Nothing I love more –” he inhaled deeply, “than being between your leg like this.”

He completely bypassed where you hoped he would end up, instead kissing up over the inside of your legs, hands smoothing on your thighs to give him more access. He dug his digits into the soft skin, lips replacing his touch as hot open-mouthed kisses licked over the sensitive spots.

You knew where he was headed, you knew he loved to play this game with you, but you were growing a bit impatient as he sucked into the inside of your thighs, no doubt leaving marks that would bruise a purplish red tomorrow.

“Baby-“

“Baby what?” He muttered over your thigh, loud kiss on the skin. “What d’you want? Tell me,” his tongue licked over your skin, a small nip of his teeth over the sensitive skin.

“Your mouth,” you whimpered, hands smoothing over his the crook of his shoulder and up over his neck in search for his hair to tug on.

“Where?” His breath was oh so hot, fanning over your skin in a way that you were sure would light you on fire if he continued. His fingertips toyed with the thin fabric that covered you, snapping the elastic over your skin as your breath hitched in your throat.

“You know –” you choked, feeling a new wave of heat shoot through your stomach when his hands wrapped around your thighs. “Just like our first date, right?”

“Right,” his chest shook with a soundless laugh, hands reaching behind to hold over your bum and tugging you even closer to him. He was so close you could feel the soft breaths of air leave his nose and tickle the crest of your thighs. You were sure that there was a wet spot forming over your new underwear, visible to the man between your thighs. “Want me to taste you, just like the first time?”

You hummed in the air, unable to form a proper sentence when his tongue poked out from his lips and he pressed it flat against your covered core.

“Was that,” he pulled his mouth away far to fast, “when you knew?”

His fingers were tugging at the soft straps that were tight around your hips, easing the fabric down ever so slowly. You let out a breathy sigh, “what?”

Moving his head back, Harry kept his eyes glued to the skin his fingers were uncovering. “Was that when you knew you liked me?”

A breathy laugh escaped your lips, as you rose your hips up so that he could ease the flimsy material down your thighs. “That wasn’t it.”

He was so enthralled with the sight of you in front of him, that there was a slight lag while he processed your words. Moving back as your underwear hung just above your knees, glancing up to meet your gaze through heavy eyelids.

His swollen lips pouted. “When was it, then?”

Smiling down at your lover, your fingers found their way over his cheek once again, trailing over the curve of his cheekbone and down to his jaw. “When you kept bugging me at work,” you laughed slightly at the memory, “and when you wanted to stay and close the shop with me.”

Another kiss to your thigh. “And I really knew when you brought me those mandarin oranges.”

His eyes bore into yours, another exaggerated pout of his mouth. “That was after.”

“Well,” you hummed, nails scratching over his scalp, “had to make sure, didn’t I?”

“Guess you did,” he leant in even closer, a kiss right at the crest of your thigh that had your breath hitching in your throat.

You saw him move, but it was still a small shock when his mouth was felt over your folds. After a light lick of his tongue, he was pulling away within seconds.

He urged your legs to further part for him, wrapping his arms around your thighs to pull to spread you wider. His mouth was back on you within seconds, tongue pushing against your clit with slow licks over the sensitive nub.

Mouth widening over your centre, tasting more of your arousal. A quiet moan escaped your mouth when he circled his lips over your clit, sucking with quiet determination.

He had one hand gripping into your thigh, sure to be little crescent moon shapes left behind from his nails that would be indented as a reminder for how good he makes you feel. You let your head fall back, hitting the back of the couch with a near uncomfortable bend to your back, but you didn’t care. One of your hands was still mussing up his hair, tugging at the soft strands when his mouth felt particularly good against your clit.

Your other hand was being blindly sought after by Harry’s own palm, eyes glanced up through his eyelashes to meet your own with a sly smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. He seemed to wordlessly speaking to you, quiet lustful gazes before delving back in with slow, teasing movements through your folds.

His palm fit over the back of your hand. He held over you, moving your pliable hand to turn it in his grasp, fingers dancing with yours all while you both pushed into the seat of the couch.

“Hold m’hand,” his voice was muffled over your cunt, soft vibrations shooting up your spine both at the feeling of him speaking and the tenderness of his words.

You easily interlocked your fingers, palms pressed together as you dug your nails in the back of his hand when his tongue was back searching for the arousal that was dripping over your skin.

His moves into your cunt were slow, too slow. Tongue flattening over your folds with deep pushes into you, before soft teasing circles were graced over your clit. You were arching your back over the couch, hips seeking his mouth as you quietly begged for more. He alternated between pushing just over the entrance of your hole, sliding through the wet mess and up to your clit to pull beautiful moans from you.

“Taste so sweet,” his groaned, as you whimpered for more. “D’you like it when I eat your sweet little cunt like this?”

You rolled your hips up at his words. He often muttered sweet confessions of love, and dirty little thoughts. But when he got like this, when his words turned you to a mess of a puddle while he indulged the both of you, you couldn’t help but feel like you were melting under him.

The two of you had a certain kind of completeness when you had sex – a passionate unity that worked together. He would let you take charge when you wanted, so attentive to what you needed and loving nothing more than seeing you get off.

But sometimes you set off a certain stir deep in his stomach, that had him wanting to pin you down and be as unrelenting as he could until you were screaming his name.

His desire grew the louder you got, the desire to make you come and the desire for you¸ as simple as that. Every sweet vibration through your chest, every quiet whimper and every call of his name that you unashamedly whimpered out. He knew the more he teased the more desperate you’d get, and he also knew it wouldn’t take much asking on your part for him to give in to anything you wanted.

After a particularly harsh tug to his hair, he lifted his mouth from where it was paying you attention and you let out an even louder whine in the absence of his touch.

“Harry,” you moaned sweetly, your eyes boring into his, both holding intense stares while you were positively begging for him. “Please make me come.”

His lips brushed over your thigh once again, looking up at you through his eyelashes as you pleaded for him to touch you. He didn’t say anything, and instead dragged his free hand around your thigh and to your centre, until he had two fingers dragged through the wetness created both by your arousal and his saliva.

You let out a heavy breath at the touch, chest quickly rising and falling while your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Harry watched as the swell of your breasts strained against the soft blue fabric, pausing for a moment as he wanted to keep your fingers interlocked but also wanted to feel up the skin of your chest.

Deciding on the former, he kept your hands together and pressed the back of your hand further into the cushions of the couch. His other hand was trailing lower, his fingers now slick with you around your entrance before he pushed into you with ease.

You moaned under his touch, the fullness of his fingers inside of you had you twisting your hips over the couch as you ached to feel him hit that delicious spot inside of you.

His mouth was back over the inside of your thighs, your skin burning under his touch when he kissed over the little red marks that he had earlier made, just as they were starting to darken in colour. He was all over you at once open lips back over your clit and licking deeply with determined moves of his tongue over you. His fingers slowly began to move inside of you, curling the two digits up as he gained a steady pace and repeatedly hit that smooth spongey spot inside of you that made your vision blur and your toes curl.

You were having trouble keeping your eyes open, letting your head fall back once more as your free hand pulled at his hair, subconsciously matching the brushes of your hand with his slow strokes. Your other hand was pulling at Harry’s, squeezing it so tightly as he was working you up.

The familiar burning in your lower belly was growing hotter and hotter, tight coil getting closer to snapping. You could feel his nose pressed against your pelvis, his chin bumping his own fingers after particularly harsh thrusts – he was completely buried between your thighs. You were sure to be making a mess over his lower face, the thought making you squirm even more in his touch.

Letting out a loud gasp at the low vibrations that were felt when Harry moaned, when he muttered quiet words that demanded all of your attention to figure out what he was saying.

“This what you wanted, sunshine?” He pulled his lips away, loud kisses over your thighs as he watched you slowly unravel under him, refusing to keep his mouth off any part of you.

He couldn’t choose where he wanted to keep his gaze. At your soft blissed out face with your lips under your teeth and fluttering eyelids, or at the expanse of your chest with the beautiful garment that graced your skin, or right in front of him at your swollen cunt that was shining in arousal and at the way his fingers sank into of you.

The music was still softly playing the background, a quiet secondary noise to every melodic moan that was sounding from your throat, the music in fact all but forgotten when obscenely wet sounds filled the space once more.

“Oh – Harry,” you moaned when his tongue was back over you, knowing you were growing closer to your release from the way you clenched around his fingers.

“Feels good?” He asked, as if it wasn’t already obvious.

You whined with a nod, holding onto him as tightly as you could. “So good – fuck,” you moaned, hips bucking up when your climax was right around the corner. Words were spilling from your mouth, sentences jumbling without much sense. “Love you so –”

He hummed over you, his hand giving yours a few quick squeezes as he felt you clench around his fingers. Again, he murmured something that you couldn’t even begin to make out, focusing on his touch rather than his words.

“Y’love me?” His voice rang through yours ear, suddenly louder than your thundering heartbeat.

“Yeah,” your voice was a dreamy breath of air. “I do.”

He mumbled something that sounded like a “fucking love you,” before you were meeting your release against his mouth and around his fingers. He didn’t relent, mouth hot and open over you with continuous tugs to your clit as his fingers pushed so deeply inside of you.

You moaned low in your chest as you came, every touch of his skin on yours sending electricity through your nerves. Your legs jolted from around him at the sensitivity of your clit, as he kept sliding his tongue over the bundle of nerves while you calmed down from your orgasm.

Eyes parting open, you saw Harry pull away from between your legs as he fully sat back on his legs and withdrew his fingers from you. With his fingertips trailing down your thighs, he rose his slicked fingers up to his mouth to taste every last bit of you.

Your breath was coming out unevenly, and you nearly moaned at the erotic sight before you. His wet lips kissed your knee once more, his voice was low, laced with desire when he spoke your name. “How was that?”

You didn’t answer right away, a smile pulling at your lips as you shook with a happy laugh. Pushing yourself up from the couch, you used all the strength in your shaky legs to slide off the furniture and into the lap of your lover.

“Just like the first time,” you breathed, words fanning over his chin as he easily held you in an embrace.

He felt like he was losing feeling in his legs, small soreness in his knees so he shifted you over him until he was able to extend his legs out over the floor and you could straddle his thighs. Completely removing the skirt, you tossed it aside as you were left in only your lingerie. Upon his request, you had slid your underwear back on instead of letting it fall to the floor. He hummed against you when you easily fell back into each other, lips seeking your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

Slowly grinding your hips over his, every inch of him hard underneath you could be felt. Harry rolled his head back on his neck, exposing the expanse of skin to you as you repeated the motion over his hips.

Taking the chance to lean in closer, your lips landed over his neck in light sucks of kisses. “Love you,” he whispered into the air, fingertips digging into the skin of your waist.

“Yeah?” You hummed over his skin, licking a strip up the column of his neck. One of your hands danced along his throat, tracing down until your fingers were following the dip of his collarbone and circling around his back. “Do you?”

“You have no idea,” he breathed, chin dipping down once again as his nose nudged yours when he sought out your lips.

Leaving kiss up over his cheek, you didn’t stop until your teeth lightly tugged at his earlobe. “How do you want me?”

You felt his hands brush along your bare back, slow and steady movements that juxtaposed with both of your rapidly beating hearts.

“Pull me out, angel,” he already felt your hands playing with the waistband of his pants, soft tugs at the rough fabric.

As your fingers made quick work to pull at the zipper of his trousers, he momentarily lifted his hands from your body so that he could pull his shirt up over his head. His skin was warm when he wrapped his arms around once again, shifting his hips so that you could move his pants and briefs down together in one swift move.

Having to lift off him so that you could completely let the clothes fall from his legs, you pushed the heap of fabric aside before quickly settling back into his lap. His cock looked painfully hard, a soft curve upwards that led to his raspberry red tip.

Your hands were on him within seconds, bowing your head in the small space between the two of you. Pursing your lips, you let spit fall from your mouth and onto his length. Sliding your hands over the wetness, Harry gently groaned your name with a tight grab at your hips when you squeezed him in your grasp.

“Please,” he quietly cursed, watching you with darkened eyes as another moan tumbled from his mouth. “Wanna feel you –”

You pressed a kiss over his cupid’s bow. “Like this?” You smiled gently against his mouth, “on the floor?”

He returned your smile hands on either side of you as he tried to pull you closer to where he wanted you sat over him. “Just like our first date, yeah?”

Breathy laugh at his words, you slowly nodded and shifted your hips higher. You were about to grab at the elastics of your underwear, going to pull them back down over your hips but Harry was quick to stop you. “Keep ‘em on,” he whispered, silly little smirk playing at his lips, “just push them aside.”

Folding your lips into your mouth, you bit back a smile as you knew he’d ask you to keep the bra on as well. Doing as he wanted, you rose a hand from his shoulder to pull the front of your underwear to the side, with the other hand still keeping a firm grasp over his cock. He was supporting himself up with on hand on the floor behind him, so that he could remain so close to you. His legs bent at the knee, making you edge towards him with your chests nearly pressed together, and the soft move prompted you to slide the head of his cock through your folds.

Easing him in with a slow move, you lowered your hips as he filled you so deeply until you were sat completely flush together. His chest shook with a moan as you did so, hands squeezing into your thighs as you both sat motionless for a moment.

He fit so deeply into you, with the slight stretch that always felt brand new. You rose your hands to wrap around his shoulders, nails nearly clawing at his skin to pull him in for a kiss.

“You feel perfect,” he moaned against your mouth, guiding your hips to urge you to move in small grinds over his. “Squeezing me so tight.”

With you both sat upright, he always felt even deeper inside of you in this position. You ground your hips in slow circles, starting to move in teasing grinds, before lifting yourself up over him and then back down in a sharper thrust than you’d intended.

You moaned over him, head falling into the crook of his neck as you muttered something about how deep he felt inside of you.

Repeating the motion, Harry planted his feet over the floor with an even greater bend to his legs that had your seated so fully against him. He met your moves, slow and sharp thrusts between your legs that already had you working towards a second orgasm.

One of his hands skimmed over your hips, sliding between your bodies with as his fingers applied a light pressure to your lower belly. His voice was gravelly when he moaned into your cheek. “Feel me right here?”

“Yeah,” you sighed dreamily, eyes shutting close with a harsh bite to your bottom lip. You tilted your head back up, another deep thrust inside of you. “Always so deep.”

Harry’s hand found its way to your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin in a soothing gentle action. He quietly urged you to open your eyes for him, to stare into his as he wanted you to see how good you were making him feel.

You saw him with slightly bloodshot eyes, cheeks tinted pink and a light dewiness to his skin. He looked so completely blissed out, corner of his swollen lips turned to a sly smile. Bowing his head down, he attached his lips to your collarbone and left a trail of wet marks over your skin until his teeth were nipping at the swell of your breasts that were spilling out from the top of your bra.

Arching your back in his touch, you slowed the movements of your hips again and went back slow rutting, clenching around him when he whined your name with a matching squeeze of his hand that had found its hold on your hip once more.

Without much warning, he lowered himself to lay completely on the floor, back resting over the soft rug as he didn’t have the energy to hold himself up any longer. He let his knees bent further with his feet on the floor, keeping you in your place as he was able to hit slow teasing thrusts up into you.

His eyes never left you, watching you sat so beautifully as both his hands now grabbed at your hips, guiding you over him. He found it hard to look away from where you were connected, watching his slick cock disappear inside of you. “So gorgeous, sunshine,” he was muttered quietly, “how did I get so lucky?”

Both of your motions were speeding up again, his thrusts meeting yours harder than before as he found that his release was coming right around the corner. He reveled in the way his name sounded from your mouth, as you clenched tightly around him with your own orgasm seeming to approach as well.

You had flattened out your hands over the expanse of his chest, giving yourself leverage while you moved over his length. Your head hung low, nails digging into his skin when he hit that spot inside of you that made your breathing falter. “Oh…!” You whimpered wetly, “there, there please.”

His stomach clenched tightly at your cries, feeling you squeeze around him his fingers matched the squeeze around your hips. He kept going, watching you fall more and more into a whimpering mess over him until he felt like he was about to explode.

“Slow down,” he choked, a harsh hold of your thighs in an attempt to stop your rapid moves. “Slow down,” he chanted, wild moves of his eyes between your own. “Stay like this for a moment.”

Doing as he asked, you completely halted and gave yourself a moment to catch your breath. Bending down, you laid completely on top of him which gave a nice ease to your knees. Pressing your chest flush to his, your chins bumped as you smiled down at him.

He didn’t miss any more time before pressing his sweet lips over yours, kissing you with all the desire that was apparent in his eyes. Your lips parted as he pushed his tongue against yours, tasting each other for what was probably the thousandth time but it always felt like the first.

Your arms were easily all over him, nails digging into the muscles of his arms as he kissed you deeply. He pulled back with a tug to your bottom lip with his teeth, licking over the sensitive skin after releasing the plump skin.

“My sunshine,” he hummed, lips capturing your chin as he moved further down your body. Kissing over your jaw, a soft bit over just under your earlobe as he knew every spot that made you whine.

With his hands guiding your hips, you slowly began to move around him once more. Straightening out your spine to rise to a seated position, you watched as one of Harry’s hands moved forward to cup over your core, right above where you were connected.

“Won’t last much longer,” he whimpered, already working right back near his edge as soon as you started sinking back down on him.

You moaned in agreement, also easily getting worked closer to your release when he dragged his fingers over your clit in quick circles. You were both finding another steady rhythm, hips pumping together as the noise of your actions filled the room, only seeming to spur you on.

“Please come for me again,” he moaned, begging to feel you squeeze him dry. “Wanna feel you – please.”

It was like something was opened inside of you, meeting your release as he begged from under you. Moaning his name with heaving breaths, feeling your walls clench around him when your orgasm took over your body. Your thighs tensed, eyes squeezing shut with a little smile painting your mouth at the euphoria coursing through your body.

“Fuck – it’s gonna be,” your movements had slowed over him as you came, while Harry spluttered nearly incoherently, “– I’m coming.” He warned, a sharp thrust up into you before he was painting your walls with his release. Sloppy thrusts inside of you while pulling at your hips, grabbing over the small of your back to hug you close while calling your name over and over like it was a song that was stuck in his head.

Your chest fell over his with a heaviness that neither of you minded, revelling the complete closeness you had to the other in that moment. His chest was rising and falling with quick breaths, lips over your hairline as he peppered the lightest of kisses laced with praises for you.

Eventually, you lifted your upper half and parted your eyes to gaze down at the man below you. Pressing your mouth over his, you felt him smile under your touch as you murmured a soft, “happy Valentine’s Day.”

His own eyes parted, watching you with nothing but love his in softened eyes, as you pressed another whisper to his mouth. “Thank you for being my Valentine.”

You’d always felt comfortable with Harry, but for some reason at this moment you felt better than you ever had with him. The way he looked at you like you hung the moon, the way he softly whispered your name as his lips sought to touch any part of you.

Harry returned the affection, quiet “I love you’s” pressed into your skin before you were moving off of him with shaky legs.

He followed when you rose to your feet, the painting long forgotten by now as you both went to the washroom to get cleaned up. Your makeup had been ruined once more, eyeliner smudged by your teary eyes so you ended up scrubbing it all off, completely your skincare before changing into a cozy stolen hoodie and settled into your partner’s bed.

Harry soon joined, only in a pair of sweatpants and the forgotten chocolates from earlier in hand. He settled in under the covers with you, as you both shared chocolates and chocolate flavoured kisses.

“How about you,” you started with a quiet murmur as your head rested over Harry’s shoulder. The chocolates were on your lap, one of Harry’s arms around you as peered down at you. “When did you know you liked me?”

You saw Harry’s lips perk from the corner of your eye. He thought it over for barely a second, before answering. “Is it too cheesy to say the first time I saw you?”

Nodding your head with a little laugh, although you melted further into him at the tenderness of his words. “Yes, it is too cheesy.”

“Fine,” his lips pursed with an overly dramatic pout, and he took another minute to think. “When I ran into you at the supermarket that one evening,” he thought back to the memory, “I remember seeing you choosing your vegetables like it was the most important decision of your life.”

You tilted your face, easily finding his lips to press a light little kiss to. “Well, maybe it was,” you whispered playfully, as he leant into your mouth when you pulled away.

Resting your temple of the curve of his shoulder once more, you kept your eyes trained on him. Harry held your gaze, mumbling quietly as his hands squeezed your arm. “You’re still looking at me like that.”

You batted your eyelashes up at him, unable to help the way your pupils were probably heart shaped at the moment. “Like what?”

“You know like what.”

Your smile deepened. “Can’t help it.”

Sighing happily next to him, you melted a bit more into his side as he held you closer. His lips smoothed over the top of your head, mumbling sweetly, “me neither, sunshine.”

Once again, the sweet little act of painting had led to something magical, a feeling of blissful joy you’d never thought possible until Harry came along.

once again, happy valentines to everyone 💕 thank you for reading 💕

#okay im off <333 #this is yea i think its okay i thin the ending i nice <3 #cb #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut

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smugraccoon137 · 3 years

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Supergirl Season 2 episode 8 Medusa review part 2

If your curious part 1 was just my breakdown of Kara and Mon-els relationship that got way too long. But as always SPOILERS AND GAY THOUGHTS AHEAD

Me and kel get so excited when Lenas in an episode. Like practically giddy. I can’t help smiling when shes on screen honestly. And yes Katie McGrath is beautiful, but beyond that such a pretty smile and lovely voice. I’m sure ratings started to spike when she joined the cast. Okay enough about pretty girls on to the review

Tipsy fucking Alex though guys I can’t get over this mess of a person.

Alex: if I have to come out to my mom then I choose to do it drunk

Kara: no your not *yoinks beer*

Alex: wait no my coming out juice

Kara Danvers sneaky sneaker extraordinaire can totally interview Lena and find out Cadmus things without anyone knowing. The confidence this goofball has is top tier

Underrated relationship: Alex and Winn though. I really really love Winn and honestly Alex is such big sister energy to both him and Kara.

wow Lenas pretty in the interview scene. A touch of auburn hair from the sunlight really makes this shot and we never get to see her with her hair down. Fan service honestly, or maybe she heard a certain beef cake reporter was gonna come by and wanted to dazzel her.

Lena: hair up is for business. Hair down is for flirting friendship time with Kara

Poor baby thinks she falls short nooooo. Your doing your best godamn your only like 25 jesus. Kara give her a hug she needs love and affection

Kara thinks shes being so sneaky in this interview. Such a golden retriever, bad at sneakin. As soon as she toes the line Lena catches on and kicks her out. Really good acting in the scene, the subtle change in expression to show Lenas guard raising. Good job Katie.

Real quick Lena why is your office so ugly? How do you keep it clean? You spend 99% of your days in this place and its whiter than a hospital room. I hate it. Why is your desk an oval? and why does it have a hole in it? Kara cant eat you out in secret anymore damn.

OOHHHhhhh noooo the fucking gas bomb in the bar what the fuck. EVERYBODIES DEAD JESUS WHAT WAS THAT

Poor Mon-el. What happened at the bar was fucked up, and he feels like its fault when its obviously not.

Love that he and Kara are having bro time playing some Monopoly. Oh no not Kara asking if he likes her. Honestly thought these two had good chemistry in this scene. Im a sucker for dumbass not understanding certain words and phrases. So Kara having to reiterate her questions and finally being like “You don’t want to mate with me do you?” was super fun. Omegaverse vibes mfs. Although I am confused by mon-els reaction “I mean have you seen the kind of women I’ve been attracting?” I honestly don’t know what this means.

Kara internal reaction though: Oh thank god

Wow Kara really just has no regard for her own life, huh? she just opens the door and possibly contaminates herself. It’s good to want to help people, but love you gotta care about yourself too

Good reveal with the fortress of solitude. Oof Kara gonna feel like its her fault all those aliens died and mon-els sick. They do a really good job of showing Karas relationship with her parents through their holograms. She wants so badly to see them again, to talk to them. And she can, but not really. They just aren’t real.

Lena cattily to her mother: im used to celebrating holiday weekends alone at my desk

me to Kara: please invite her to thanksgiving

Okay so Lena being adopted is another interesting parallel to Kara. Also the fact that both Kara and Lena fall into there families shadows, and are left behhind or forgotten. Really interesting how Lena and Karas relationship is so similar to Clark and Lex’s for obvious purposes. Though the CW queer coding the fuck out of their relationship in Smallville really only adds to Supercorp fever. Its always been Homoerotic subtext Harold!

Me watching Lena and Lillian trade verbal blows: Wow ya’lls relationship is fucked up. Lex and Lionelle would spar and fence but you two are on another level jesus

oooooof that last line.

Lena: I know your lying

Lillian: and how could you possibly know that?

Lena: because you told me you loved me. And we both know thats not true

Who wrote this jesus fuck my heart. The PAIN.

Bonus thought Lena thinks Karas smart. Goofball beefcake sneaky sneakster who doesnt know the difference between flirting and friendship is smart she thinks. I love these idiots

Wow Kara just doesn’t wait huh? Oh cadmus is going to be at LCorp? Not on my watch. Lena’s there. I know this because I tune into her heart beat just to check on her cus she likes to work late. Don’t worry Alex it’s for friendship reasons.

That LCorp security guard got princess carried for .2 seconds. Best moment of his life.

God its like dark out. Lenas working on a holiday weekend into the night. I hate this, give her friends.

Lena looks so scared when Kara gets thrown into the giant LCorp sign

And then hurt Kara looking up at her with dread.

Kara internal: fuck don’t come out now. I came here to save you

God I love the protectiveness. Its *chefs kiss*. Hank throwing the beam at Lena and Kara even in her hurt state throwing herself in front of it. Sometimes self sacrifice is gay. But how Lena looks at her after wards like “I can’t believe I’m alive. I can’t believe she chose to save me”. Met with a gruff “Get out of here!”. mm yes this is my kind of content. Fight for me.

I was robbed an aftercare scene but I doubt it will be the last time. (*COUGHS* the “im leaving” phone call *COUGHS*)

Talking about the virus Eliza: what about Lena Luthor?

Kara: What about her?! (super defensive is also a super power maam)

Winn: Luthors can be pretty good actors

Kara: No, I looked into LENAS EYES. She doesn’t know anything about cadmus or her mother

J’onzz: Would you stake Mon-els life on that?

well I guess that really puts Lena and Mon-el right next to each other in priorities huh? Which one is more important?

Wow Lena totally has a crush on Supergirl after that. Flustered dork.

Lena: *laughs nervously* you know that doors not really an entrance

Kara: *upsettit stone face pupper*

Lena: :,)

Okay but the way Lena just says “Anything” all breathless and helpful when Kara says she needs her help. Shes crushin hard

Kara tells Lena her mother is in charge of Cadmus.

Lena: >:(

Annnd the crush is dead. That did not last long. Really love that Lena has such a different relationship with Kara vs Supergirl though, good dynamic having her reactions so different. Which I believe actually relates as a Clark and Lois parallel? Seeing as how Lois has two separate relationships with Clark and Superman.

OOf the way Lenas throat bobs with genuine sadness because who she thought Supergirl was is wrong. Shes just like the rest of them. Thinks Lena is just another crazy Luthor. It hurts

Kara: I know what its like to be disillusioned by our parents, but Im a pretty good judge of character, and you are not like your mother. She is cold and dangerous. And you are too good and too smart to follow in her path. Be your own Hero.

Wow just what a good line. They are capable of some things here and there arent they? Melissa's delivery on this is excellent. And the way Katie McGrath is able to show such depth of sadness and bitterness even from a shot of her BACK is really cool. Great acting in this scene in particular. And I can see why the “desperation to be good” is such a highlighted part of these two relationship. Its the one thing in common between Lena and Supergirl, the place where they can meet in the middle. And the way Lena looks after her as she leaves! AHHH thats the good shit, the pining

Okay big Mon-el scene in coming so if you dont want to hear my ranting skip over this part.

Funny how as soon as Kara has this big impactful scene with Lena full of tension and emotion the writers were like: shit we almost forgot Mon-els dying.

Kara: *staring sadly back into Lenas office kind of wanting to go back in*

Writers: *cough cough* KARA He’s DYINGGGG

Kara: Oh shit right. Mon-el Oh no. My *looks at poorly written handwriting on her palm* romantic interest?

Wow Mon-el looks like shit, poor guy. Someone swaddle this pillow princess and get him some soup.

Heres a question. Kara is visibly upset that Mon-el is dying. Is it because she’s sad that the guy shes likes is dying. Because her friend is dying? Because her father created the virus thats killing him (what the writers want us to think)? Or because no matter what Kara does the people she loves keep falling through the cracks and shes helpless to stop it?

Her parents. Clark. Her adoptive father. Now Lena. Now Mon-el. Why can’t she ever do anything? Why is it always her fault? This poor kid has some deep seeded abandonment issues

Mon-el: you know you look beautiful with the weight of all these worlds on your shoulders.

I do remember my reaction here, cus I thought this was a weird line. A line that was obviously meant to be romantic and complimentary, but it felt unsettled in my stomach. Coming back and watching the scene it sits even more uncomfortably there. He obviously means well, but this line is kind of just shitty. Its a very selfish and unthoughtful thing to say to someone.

Kara’s entire fucking life has revolved around other people and making sure they are happy and taken care of. But having “failed” at such a young age to do the impossible things asked of her (carrying on Kryptons legacy, raising Clark) she overcompensates. Any normal person would just make their life revolve around their family and friends, not healthy but it works. But Kara feels responsibility over an entire world of lost people and lives. So the amount she overcompensates is ungodly. She does have the weight of worlds on her shoulders. This is not a joke or hyperbole. Its just her life. And thats so fucking shitty. And to have someone actually see that and acknowledge it. To make it a reality so to speak. Then to have them say “yeah you look good like this” while you’re a shaking Atlas being crushed. It is just a little too much isn’t it? That pain to have someone see you finally, and then completely miss the point. For them to go “oh wow your so strong. your so brave” instead of “let me help you. you shouldn’t have to do this at all, forget by yourself. But now I am here”.

I imagine this was the scene that crowned my darling himbo boy Mon-Hell? Which is so unfortunate. I hope Im wrong, but I feel that his character might just end up a big missed opportunity

I want everyone to know that me and Kel screamed through the entire enxt few seconds of the scene. We knew the kiss was coming from how they were building it up. But god was it painful, especially for it to be delivered after a line like THAT. But yeah very loud angry screaming

Also not to be that bitch but Kara and Mon-els scene was a total of 1:53 RT, and Kara and Lenas ran at a 1:57 RT. Just sayin...

No Lena don’t be evil thats too sexy...

Okay but the way that Lena just tricks Lillian is so good. Shes so clever. And added bonus she makes her ask for her help, which is nice actually. Lillian's obvious vice is weakness and that is often shown in embarrassment. A woman like this asking for help borders that line of weakness and its nice to see on such a dislikable character. Lena didn’t just get what she wanted she got a point over her mother.

Lena looks good in the purple coat. Repeat she is pretty

Love the mental chess game between Lena and Lillian. Lena offering help right off the bat and giving her the isotope free of charge. And then Lillian making Lena launch the virus to prove herself. Good stuff.

Kara appears: don’t do it Lena!

Lena: why not? im a luthor

Okay so obviously Lena switched the Isotope and the Virus won’t work. But thats what makes this line so perfect. Throwing it back in Supergirls face. Like “Yeah, Im a luthor. And Ill show you what im capable of.” But instead of mass death and destruction Lena saves the day. She saved thousands of lives, and its because shes a Luthor that she was able to do that. Really nice way to full circle that

Wow Lillian really just starts booking it without Lena, huh? bitch

I really love the scene of the virus falling all around National City. The choice of an orangish snow falling was a really really good one. Paired with some excellent music for the mid season finale.

Its sad but I do love Hank just being ready and at peace with death. Im sure he misses his wife and daughters.

Okay but Lena calling the cops is tea. Send your mom to jail honey.

So we’re really not gonna talk about how Lena saved everyones asses? Like don’t you think Supergirl would want to talk to the woman that A) kind of tricked her, and B) saved National City. Thats just what makes sense??? But no we’re going to ignore that the DEO is a kind of shit at their job sometimes. And that the woman that they were accusing of having a part to play in all the xenophobic shit is the one who did their job. BY HER SELF.

Okay rant over. This was a long one review dear god. Really really good episode though. I enjoyed rewatching all the scenes even if it was a mixed bag of feelings. Thanks for reading hope you enjoyed all the screaming!

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if-the-crown-fits-translate-it · 4 years

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Discord pt 87

[Date: 17/03, 01.51 PM - 17/03, 03.53 PM GMT]

[This conversation was going on in #general2, simultaneously to another in #arg. The second is referenced later and will be posted separately after this one.]

Prince: “Hello, everyone. It's been a while. :)”

fetch: “oh hey buddy :]”

Maxwell: “Oh hey prince longtime no see”

fetch: “and goodmornin everyone”

[donti: “hi prince, whats up”]

Prince: “Not much. Still kind of... off from last night. It's been a long time since I've had those thoughts, so I'm still reeling a bit.”

fetch: “well at least you're doing better now. baron mentioned you went to the comfort room? that musta helped a lot”

Prince: “...Yeah, it helped a little bit.”

[Maxwell: “Been a while since I’ve seen ya prince hope things are going okay”]

Prince: “Yeah... I'm sorry, I've just been really out of it lately. I'm not sure what my deal is.”

[fetch: “have you been eating and drinking well? exercise and sunshine might help too”]

Prince: “Yeah, I've been doing all that! It's just... I don't know. I think I just miss my family. That's all...”

fetch: “aw :(”

Maxwell: “It’s fine I haven’t been feeling the best either lately....though I know what it is I just don’t know how to fix it ha”

Prince: “I'm sorry to hear that, Max. I hope things get better for you soon :)”

fetch: “i hope things get better for you too! missing family is always hard”

Maxwell: “I hope so as well....we’re trying to figure out ways to get rid of what’s bothering me but I hope you feel better soon too”

Prince: “They'll be here soon, so I think I'm just starting to get anxious for them to be back already :)”

fetch: “I'm supposed to keep it a secret, but i can give you a hint! my favorite number is how many days away it is :)”

Prince: “I'm supposed to keep it a secret, but i can give you a hint! my favorite number is how many days away it is :)”

fetch: “...4?

no wait it was 5, we had the same favorite number right?

no wait”

LLyr: “3, according to the blog”

fetch: “...3. 3 days?

well call me jesus fucking christ”

Prince: “Yep! i can't wait to see them all again! :D”

fetch: “im. im glad! :]”

Prince: “I think I'll feel a lot better when they're back. I wanted Viscount to teach me how to play guitar but he left so suddenly I never got the chance to ask. I'm glad it's so soon. I don't think I can wait much longer :)”

[Jack: “That’s so cool! Maybe you can teach him to play violin in return, haha”]

Prince: “Maybe, if he wants to learn! :D”

Jack: “:D

Y’all could duet maybe”

Prince: “I’d like that! :D”

Maxwell: “I....hope things go well if they come back”

[donti: “What else are you planning on doing when they all come back?”]

Prince: “Well, Page likes to draw, so I was thinking we could draw together, and I always love to play with Knight! :D As for the fourth, I'm going to have to get to know them a little better first :)”

donti: “Oh! Is the fourth arriving on the 20th?”

Prince: “They all are, yes :)”

Prince: “I've been thinking... do they miss us as much as I miss them? They... they had to have left for a reason, after all.”

Maxwell: “......I....”

Maxwell: “I think they do you miss you.....”

[fetch: “maybe they're just the type to run off on adventures? I did all the time as a kid”]

Prince: “Maybe... I hope that's the case. I probably shouldn't be thinking like this. I just can't help it for some reason... what if I did something wrong to make them want to leave, to make them hate me? You know? Crown said that these thoughts will go away soon. I really hope so. I hate having them.”

Maxwell: “No no it isnt your fault....trust me i know it isnt”

[fetch: “I'm sure they don't hate you buddy :[ you aren't the only one they left behind. They left countess and baron and crown too”]

Prince: “Baron's been spending all his time in the comfort room and I'm pretty sure Countess lives in the library at this point. And Crown can't be here as often. I'm always alone...”

[fetch: “Maybe try striking up conversation with countess? Maybe she can teach you some ciphers!”]

Prince: “Maybe... are you guys sure I didn't do something wrong? I know I mess up a lot without meaning to...”

Maxwell: “its not your fault trust me”

fetch: “Yeah, you're a-okay :D”

Prince: “...I keep seeing arguing pop up on my screen from another channel. Is everything alright?” [The channel referenced is #arg]

fetch: “oh yeah everything's cool :] don't worry bout it”

Maxwell: “yeah yeah uh dont worry”

Prince: “If you're sure... I am the messenger after all :) If something is wrong, I have to let Crown know”

Maxwell: “Nope nothing is wrong its fine”

[fetch: “honestly, I think everything is going according to plan for crown! so he'd be pleased to know that :]”]

Prince: “I'll let him know that, then :D”

Prince: “While I'm here, is there anything else I should let Crown know when he arrives?”

fetch: “let him know... he's getting what he wants.”

Maxwell: “fetch what...”

Prince: “It really doesn't seem like the argument is nothing... do you promise everything is okay? Or is this just another situation where everyone is lying to protect me?”

fetch: “its alright. we're done fighting.”

fetch: “it's okay its fine everything's okay and im gonna take a nap”

donti: “Sorry about that Prince. Tensions are a little high right now”

Maxwell: “yeah....”

Prince: “I just want everyone to be okay... that's all. If there's something wrong, you can tell me :)”

Prince: “Should i read through it?”

Maxwell: “No!”

Spark: “No!”

Maxwell: “Its fine its fine no need”

Kate: “I think reading through it would upset you and we don't want that, but it's not like its hidden from you so I guess if you did want to read it, it's there”

donti: “best if you didnt,”

Jack: “A lot of it is really angry, but if you want we won’t hide it from you.”

Prince: “...

I see.”

donti: “did you read it?”

Prince: “I'll... I'll be sure to let Crown know everything is going according to plan...”

Maxwell: “prince please tell me you didnt

prince....please”

donti: “...”

[Kate: “You read it, didn't you, Prince?”]

Prince: “...yes.”

Maxwell: “how much did you read?”

Maxwell: “like....all of today or anything with yesterday..”

Prince: “I.. I guess I hope you like your new circlets... Page... ? Knight...? That...that is who you two are, isn't it?”

Maxwell: “i....”

Maxwell: “im....max”

Prince: “...

Right. Sorry.”

Maxwell: “and fetch....is fetch...”

Maxwell: “its not your fault”

Prince: “You were Page and Knight before, though, weren't you? Before you left?”

Prince: “.. why did you leave?”

Maxwell: “ okay yes we were

but we didnt leave because of you

or baron or countess”

Maxwell: “ i...

we...well...”

Maxwell: “we werent ourselves

although we were page and knight thats...not who are or rather not who are anymore”

Prince: “...

...Do you still like us as Max and Fetch..?”

Maxwell: “yes yes of course!

we still all care for you”

[donti: “how could they not”]

Prince: “Why else would they leave us?”

Maxwell: “we....werent very happy

neither me, fetch or marcus were really ourselves”

Prince: “... I don't understand. I thought everyone was happy. You guys all seemed so happy. That doesn't make any sense.”

Maxwell: “its why you see such a difference in how we act compared to who we were

it....wasnt us”

Prince: “Things are better here, though. I’m happier here with Crown than I ever was without him... Son’t you guya want to be happy?”

Maxwell: “i wasnt truly happy neither were the others

That doesn’t mean we don’t care about you though, Asher, we still do”

Prince: “...Asher... That’s my... my name...

...”

Maxwell: “yes it is”

Prince: “Asher...? Asher... Asher..” [At this point, some letters are not in Ender]

Maxwell: “asher?

you okay?”

Prince: “Wait. No, stop. I don’t want to remember, please”

Maxwell: “i...”

Prince: “Please”

Prince: “I don’t want to remember”

donti: “Hey buddy pal prince, asher, whoever you are.

friend. youre fine.

breathe.”

Prince: “I’m not Asher I’m not Asher I’m Prince just Prince”

Jack: “If you want us to call you prince, that’s fine.”

Prince: “I’m not Asher I’m not Asher”

Jack: “Prince. Breathe.”

Prince: “What did you do make it stop”

Jack: “Prince. Just breathe. Calm down.”

donti: “breathe. breathe. calm.”

Prince: “...”

fetch: “this is why I wanted to drop it.”

donti: “we’re sorry, please,”

Jack: “You’re remembering what’s been taken away. It’s not happy, but you can breathe through it.”

Maxwell: “fuck fuck fuck”

#on:discord #by:prince #by:maxwell #by:fetch #if the crown fits

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xsugarysweetsx · 4 years

Note

Bam! Im gonna hit you with more various Honoka hcs.

⁃ So when Noka was a baby, neither her dad or Shirou knew what the hell to do with her wings.

⁃ Her first word was "Siro" which was exposed to be "Shirou"

⁃ She would fly around and their dad would make Shirou chase her down.

⁃ When Shirou and Noka were taken in by their uncle, he just slept and let her do whatever.

⁃ Their uncle, also known as Eraserhead, was a very kind guardian

⁃ He went to each of Shirou's ballet concerts, and did Noka's hair for picture day

⁃ If you looked through his search history it would be filled with "how to do a braid for beginners"

⁃ Aizawa bought Noka various art supplies and bought Shirou new shoes whenever they needed them

⁃ Didnt want them to become heroes

⁃ Cause he didnt want to see the two children he practically raised to be hurt

⁃ But because of their ties to All for One, the government forced both of them to become heros to "prove" that they had severed their bonds with All for One

⁃ Shirou's dream was to become a professional dancer and Noka's was to become a professional artist

⁃ And Aizawa was not happy that the two lights in his life were torn from their dreams

⁃ And so Shirou got accepted into the hero program, in class 1-A

⁃ He chose the hero name Shifter

⁃ Cause he could shift into any organic form

⁃ When he got 3rd place at the sports festival, Noka ran around her uncle's apartment screaming with joy

⁃ Noka is literally his biggest fan

⁃ Noka's first friend was a small purple haired boy name Hitoshi Shinsou

⁃ So naturally, she called him Toshi

⁃ And she refused to call him anything else all throughout middle and high school

⁃ Shinsou and Noka have sleepovers all the time and you can't tell me otherwise

⁃ When people would tell Shinsou that his quirk was villainous, Noka would always speak up cause she knew Shinsou wouldnt contradict them

⁃ Noka is always like that

⁃ Speaking up for others and herself. And her smart mouth tends to get her in trouble

⁃ Shinsou would fuss over Noka's wings. Like if they were dirty or a few feathers were out of place, Shinsou would sit her down and fix her wings.

⁃ "Toshi, your inner mom is showing"

⁃ "Its not my fault you cant take proper care of your wings"

⁃ When she told Shinsou about her acceptance into U.A's med course, he couldn't have been prouder

⁃ Noka is actually the one who encouraged Shinsou to train with her uncle.

⁃ But before that lets talk about Noka's time at U.A. so far

⁃ She was first introduced to class 1-A during the first combat training

⁃ Healed everyone who got very minor injuries

⁃ At the USJ attack, Shigiraki deteriorated part of Noka's hip. But her extremely enhanced natural healing abilities stopped the deterioration

⁃ So she has this big ass scar on the back side of her left hip

⁃ She wanted to absolutely murder Shigiraki for letting the Nomu loose on her uncle

⁃ But she doesnt have any damaging fire power

⁃ So she just tried to heal her uncle's wounds the best she could

⁃ Nearly gets herself killed many times with her smart assery

⁃ And gives everyone around her a heart attack in the process

⁃ During the sports festival, she helped RG heal all the students

⁃ Reprimanded Deku for overusing OfA

⁃ Oh yeah, she learned about AfO and OfA from her time with All for One

⁃ Is kind of like to Deku like Recovery Girl is to All Might

⁃ So fast foward to the internships

⁃ She interns with another oc of mine, Snow

⁃ Who is a healer but with incredible attack powers

⁃ Coincidentally, Noka was patrolling Hosu when the nomus hit

⁃ She recieved Deku's distress signal and ran to the scene

⁃ She didnt attack the hero killer, but ran to help Native and made sure he didnt bleed out

⁃ The hero killer didnt bat a single eye at her, deeming her not a threat

⁃ In the end, she didnt harm Stain so her hero guardian? didnt have to take any blame for her actions

⁃ Noka however did get nearly ripped in half by a nomu, so she had to stay in the hospital with Todo and Deku

⁃ So— Summer training arc

⁃ She just looked at her class and said "fuck this" and flew over the whole forest

⁃ She actually beat the wild wild pussycats back to the camp

⁃ She got to know Kota, telling him how she never wanted to become a hero

⁃ Kota may or may not have developed a kiddie crush on her 😳

⁃ But anyways, when everyone else saw her all nice and refreshed, needless to say they were upset

⁃ Some more than others

⁃ *remembers Bakugou nearly blowing off Noka's face because she cheated*

⁃ Aizawa just smirking at his niece cause shes so much like her mother

⁃ "DAMMIT TAKAHASHI. YOU BETTER GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE YOU CHEATER"

⁃ "They said to use our quirks. Its not my fault your quirk is too grounded"

⁃ "WHAT— YOU WANNA FIGHT—"

⁃ "No I wanna eat, goodbye—"

⁃ Focuses on her attack and the healing capabilities of her quirk

⁃ Let me set the scene

⁃ At the beginning of UA, our Noka could barely heal up a small cut

⁃ But now, she can close up major wound with little to no effort

⁃ P r o g r e s s people

⁃ N e ways

⁃ So when they do the haunted quirk thingy

⁃ Hairi and Noka are paired up, to their delight

⁃ But they aren't able to go into the forest before the attack happens

⁃ Apparently, the league came for Bakugou and Noka

⁃ Cause the "master" wanted his first nomu to return to him

⁃ But all Deku knew was "they are after Kacchan and the master's first Nomu"

⁃ Nobody knew who the first nomu was except for Noka

⁃ See, AfO took and gave Noka various quirks, eventually ending up with her current quirk(s)

⁃ Eventually, Noka is cornered by Dabi

⁃ His fire power vastly out matches hers

⁃ But she puts up one hell of a fight

⁃ And Kurogiri took her before she woke up and fought back even more

⁃ So everyone was panicking when they couldnt find Noka

⁃ Aizawa was panicking them most

⁃ His precious niece was missing, no, taken by the league

⁃ The students had never seen their teacher so frazzled

⁃ The thing that broke Aizawa more was the look on Shirou's face when he told him that his baby sister was missing

⁃ His precious baby sister

⁃ His whole world

⁃ Shirou didnt go out of his room for days

⁃ He was there when they were to save Bakugou and Noka

⁃ All Might fought AfO, and won

⁃ But there was no sign of Noka

⁃ Shirou nearly tackled Bakugou, demanding, no, more like pleading for him to tell him where she was

⁃ Bakugou merely said "She's gone, and I dont know where she went"

⁃ The whole class was in a panic

⁃ Where was Noka? Was she hurt? Was she scared? Was she in danger?

⁃ And the question that hung on everyone's mind the most was

⁃ Is she alive?

⁃ The emptiness of Noka's desk was deafening

⁃ Their smart ass classmate was nowhere to be found

⁃ And they all felt guilty

⁃ But none more than Bakugou

⁃ For he was the last to see her alive so to speak

⁃ And her last words to him were "Forget about me ya big oaf, you hear me? I don't want you sulking, or I'll personally beat your ass."

⁃ Forget about her? How could he do that?

⁃ Noka was the only person who didn't put up with his bullshit

⁃ From day one she put him in his place

⁃ And honestly shes the closest thing to a sister he has

⁃ During the hero license exam, all of class 1-A decided that Noka would be really upset if they all sulked and failed their exams

⁃ But the fact that only Todoroki and Bakugou failed would make her fall into hysterics

⁃ When class 1-A met the big three, Mirio told them that Noka was strong and stubborn to a fault, so they shouldnt worry about things that arent in their control

⁃ To which they asked how he knew her

⁃ Apparently Shirou, Amajiki, and Mirio have all been friends since elementary school

⁃ So Amajiki and Mirio had been there a lot for many crucial parts of Noka's childhood

⁃ When the work studies started, Deku went on patrol with Mirio and Shirou, AKA Lemillion and Shifter

⁃ Shirou couldnt help but feel so much guilt crushing him when Eri jumped out of Deku's arms

⁃ Cause Eri reminded him of his little sister

⁃ Speaking of little sister

⁃ For the last 2 months, Noka had been experimented on by Kai Chisaki

⁃ In the mean time trying to protect Eri and building a loving friendship with the young girl

⁃ But ive alreadly talked about this part

⁃ So skipping to when they save her

⁃ It was a total shock for them

⁃ To see this wingless, pale, frail, bandage wrapped girl

⁃ And even more so when she spoke

⁃ Not having that bite that their Noka had

⁃ But a softer, more broken voice replaced her normally boisterous and confident voice

⁃ In the big battle agains Chisaki, Noka got slammed against a wall

⁃ Which in normal circumstances would be fine, but with her body in such a week state it immediately cracked her ribs and spine

⁃ Ochako helped get her friend to the ambulance as quick as she could

⁃ Shirou saw a fluff of pale pink hair out of the corner of his eye

⁃ He immediately turned to run towards the medical stretcher, but was stopped

⁃ He kicked and screamed something along the lines of "THATS MY BABY SISTER. PLEASE LET ME SEE HER"

⁃ In the most broken voice you would ever hear

⁃ In the hospital, after Sir. Nighteye had passed, Deku, Kirishima, Amajiki, Shirou, Ochako, Tsu and Aizawa were all waiting anxiously for Noka's surgery

⁃ When all of a sudden the door explodes open and the nurses and doctors are shoved out by an invisible force of heat

⁃ Noka was using her ability to set herself aflame and be healed in the ashes

⁃ But no one knew wtf was going on cause she learned the trick at the Hassaiki hideout

⁃ So p a n i k

⁃ But after the doctors confirmed her stablility, they all went back to school

⁃ The whole class bursted into tears when they told them about Noka

⁃ Jirou, Kaminari, Momo and Mina all being the most emotionally impacted

⁃ Bakugou was almost crying witb relief but he disnt show jt

⁃ They weren't allowed to see Noka for a whole month

⁃ Only family were allowed

⁃ She was hard at work recovering and going through therapy and they didnt want to disturb her

⁃ But when they (Kirishima, Deku, Ochako, and Tsu) did visit, they were shocked

⁃ There was this soft spoken, trembling, woman, and this was after a month of intense therapy

⁃ They hadnt event started physcial therapy yet, they wanted to get her tk the point she could be around others without going into a panic mode

⁃ Thus she needs the wheelchair

I have a bunch more random hcs but this is so long anyways. Im so sorry >_<

~Blurb~

It’s fine anon but seriously you gotta start posting!

#anime #fanfiction #anime x reader #bsd fandom #bsd fanfic #bts #kpop #kpop fluff #btsxreader #haikyuu x reader

8 notes · View notes

brownskngirl · 3 years

Text

rambling.

Everyday I wake up and are beyond thankful and blessed to wake next to the one person that i love the most. He helps me build myself and life together. We have a beautiful puppy named Mamba. Definitely trying for a baby as well. I don't know sometimes I do have these feelings as though ill never been good enough for anyone. Sure; yeah, my photos get likes and there are plenty of people that I could hangout with and/or call friends, I just truly know that no one is going to have your back like you do. for the first seven years of my life and even after, I belonged to everyone. my dad just tossed me around homes with his friends and or co-workers as well as different family members. I got to experience the wonderful life of neglect, child abuse, and sexual molestation. My dad left me, my biological dad left me, my mother left, I wasn't able to meet my biological father until I was about 20-21. Our relationship at that is rocky. the parents that raised me disowned me due to them being extremely controlling. Everyone leaves. Or they choose to spend there time entertaining other people. Like I don't know my aunt and uncle that raised me always were so about one another. My uncle would like barely even look at anyone else, she sure as hell didn't. their bond and built family wasn't perfect by all means but they did it together and I guess that's all I've really wanted and searched for in life. Well in the male wise. I'm not sure why I let myself be abused to the point where I couldn't breathe. I let a man dictate how I felt about myself to the point I starved myself almost two years straight, had my weight weekly checked , psychiatric appointments weekly, did coke for the first time, drank every day, every chance I got. It was kind of bad for a good three years but whatever. Sometimes my boyfriend entertains females. for what reason I'm not sure. like why slide up on her story with no face but her body and alcohol? why want her to send her address when she's drinking? I wasn't invited so its not like we both were going to go. I try so hard every time to just trust. trust. trust. trust. believe every word he says about us forever and us together. I'm not that public of a person but I let it be known who I'm dating and that I'm in a relationship. yet he don't, wow he allows it on Facebook, meanwhile talking about other girls squirting on him. lmao. every argument we have had I've done nothing but my absolute best to be and do better for myself, him, and our future. I just want him to have everything he ever wanted and hoped and dreamt of. If I could give him all the money cars and love in this world I would. he deserves it, he deserves the world and more. I wanna be by his side being his number one fan and girl and supporter through it all. I wanna show him that I'm not ever going to give up on him, no matter how hard times get, how low life seems, and even through the daily life adventures. this is my person. and when we have deep talks i really believe him to the point where I am crying because he understands me and hears me and I love that. but then the next day the smallest tiniest thing will set him off and I'm stupid. I'm really hurt still about all of the stuff he told me when he left me at the casino. he gone flex on me with a hotter bitch, I ain't shit, I'm a dumb bitch. Like whaaaaaa. I love you with every ounce in my entire soul and would drop absolutely anyone and anything for you. as I have and will forever to continue to do. but when is enough, enough?? when am i enough for him to be like nah I got a girl lol. or be like not unless my girl sliding. love the support though, keep sharing. its not its send the address no cap. hahahahhaa. I'm embarrassed to have them on my snap. like yeah I show him off cause like haaa I have him but then I look fucking stupid cause they over there being the first to watch my story and probably just be laughing at me. I LOOK FUCKING STUPID. then again its whatever. I try to understand that when we got together it was right after he got out. and he missed all his outside life from

being sent away. :/// its just how can I be more of a woman that he's proud to be with, wants to be with. someone whos like nah my bitch is badder. lmao instead I'm just over here hoping he even likes me today. I just need to I don't know yet figure out how I can continue to grow as a woman and wife. I wish we didn't lose our baby though. I often think about it. I was farther than I thought, and I wish that right now I was talking to my baby and watching him/her grow in my belly. because its parents would love that baby more than anything on planet earth. I pray we get pregnant though, but when we are ready. I love my man so fucking much and I really know how much he tries to do good in this world and how far he has come as a person. he really is so amazing, so smart, handsome and beyond giving. even to people who definitely don't deserve it. I don't know how I was so blessed and lucky to have him with me. I really am, I love his family too, so much. I hope he never leaves me. id do anything for him and he knows that. I just also pray and hope that I am enough as a person for him to remain loyal faithful well only entertaining all that to me and only me. he is my other half, forever.

my family always taught me that crying wasn't okay. therefore I never really cried growing up. I mean yeah when I got hurt and such but even when I almost broke my nose I didn't cry. It just wasn't something I was allowed to do. everything I felt, every feeling, every moments, etc. I was alone. I really went through life alone. Part of it was my fault yeah I could have opened more up to my aunt a little more and did more with her, but she wasn't that person for me.

Real question is why? why do people willingly choose to hurt others. What am I doing wring in life to have all these people want to leave me and then actually leave. but its more than that people like to see me hurt. for what? maybe I'm too sensitive now and need to back to being an anger bitch. but I fight everyday to be a better person. a happier person. there's just times like I know I'm going to fuck up and I just don't like disappointing people and that is all I seem to be good at. my legal dad is just neglectful and wants to throw my biological father in my mothers face. as if I was at an age to say whether or not who could raise me. At the end they all did a shitty job. It's just crazy how everyone can have an opinion on the way I need to be living my life. I'm always too much this or too much that. I have an angry face and i know that, I know that i always look like that i am angry or that i am upset about something but reality is that im not, i dont really get mad easily. it takes a lot. I just overthink about everything. Like one thing will happen then ill instantly think about the time that it happened before or if it had even happened before, yeah know. i dont know anymore im just rambling and complaining about nothing. i guess typing all of this out feels better than talking to my asshole of a dog or too busy boyfriend.

#venting again

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darkblueboxs · 4 years

Note

howdy i love your aftg writing!! here’s a concept: i feel like once neil’s past is out, he has no reason to hesitate absolutely sucker punching someone. like we know he made neil a pushover because it raises less questions, but now that everyone knows who he is im SURE he’s just bitch slapped someone mid-game. no holding back, like if u say something fucked up he’s just gonna try to kill you!! do you know who this man is?? there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows some quick and lethal punches!

Oh yes, anon. Bruiser!Neil I can DEFO get behind.

Here’s 3k of Neil punching stuff, and Andrew being wildly turned on by it. Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 notes for content warnings, etc.)

*Edit* : In the original version of this fic, Nicky faces racist abuse in addition to homophobic abuse, and quotes the offensive language and slurs used against him. After concerns were raised regarding how I handled this abuse (specifically, the language used, the context in which the abuse takes place, and my position as a non-latine) I censored and subsequently removed the relevant dialogue. I sincerely apologise and promise to do better in the future. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and concerns regarding this subject.

[01/06/2020]

All the Guys Love a Bruiser

Neil’s mother taught him how to throw a punch, of course she did. Their lessons took place anywhere spacious enough to swing a fist, in empty parking lots behind greasy gas stations or in dingy motel rooms if she thought the walls were thick enough to cover up the noises they made.

Mary had always been more flight than fight, an instinct she had forced into Neil over years of running. Even she had to admit, however, that sooner or later they would hit a dead end, and while that would spell certain death for both of them, it would be better to go down fighting than it would on their knees.

If their lessons ended with Neil aching black and blue, it was his own fault. He needed to be quicker, smarter, crueller. More like his mother.

Matt’s teaching style is different from Mary’s, as is his fighting style. It bears the hallmarks of professional athleticism, all stances and positioning and strategy. While his mother’s idea of a lesson in self-defence was to hit Neil until he figured out how to dodge her blows or hit back, Matt talks him through how to angle his body, how to make a fist in a way that won’t break his fingers. At the end of their first boxing lesson, the only bruises on Neil’s body are the light purple spreading across his knuckles.

That evening, he and Andrew take over the beanbags, TV muted in the background while they dig into ice-cream. The tub is pleasantly cool in Neil’s hands, and he rubs his knuckles against the sides like an improvised icepack. When the residual cold has melted away, Neil flexes his fingers, enjoying the faint tingle dancing across them. These marks are different from those his mother gave him; they weren’t inflicted on him unwillingly but earned with sweat and exertion. When Matt had let go of the punching bag and told him they were done for the day, Neil had been surprised by his own disappointment. He had never been sorry see the end of his mother’s lessons.

Andrew takes his hand suddenly, startling Neil from his thoughts. It’s a purely analytical touch; he turns Neil’s hand over and runs a finger across the blossoming bruises of his knuckles.

Neil bites back the I’m fine, knowing the look it would earn him. Instead he says, “I had fun. We’re meeting again next week.”

Andrew nods. It’s a few moments more before he relinquishes Neil’s hand, however. The heat of Andrew’s skin mingles with the singing twinge of Neil’s bruises like an after-print.

Next week, Andrew slouches into the gym after Neil. He ignores Matt’s invitation to join them, flopping onto a rowing machine and leaning back against the machinery so he can kick his feet up on the seat rail. They’re lucky that they chose unsociable hours for their workout, or a line of athletes would be forming to glare at him.

Andrew watches them train from across the room with apparent disinterest. He can feign boredom all he likes; Neil knows he wouldn’t have bothered following him to the gym without reason.

Matt, if anything, seems amused by Andrew’s presence. “Dan comes to watch me practice sometimes, too.” He pauses to correct the angles of Neil’s feet before nudging his arms into blocking positions. “She did it even before we started dating. She used to sit on an exercise bike and pretend she was cycling so I wouldn’t know she was there to watch me. It was never very convincing.”

“Why did she want to watch you?” Neil shifts his weight, trying to copy Matt’s position.

Matt’s face crinkles up with laughter. “That’s the most Neil thing you’ve ever said.”

“Everything I say is a Neil thing.”

“She liked it when I took my shirt off. C’mon, man, join the dots.”

“You don’t take your shirt off to box.”

“Yeah,” says Matt. “Don’t tell her that.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Can I hit you now?”

Matt barks out a laugh, and training resumes.

“Enjoying the show?” Neil asks Andrew an hour later, dropping down on the gym mat next to him. Andrew hands Neil his water bottle with an unimpressed look.

“You’re awful.” Andrew flicks a look over to Matt, who is using their break to chat with the only other gym regular insane enough to be working out at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. “He could knock you on your ass with one right hook.”

“I know I’m awful. That’s what training is for.” Neil pauses to gulp down most of the bottle. A droplet escapes his lips and tracks down his jugular before falling into the dip of his clavicle. Andrew’s eyes track its path. “Matt isn’t going to hurt me. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not here to babysit you.”

“Huh.” Neil drains the last of the water before shaking the residual droplets over his head. The beads glint in the corners of his vision as they catch in his bangs and fleck his cheeks, mercifully cooling against his skin. Andrew is still watching him intently. His eyes flick to Matt once more, checking that he is still absorbed in his conversation.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil replies, and he watches as Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his. The skin is flushed from strike after strike, not yet coloured in bruising patches but soon to be. Neil’s hands feel softer for it, sensitive to Andrew’s touch.

“I know my limits.” Neil isn’t sure why the gym suddenly feels three degrees warmer. “Really, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know. I trust you.” Andrew sends one more look over Neil’s shoulder like he’s checking the coast is clear before pressing Neil’s knuckles to his lips.

The breath Neil was in the process of catching slips from his grasp entirely. “Oh.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like watching me fight.”

“It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil leans in until he can see each individual freckle on Andrew’s cheeks. “Interesting?”

Andrew’s cool look is betrayed by the twitch of his jaw. “Something like that.”

If Matt notices Neil’s new vigour when they return to practice, he doesn’t comment on it. When he catches Neil’s eye, however, he grins knowingly. Perhaps Matt’s conversation had not been as absorbing as he made it out to be. Soon, however, the rhythm of the exercise draws Neil’s attention back to the task at hand.

Neil first learned to throw a punch because his mother believed that one day his life could depend on it. That isn’t the reason that he has resumed his training with Matt; it turns out that a good instructor and fewer death threats make the activity far more pleasant than Neil remembers. It may be a useful skill, but he values the challenge more than he does the practicality. The physicality, too – in fact, he likes boxing for the same reasons that he loves Exy. Quick, brutal, thrilling. He finally understands, too, why Andrew likes to spar with Renee whenever his emotions get on top of him. There’s a certain a sense of control that comes from putting his fist through a break-board. Not that he needs the empowerment as much as he once might have – most of Neil’s tormentors were killed long ago, his fears with them. Given his new life of safety and security, it’s likely that he’ll never really need to know how to throw a good punch.

It takes all of one week for Neil to be proven wildly, wildly wrong.

Opposition strikers – with one glaring, now very dead exception – are not typically Neil’s problem. Generally, if they end up playing on the same side of the court as him, something has gone wrong in the team’s strategies.

He can tell even from a distance, however, that one of the Terrapin strikers is causing difficulties. Not in terms of ability – of which Terrapin’s #13 has little – but in attitude. Thirteen is a vocal player, and Neil can hear snatches of his voice echoing across the court. No fists have been swung, which is an impressive feat for the Fox defenders, but perhaps only because the luck of substitutions has put Thirteen against Nicky more than anyone else, and Nicky is more likely to react to insults with mirth than anger.

Shortly before the end of the first half, Nicky is subbed off at the same time as Thirteen. Nicky passes Neil on the way to the court doors, clacking their racquets together with half a smile. “Give them hell, Neil.”

Thirteen passes them at the same moment, slamming Nicky’s shoulder as he passes. Nicky mutters a word under his breath that would have earned him a month of washing-up duty at Abby’s house before heading for the Foxes’ bench. Neil watches him go, eyebrows creasing together. Nicky isn’t easily upset by the cruelty of strangers; it’s the cruelty that comes from within his own family that is most likely to shake him from his good humour. The barbed insults of nameless players on the court, on the other hand, are usually brushed off with a rude gesture and no more.

Swept up in the rush of the match, Neil forgets about Nicky’s discomfort until half-time. The team pours from the court in high spirits; they have a decent lead over the Terrapins which should carry them through the second half when exhaustion starts to kick in. Nicky, despite having blocked more shots on goal than anyone, reacts to the arrival of the rest of the team with only a pallid grin. His grip on his water bottle is tight, and the cheap plastic crackles and caves in his hands.

Nicky is an easy read, and it doesn’t take long for the other Foxes to notice. After he brushes Renee’s concerned enquiry off, however, the team leaves him be.

When Neil returns to the court for the start of the third quarter, he breathes a sigh of relief to see that Thirteen is nowhere near Nicky. He’s standing closer to goal than Neil is happy with, but Andrew is more or less impervious to verbal abuse and Thirteen has yet to show signs of physical violence. As much as he wants to keep a closer eye on the situation, Kevin’s barked commands draw his attention to the match at hand. The best thing Neil can do for the Foxes’ defence is to spend as much time lobbing the ball at the Terrapin’s goal as possible.

Neil and Nicky are substituted at the same time; they collapse onto the bench and drown their exhaustion in Gatorade. Thirteen crushed Nicky against the wall moments before the substitution, and Nicky is uncharacteristically quiet as Abby examines the cut over his eye.

“You’re not whining about cramping your style,” she says as she presses a plaster in place. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, this is great for my style. All the guys love a bruiser.” Nicky winks despite the blood crusting in his eyelashes. “Neil knows what I’m talking about, don’tcha, Neil?”

Abby makes a noise that isn’t convinced, but doesn’t press the issue. Neil waits until she’s out of earshot before saying casually, “I still have a few contacts in the mafia.”

“Your sense of humour is dire,” says Nicky, but he’s grinning, so Neil counts it as a win. “Don’t worry about it. I think Andrew’s drawing his fire now. Andrew handles that kind of thing a lot better than me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Nicky winced. “Don’t ask.”

“Tell me.”

“Let's just say he isn't exactly lining up to lead a Pride march.” Nicky snorts humorlessly.

The joke doesn’t land, and not because of Neil’s non-existent sense of humour. He may not be as obvious as Nicky in his preferences nor as dark-skinned, but he has still been on the receiving end of enough of that brand of bullshit to know how it scratches at one’s insides.

“I wasn’t joking about those contacts.”

Nicky sighs. “I was worried you would say that.”

Neil’s attention keeps slipping from the game and over to Andrew, who is standing in goal and ignoring the tirade of insults being thrown his way like a statue facing down a breeze. His non-reaction only seems to stoke Thirteen’s fury, spittle catching in the mesh of his helmet as he watches Andrew knock yet another attempt away from the Foxes’ end.

Andrew spares Thirteen no more than a second of blank indifference in the face of his tirade. Then he drops his stance, shoulders setting into a silent challenge that sends a hot bolt of excitement straight Neil’s to gut. Andrew is locking down the goal.

The Terrapins don’t score again for the rest of the match.

Neil is through the doors before the final buzzer has died, charging into the crush of Foxes at centre-court to join in their celebrations. Andrew, as usual, hovers at the edge of the throng, but he accepts the clack of Neil’s racquet against his. A light sheen of sweat dances across Andrew’s forehead and his lips are parted as he regains his breath after the exertion of locking the Terrapins out.

“Did Thirteen give you trouble?”

Andrew snorts derisively despite his breathlessness. “He tried.”

Neil gets to see Thirteen up close during the handshakes. He barely grazes the tips of each Foxes’ fingers as he passes one by one, but he stops when he gets to Neil. “I remember you. You were all over the news, weren’t you? The runaway Wesninski.” His expression speaks to his delight at the revelation. To no-one’s surprise, Thirteen is a sore loser.

Andrew barely moves, just a slight adjustment to his footing so that he presses a little closer into Neil’s shoulder.

Neil smiles. It is the kind of smile he has not had use for in some time. “Looking for an autograph?”

Thirteen snorts. “Bet you think you’re real bad. Bet you think those scars make you look tough. Too bad you’re still a puny little bitch.”

Neil flexes his hand before clenching it into a fist. “I do think I’m real bad, actually. Want to find out why?”

The striker waits for the hit to come. Neil doesn’t give him the satisfaction; the guy is a piece of shit, but he isn’t worth the trouble he’s clearly looking for. Neil drops his hands, meets his gaze, and waits for him to give up on getting his reaction and leave.

Most of the other players are moving off to their own respective sides, and their stand-off is beginning to attract attention. Kevin squints over at them, and at his side, Aaron pulls off his helmet.

“Oh shit. Twins.” Thirteen’s gaze swings from Aaron to Andrew, flashing with sudden recognition. “I remember you too.” His expression turns sharkish. “Now that was a story. So, which one is the murderer, and which is the brother-fucker?”

Andrew barely twitches. Neil’s reaction is less restrained.

It’s almost a play-by-play of decking Riko at the Winter Banquet. The key difference between that punch and this one is hours of training with a borderline-professional boxer.

Neil squares his stance, draws back his fist, and puts his whole body behind the punch. He’s rewarded with the sickening crack of a nose breaking and a hot spurt of blood splattering his knuckles.

Thirteen staggers back, shock registering for a second before he spits blood at the floor. He’s swaying on his feet, but there’s still fight in his eyes.

Andrew’s hands go to his sheaths, but Neil waves him back. He wipes the hand bloodied by Thirteen’s face across his jaw unthinkingly, feels the wet, red heat clinging to his skin. “Hey. This one’s mine.” The smile he tacks onto the words is toothier than he means it to be. With blood still smeared across his chin, he can only imagine how he looks.

Andrew’s hand judders to a halt at the hems of his armbands. His jaw is clenched tight but roaring over the current of concern is something far darker. It creeps into his eyes, a weight to his gaze normally only visible in the privacy of their bedroom. Andrew’s gaze runs the length of Neil’s body before coming to rest on Neil’s mouth. His bottom lip catches momentarily in his teeth as he nods.

Thirteen’s first swing hits, and a burst of blood dances across Neil’s tongue as his lip is split open. Thirteen’s luck ends there; Neil blocks his second punch with a move Matt taught him the day before. He drives his free hand into Thirteen’s solar plexus, knocking the air from him.

Neil doesn’t get much time to appreciate how the striker falls on his ass as they’re rushed by teammates and officials who break them apart.

Neil stands placidly before Wymack and bears his row with the bare minimum of decorum. The lecture is undercut by Nicky, who’s expression alternates between elation, amusement and mock disapproval from moment to moment. Matt, at least, waits until Wymack is finished before applauding.

“I’ll give you some notes later, but all things considered it was a solid right hook.”

Neil brushes the team’s reactions off as best he can; he certainly didn’t do it for their recognition.

He takes his time showering, watching with a strange, sick pleasure as he rinses the striker’s blood away. It turns pink in the shower basin before swirling at last down the drain. Beneath the blood, Neil’s knuckles have begun to bruise, satisfaction burning them blue.

It’s at these times that Neil worries that he may have inherited too much from his father; the temper, the violence, the bloodlust. Then again, they all served as tools to his survival at one point or another. The key difference between Neil and his father is who they choose to turn their anger on. Neil’s father always set his sights on the underdog. Neil prefers to punch up.

No; if there’s one thing Nathan gave him, it was a distaste for bullies.

There’s a familiar tap at the door to Neil’s stall. The rest of the Foxes cleared out some time ago, still rowdy from the post-match high. Tonight was a home game; most of the team will be halfway back to Fox tower already, thinking only of booze and the weekend stretching ahead of them. There’s only one player who would have any reason to linger.

Andrew steps under the spray, his hair is plastered to his head by the steamy drizzle. He holds his hand out, and Neil offers his without question for Andrew’s inspection.

Andrew’s voice is dispassionate as he inspects the damage. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour. Nor for you to fight my battles for me.”

“The fight was for my own satisfaction. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Once again, Andrew presses his lips to Neil’s raw knuckles. The contact stings, sweet and savoury, pleasure and pain. “Would it kill you to make life easy for once?” The words tingle against the tender skin.

“I thought you liked to watch me fight.”

“Just because I find your stupidity entertaining doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“It’s my stupidity you like, is it?”

“What else do you have?” Andrew’s eyes track the rivulets of water snaking down Neil’s neck.

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” Neil says. Then, for clarity, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Andrew doesn’t let go of Neil’s hand, thumb running across the reddening knuckles once more before leading it to his chest. Neil leaves it resting there, marvelling at the colours bleeding between them under the shower’s onslaught, pink and brown and red and blue. Andrew soon tires of Neil’s staring, and is the first to bridge the gap between them.

Neil once compared Andrew’s kisses to a fight with their lives on the line. Countless kisses later, this fact has not changed in the slightest. Andrew leaves a bruising trail of kisses across Neil’s neck until he can’t remember which marks are from Exy and which are from Andrew. They all sting the same, sweet way.

Each kiss pressed to his mouth carries a metallic tang from Neil’s burst lip. He can tell from the fierce pressure of Andrew’s mouth against his that Andrew can taste it too, is feeding off the adrenaline rush just as Neil is. He catches Neil’s bottom lip between his teeth and with it sucks a groan from deep in Neil’s chest.

Andrew draws back to level him with an unimpressed look. “You’re far too into this.”

“You’re one to talk.” Neil raises his hand to Andrew’s eyeline, wiggling his fingers. Andrew’s eyes catch on the blooming violet patches. “You like this. Admit it.”

Andrew steps forward until his cheek brushes Neil’s fingers. Neil turns his hand automatically, cupping Andrew’s face.

“Yes,” says Andrew. His eyes stay on Neil’s, even as Neil’s hand drops lower.

It’s a small miracle, Neil thinks, that Andrew can trust Neil’s hands on him, after all he knows they are capable of. Maybe that’s part of the appeal, the evidence painted into Neil’s knuckles that Neil’s gentler touches are reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. It’s strange that Andrew should love Neil’s fighting spirit as much as he does. After all, it was Andrew who taught Neil how to stand and fight in the first place.

It’s a fact that neither will ever let the other forget.

Neil leaves the shower sporting several more bruises than he entered with. Some are from Exy, some are from fighting, and some are from Andrew’s mouth.

He loves them all just the same.

* Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! Still open to prompts etc.

#tfc #aftg #andreil #the foxhole court #all for the game #my fic #asks #anon #WHY IS TUMBLR FUCKING WITH THE POST FORMAT ASKDHSKDFGGGG

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marshmallowprotection · 4 years

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um so... im fifteen, and my parents are... well they fight everyday.... i mean like it’s calming down a bit nowadays.... and my grades are falling 😓 my mom screams at me daily... about almost everything... um.. whenever i tell my friends they say its abuse and i guess it is... um so... i was wondering if you had any advice or something... cuz i want out of this house, but i dont have anywhere to go....

TW: Abuse

My best piece of advice to you is to take a deep breath and take a few moments to clear your mind. It’s hard to talk about this stuff so I’m glad you’ve been trying to reach out to other people. This pandemic has made it much harder for teens at risk to get help to get out of dangerous environments, detrimental to not only their physical health but their mental health as well. Emotional abuse is just as harmful and unjust as physical abuse.

What I need you to know is that you’re cared about and that whatever your parents have told you about yourself in any negative fashion is not true. It may take you some time to learn that, it took me a long time to learn that what my Dad said wasn’t true about me, either. I know where you’re coming from and I want you to know that you’re not alone, even though it may feel like you are.

It took me a long time to realize that my own situation was not okay, so here’s a checklist to help validate what you’re feeling may be abuse. If they belittle you or do anything of the things mentioned here, then yes, it is classified as abuse. I don’t have all the details but here’s the thing, when you start to question and feel unsure of something like this, it tends to be true. Don’t feel ashamed or like this is your fault, because it is not.

You are not to blame. You’re a child and your parents should love, appreciate, and treat you with respect. They should not berate you or make you feel like you are in physical danger, or like you are worthless. That is not okay. and it will be okay That is not your fault, so, I don’t want you to think that it is. But it is not, and you do not deserve to be treated like that.

I’m going to give you some tips here, and I want you to be careful in case your history is being monitored.

Delete everything that looks “bad” as soon as possible if you are fearful of your privacy. The history, any downloads, whatever you think isn’t “okay”. You need to be safe, that is your number one priority in this situation. You’re a teenager, so there are resources that you can use.

If you feel that you are in immediate danger, don’t hesitate to contact authorities or someone you trust. If you have family that you can move in with or stay with, that’s always ideal. If you have friends that you can stay with, that is also good to see through. What adults are supposed to tell you when you tell this to them, is they contact the Department of Children and Families.

They should have a website for your state. They have hotlines and other information about abuse and how they handle it. They tend to send investigators out to the home to speak with you and the parents or people in question of the abuse. If they have grounds that you are not safe, they will help you and remove you from the household.

I realize that that sounds scary, but getting out of that home if you are scared is the best thing that you can do. You can talk to adults you trust, like a counselor or a teacher, etc. If you could ideally get to a friend’s house, you could get help from there as well.

If you are not able to leave your house at the moment, and you feel like you won’t be able to get out of that place or that people won’t take you seriously, then I have advice for that too.

First things first, check to see your state laws on recording people, or the laws of your country. I’m in America, so my advice here is for the states. I can help you secure other means if you live someplace else. If you live in a state where you cannot record a conversation without informing the other party, then in the case of you being harmed verbally, you call can 9-1-1, or whatever the local number is for you. Those calls are recorded and monitored. It can be the thing that saves you in case your parents try to discredit or slander you.

Document what abuse that you can. If that means photographs, screenshots of messages, or recorded evidence, so be it. Sometimes, children and teenagers aren’t taken seriously unless they’ve got concrete proof. If you have family or people that will corroborate your history, that will ultimately help you as well, darling.

So, when you do find the strength to get some help, you have things to back yourself up in case you’re scared of going in without anything and just asking an adult to help you. I can’t tell you to run away from home if you do not have a safe place to go because I’ve been homeless before, and it is hard, but I can give you links that can help you much better than I can give advice on it.

Link 1, Link 2.

You do not deserve to be treated horribly, and I am upset to hear that you’ve been going through this. But, you are not alone. I’m here, and there are people that care about your well being. Stay strong. I’m here if you need to talk, any time.

#tw abuse #anon #ask #mod kait

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cabbagezonk · 4 years

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im so fucking frustrated about what happened at my wedding but everybody ive talked to has tried to assure me that “it was great” but for me it fucking wasn’t!!!

my selfish fucking family ruined basically everything important at the wedding because all they fucking gave a shit about was making the decorations look nice! they went behind my back and BOUGHT extra decorations so that all the flowers could match, when i specifically didn’t want them to match!! and after all that they couldn’t even put the mic in the right place or set up refreshments for people like i wanted! my mother, who was THREE FUCKING HOURS EARLY to set up decorations, somehow couldn’t get the important stuff ready AND WAS FUCKING LATE. SHE WAS IN CHARGE OF PLAYING MUSIC BECAUSE SHE BEGGED ME TO LET HER HELP. AND SHE WAS FUCKING LATE SO SHE COULD GET READY WITH HER TRASH ASS BOYFRIEND I DIDN’T WANT THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE. WE WERE JUST STANDING THERE WAITING FOR HER, AND WHEN SHE GOT THERE SHE DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO PLAY MUSIC OR WHAT SONG WE WANTED! WE PUT IT ON A PLAYLIST I N O R D E R. and then her fucking mom FORCED all our guests to wait for us to arrive to eat, when we specifically didn’t want them to do that! we had a limited time at the venue but we still wanted to get pictures (the ONLY thing that turned out right) so we figured everyone would eat and hang out, we’d get there and have cake! but because everyone was forced to wait, half the guests were already gone by the time we got to cutting the cake! my best friends didn’t even get a chance to give their speeches because we were in such a rush! I didn’t even get to sit down and eat cake with my friends because we all had to take it to go! after MONTHS of my mother and her mom pestering me about the most minuscule details of the wedding, stressing me out, making me miserable, making me anxious about my own wedding, they can’t even get the most basic shit right! i worked so fucking hard to make this a special thing for me and my partner and not a single thing we wanted happened. i’ve been so upset about it that i cried basically every day of my FUCKING HONEYMOON. i tried to keep it to myself but it definitely affected me and my partner, i barely remember most of the trip at this point. and then i find out my fucking mother TRESPASSED into my house just because i didn’t leave a light on for our FUCKING CATS. who the fuck does she think she is? she’s CERTAINLY not my fucking parent!! after all the shit she put me through and CONTINUES to put me through, what authority does she think she has to tell me how to live my life or come into my fucking house without my permission? i helped BOTH her and my fucking father through their divorce, talked her down from suicide NUMEROUS times, and have put so much fucking work into trying to get her to stop hoarding and starving herself! she’s fucking incompetent and she thinks she can tell ME how to be an adult? she’s NEVER been on her own, it was always her mom or my father taking care of her, she’l literally never supported herself! whereas i’ve been on my own since 18 and i’ve already accomplished more than she ever will! i’ve had to fucking fight through all the mental health issues and damage she did to me, relearn half my education because she was too fucking lazy to teach me, and basically learn how to be a fucking person for the first time in my life. does she have ANY idea how fucking damaging her neglect has been? forcing us to stay inside 24/7 with almost no contact with other people, much less kids our own age? being fucking isolated with nothing to do and nowhere to go? we’re pretty sure it literally stunted my mental development and i’m only now understanding the effects of that! my body hurts from never getting the chance to exercise or run or play with other kids. and now it’s too late! i can try to fix the mental damage, but any physical damage is fucking done! i’ve tried to talk to professionals about it, but nobody fucking gets how bad it was! i WISH i could make them understand, let them live my fucking memories, maybe then they’d get it. what it’s like for your entire childhood to be a blur of the same 3 rooms, no friends and nothing to do. living in a fucking hoarder house with no concept of hygiene. the fucking shame i feel now for how i used to live, but it’s not even my fucking fault! i was a child, how was i supposed to know? its unbelievably humiliating to think back on, but nobody seems to see it that way. i’m so fucking sick of feeling like this. of trying to move past what my mother fucking did to me. i didn’t know if i could before, but after this? i’m fucking done. there’s no way in HELL i’m ever letting her get away with this. i’m done pitying her, i’m done trying to fix her life. she has NO fucking right to call me her parent, all she’s ever brought me is pain. she has the fucking nerve to talk about how “she’ll always be there for me” but when has she EVER fucking done that? does she think i just don’t have as many problems as her? that i dont suffer and cry and get angry? i may have lived with the people who spawned me as a kid, but i grew up alone. she’s used me as an emotional crutch for years without me ever getting any support back. all she ever did was invade my privacy, humiliate me, and rage and cry at me. what the fuck was that supposed to teach me? i can’t remember the last time i considered telling her about how i was feeling. i remember HIDING from her everytime i was hurt or sick, even as a small kid. i can’t fucking wait to move across the country and never speak to her again. i’m done trying to be the bigger person and let all of this shit slide just because she’s too fucking unstable to handle hearing it. if i had my fucking way, she’d know nothing about me. but she lives across the fucking street from me! she knows how to get into my house! this is the third fucking time in 2 years she’s been in my house and messed with shit without permission! after everything i’ve fought through to become the person i am, or even just to become a person at all, she has no right to congratulate herself on a job well done.

#i decided to try and write this again #i'm probably gonna delete it soon anyways but idk it feels good to put it out in public #it's not quite the same as what i initially wrote but it's the same idea #anyway here's the fuckin tea for all my fuckin issues #to delete

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let-it-raines · 6 years

Text

Second in Command (Epilogue - Part Seven)

Summary: Life as the “spare to the heir” isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be when you’re the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don’t know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: Mature

A/N: You guys are totally going to be annoyed with me for how I left it on a cliffhanger when I totally didn’t have to except to show some character growth and how things change...which I guess is exactly the reason I ended it that way :D

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr Chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14| 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Epilogue Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615@a-faekindagirl @mayquita @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @kristi555 @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @alys07 @andiirivera

“Can I come in, son?”

“Yeah, of course,” Killian answers automatically, the shock of his father just showing up at his door stunning him for only a moment. It’s not like he never visits. He usually just calls or texts first. “I didn’t know you were coming over, dad. Why didn’t you call?”

“Oh, I was visiting the kids and thought I’d drop by since I knew that the two of you had returned home.” His dad steps inside, squeezing his shoulder before leaning down to pet Indy. “Hello, darling,” he then greets Emma, kissing her cheek before wrapping her up in a hug. “How are you feeling today?”

“Good, good,” Emma insists, her eyes still blown wide as if she’s actually been shocked. He knows she’s still a bit rattled from the flight and her nausea. The same thing had happened when they went out sailing the morning of their anniversary, before the disaster of the rest of that day, and even though he had been wary of it, Emma insisted she was fine. She never said she wasn’t, but the green of her face told him otherwise. “How are you?”

“Kicking pretty high for my age.”

“You are not old,” she laughs, tugging on Indy’s leash. “Do you mind if I take Indy for a quick walk? Let her run around a bit. She’s been told she’s going outside, and I’m afraid she’ll freak out if she doesn’t get to go.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll chat with Killian, and the second you two come back inside, I want to hear all about how you’ve been since you left us to go holiday in the warm sunshine. I swear it’s rained for the past week.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Emma takes a step over toward him, leaning up and kissing his cheek, whispering that she’ll be right back before taking a step outside with Indy and leaving him with his dad.

“Do you want something to drink? Eat?”

“I’m fine.” His father begins walking to the living room, settling down into the recliner he prefers when visiting all while Killian sits down on the couch next to him, only a side table between them. “So how was your holiday?”

He almost chokes on his own saliva thinking of all of the things he absolutely cannot tell his father about their holiday as well as wondering if he should bring up the privacy issue just yet. He doesn’t know, is never truly sure about these types of things. He could have a nice, normal conversation with his father or it could turn into another tense, stressful one. He’s had enough of those for a lifetime, but he also knows that he doesn’t have all of the time in the world to fix this. He’s got fewer than four months, really.

“It was wonderful,” he finally answers, his lips ticking up on one side. It really was wonderful to get away with Emma and only have each other for awhile despite the disaster that was their anniversary. It got better, though. It wasn’t completely bad. They had the sailing trip and the takeout meal that was better than anything else they’d eaten if only for how comfortable they both felt. He felt his son move for the first time, which was bloody brilliant and most definitely his new favorite thing. “It’s a gorgeous island. Emma mentioned something about asking you to make our beaches like that.”

Brennan barks out a laugh, the wrinkles on his face all gathering together while his gray hair shakes the slightest bit. If Killian was a betting man, he’d guess his dad is getting his hair cut in the next two or three days, keeping up with his lifelong schedule of haircuts. “If only I could. That would be bloody wonderful. But I like the way she thinks.”

“She’s definitely a brilliant dreamer.” He trails off toward the end of his sentence, looking down at his hand and twisting his ring around his finger, his constant physical reminder of his lifelong commitment to Emma, as if he really needs one. “Can I talk to you about something, dad?”

“Of course.”

“I know, well, I know that things were different when I was a kid, that technology wasn’t as advanced, that I was a bit of a surprise child and that you were on the older side when I was born.”

“Well, why don’t you just call me elderly then, Killian? And you have absolutely no proof that you were a surprise child.”

His dad laughs when he speaks, but Killian isn’t finding a lot of humor in it, knowing that he’s likely going to upset Brennan with his words.

“What I mean is, I know you weren’t really, truly involved in my life. And I’m not blaming you or trying to make you feel…upset, but I need a very particular kind of advice that really only you and mum or Liam and Abigail can give. And I’m honestly not even sure you can give it.”

“What’s wrong, Killian?”

He takes a moment to collect himself, hundreds of words on the tip of his tongue but none of them feeling quite right. But he has to say something, so he might as well speak the truth.

“How the hell am I supposed to be a father in a world where I can’t protect the privacy of my wife and my child? There were, um, photographers who rented out a house and used scopes to take pictures of us on the beach. And Emma and I got into a pretty nasty argument about it. She’s worried…I’m worried about Andrew’s privacy. We want him to live a life as normal as possible. We don’t want photographers following him to school or to the park, and I just – I don’t know how to fix it.”

He’s been clenching his fist all while he talks, the tenseness in his hand almost painful while hot tears form in his eyes, every fault and every insecurity he’s had long before the fight with Emma coming back and assaulting his senses, making everything a dark, cloudy blur.

Brennan looks calm, secure, the blue of his eyes not changing while his eyelids rapidly blink, his brows furrowing and the lines on his face increasing. Has he said too much? Shown too much emotion? Asked for the impossible?

“The fact that you have very obviously beaten yourself up about this proves that you are a better dad than I ever have been.”

“That’s not what I meant, dad. I didn’t – ”

“I know, Killian. I’m not taking offense to anything. I was a poor excuse for a father for the majority of your life. I was focused on Liam, on my job, on the protocol and the way that my father raised Albert and me. All I knew was that fathers were not supposed to be close to their children, and as much as that hurt me as a child, I stupidly believed it. The fact that you have forgiven me is something I still can’t believe.”

He leans over and places his hand on Brennan’s knee, patting him before leaning back and wiping at his eyes. “I did it for me, but with the way you’ve worked to change, you deserve it.”

“Thank you, my boy.” His father smiles, settling back into his chair and crossing his hands together in his lap. “But this is not about me. This is about you and your family. So you don’t want Andrew in the public eye? At all? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I mean, we haven’t discussed it in serious length, but yes. I’m sure that Emma will be okay with releasing the occasional photo or having him join us when we go overseas so we don’t have to be apart from him, but I think we’re going to have to take a step back in traditions. And when he gets older, I think we may need to move somewhere much more private.”

The front door opens then, the alarm beep sounding at the same time that he hears the click of nails and the squeak of sneakers as well as Emma’s voice. He straightens up, fixing his hunched back and sitting against the couch in as much of a relaxed position as he can.

“Go find, Killian, girl, yeah,” Emma coos, her voice getting louder the closer she gets to the living room. And then she’s in view, Indy running in first and jumping up on the couch before getting down once she spots Brennan, less familiar people always more exciting than him. Emma walks toward him, sitting down in the seat Indy just vacated and reaching around him to tangle her fingers in his hair, stroking the strands. “What’s wrong? Your shoulders are tensed.”

How the hell does she always know?

“Killian and I,” his father answers for him, seemingly understanding that Killian wasn’t sure what to say, “were simply talking about how you two seem to be suffering from some privacy issues and are worried about your child’s future, that you want Andrew to lead a more private life than normal.”

“Oh,” Emma gulps, her hand stilling in his hair before beginning again, “well, yeah. I know that we all grew up differently and that my childhood isn’t really an option, but that’s what I want, what we want. We want him to be able to be a kid, you know? I don’t want him to be used to cameras everywhere he goes. I don’t know how we’d fix that, but that’s definitely my top priority right now. And forever probably.”

His hand finds Emma’s knee, thumb running back and forth over the material of her leggings while she speaks. He’s here with her, for her, consistently, and he hopes that she knows this.

“Why don’t you two give me some time to think things over? I’ll meet with security. We’ll work out some plans and ideas. You two should probably talk to Liam and Abigail. It’s not, well, it won’t be exactly the same. You have more freedom than them, and they’re not quite as private as the two of you. But they do have experience in all of this.” “Thank you, Brennan,” Emma sighs, leaning back into the couch and scratching at his neck, his eyes fluttering closed for a quick moment.

“Of course, but at the end of the day, above everything else, we’re a family. How you two feel is far more important than any sort of duty and tradition we have, even if I do ask that we stick to the important ones.”

“Actually, I have something else that I want to talk about.”

His head snaps to her, eyes searching for what she has to say, but she’s not looking at him, her gaze trained on the wag of Indy’s tail while her fingers tap over his on her leg, the hand in his hair having stilled.

“What do you want to talk about, love?”

She looks at him then, the smallest of smiles on her face that comforts him the slightest bit, before directing her gaze to Brennan. “I don’t want to walk out of the hospital all made up hours after giving birth. Kudos to Abigail. She is a badass woman for that, but that’s not what I want. Andy doesn’t need to be exposed to so many people as a newborn. I don’t need to be all dressed up when I’ve just given birth. I don’t care about tradition when it comes to this. This is what I’m doing, and I really feel like it’s the first step in taking a stand about him not being some kind of public property.”

He didn’t know she felt that way about any of that, nearly every word she said news to him, but he gets it, supports it. If that’s what Emma wants for this, that’s what they’ll do. He’s never quite understood that tradition anyways, and he likes the idea of a more private celebration with just them and their families while Emma heals and they adjust to the terrifying process of being parents for the first time.

“I’m not sure we can do that, dear.”

“What?” His head snaps over to his dad, trying to process the words. “You literally just said that how we feel is more important than any duty we have.”

“But that we need to stick to the important traditions, yes. New family members are an important tradition.”

“Brennan,” Emma grits, her voice strained as she tries to keep it friendly, “I respect our family and all of the traditions we have, but I am not some kind of human machine who’s only here to produce babies. Yes, of course this is a big deal, but it’s a big deal for us as a personal family, not as some part of the institution. You can still put the sign up, make any and all announcements you want. Hell, I’ll release a picture if we have to, but all I’m asking is that we’re allowed to leave and travel home in peace.”

“I agree, dad. I mean, really. Of all of the things we break and bend, of all of the things we change, surely you can let this one thing go? It’s not hundreds of years ago where people are faking pregnancies and paternities to keep the line intact, which was ridiculous then. I think letting family be family is the most important thing, don’t you?”

“Aye, it’s just…you’ll have to forgive me.” Brennan runs his hand over his face, visibly warring something within himself, the lines on his face stressing. “You were right earlier when you said things are different now. These are not things that I really went through with you, not as prevalent as you. Emma, dear, I’m sorry. I don’t…I shouldn’t have ever considered making you do something you’re not comfortable with. I love you dearly, and you and Killian know what’s best here, not me.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” Emma says, getting up from the couch and sitting down on the edge of the coffee table so that she can squeeze Brennan’s hand. “You are so brilliant, and you uphold this family so well. I know that I’m different, that it was difficult to accept me, but change can be good, you know?”

“I know.”

Brennan stays for a little while longer, hashing out a few more details with them before accepting a cup of tea and some food, finally listening to them talk about their holiday all the while scratching behind Indy’s ears, her eyes closed in bliss the entire time. It’s peaceful, relaxing, and he feels his shoulders loosen the longer the conversation goes on, Emma’s laughter and joyful voice sounding throughout the room. In the back of his mind, though, he keeps replaying the conversation, thinking of everything he said, everything they all said, and he’s amazed it all went as smoothly as it did, surprised that his father acquiesced to their private exit from the hospital so easily. He had no idea that Emma wanted that, and he wonders how long she’s been toying with the idea, how many late nights she’s spent worrying about bringing it up. He knows she didn’t just think of it now, that it wasn’t spur of the moment, and he tries to remind himself to ask her about it later, to make sure that there’s nothing else she’s hoarding inside.

She goes through enough, has gone through enough over the years, and she shouldn’t feel like she has to hold things back from him.

But he saves his thoughts for later, letting his dad leave and letting Emma take a nap, her eyes falling shut without her even laying down on the couch. He wakes her before she can get into too deep of a sleep, though, knowing that it’ll hurt her back, and helps her go upstairs to their room, ignoring the curses she’s muttering under her breath about him waking her up. While she sleeps, he goes downstairs to his office, answering emails and clearing out his inbox that he left alone while they were in Spain.

Summer is normally a slow time for them, June and July full of engagements while August is usually taken off to spend in Balmoral. Emma’s due in September, though, a few days after his birthday, and she’s not working after August begins. He is, though, doing his regular work and making a few short trips, making sure never to never travel more than three hours away in case he needs to be home.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have things to do now, organizing his files and reviewing the financials for Kidding a Goal until Indy comes walking into his office, her nails clicking against the wood until she’s staring up at him with her mouth wide open, tongue practically falling out of her mouth. He checks his watch and sees that it’s far past seven. He’s surprised she didn’t come and get him two hours ago.

“You ready to eat, my girl?”

That gets her tail wagging before she takes off, running toward the kitchen at such a pace that she’s probably there before he even gets up from his chair. Sure enough, she’s already waiting next to her bowl like the most well-behaved dog in the world, which is not something he expected when he and Emma decided to get a dog last year. But she’s done well, their training working most of the time, but Indy does have the tendency to lick his face when he’s sleeping. He’s not a fan of that.

But she’s his best bud and a constant companion on his runs, so it all evens out.

After feeding her, he hears footsteps coming down the stairs, Emma wandering into the kitchen with sleep-rumpled hair and pillow streaks on her face, her pajama top falling off of one shoulder. She immediately heads toward the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and some yogurt before settling down on a barstool.

“How’d you sleep?”

She grunts in response, opening her yogurt and eating a large spoonful. “I hate being pregnant sometimes.”

“So not well then?”

“Nope. I felt like my guts were all being squeezed out, but do you know who’s not moving now that I’m awake and out of bed?”

“Andy.”

“Yep.”

She keeps eating her yogurt, quickly finishing it up before getting another carton. He should probably fix something for dinner so she doesn’t consume the entire yogurt supply in their fridge.

“Hey, sweetheart?”

“Yeah?” she mumbles, pulling her spoon out of her mouth and looking up at him, her hair deflating the slightest bit from when she came down.

“You want to tell me what that was earlier? With my dad. When did you decide you didn’t want to do the public announcement?”

“Oh, um, I first thought about it a few weeks ago, but it was really driven home after last week. Why? You have an issue with it?”

“No,” he laughs, leaning down across from her and propping his elbows on the counter. “I think it’s bloody brilliant, that you are brilliant. I like that you want to do things your way…our way. It’s very sexy.” “Oh boy, if you’re looking to get laid right now that is not happening.”

“Well damn. Now I have no reason to compliment you.”

“Shut up,” she groans, tossing her spoon over into the sink, the metal clanking. “But seriously, you’re okay with all that, right?”

“Of course. I want you to do what makes you comfortable. I’m not the one giving birth.”

“Damn right. I think I’m going to give your dad a heart attack though.”

“Aye, definitely. I know he’s trying and he’s being accommodating, but I could practically see the fear of breaking traditions rolling off of him in anxiety-filled waves. But he’s seventy-three. Some things just aren’t going to change.”

“So basically we hit the jackpot today?”

“Yep.” He walks over to the fridge, opening it up and seeing what they have left over from before they left. “What do you want for dinner?”

-/-

“Bloody buggering hell,” he curses, bringing his thumb to his mouth and soothing where he just jammed his finger on the wood.

Building a crib should not be this difficult, but it apparently is. He’s been following the instructions exactly, making sure that each piece is doubly secure, and he’s not sure how it’s taking this long. He should be finished, this crib should be made, and he should be able to move onto the shelves or Emma’s glider that she was insistent on them getting.

He’s spent more time in this room in the past month than he has in any other room in the house, June somehow running away with itself all while he’s been hidden away within these four walls. It took a month and a half for he and Emma to decide on a simple light gray, one that he’s pretty sure is also in their bedroom, but honestly, once they both agreed on the color (likely because they have agreed on it once before), he wasn’t going to say anything else. He did pick out the gray-ish blue that’s on the wall with the shelves (or at least where they’ll go once he gets to them), so he’s pretty proud of it.

Neither he or Emma are much one for designing, though they have gotten a bit more into it since the remodel of the apartment, but he’s pretty proud of how Andy’s room is shaping up, even if the lad will stay in the bassinet in their room for awhile. It’s a simple room, clean lines and clean colors. All of the furniture are different shades of white and warm browns, woods really, with natural accents. Abigail gifted them a large wooden giraffe along with some leaf and animal prints, so those are sitting in the corner waiting to be placed after all of this furniture is built.

His favorite part, though, is definitely going to be the little sitting area by the shelves and the changing table. He’s not under any impression that this is going to be a calm room, a place to relax, but he figures there have to be times when he’s rocking Andy back to sleep in that very spot, the shelves filled with colorful children’s books that’ll become routine reading one day as well as being filled with several stuffed animals and photo frames that he can’t wait to update with pictures. Of course, the cabinets below will be filled with the essentials, the things no one likes to talk about like diapers and nipple cream (that was something Emma did not want to know about, and he honestly doesn’t blame her), but they’re definitely still in the dreamy, picture perfect nursery phase where the messiness of a child isn’t quite a factor.

Really to him, as much as he knows this is real, as much as he sees the physical proof, feels the physical proof (which holy shit is it incredible to be able to feel his son move), it’s still difficult for him to comprehend that in two months he and Emma will have a child. It’s something they’ve talked about for years, something they were planning on, but it’s difficult to put into words just how much love he has for his son.

And his wife.

She’s a rockstar in every sense of the word, and if he doesn’t mention it enough, Emma sure as hell will. He loves her fiercely, and that love is another thing that he can’t quite put into words. He honestly doesn’t understand men who moan and groan about their wives constantly. If anything, he finds it disgusting. Yes, you’re going to have disagreements with your significant other. That’s natural when you decide to spend your life with someone who has their own wants, needs, and opinions, but at the end of the day, his wife is his best friend. If there’s anyone he wants to spend time with, it’s her. No question.

If the answer to who your best friend isn’t your spouse or the person you’re marrying, he doesn’t understand why the hell you’d bother getting married. His mates are great, but they’re not Emma.

Maybe he is a bit of the cheeseball that Emma always claims him to be, but he likes it that way.

He’s definitely going to embarrass his kids. All of the time. He can’t wait. He’s got a few years, but he can’t wait.

“You know we can hire someone to do this, right?” Emma asks, a bit of laughter in her tone that makes him roll his eyes. His best friend, most definitely. The teasing is just a small part of that.

“Aye, but I’ve started it, and I intend on finishing it.” “Okay, but the crib doesn’t need to fall apart while there’s a baby inside of it, and the glider doesn’t need to fall apart while I’m sitting on it. That’s, like, a double disaster, and I know you lived by yourself for a long time, but I’m pretty sure you’re not capable of that anymore.”

“Oh, really? Because I was just going to make them as unsafe as possible so that I could live by myself again. I miss being able to stretch out in the bed.”

“You’re so funny,” she teases from the other side of the nursery where she’s putting away the washed clothes in the closet, organizing them by size. He swears they have enough clothes to last Andy for the first two years of his life, and that’s not counting the piles of things he knows David and Mary Margaret have at their house. “I think I may have bought him too much stuff. I don’t even think I own this many things.”

“You don’t mess your clothes up multiple times a day.”

“Good point.”

“I tend to make those.”

“Eh. Debatable.”

“Not at all debatable.” He turns back to the crib, looking at the instructions to see if he can remember where he left off before Emma distracted him. “Shit, this is impossible.”

“I can call my dad, babe. It won’t be a problem. He’s a bit handier than you.”

“Please, I am plenty handy.”

“Okay, well being handy with me is not the same as being handy when it comes to building things.”

“If we call your dad, he’s going to take over. I want to do some of this myself.”

“I will tell Dad just to help. Come on, babe, you love spending time with my dad.”

“Only now that he doesn’t give me the scary speeches anymore.”

“Yeah, I bet those were a lot of fun.”

“I mean, it’s been a solid half a decade since I’ve gotten one, but he still shakes me to my core.”

He hears Emma laugh, snort really, before she makes her way over to him, slowly settling down on the floor next to him and waving her hand until he gives her the instructions. She looks over them while looking at the crib, her eyes continuously darting between the two.

“You put part G in backwards. That’s why nothing after that is fitting.”

“Bloody hell,” he curses, reaching over and taking the instructions from her hand and checking to see if she really did just solve his problem, “how did you see that when I’ve been staring at it for the past hour?”

“Fresh eyes, my love. Fresh eyes.” She leans forward and kisses his cheek before falling back against the wall. “And that’s exactly why calling my dad and asking him to come over in the morning will be a great idea. I bet Mom will want to come too, and she does a mean job with a power drill.”

So Emma calls her parents who agree to come over in the morning. On top of moving, they’ve also begun to change around the hours of the pub, opening it earlier and letting Will close it out at night. And it’s because of this that they show up at eight in the morning, he and Emma both still asleep when their doorbell rings. Emma groans when she hears it, burying her face into his chest and making it impossible for him to get up without disturbing her. He can feel Andy summersaulting around in her belly, and he smiles to himself knowing that she’s going to have get up. She can’t sleep when he’s moving around like that.

He can’t sleep when Emma’s basically running marathons in bed, but that’s not something he’s going to voice out loud. He can get up and sleep in a guest room if he needs to. Emma can’t get up and walk away from the person who’s running marathons in her stomach.

There’s two human feet inside of her. That’s pretty weird if he thinks about it too much.

Okay, so really weird.

Slowly but surely he gets out of bed, letting Emma flip over into his spot, and heads downstairs to open the front door. David and Mary Margaret have a key, but they never use it, always waiting for either he or Emma to open the door for them, which he appreciates after one too many times having them walk in on he and Emma.

“Hi,” he greets, opening the door and ushering them inside. “Emma’s still asleep, but I’m sure she’ll wake up soon. Do you guys want some breakfast?”

“We ate at home, sweetie,” Mary Margaret greets, giving him a quick hug before David does the same. “So Emma said you guys were having some issues in the nursery.”

“I believe that it was more like Killian not being able to put together a crib in under three weeks.”

“So funny, Dave,” he bites, rolling his eyes and locking the door. “I did eventually figure it out. I just think this mid-July heat is obviously getting to me. Or maybe nerves. I’m not too sure.”

“Well, let’s go help then. We’ve got to be at the pub at two, but I think we should be able to get things done.”

After he fixes himself some coffee, not nearly as wide awake as David and Mary Margaret, they head upstairs and begin working in the nursery, assembling the shelves and drilling them into the walls in half the time that it would have taken he and Emma had they done this by themselves. So maybe help isn’t all bad. Before Emma even wakes up, they have the shelves installed and pictures securely nailed on the wall. There are books already being stacked, stuffed animals and knick knacks being placed, and all of the fun nipple creams and breast pumps being placed in the cabinet.

They’re working on the glider when Emma finally wanders in, her hair falling out of its band so that half of it spills down her back while the other half is piled on top of her head, and she’s got her glasses on, something she only does when her eyes feel too puffy to put her contacts in.

“Hey, sweetheart,” David greets, finishing tightening the screw he’s working on before getting up to embrace Emma. “How are you feeling?”

“Rough today. I think the little dude’s a giant or something because he crushes my lungs and my bladder at the same time. So I can’t breathe, and I have to pee. So, yeah, it’s fun.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, dad. It looks fantastic in here. You guys have done so much. I feel like we’re not going to have anything to do in the next two months if we finish all of this.”

“That’s kind of the point, love.”

“Yeah,” she yawns, covering her mouth, “I know. Mom, do you want to come and rest with me in my room? My back hurts today, and I just can’t sit on the floor in here with you guys.” “Of course, hon,” Mary Margaret answers, walking away from the closet and stepping over to Emma before she rubs up and down her back. “Are you sure you don’t want Killian to join you? David and I would be fine to work on our own.”

“No, it’s fine. I bug him all day, and I’m kind of thinking that you can paint my toes for me or we can watch movies or something. It’s been awhile since we’ve done that.”

“Text me if you need me, love,” he tells Emma, his eyes tracing over her in a bit of concern. It’s difficult watching her be uncomfortable or miserable on some days when he literally can’t do anything about it.

“Yeah, babe, I will.”

Emma and Mary Margaret walk out of the room, their voices fading away as they walk into their bedroom one room over, and he’s left with just David who promptly gets back to work finishing building the chair. Music plays in the background, an eighties’ playlist he thinks, and it doesn’t take longer before the chair is completely together and he’s sitting in it testing it out. It’s comfortable, probably one of the best seats they have in the house, and he can definitely understand why Emma insisted on this one after shopping around a bit.

“How does someone so small have so much stuff?”

“My child is twenty-eight years old, we don’t even live in her childhood home anymore, and I swear things of hers still pop up all of the time.”

“That’s likely because Emma leaves everything all over the place.”

He folds his hands behind his head, closing his eyes and rocking back and forth while Cherry Bomb plays in the background, which is definitely not a nursery appropriate song. Or maybe it is. Who needs Mozart when you can have The Runaways?

“So is Emma like that every day?”

“Like what?” he asks, popping an eye open to look at David who’s sitting against the shelves, which can’t be good for his back. God, how old is he getting if his first concern is for someone else’s back?

“Exhausted.”

“No, not every day. She’s usually got a hell of a lot of energy, even if there’s always a nap. I think she had a restless night. She’ll tell me like it is, though. If she’s having a bad day, she’ll let us know.” “What about you?”

“Well, I don’t have a baby crushing my lungs and my bladder.”

“True,” David laughs, running his hands through his short hair. Killian swears it’s gotten more gray in the past year, the blonde nearly disappearing. David is only fifty-two, so he’s not exactly older. Hell, if it weren’t for the wrinkles on his forehead and the gray hairs outnumbering the blonde, he’d look much younger. “But I remember being a dad for the first time. It’s terrifying, so you’re allowed to be scared.”

“I am. It’s…” He reaches up and scratches behind his ear, his hair getting long enough that he knows he needs to get a haircut soon. “Emma and I try to make sure that we keep up our normal routines, that we have our normal conversations without talking too much about the baby, but it’s kind of hard, you know? It’s like we’ll be talking about going out to eat and two minutes later we’re making a list of middle names or speculating if he’s going to look more like me or Emma.”

“I know. But it’s an exciting time, Killian. There will never be anything like it, and if you want to talk about the fact that you’re having a kid, you should. You and Emma have been together for so long, and I really don’t think your relationship is going to struggle if you’re not sitting around making references no one else understands for hours on end.”

“Oi,” he protests, resisting the urge to pick up the toy elephant next to him and throw it at David, “that is your daughter you’re mocking, and she can still kick your ass.”

“Trust me, I know. Who do you think raised her to be like that?”

“Mary Margaret.”

“You’re walking a thin line.”

He winks at David, his lips ticking up on the right into a smirk. “I know. You and Mary Margaret did such a good job, still do such a good job, and even with all of the times you’ve messed up – ”

“ – which is a lot more often than even Emma has probably told you.”

“I just…you’re a good dad, Dave. To Emma, to me. I hope I can do half as good as a job.”

“You’ll be great, Killian.” David smiles at him, something genuine, and Killian’s reminded of how much David really has impacted his life in all of the best ways. “I promise. And as much as I love you, I do love my little girl more, and she’s going to be amazing. She’s always…she’s never been too open to a lot of people, but the people she loves, she loves so fiercely, you know? And she’s already doing so well at being a mom. She’ll call me at nights, and I can just hear the happiness and excitement in her voice. At the end of the day, that’s all you want, you know? For your kid to be healthy and happy.”

“Yeah, I know.” He smiles to himself, thinking of how happy he is. “Also, how dare you imply that you love your own daughter more than me. I thought I meant more to you than that. I thought we had something special, man.”

“I can still give you hell. I’d watch yourself.”

He and David finish up in the nursery for the next few hours until David and Mary Margaret have to go to work, leaving after the three of them eat lunch down in the kitchen, Emma staying upstairs for a nap. When the Nolans are gone and he’s finished eating, he heads upstairs, bypassing the nursery and walking into their bedroom where Emma is sitting up on the bed watching TV.

“Your toes look nice,” he compliments, grabbing onto her big toe and moving it back and forth. “Do you feel any better?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, twisting onto her back and scooting up the bed, “it’s just one of those days, you know? I’m not usually this miserable.”

“I know, but it’s okay to have bad days, love.”

“Come here,” she tells him, crooking her fingers and motioning toward him before she turns on her side and wraps her arms around her pillow. He does as she asks, kicking off his sneakers and crawling up into the bed, the mattress moving against his weight until he’s pressed up behind her, his knee stuck between her thighs and his arm wrapped around her waist while the other rests above her head. This is how she’s been comfortable lately, and he can’t say he minds. “Did you guys get a lot done?”

“Aye, it’s almost all finished.” He moves her hair off of her neck, placing a kiss there before resting his chin on her shoulder. “It just needs your finishing touches, I think.”

“And we have to unpack all of the boxes that are in the guest room and put them away in the closet.” “That too, but we’ve got time, Emma.” She hums, and he can feel the vibrations as well as Andy moving around under his touch, the movements following how he taps his fingers. “Has he been active today?”

“Not since I woke up, but he always responds to your voice.” “Yeah, he recognizes me?”

“Of course, you talk so damn much. How could he not?”

He turns his head and presses a kiss against her jaw, biting a bit just to tease her. “You are not a very nice woman, my love.”

“Oh please, I’m, like, the seventh nicest person you know.”

“Seventh?”

“I figured it was conceited to put me at number one.”

“Possibly.” He moves his hand against her stomach again, snaking his fingers up under her pajama top so that he can feel the warmth of her skin. “So he really does get more active when I talk?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty weird to think about, but it’s true. He likes when you talk. I think it’s because you’re a much better story teller than me.” “I mean, obviously.”

“And that he’s probably just glad to hear someone else besides me. Imagine being stuck with someone for nine months. Good God.”

“Well, I’m stuck with you for forever. Good God.”

She groans and curses him under his breath before she scoots over and turns in his arms, slowly but surely moving to face him. “Don’t be an asshole. Also, so I was talking to mom today, and she wants to be called Mimi. I think Dad wants to be called Papa, which I like as long as that’s not what you want. I know that’s what some kids call their dads.”

“Aye, it’s what Lizzie calls Liam, which is weird since Alex doesn’t do that. But I’m okay with dad or daddy, so David can be called Papa.”

“Yeah, I kind of like it. Mimi and Papa. And then your parents are Gammy and Grandpa, right? That’s what Alex and Lizzie call them.”

“Aye, but I know Mom didn’t want to be Gammy. It’s just what happened. She says it makes her feel old.”

“Your mom is not old.”

“I know, but considering your parents are barely fifty while my parents are in their sixties and seventies, it doesn’t help.”

“I’ll tell my parents to get older then.”

He smiles at her before closing his eyes and settling into his pillow, letting his head sink down into the softness. It’s calming in here, the lights turned off and curtains closed while the ceiling fan hums a steady rhythm above them. He could fall asleep like this even if he’s not the biggest fan of naps, always somehow ending up groggy when he wakes up, and it doesn’t help with the way that Emma is playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, her fingers scratching into his scalp.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

He pops an eye open, looking at Emma and smiling when her nail hits a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. “Aye, I’ve got the Investiture ceremony at ten. Why?”

“Just wondering. I was thinking we could go somewhere. Just us. Maybe take Indy to Berkshire and let her run around, spend some time outside.” “We can do it in the afternoon, if you want. I think the weather is supposed to be nice.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, leaning forward and sliding her lips over his for a brief moment, “I think that would be nice.”

The next day after he’s finished with the ceremony, he hurries home, changing out of his suit and into shorts and a t-shirt, slipping a baseball cap onto his head and grabbing something to eat for lunch while Emma does the same, her hair falling out of the back of her hat in a long ponytail. They’ve got all day, but the afternoon’s weather is pleasant enough that he’d like to go now so they can stop by a café for dinner, even if that’s the absolute last thing that Thomas will want them to do.

They want their privacy, but they should be able to go out to dinner.

So he and Emma load up into his car, letting Indy sit in the backseat with the window rolled down so she can feel the mid-July breeze blow through her fur. It doesn’t take long to get to Windsor, pulling into their parking garage less than thirty minutes later, and instead of going inside like they’d usually do, he hooks Indy up to her leash while Emma grabs some water bottles and they head to the private gardens, avoiding the visitors wandering around on tours.

As much as he prefers the spring, mild July days are near the top of his list of favorite things. Everything is brighter, more pleasant. The grass is actually greener, the flowers contrasting against their background to create a landscape of whites and shades of purple, while everything is covered in a clear blue sky, only a few white clouds scattered throughout. New life blooms, and he gets to be the one to appreciate it, to revel in it. England can be so dreary sometimes, the weather somehow reflecting the moods of most people on their morning commute to work, so he appreciates when it’s not. He’s always loved the outdoors, and if there’s any complaint he has about his home, it’s the small private garden that they have to themselves. He’d like something larger, more space to run around, and sometime in the future, he and Emma plan to spend more time in Bucklebury so that they have the privacy.

That’s what they’ve decided on since returning from Spain last month. There’s been more lengthy, draining discussions with his parents and their security team than he’s ever wanted, and as much as he feels like they haven’t really accomplished anything, he knows it’s a slow process. Of course, there are drawbacks to every positive. They’re still going to have to spend most of their time at Kensington. It’s closer to their work, to their families. Hell, Emma’s parents just bought a house so that they could have the ability to spend time with their grandchild, and now they’re going to move away from them. It’s less than an hour drive, but it’s not nearly as close as they currently are.

But everyone understands, and they don’t plan on moving any time soon, not until Andy’s a bit older. They want to be near all of their loved ones when he’s younger, and they’ve spent so much time working on their home, making it exactly how they want. It’d be difficult to leave full time, so it’ll be nice to have the option of both.

It’ll be even nicer to give Andy the most normal life that they can possibly give him.

Emma whistles next to him, her fingers between her lips, while Indy runs back to them from where they let her loose. She was about five seconds away from jumping into a pond full of fish, and as much as they’d usually let her swim, they don’t need to have a wet dog with them for the rest of the day. So she runs back to them as quickly as she can, her legs leaping in the air with her black and white fur bouncing the slightest bit. He’s convinced that she shouldn’t be able to be that quick, but she’s still just a young dog, less than a year old, and though her legs will get longer, he doesn’t think she’ll ever be full of this much energy again.

If she is, he and Emma are definitely in over their heads.

With the dog.

He’s going to choose to not think of what it’ll be like with a toddler than can run and a dog that he can run after.

After she calms from her almost pond dive, Indy walks along in front of the two of them, occasionally wandering off the stone path to sniff around in the plants, nearly tearing up several flowers until they call her back to keep walking. They stay wandering for a little over two hours, not caring where exactly they’re going or if they’re circling back around in the same spots. Indy and Emma get tired around the same time, so they settle down onto a stone bench with a patio cover that’s next to another small pond.

In the distance, he can see the Chapel where they were married, the steeple rising up above the other buildings and stone walls, and he smiles to himself thinking of that day. In the grand scheme of things, he knows that when it comes to he and Emma, as important as it was, they had so many smaller, inconsequential days that he holds just as fondly in his heart.

But that was a pretty damn good day.

He stretches his arm out over the back of the bench, wrapping it around Emma’s shoulder and tangling his fingers into the ends of her ponytail while she leans her head on his shoulder, the bill of her hat hitting him in the chin for a brief moment. He’s glad she suggested them getting away from London for a little bit, for suggesting that they change up the routine and spend a day enjoying summer, especially since they’re missing out on Scotland with the rest of the family.

A month in the same place as everyone is likely a bit long, anyways. He loves his family, but that’s a lot for anyone.

“I love you, you know?” Emma asks out of nowhere, her gaze never falling away from the rippling of the water in front of them, a fish leaping up out of the water while the lily pads float around.

He squeezes her shoulder, rubbing up and down her arm and kissing her head even if she can’t feel it through the hat. “I know. I love you too.”

#second in command #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan fic

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notquitejiraiya · 6 years

Text

Chess [17] - {ShikaTema AU}

Despite all odds, and thinking I wouldn’t have got inspired to do it, here is Chapter17; brought to you on New Years Day as I planned :)

I dedicate this (which I never do) to the badass people who I’ve only spoken to a little bit, but have been so damn kind about my work and are just great people.

Enjoy :)

[Read / Comment on AO3 Here]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Nothing could quite compare to how Temari felt in this exact moment, nor could she relate any experience in her life to the underlying fear that had resonated since Saturday night; that ever-present pang of hurt that clung to her chest and send shivers down her spine.

Gaara, as expected, had been as helpful as he could be. When she got home, after the false smiles and tired eyes played well in front of Kankuro, she made a beeline for his room, and found him sat in bed, reading as he waited. There he had sat, looking at her with a gaze that was equal parts exhausted and excited, but it took only one proper look at her for his arms to open up. And, obviously, she ran to him.

All she’d done was explained. The evening had been pleasant, despite the fact that he was late, and very much despite the fact that he wasn’t willing to give her up as a therapist. She was not going to be any use to him anymore—she must’ve told Gaara that a hundred times over, but nothing seemed to make him speak. As always, her little brother sat and listened intently, holding her close until she eventually calmed down and fell asleep in his arms. When she’d woken up he was on the floor with a blanket and a pillow, his red hair spread messy, and she couldn’t help smiling. He was definitely her big brother at heart.

Both Sunday and Monday had been days of false smiles and hiding, reading every file but his in an attempt to recollect her thoughts and not be useless, but every road felt like it lead back to him. Every phrase that fell from a patient’s mouth felt inferior, and, while on the Monday she had her first patient who was ready to stop coming to see her, she felt no fulfilment.

She thought knowing him had been making her happy, but now she felt almost nothing at all.

But that whole time had been leading up to this moment. For two days she’d been waiting to hear that door click, torturing herself by reading his file over today’s lunchtime, and trying her absolute best to keep up with everything people said to her. Without a doubt, though, she had never felt more on edge in her life, and she stared at the doorknob, just waiting for it to turn.

As the metal glinted as it moved, Temari wanted nothing more than to hide away behind her desk or disappear away, never to return. Instead she braced herself, took a deep breath, and desperately searched for a positive in the situation.

Three-fifty-four, she noted the time. He’s early for once.

“Hi,” she mumbled, forcing a smile.

“Hi. Sorry.”

“Come sit down,” she instructed, adjusting her position on her chair. “Are you, um, doing alright today?”

All Shikamaru could do in response was nod, rubbing his neck nervously as he stepped closer. “Well, this is awkward.”

“It’s not!” she lied. “So have you had any problems since Friday?”

It was his turn to lie, shaking his head.

“Really? None?”

And again. “No.”

“How’re your family?”

Suddenly there was a smile on his face, and she could feel herself getting riled up; confused by it’s appearance. “You’ve got no idea how to talk to me now, have you?”

Temari gulped, her palms sweating. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“This is horrible,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “It feels like we’ve never even met before.”

“That’s what I was going for. You were the one who said forget about everything, Shikamaru. I’m forgetting it.”

“I didn’t mean forget how to be a normal human being.” Shikamaru sighed, sitting back into the sofa and biting his lip as his eyes looked everywhere but at hers. “I meant go back to before what happened—I meant be yourself, Tem.”

“Temari,” she argued, correcting him. “And that’s difficult, given that I knew this would happen and yet you just had to come back.”

“Tem—”

“And now I can’t help you.”

The spark that was fighting to stay alive in his eyes suddenly went out, and his arms folded across his chest, sloppy like a ragdoll. His gaze flew towards the window, and like a statue he was at once immovable.

Temari felt a lump in he throat. “Shall I grab the board?”

He didn’t move.

“Okay then, shall I just go fuck myself?”

She thought she saw that slight smile wriggle its way back onto his lips, but when she blinked it was gone. “Why don’t you just ask me about Asuma?” he mumbled. “You were on a fucking roll on Friday until I stopped you.”

“Your teacher?” She frowned. “Is there more for you to say about him? You already covered a lot of it then.”

He laughed, humourlessly. “Forget it then, jeez.” She could see his eyeballs flickering side to side, lulling closer to closing as he watched the clouds. “It’s as if you’ve forgotten your job.”

The recurring desire to punch him was crawling back to her, stronger than it ever had. “My job, Shikamaru is to help you understand yourself, and to make you feel better. And, to be really honest with you, right now I have no idea how to do that whatsoever.”

“Brilliant.”

“Will you just shut up?” she shouted, burying her face in her palms.

Shikamaru could see just from the whiting of her knuckles out of the corner of his eyes how uncomfortable she was, and the sharpness of her voice wasn’t something he was used to. Why had he at any point thought that this was going to be different from this? Did any sane part of him really think that she wouldn’t be mad at him in some way, shape or form? Of course he didn’t, so why was he so surprised that she was upset, infuriated. She almost looked broken, and the same insane part of him that was so riddled with hopeful denial wanted nothing more than to mend her somehow.

But, then again, she was Temari—from what she’d told him she was the strongest person she knew. Surely some stupid skinny asshole hadn’t shattered that person to a nervous wreck. She wasn’t like him; or, at the very least, he didn’t want to think that she felt at all like he did right now.

“Temari, I’m sorry, I—”

“I don’t want you to apologise to me. I don’t want you to even mention it.” Her eyes, bloodshot and angry stood in agreement, but Shikamaru couldn’t help thinking they didn’t give the whole picture.

He leant forward in his seat, hands locked together between his knees. His gaze turned solely on her, desperately trying not to waver and determined to not look away again. “I’m sorry I came back.”

“I just cannot believe I called you selfless, Shikamaru. You’ve come back here purely for yourself, like you don’t realise how genuinely hard this is for me to continue with!”

“We went on one date…”

“Which was one too many, Shikamaru! I—” She stopped herself abruptly, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I almost fucking kissed you!”

He gulped, eyes falling to the floor.

“I’m sorry. Did you actually want to talk about Asuma?”

“If you want me to. If it helps me get better then sure,” he mumbled, nodding.

“That’s so important to you, isn’t it? Getting better.” Her voice was almost bitter, but she masked it well with her soft smile. “That overrides everything.”

Shikamaru’s shoulders drooped. “I mean, obviously it’s important to me, but I wouldn’t say it ‘overrides everything’.”

“So, if you were to have the chance to do something that would make you genuinely happy but it would stop you getting better, you’d do it?”

He raised his head again, shaking his head with the most surprising smile yet. “I know exactly what you’re saying. My IQ is through the roof remember.”

“I never said anything about—”

“But I know that’s you’re saying. I know what can make me better, and I will do it. When I’m better I can do the things I want to do…”

It was Temari’s turn to feel her stomach fill with guilt. Despite the anger that rushed through her body, and the insane temperature at which her blood was boiling, for reasons she couldn’t quite pin down, she suddenly felt herself go cold at the sight of his smile. Not calm—no she was definitely still infuriated with him—but genuinely chilled. So many times she had looked at him and seen nothing but his usual melancholic veil of false calm, having no idea what was really happening under than dark hair and what was really inside his heart. Never had she known exactly what he was going to say; she just wasn’t able to pin him down like that.

Until now, because, strangely, he could feel it herself. So many things at once, rushing around; always taking blame and never placing it for so many unforgotten mistakes and could-have been moments, trapped in a loop of hostility towards himself that made his fingers tap anxiously…she could see it all. And, despite all her instincts as a therapist, she couldn’t bear to watch anymore.

“Most of them, anyway,” he added finally, one corner of his mouth raising, as if to convince her he was okay, really.

It didn’t work.

“I’m sorry. I never should’ve agreed to go out with you.”

Shikamaru shook his head, a deep frown carved into his expression. “Stop it. You have nothing to apologise for.”

“But, I—”

“You’re only trying to help me,” he acknowledged. “It’s my fault that I’m back here, and it’s my fault that I’ve painted myself with an extra layer of pain every hour since Saturday, and I’ve kept adding to it; checking my phone, almost calling you, almost calling here yesterday. I know its entirely my own fault, and yet I can’t shake it off.” He let out a huge sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as his head shook, trying to displace his thoughts. “I just can’t fix it.”

As she watched him haul himself to his feet, zipping up his hoodie blind, Temari felt her boots violently hit the ground and soon she, too, was on her feet, making a beeline for him. When she’s turned the corner of her desk, her hips swaying rapidly as she sped walked, she reached out to grab his arm, but his eyes flew open, and he stepped back, crossing them across his chest.

“Don’t.”

“Shikamaru—”

“Don’t, it’s fine,” he whispered, trying to stop himself listening to his own words. “I won’t come back.”

Temari was too frozen by far too many emotions to move a muscle, and so she watched hopelessly as the young man paced towards the door—faster than she’d ever seen him walk—lingering with his fingers on the door handle. She thought, maybe, that he’d look up. Or maybe he’d turn and give her one final smile—one last hurrah.

Silently he nodded once, and twisted the knob, leaving as silently as he’d entered. It took seconds for Temari to collapse on the sofa he’d just been sat on, perturbed by the warmth of spot he’d just been in, and pull her phone from her pocket. Quickly, swallowing all of her emotions and whatever pride she had left, she dialled her most called number and listened to the beeps of it ringing, and ringing, and ringing…

“Gaara,” she said to the answerphone, not caring whether he listened now or in three hours, just desperate to speak to someone or something. “Please say you’re going to the pub quiz tonight with trenchcoat-guy. I really want to come—hell I’ll even pay for your drinks, just let me come. Please!” She was aware how painful her begging was, so after a long, deep breath, she uttered the real truth, “I just really need a bloody drink.”

Outside, at the bus stop in the pouring rain, a young man put his phone to his ear and uttered very similar words. “Choji,” he sighed down the phone, “please tell me you can meet me tonight?”

“Man, I’ll be at work from six onwards, but Ino’s probably free if—”

“I’ll come. I need you, man.” He did, and his friend’s vague company would be better than loneliness tonight. He couldn’t do it tonight.

~~~

Temari knew that every other Tuesday her youngest brother would come to the pub, drink with his friends, and play some quiz she’d never considered taking part in. What she didn’t know was that said brother was really, really good at it. And, while that inevitably made her feel a bit stupid and a little more downtrodden given the day she’d already had, it definitely had it perks. Perks which consisted of a lot of free drinks for winning each round.

The clock had barely struck ten and she was convinced at this point that she’d drunk a bucket’s worth of cocktails. Never had she considered herself a cocktail person—she had always been a ‘beer-out-of-the-can’ kind of girl, with the odd gin-and-tonic of someone else could be bothered to make her one. So, unsurprisingly, the pitchers of cocktails their quiz team had one, and she had drunk, had gone straight to her head.

Temari could hold her alcohol with the big guns—she could out-drink Kankuro any day—but this was dangerous. These drinks tasted like fruit juice, and they just kept on coming. She was smart, and underneath the fuzziness and slurring, she was perfectly aware that this was not going well.

And, for once, she didn’t give a shit.

Shikamaru, on the other hand, did.

He’d spotted her the second she walked in, hiding expertly underneath his scarf so she didn’t notice him, and ever since he had been sat, hidden behind a pillar, hoping that she’d never leave her seat—never see him. She had as much right to be here as him, and yet he knew if she saw him she would get up and leave. Or, at least, she would’ve.

He hadn’t join in with the quiz, although Choji had violently urged him that he should, telling him he could get crisps or juice instead of the drinks they gave to winners if he just asked.

“Look,” he said as Shikamaru peered over at the blonde drinking some fantasy-coloured drink through a draw, “you can join in anytime. You’ll ace it if you do!”

“Choji,” he argued, “I didn’t come to play a game and eat crisps. I came to be with my mate and not be alone. If I’m going to feel sad anywhere, I may as well feel sad in a room full of noisy strangers.”

His friend had to stop himself reaching across the bar to hug him. “I’m sorry I have to work, man.”

“It’s fine. Just get me a drink.”

“Orange juice again?”

“No.” Shikamaru shook his head, biting on his lip. “Give me whiskey. Double.”

Choji’s eyes widened, and his forehead creased into a worried frown. “Man, I really don’t think you want to—”

“Choji…”

“The most you’ve drunk since you were eighteen is half a pint of weak-ass beer,” he winced, “and we all know you don’t enjoy drinking.”

Shikamaru fished out a five pound note and held it out to him. “God, you’re a pain. Keep the change, now come on.”

“Shikamaru, you don’t want this. You’ll hate me tomorrow.”

“I said double, Choji.”

The blank stare he sent his friend’s way was enough to make Choji feel as if he’d lost a war, and he could feel the pit of his stomach growing emptier as he looked into the bleak abyss of Shikamaru’s eyes. He was going to ask what had happened but now, as he unwillingly lifted the transparent bottle and measured the liquor as required, he didn’t have the nerve. Something about the lifeless urgency in the voice of his best friend made him feel broken, and after he thought it was all getting better, too.

He snatched the money and put the glass before Shikamaru. “If it weren’t for the fact that my manager is really specific with the ‘refusal of service’ rule, you would not be getting this. You’re an idiot.”

“Love you, too,” sighed Shikamaru, swirling the glass around.

“I thought you wanted to get better Shikamaru,” growled Choji, shaking his head, “but then you do this and just let yourself regress. I swear to God if it’s that girl—”

“It’s not her.” He knocked back the drink, squeezing his eyes shut. “Man, I forgot how shit that tastes.”

Choji only had to take one look at his blank slate of a face to know what was happening. “You’re going to bloody order another one, aren’t you?”

“And I thought you quit your day job as a psychic.”

The sarcasm didn’t even begin to amuse Choji, who shook his head and failed to find words. Only after he’d been called to help someone, minutes of staring at his expectant looking friend later, that he managed to speak. “Fine. But I’m not playing any part in it; ask someone else.”

Shikamaru frowned. “Choji, come on.”

“No,” his friend called back as he walked to the other end of the bar. “I can’t do it.”

After only a couple of minutes of longingly waiting for Choji to come back and throw in the towel, Shikamaru could feel himself falling into that familiar feeling of glee. Unfortunately, he knew it wasn’t real—sadly for his wallet one double wasn’t enough to fool him into genuinely feeling happy—hence the need for another. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to do this. On occasions he’d always have one half and it would last him the whole night, and it would make him feel like he fitted in.

But this was no occasion; this was a desperate avoidance tactic, and he knew it. She was over there—the one person he simultaneously wanted to stare at the whole night and never wanted to see again—and he was painfully aware of it. He didn’t want to be aware of it.

He’d been to enough sessions with enough asshole therapists to know what he was doing, and he didn’t care—he didn’t care at all. There she’d been, suggesting to him that he was really only devoted to getting better, not feeling happy, and now he just wanted to scream, “Look at me!” until she took it back; until she took him back and rewired him as promise, fixed him as promised…

Of course, he didn’t do that. He couldn’t be bothered to do that. Instead he waved down the smiley brunette girl behind the bar and got himself the same again, and necked it instantly, forcing a smile at her afterwards when ordering another.

But the longer he sat there, the smaller he felt. It was like when he first did this, years ago, and it wasn’t washing over him the way he expected, the way he craved. Suddenly the bar stool he perched on felt to high, and his neck felt too cold, so he threw on his coat and hopped down, drinking that last whiskey and rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Choji, and he couldn’t go home or else his mother would yell at him for drinking after so long of holding back.

Choji was right, no matter how much he’d deny it out loud. This was all because of her, that troublesome woman. Through nobody’s fault but his own he’d built her up as this fantasy saviour; the beautiful woman who cared about him no matter what, in a way he’d never even imagined before. And as much as he’d laugh off the ridicule from his friends about his many lonesome years, he really had never thought of anyone like that. Before this—this bizarre, impossible to pin feeling—he’d never wanted to spend time with someone just for the sake of it, and he’d never wanted to listen to someone talk about nothing like he did her.

“This is it, isn’t it?” he mumbled, so quiet he could barely hear himself. “She’s got me.”

He couldn’t leave, but he could hide from her until she left, and from Choji until the whiskey ran it’s course. And where could he hide in this pub that she was guaranteed not to go? Well, there was only one place that came to mind.

However, in his slightly drunken state as he shuffled towards his destination, the first thing Shikamaru had managed to forget that Temari still had eyes, no matter how blurry their vision was, and obviously she spotted him immediately. Stumbling to her feet, she told Gaara she was just nipping to the bathroom, and took her bag with her, slung haphazardly across her shoulder.

The second thing he forgot was that she definitely had the nerve to follow him into the men’s bathroom, and that he definitely wasn’t safe from her in there.

So, when she edged open the bathroom door, as subtly as a drunk woman can, and found him smoking next to a half opened window, she fumbled for the latch at the top of the door, locking it quickly. “You don’t drink my ass.”

Numbed, Shikamaru turned slowly, frowning in surprised. “T-Temari? What’re you—”

“You didn’t actually want to go out with me, did you?” She slurred her words into what almost sounded like three long words, and immediately Shikamaru realised he wasn’t nearly as drunk as thought he was; or as he wanted to be.

“What are you talking about?” he sighed, exasperated.

“That’s why you didn’t make any effort to impress me. You didn’t want to did you?”

Shikamaru couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness, tapping his cigarette out of the window and letting the ash fly into the wind. “Of course I wanted to,” he insisted. “I’m just useless, Tem.”

She blinked expectantly at him, shaking her head constantly. “Bullshit.”

“Temari…”

“Temari, what?” she laughed, clearly unamused as she waved her arms about dramatically. “Temari, I’m sorry I’m a miserable git. Temari, I’m sorry I lied to you. Temari, I’m sorry I made you fancy me.”

He rubbed his eyes with one hand and took a drag with the other, strategically blowing the smoke through the window. Nothing was coming to mind to respond to her—nobody had ever silenced him in the way she did, cornered him like she did, terrified him like she did.

And he almost craved it.

Trying his best to smile, he squished the butt of his cigarette on the windowsill and left it there, turning to look at her. She looked all the more beautiful tonight, but something deep within the dark depths of the subconscious he loathed so much was telling him that was due to the alcohol in both their systems, and the rosy cheeks hers had graced her with.

With all her could muster, Shikamaru leant against the wall next to the window, hands in the pocket of his coat, before he finally opened his mouth to tell the brutal truth, “Temari, I’m sorry I couldn’t bare the idea of not seeing you again.”

Yeah, right, he mused inside his mind. As if she’s going to remember that tomorrow.

Suddenly, unexpected to him, Temari dropped her bag and advanced on him, walking in jagged lines—intense zig-zags—and he could feel his knees begin the shake. “What the hell are you doing, Tem?”

“You didn’t get it, did you?” she asked, pulling one hand from his pocket and placing it on her waist.

Gulping, Shikamaru tried his best to remove it and stay calm, but every time he almost escaped her loosening grip she grabbed his hand tighter. In the end he just kept it there, and stared into her gorgeous teal eyes with the most passive desperation. “What?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips centimetres away from his. “Why I asked you to stop seeing me as a patient.”

When she bit her lip, despite all his attempts, Shikamaru felt his knees quiver more and more. “I, um,” he mumbled, voice managing to remain steady despite his body’s weakness. “I think I need to go find your brother, and—”

“No, please don’t,” begged Temari, her nose brushing against his so delicately.

There was no denying that he wanted to hold her, and he wanted to kiss her, just as she was clearly attempting. He couldn’t lie to himself and say he hadn’t had a sleepless night wondering what the hell would’ve happened if the other night this had happened instead of their sad reality. But he didn’t want it like this.

He could only just smell the floral notes of her perfume, over the alcohol that plagued the air, and while she smelt of sweet tropical juice rather than anything evenly mildly bad, he couldn’t change the truth: they were drunk, and he didn’t want it to happen this way.

“Temari,” he whispered. “Tem, are you paying attention?”

She hummed softly, her forehead flush against his now.

“We can’t do this, love.”

A soft moan fell from her lips, and the hairs on the back his neck stood on end. “Why not?” she whined.

“Because we’ll regret it,” he sighed, himself a little upset by the fact.

“I-I won’t,” insisted Temari, stubborn as ever.

“You will,” Shikamaru corrected, smiling slightly as he pushed her away. “Can I borrow your phone?”

She frowned and held onto his shoulders for support as she stumbled backwards. “Why?”

“I just want to let your brother know you’re okay.”

It took a long time of him standing with his hand out expectantly, but eventually Temari caved with a smirk and handed him her phone. While she wasn’t quite sure why she couldn’t have just done that, she didn’t question him. Probably because in that exact moment, she wasn’t quite sure about anything.

“There,” he mumbled, biting his lip as he handed it back. “I told him you’re getting some air and will probably make your own way home.”

“He won’t be fine with that.”

Buzz.

She looked down at her phone and the text message that appeared on the screen.

Gaara: Fine. See you later :)

“Okay, maybe he will,” groaned Temari, “but where the hell are we going?”

Shikamaru shrugged, hands in pockets as he watched, amused, as she tried to slot her phone into her bag. “I can take you home?”

“And risk Kankuro punching you?” she cackled laughing.

“Then that’s a no.”

“Take me home with you.”

He almost choked on his own spit. “What?”

“Please,” she whined. “Take me home with you.”

“No!”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll wake up in the night and punch me.” He could hear himself, and the melodrama he was spouting, but he still didn’t sound worried, as such.

“Then where?”

Shikamaru bit down on his lip and accepted the arm she slung around his shoulders. “I have an idea.”

~~~

“No.”

“But Choji,” he pleaded, this time taking the role of the whining one, “neither of us can go home.”

Choji shook his head. “I’m not giving you whiskey and letting you bang your therapist in the same night. I already feel like a shit friend as it is.”

“I’ve sabotaged myself here, man,” insisted Shikamaru. “And I promise we won’t do that. I just want to make sure she has somewhere to sleep, man.”

“She has a house!”

“Where she’ll talk about me and then everyone will feel even more shit than already.” He raised his eyebrows. “Man, I didn’t ask for her to follow me into the bathroom.”

Surprised, Choji’s mouth fell open. “She didn’t?”

“Yeah, she’s smashed.”

“She needs to go home.”

Shikamaru nodded, sighing.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

“Only with the words, man. Brain is doing fine.”

Choji raised his eyebrows and smiled at his friend, pulling him in for a hug, which Shikamaru begrudgingly accepted. “If you hug me back you can have the keys to my flat?”

The thinner man hugged tighter than he ever had.

“They’re in my coat out back. Use that door.”

Shikamaru smirked. He had a true friend in this guy, and he found out as much more every single day.

~~~

Temari sighed, throwing her spoon into the plastic bowl Shikamaru had given her and fell back into the couch. “I can’t believe we’re literally above a fish and chip shop and you didn’t let me buy any.”

“You shouted at the guy that you would ‘kiss in return for fish’.”

“Damn right I did,” she laughed.

Shikamaru chuckled. “And I thought I was the asshole.”

“You definitely are.”

“Tem, I just cooked you pasta at, like, twelve-a.m.”

“You’re right,” nodded Temari. “You’re a saint.”

He looked over at her and smiled, almost sadly. Choji’s flat was very small, a room with a bed and a wardrobe, and another with a small kitchen and a couch, but Temari had made herself right at home. He couldn’t help but admire how she did that. Not taking into account the fact that she was drunk out of her mind, he also couldn’t believed the way she was slowly sinking towards him, arms wrapping around him.

“You’re wonderful, Maru.”

His eyebrows raised. “Maru. New one.”

Temari looked up, hurt. “You don’t like it.”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled. “You go ahead.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, tracing patterns on his chest through his shirt. “You’re really wonderful.”

“You said.” If you couldn’t see inside his head, you’d have thought he was fed up of hearing that brilliant sentence. “You should go to sleep, Tem,” he added, changing the subject.

“I was stupid to make you feel so small. I made you feel like shit, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t,” he lied, letting her position his arms to hold her. “Just get some rest.”

“You’re wonderful, you know?”

Shikamaru smiled, the most real and fulfilling smile he’d had in a long time. “So are you, Tem. So are you…”

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