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maybankiara · 3 years ago

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PHONE SWAP (DREW STARKEY)

18: MR. WHITE CLAW

summary: Addie Mallory is just your average economics student when she meets Drew Starkey at her local Target in Atlanta. This is where the story is supposed to end – a short meeting and a picture to go – except Drew accidentally leaves with the wrong phone, and the story begins, instead.

w/c: 4.4k

a/n: long one! sorry about it. i promise it won’t happen a lot. also, if i catch one of yous hating on holden you’re gonna catch these hands. <3

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Me | 6:42pm I swear it’s fate that you’re coming back today because you know what Me | 6:42pm MARIANNE IS MAKING GOULASH TOMORROW Me | 6:43pm surprisingly unrelated to you coming back but hey!!

Drew | 6:45pm no way! Drew | 6:45pm Does she make good goulash?

Me | 6:46pm I’d be able to tell if she ever made it before lmao Me | 6:46pm it’s her first time Me | 6:47pm but she’s a pretty good cook overall so!! I wouldn’t expect like a masterpiece or whatever but a decent meal??? Me | 6:47pm f yeah

Drew | 6:48pm I’m inviting myself over Drew | 6:50pm what time should I come by?

Me | 6:57pm if you think for one (1) second that this wasn’t an invitation Me | 6:57pm you are terribly wrong, mr. white claw man

Drew | 7:01pm ok but WHEN SHOULD I COME OVER

Me | 7:02pm oh right

Drew | 7:05pm ???

Me | 7:05pm Marianne says goulash will be around 6 but you can come over at like 4 or 5 so we can catch up!! Me | 7:06pm I still need to show you the album!! I developed some photos I took since we hung out

Drew | 7:07pm 4 sounds great, can’t wait!! Drew | 7:07pm I’ll make sure to bring some White Claw Drew | 7:07pm What does Marianne drink?

Me | 7:08pm Vodka Me | 7:08pm Tequilla Me | 7:09pm jk you don’t have to bring anything, we have enough alcohol in the fridge

Drew | 7:10pm Still bringing beer

Me | 7:10pm And good vibes

Drew | 7:10pm And good vibes, of course

Me | 7:10pm Gonna be good 😄

◇

The bell rings shortly past four o’clock, and Addie buzzes their guest in with a smile on her face. Marianne peeks from the kitchen, leaning over the corner, strands of her hair falling from underneath the headband-bun combo she’s sporting for the cooking.

‘Is it the celebrity judge?’

‘Sure is a judge,’ Addie says, unlocking the door. ‘Not so sure he’d like the celebrity title.’

The door opens and reveals a smiling Drew, in his usual attire – a simple grey tee with a Queen logo on it, black jeans, and a baseball cap. Greetings are exchanged, and then Drew’s taking his shoes off as Addie warns him that maybe Marianne might be a bit much today. There’s a casual whiff of cologne that Addie catches – it’s similar to Holden’s minty one, but simpler.

‘You ready to munch on some British-French-American-Hungarian goulash?’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Is anyone ever ready for that?’

‘Nope. But Marianne has just called you the celebrity judge of her nonexistent cooking show, so you’ve got no choice but to be ready.’

‘Fair,’ he says, just as Marianne shouts from the kitchen, ‘I’ll have my cooking show soon!’

The self-proclaimed chef pops out of the kitchen, wielding a spatula covered in a dark red, thick liquid. Her red-and-white apron is tied haphazardly around her waist; both the apron and the sweatpants have already become victims to her cooking, and the bun seems to be getting looser by the minute. Marianne flashes the two a massive grin, one finger pointed at Drew.

‘Drew!’

‘Marianne!’

Her grin widens so much Addie’s worried it’ll rip her cheeks. She wiggles her finger, then, in a come here motion. ‘I need your goulash expertise, stat.’

‘Give the man a moment to breathe,’ says Addie. Next to her, Drew chuckles.

‘Do you want to enjoy the goulash?’

‘Yes?’

‘Then let the ones who can make it good do it and stay out of it.’ Marianne crosses her arms over her chest, and a drop of liquid falls off the spatula. She doesn’t even notice. ‘Drew?’

‘Coming right up, boss.’

With a pat on the back from Addie, Drew departs into the kitchen. Marianne is already listing off all the things that she’s put in the goulash, how she’s done it so far, and how the internet has told her needs to be done from now on. Addie tunes most of it out – while she thinks Marianne is one of the best cooks she’s ever met, after living with her for over a year, some things you can’t help but get used to and eventually, get a little bit tired of. She’s happy there’s Drew, though, because he’s either very interested in Marianne’s process and amused by her telling of it, or very good at pretending to be so.

Addie grabs a rather small box with a pink bow on it out of the hallway drawer, right next to a grey envelope, then makes her way to the stack of French books lying underneath the TV. The newest copy of a first-edition of The Unbearable Lightness of Being in French is lying on top of a photo album, the same one that Addie told Drew stories from the last time he was over here. She tucks it under her arm and brings it to the kitchen, which has a prominent smell of Marianne’s cooking – a lot of spices, some of them even scattered around with powder spilling out at the edges, and wine that’s both a part of the dish and accompanying Marianne and whoever’s keeping her company. This time it’s Drew, so instead of wine, there’s a can of White Claw in his hands. Addie chuckles to herself.

Marianne, huddled over the steaming pot, motions for Addie to come closer without looking. ‘How does this smell?’

‘I don’t know how a goulash is supposed to smell.’

‘Like that,’ Drew answers. ‘Stop worrying so much.’

‘If it can be better, I’ll make it better,’ replies Marianne, then asks him to contribute with some spices and then stir it. ‘If it goes badly, you made it. If it’s great, I made it.’

Drew laughed. It was a big kind of laugh, the one that fills out the entire room. Taking a seat at their modest dining table, Addie realised it’s been a while since anyone other than the two of them laughed so freely in this place. (That just made her miserable; she needs to stop focusing so much on work and her studies if she wants to retain a semblance of a social life.) She puts the album down, and places the box right underneath it – just enough to be noticeable.

‘Addie, you didn’t tell me your roommate is basically the female equivalent to Gordon Ramsay.’ Drew’s leaning against one of the cupboards, sipping his drink with a smile. Marianne elbows him in the shoulder, frowning.

‘The kids one, maybe. I don’t swear, that’s Addie’s job. She’s the sailor.’

‘Bitch,’ says Addie under her breath, feeling warmth creeping up into her cheeks as she smiles. ‘Calling me out like that.’

Marianne doesn’t look at her, but Addie hears her quiet giggle. ‘That’s a quarter.’

Addie sighs, and Drew lets out a chuckle that sounds a lot like oh. He probably figured out what the jar filled up with quarters is, and Addie thinks he’s finding it a little too amusing, so she says, ‘Don’t laugh.’

Of course, it doesn’t work.

‘That’s kind of funny, you’ve got to admit.’

‘No.’

He raises his eyebrows at her, not even trying to hide the smile. Addie calls him to look at the albums, after she places a quarter in the jar, because she can feel Marianne is about to side with him and go on a tirade where she makes fun of Addie’s bad habit – not that she minds, really, but she’d much rather see what Drew thinks of the photographs and his birthday present.

It ends up taking him a long time to notice it, which starts driving Addie nuts, but she wants him to be the one to notice it, because… Well. She doesn’t really have a reason.

They go through the photographs and Marianne is hovering over Drew’s shoulder, nearly dripping the goulash a few times onto the album, until Addie tells her that her goulash is burning (it isn’t) and she finally leaves the spatula where it belongs, before coming back to look. She likes the photos, and so does Drew – Addie had most of them developed, both from Waystone and the park they were in. Most of them were of the places, but there were a few of Drew. They weren’t the best quality, but his face was relaxed in them, and he was smiling with a playful glint in his eyes, and Addie liked them more than the ones where he looked like he was posing. (She developed those, too, but still hasn’t quite figured out where to put them. She’ll probably give them to him.) Good memories were made that day, and friendships cemented, too.

When he finally notices the box, his eyebrows shoot up. ‘Is this the present?’

Addie just nods and waits. She’s thankful that Marianne is humming along to the music while she stirs the pot, because it means that there’s no awkward silence while he carefully unwraps the bow, as if it would break if he tugged on it too hard. He opens it, finally, and laughs – Addie feels like he’s been laughing a lot more recently.

He holds the present in his hand, shaking his head. ‘A phone case. Really?’

‘Yep.’ Addie grins so hard she bites a little on the inside of her lip; what if he doesn’t like it? She pushes the thought away. ‘Can’t have us swapping our phones again.’

‘True. Although, it did end up in a pretty good thing.’

‘I guess it did, yeah.’

There’s a moment where they’re just staring at the phone case, as if it is about to start talking. Addie kind of wishes it would, and once again feels thankful for Marianne’s music. She doesn’t want to start reminiscing, but that’s where her brain is going, and suddenly she finds herself thinking about that summer morning where she was hungover and half-asleep when she met him and it feels weird that it’s been nearly six months since that. It feels like it was yesterday, but it feels like Drew’s always been around.

‘Mr. White Claw,’ he reads off the back of the matt case, amused. Addie’s pretty proud of herself for that one.

‘Nothing describes you better than that, basic white bitch.’ She smiles at him, and kicks him under the table so he’d look at her. ‘Happy birthday, dude.’

‘Thanks.’ He raises his can and waits until she raises hers, then says, ‘To swapping phones.’

Addie clinks the can against his. ‘And making friends.’

‘And putting another quarter in the jar. Don’t think I didn’t hear that.’

‘Marianne.’

‘Nu-uh.’ Marianne snaps her fingers, pointing first at Addie as she speaks, then Drew. ‘You, quarter in the jar, and now that the ceremony’s over, I need you back at the cooking station. The goulash ain’t gonna cook itself, mec.’

As Marianne says, the other two do. Addie is honestly just grateful she doesn’t have to be the one helping out in the kitchen, because as much as she enjoys cooking, Marianne’ demands get on her nerves sometimes. That, and Drew is actually enjoying helping her out. Addie gets to sit back and relax, listen to her friends make food and bond over the dishes they can make—turns out Drew is incredible at making his mum’s casserole recipe, and promises to bring it over someday—and she feels like she’s come a long way from being holed up in her room, studying and working. Even if sometimes it feels like nothing’s changed.

In between helping Marianne, Drew puts the phone case in its rightful place. It’s a bit cheesy, but Addie likes the thought that there’ll be a reminder of their friendship with him at all times, if he likes it as much as she thinks he does. It’s a bit silly, too. Addie likes giving and receiving presents that are more silly than useful, which is probably not the savvy and mature way to approach life.

Time wears on, and Addie includes herself every now and then, mostly just chilling on her phone as the two work towards what they claim is going to be a masterpiece. She highly doubts it, and it’s amusing whenever she voices her opinion and they try to argue otherwise. She likes to see them getting along – she’d never admit it, but as much as she knows and loves Marianne, a part of her was still scared he’d get the celebrity treatment. Now, she watches as Marianne threatens to throw goulash if he doesn’t cut the pepper faster, and she can only laugh.

Her phone chimes and there’s a text message displayed over Holden and Addie’s faces – a picture taken barely a week ago. They look happy together, and seeing it brings a smile to her face. As Addie texts back, Marianne ushers Drew away from the pot, finally taking over. Drew joins her at the table with a can of White Claw and a can of Heineken.

She puts her phone down and takes the Heineken with thanks. ‘Cooking time over?’

Drew nods. ‘The chef fired me. I think.’

‘Yeah,’ Addie laughs, ‘the chef tends to do that.’

To prove a point, Marianne gives them the finger, and says a whole sentence in French out of which Addie can only understand ‘merde’, and that is mostly because she turns around for that word, glaring at the two. Drew nearly chokes on his drink, and Addie just shrugs, because it’s Marianne, and no one can really understand Marianne. A conversation starts about photography and how Drew did mean to bring the camera, but he left it with Chase and Madelyn when he was visiting, and he ends up telling them stories from all the sets he’s been on.

When the bell chimes again, he’s the first one to notice, as he’s sitting not even a foot from the entrance into the kitchen. ‘Someone ringing?’

‘Oh, god, I forgot— Thanks!’

Addie makes a beeline for the hallway, giving her friends a quick ‘one moment!’ in lieu of an explanation. She’s at the front door within seconds and opens it with a smile, greeting her boyfriend with a hug, and a kiss on the cheek.

Holden chuckles, and then he’s giving her a brief kiss on the lips before they part. ‘Hello there. You had a bit to drink?’

‘A little,’ Addie says, feeling the heat in her cheeks. ‘I’m glad you stopped by.’

‘Me too.’ His hand falls from her waist and he takes a step back, looking around. ‘You’ve got the papers?’

Addie reaches into the drawer and takes the grey folder out of it, but doesn’t give it to him just yet. ‘I know you’re in a hurry, but Marianne is making enough goulash for a whole village, and Drew’s here, and I want to introduce you.’

‘He’s here?’ he asks, just at the same time as Marianne shouts from the kitchen, ‘WHO IS IT?’

In her defense, she thought it would’ve been a nice surprise for Holden to stop by and stick around for a little bit once he got what he came here for, and maybe chat to her friends for a few minutes. The idea might’ve been fine, but hearing Holden’s little sigh at the realisation and a guaranteed confusion from the two in the kitchen, it might’ve not been a fine surprise. This paired with Holden only meeting Marianne of her friends so far...

‘C’mon,’ she tells him, hoping to reassure herself just as much, and takes hold of his hand. ‘They don’t bite.’

Back in the kitchen, Marianne and Drew are leaning on the cupboards, both of them silent and waiting. Addie walkins into the kitchen first, and she watches their eyes follow her hand – the one which drags Holden in behind her. Marianne shouts his name and nearly leaps to hug him, while Drew remains at his spot, gnacing between the two having a quick catch-up and Addie, who tries to tell him not to worry in the form of a smile.

His eyes keep dropping back to their hands, intertwined, and she can see barely-concealed confusion on his face.

‘This is Holden,’ she says, now that Marianne isn’t hogging him anymore. ‘My boyfriend. Holden, this is Drew.’

They shake hands and exchange the ‘nice to meet you’s without anyone feeling the need to prove themselves to be the Alpha male, so Addie counts it as a win. Not that she thought either of them would do that – she just hasn’t seen Drew interact with anyone who wasn’t her or Marianne, and Drew is, after Marianne, the first person from Addie’s life Holden has gotten to meet.

The more she thinks of it, the more she realises how risky it was.

‘You’re the actor Drew, right?’

For a moment, Addie just watches Drew – his hands are crossed on his chest and he looks a little menacing, now that she tries to see him from Holden’s perspective. Tall and pretty attractive, pretty relaxed in a place he’s barely been to, and with the reputation of a successful actor – and to top it all off, a resting bitch face.

Addie’s heart skips a beat.

Drew laughs and she feels relief wash over her, instead. ‘Is that how she presents me to people?’

‘Drew, it’s literally how we met,’ she says, rolling her eyes at him from across the room. ‘How else am I supposed to explain how I know you?’

‘Fair.’

There’s a moment where the sizzling of the goulash is all that can be heard, but Addie doesn’t think it’s one of those heavy silences, where every person seems like they’re holding their breath. She takes it as a good sign.

Holden pats his thigh, then, and he has an apologetic face when he says, ‘I’ve got to go. Work won’t wait forever.’ He flashes Drew a smile. ‘Nice meeting you, Drew.’

‘You too.’

Addie sighs. ‘You just got here.��

He opens his mouth to say something, but Marianne is quicker: ‘You try this goulash, look me in the eye, and say you don’t want more of it.’ There’s no and then you can go, because Addie has a feeling Marianne knows pretty well just how good the goulash is.

She commands the room as she approaches Holden with the tiniest bit of goulash steaming from the spatula over her hand. Her eyes are determined and there’s a crook in the corner of her lips – the sly kind of smile when she knows she’s already won. Holden doesn’t get a chance to protest, because the spatula is headed for him, and he’s got nothing to do but take it.

The room holds a breath. Even Drew is looking at Holden in expectation, chin resting on the palm of his hand.

For a bit, Holden just coughs and complains about the hotness (Marianne argued he had to have been blind to not see that it was steaming). Once he’s finally back to normal breathing and side-eyeing Addie for giggling at him, he tells Marianne it’s one of the best things he’s ever tasted.

Addie could swear she could see pride and self-satisfaction through Marianne’s eyes.

‘Now that Holden is staying,’ says Addie, ‘can the rest of us have some, too?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ replies Marianne, with a newfound spring in her step, grace in the way she moves. Drew laughs at her, quietly, and Addie finds herself laughing with him.

Marianne brings out the goulash and Addie helps pour it into the bowls, handing each of them one. The chef ends up taking Addie’s chair, on Addie’s insistence, because what does she deserve after all these hours other than enjoying her efforts in peace? So Addie leans on the counter, ignoring Marianne’s protests that it’s dirty (‘These shorts need to go into the wash anyway’) and savours the food. It’s unbelievably good – Drew even comments at one point that it’s as good as the one his Hungarian neighbour made, if not better. Marianne glows after each compliment, so Addie doesn’t really stop giving them. Even as the conversation goes on, and Holden stays a little longer than planned, they keep sprinkling in nice comments about the goulash whenever they can.

Addie’s glad Holden and Drew are here for this, however unplanned it was.

Holden slaps his thigh again, in the very same manner with the very same look on his face and this time, Addie catches herself right before she laughs. ‘I’ve really got to go now,’ he says, getting to his feet. ‘Work calls.’

He walks up to Addie and she smiles at him, elbowing him gently in the ribs. ‘That’s okay, Mr. Workaholic. We understand.’

She thinks maybe she’s pushing it, but Holden smiles and reaches the other side of her waist, tickling just enough so that she groans for him to stop. ‘You’ve got it just as bad as I do,’ he tells her, and she can’t argue.

‘Wait, Holden.’ Marianne twirls her spoon in front of her space, brow furrowed, and a distant look on her face. ‘Can I ask you lot a personal question?’

‘Marianne—’

‘Don’t worry about it, Addie. I won’t bother them too much.’

Marianne does give her a reassuring smile, or what’s meant to be one, because Addie doesn’t feel particularly reassured. The girl, for all the love Addie holds for her, really has a thing for pushing the limits and boundaries without meaning to. Addie sinks into herself, arms crossed on her chest with Holden’s hand still resting on her waist, and hopes Marianne picks her approach carefully. Addie might know her well enough, but Drew and Holden don’t.

‘Sure,’ says Drew, leaning back in his chair. ‘What is it?’

Instead of responding, he looks at Holden until he agrees to it, too. She takes a deep breath, then, and gives them the shaky kind of confident smile as her fingers fix up her bun. ‘How important are romantic things in a relationship to guys?’

Addie resists dropping her head in her hands. She just sighs. Glares a little.

Lets it all unfold.

The hand on Addie’s waist moves a little, with no purpose. She can hear Holden breathe more deeply, as he always does when he’s trying to crack a problem. Drew, on the other hand, frowns; his eyes stare out of the window, the distance noticeable in them. Part of Addie wishes the question was never asked – part of it is as glad that it wasn’t bad as it is honest that maybe, Addie is curious about the answers, too.

‘Probably shouldn’t ask Holden that while Addie’s around,’ jokes Drew.

‘Ha-ha. Very funny.’

Drew looks at her and shrugs, a smile peeking through. (Addie found it a little bit funny and he can see it.) He sighs a little and scratches the place above his eyebrow, glancing at Marianne. ‘What kind of romantic things are we talking about?’

‘I don’t know.’ Marianne waves her hand in a vague motion, then lets it go back to fiddling with the bun. ‘Um, dates, quality time together, gifts or flowers or whatever, that romantic sappy kind of shite.’

‘It depends, then,’ Holden says, voice deep and laced in thought, just as Drew speaks with confidence, ‘Very important.’

Drew chuckles and Holden smiles, too, but Marianne doesn’t look very reassured, so Drew leans forward in the chair, placing his elbows on the table with his hands crossed. ‘Look, it depends on the guy, yeah, but most guys like the romantic stuff. Going on dates, getting flowers and chocolates, candlelit dinners and just spending quality time together is a big deal. Not having that is just kind of… I don’t know.’

Marianne nods. She’s looking at Drew as if she were soaking his words like a sponge, and not one that likes them.

‘I don’t really agree,’ says Holden, after letting out a little ‘hmmm’ sound. ‘I mean, it really depends on the guy, but also the partner. Look at Addie and I – we spend most of our time together at work, or doing work, and it’s something we love doing so the time we spend together doing that is what we’d consider quality time, right? And you don’t— We don’t need all that romantic stuff. If you know someone likes you, there’s no need to constantly show it. If it works already.’

Addie just stares at the ground. All eyes are on her, now, even if not physically – she can just feel the attention on her. Does she agree? Yes, for the most part, and it’s not her Marianne is asking this time. They’ve already spoken about this. Marianne knows Addie enjoys the approach she and Holden have with the relationship.

When she finally looks up, she catches Drew’s eyes for a moment, and then they’re gone before she can read them. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I guess it depends on your relationship and your boyfriend, then.’

‘My friend’s.’ Marianne nods with a smile that looks like it’s about to slip off. ‘I’m asking for a friend.’

Drew leans back. ‘Sure, yeah. I hope your friend manages to sort it out.’

Marianne thanks him, then makes a joke about the goulash being finger-licking, and within moments everything’s as if there wasn’t just a serious conversation. A little later, Addie walks Holden out, receiving a gentle kiss on the lips before he leaves. Drew sticks around for a little while longer and when Marianne invites Drew to their group’s annual Fourth of July party (very exclusive), Addie feels like it’s another unpredictable-Marianne moment she should’ve foreseen.

For better or worse, though, Drew shakes his head with a little sigh. ‘Thanks for the invitation, but I’ve already booked a flight home.’

‘Oh.’ Marianne nods, not even trying to hide her disappointment. ‘Shame. We throw the best parties around Atlanta.’

Drew chuckles, tugging his jacket sleeves over his arms. ‘I don’t doubt that for a second. I’ll catch one of them, at some point.’

‘Yeah. You should.’

Addie is leaning against the wall, watching them talk about their plans for the Fourth of July, and realises she’s happy that Holden’s met Drew. She’s happy he’s integrating into her friend group, at least bit by bit. It kind of makes everything more real; more permanent. Later, she finds out from Marianne that Drew messaged her, thanking her for the goulash experience. When she’s lying in bed, thinking about all the work she needs to do tomorrow because she slacked off today, a thought pops up: Marianne’s birthday is going to be soon, and that is bound to be a wholesome party.

Addie falls asleep with a smile on her face.

◇

19: THANKFUL

tagging. (let me know if you want to be tagged!) @jjmaybanksbaby @ofpinkfizz @snkkat @drewswannabegirl @yeslifeofateen @rudypnkw @stfukie @x-lulu @drewstarkey @butgilinsky @solllaris @hyperactive2411 @chasefreakinstokes @surferkie @jroseron @k-k0129 @starlightstories @rafecameron

#phone swap series #drew starkey #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey fic #outer banks #obx

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justmypartner · 3 years ago

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Make it Work: Chapter 7

Summary: When offered a permanent position with the FBI, Hailey agrees to take it under one condition: Jay comes too. As their personal lives and work lives begin to change, the two partners find it increasingly difficult to navigate their complex relationship and manage their feelings for one another.

Writer’s Note: Angst, angst, and more angst! Please push through it though, because next chapter will make up for it. I promise ;) 3 more chapters after this one! As always, thank you so so much for reading!!!

Tagging: @angelsjedi , @brookerz122493 , @cpdfan2014 , @the–carousel , @maya-asturias , @itsdesiree86 , @tvshowsaremyhappyplace

Read on AO3 or below

It wasn’t a dream, was the first thought in Jay’s mind when he woke up the next morning. He laid in bed, squinting at the shadows on his ceiling created by the sunlight creeping in through the shades on his window. A slew of curses fell from his mouth as memories from the night before flooded his mind. He became increasingly aware of the lingering effects of the liquor as his head pounded and the room seemed to spin around him. The deep desire for a glass of water was the only motivation getting him up and out of bed. He skipped his usual morning coffee, downing a few large glasses of water and painkillers in its place. As bad as managing a hangover at work sounded, nothing seemed worse to him than having to face Hailey. It should have made him relieved to see the feelings he had for her be reciprocated, but it wasn’t enough to ease the pain that came from leaving her all alone with those feelings up in the air.

He dragged himself into work, knowing his hangover was written all over his face. He didn’t care. All he cared about at that point was surviving the day and making sure he and Hailey were okay.

He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t relieved to see her desk empty when he entered the bullpen. He felt like he needed a few more moments to prepare himself before having to face her. He quietly made his way to his desk, slumping in his chair and taking a breather.

“Long night there, Halstead?” Walker asked over the monitor on Jay’s desk. His face scrunched up at the high volume of the man’s voice.

“Would you keep it down,” Jay said with a groan, eliciting a low laugh out of both Walker and Daisy who sat across from him, watching him suffer with amusement.

“Looks like it was a long night for Blondie there too,” Walker called out as his eyes tracked someone over Jay’s shoulder. He didn’t have to turn around to know he was talking about Hailey, but the nickname caught him off guard. She wasn’t big on nicknames, especially one like that. Reluctantly, he turned his head to see her walking in sluggishly as she tried to rub away the tired look in her eyes. She waved Walker and his teasing comments off before settling in her chair the same way Jay had.

“What’d you two get into last night?” Daisy questioned.

“Huh, wha- What do you mean?” Jay stuttered out nervously, the memories of the night before flashing in his mind. Memories so vivid he felt like he could still feel her breath against his face and her touch on his skin.

“What do I mean? I mean, why are you two rolling in here like a bunch of frat boys on a Sunday morning?” Daisy questioned with a laugh. Jay swallowed hard, looking over at Hailey whose eyes met his briefly before darting away.

“Right… that would be a bottle of tequila,” Hailey said plainly before busying herself on her computer. Jay did the same and their two fellow agents took the hint, shrugging off the pair’s avoidance and settling back at their desks. It was obvious she remembered the night before just as clearly as he did, and that made him nervous.

They were assigned a string of robberies that had taken place at a few high-security medical facilities around Midtown. Drake sent the two pairs out to a number of the facilities to interview witnesses and canvas. Jay was happy to be out of the office, but he knew the second the two of them were alone in the car, the awkward tension that existed in the office would only be ten times worse.

They climbed into the car quietly, driving in silence for a few minutes. However, it wasn’t their usual comfortable silence. The silence was deafening and Jay was distracted, something he knew could pose dangers in the field. He knew they had to air things out.

“Hailey, about last night-“ he began before she cut him off.

“Jay, no. It’s fine. We were both… very drunk,” she said with emphasis on the last two words. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ this time Jay cut her off.

“What? No, I’m the one that should be sorry. I didn’t want you to think that I…” his voice trailed off as he shook his head. How did he tell her he wasn’t fleeing because he didn’t have feelings for her, but the direct opposite of that? How did he tell her he wanted nothing more than to kiss her? That being with her was something he dreamt of for years, but not while his body and mind were drowning in tequila? These thoughts flipped through the forefront of his brain as he tried to piece together words he actually wanted to say to her.

“Jay, it’s fine. It’s a new day, we’ve got a pretty pressing case, let’s just focus on that, yeah?” She finally said, using his silence to shut down the conversation completely. He nodded, mentally kicking himself for his inability to put his thoughts into words.

When they arrived at the facility, they interviewed a few of the techs who were present at the time of the robberies. The men came in with rifles, threatening them to open cold storage containers before taking several experimental treatment vials and loading them into transport coolers. They then locked the techs in one of the backrooms before making their exits. The agents asked if there were any other facilities nearby that could be potential targets. The individuals named two companies nearby that would have similar facilities that possibly housed the same vials targeted by the offenders.

Jay and Hailey arrived at the first location, flashing their badges to the front desk worker and asking to be let up to the floor with cold storage. The man refused, insisting the pair must have the wrong place. Jay noticed blood on the collar of the man’s shirt, as well as a rip where a nametag should have been. Something didn’t feel right to him, and he looked over at Hailey to see if she had noticed it too. Her eyes confirmed this, and she pulled out her phone, checking the screen before looking up at Jay.

“Hey, boss got the address wrong. Sorry for the trouble,” she said. Jay nodded and they turned to make their way to the exit. His heart rate picked up as they turned their back to the man. They were vulnerable in that position, and they had no tactical advantage if their hunch was correct. A few steps from the door, Jay heard a click of metal from behind them. It was faint, but before he could even react, a gunshot was going off and Hailey was shoving him behind a large cement pillar to their right.

“Jay, get down!” She yelled as their bodies slammed against the ground and bullets rained down around them.

“You good?” she asked, hovered over him as she drew her weapon.

“Yeah, yeah, good,” he confirmed, trying to catch his breath and reaching for his own weapon.

Hailey called for backup as Jay drew cover fire from around the pillar. He retreated to reload as the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder behind the cover of the barrier.

“On three, cover me, I’m going to make my way to the other side so I can get a better shot,” Jay said to her. She nodded nervously as he started the count down.

He got to the number three, and she began firing at the man, drawing enough cover for Jay to successfully make it to the other side of the lobby with a much clearer shot. Jay got the man in his sights, adjusting slightly for the distance, and fired 3 rounds. Silence filled the lobby as the man fell to the floor with a thud.

“You good?” He called out to Hailey. There was a brief pause.

“Good,” she replied, sending a shock of relief through Jay’s entire body.

The next thing they knew, Walker and Daisy were bursting through the front doors with tact guys behind them.

“You two good?” Daisy called out as her eyes surveyed the room for the two partners.

“Yeah, all good,” Hailey replied as she and Jay made their way to their fellow agents.

“Nothing like a shower of bullets to knock the hangover out of you, am I right?” Walker teased as Hailey and Jay sent him a shared snarl.

Daisy knocked the man in the head jokingly as she handed Hailey and Jay a vest to put on before they made their way up to the higher floors to take down the rest of the offenders. As they secured their vests, Jay’s eyes remained on Hailey, reassuring himself that she was okay after being uncertain just a few minutes prior. Before they headed up the stairs with the rest of the team, he stopped her and pulled her to the side.

“Thank you… for pushing me out of the way back there. Pretty sure you saved my life,” he told her sincerely, as his hand found its way to her arm just below her shoulder. She smiled down at the floor before shaking her head lightly.

“It’s what partners do,” she nodded, bringing a hand to rest over his briefly before walking past him towards the stairs.

With that came a flood of relief. The avoidance, the tension, it all disappeared for a split second with her touch, and he felt like he was finally able to breathe for the first time that day. Despite what happened the night before, they were able to prove that no matter what, they were good together. He knew they still needed to talk. Whether that was just airing out what almost happened the night before or fully putting their feelings out on the table, he wasn’t sure. He was sure, however, that their partnership was unbreakable and no matter what happened, they were always going to be okay.

They followed the team up the stairs to take down the rest of the robbery crew. A shootout and multiple arrests later, they were on their way back to headquarters. On the drive there, it was mostly silent. From the corner of his eye, Jay saw Hailey release her hair from the tight ponytail it was in, shaking her curls loose as they fell to the sides of her head. He looked over briefly before bringing his eyes back to the road. It reminded him of earlier when Walker called her Blondie, and curiosity got the best of him.

“You know, earlier Walker called you Blondie,” he said with a quizzical tone. “I’m surprised he got away with it. If Adam would have ever called you that, he would’ve lost an arm or something,” he half-joked. She stifled a smile and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, we were at a bar the other night. I was a few drinks deep, and I may have gotten a little too enthusiastic when the band covered Heart of Glass. That and more obvious reasons led to the nickname. I’m not very fond of it, but the more I protest, the more I know he’ll want to use it so… non-reaction is the name of the game,” she told him with a shy smile. He raised his brows with a teasing smile that quickly fell at the thought of the two of them alone at a bar.

“You two, uh, you go out a lot, yeah?” He questioned, despite already feeling certain of her answer.

“A few times, yeah. He’s a good drinking partner when all you want to do is forget about the day and have a little fun. You should come with us sometime, he’ll challenge you to a game of darts and I’d love to see you kick his ass,” she told him with a large smirk.

“Yeah, maybe,” he responded.

The thought of destroying Walker in a game of darts sounded appealing, but he knew he’d never take her up on the offer if he could help it. He could barely take Walker’s flirty looks and comments for Hailey at work, let alone while tipsy in a crowded bar. He knew those feelings weren’t reciprocated from her end, but it was something Jay couldn’t stand to be around regardless.

Once back at headquarters, Jay and Hailey spent hours in interrogation with the men, trying to figure out why they were after the vials and how they knew about them in the first place. By the end of it all, they were able to find out that the leader of the crew had a sick wife. One of her doctors had mentioned an experimental drug treatment that was in the works, but it hadn’t yet hit the market and was only open for trials. His wife was denied entry into the trial, and the more her condition progressed, the more desperate he became. In a support group, he met a man who had recently gotten out of prison with connections to a former robbery crew. Being that they all had loved ones that could benefit from the treatment, the plans for the heists arose.

“I just wanted to save my wife. And those guys? They wanted to save their loved ones too,” the leader revealed to Jay and Hailey in the interrogation room.

“I get that, man. You just went about it the wrong way, and now your wife is going to lose not just the treatment but her husband too,” Jay said before rising from his chair and gathering the file from the table. Hailey was mostly quiet during the final portion of the interrogation, and she silently followed as Jay made his way out of the room.

“This sucks,” she said aloud as soon as the door to the room was closed. Jay questioned her silently, waiting for her to elaborate.

“It’s just… he was doing what he thought he had to do to save his wife, and now he’s probably going to lose her and everything else because of it,” she said in a defeated tone.

“Yeah, but Hailey he broke the law. He tried to cheat the system for his own benefit and hurt innocent people in the process,” he said, a stern look on his face.

“I know, I know, it’s just… Isn’t there some part of you that would want to do the same thing if you were in his position? If it were someone you loved?” she asked him, her eyes looking up at him, melting him in all of the ways only her eyes could.

The question opened something in him. He’d like to think he was strong enough in his morals to have made the right decision in the same situation, but then he thought about his mother. If there were a treatment that could have saved her, he probably would’ve gone to every measure necessary to ensure she got it. Then he thought about the woman before him. If Hailey were the one that needed that treatment, what would he do? He swallowed hard before nodding slowly as he bit the inside of his cheek. She had a point. He looked down at her, her eyes peering up into his, and that urge to tell her how he felt was back. Except, this time it wasn’t driven by a buzz and lowered inhibitions. It was driven by a deep feeling in his chest that seemed to pull his heart to hers. A feeling clearer than anything else in his life.

“Hailey, I think we-“ he began before a deep voice interrupted from behind him.

“Hey, you two! I know you went a little too hard last night, but how about we make it a streak and carry the party on to tonight? Huh? Beers, a game of darts, maybe some billiards?” Walker questioned as he threw an arm around the two of them.

“Uh,” Hailey let out as her gaze remained on Jay with with a look he was guessing to be curiosity surrounding his interrupted sentence.

“What do you say?” Walker asked, turning his head between the two of them as he waited for a response.

“Only if you let me choose the bar this time, that last one reeked of cigarettes. I was sure I got lung cancer just from opening the door,” Hailey finally said with a laugh.

Jay’s mood deflated quickly, and he wriggled out from the man’s hold.

“Uh as much fun as that sounds, I actually have plans tonight,” he lied. Hailey sent him a questioning look as Walker shrugged his shoulders.

“Just the two of us once again, Blondie,” Walker said with a wink that created a sick feeling in Jay’s stomach.

Every time Jay thought he was ready to tell her how he felt, something seemed to stand in the way and discourage him immediately. He was beginning to question whether or not it was worth it. Wondering if all of the roadblocks were just signs from the universe that they were better off as partners. He watched as she walked back to her desk and grabbed her coat, turning to look back at him briefly. It was a lingering look, a glimmer in her eyes he knew all too well. Then, Walker interrupted her to ask if she was ready to go, and the look was gone instantly. Yet, that one look was enough to send every bit of doubt he had right out of his head. As hard as he tried to fight it, he was in love with her. He wasn’t sure when or where, but someday soon he wasn’t going to be able to hold it in. One way or another, he knew they were meant to be together, and in that moment that was enough hope to make him smile through the ache of watching her walk away without him.

#upstead #jay x hailey #hailey x jay #jay halstead #hailey upton #chicago pd #upstead fic #justmypartner fics #collection of Em’s fics

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sokkascroptop · 4 years ago

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traitor. (sokka x f!reader) pt 13

part 1 | part 12 | part 14

A/N: Here’s a cute little part. Occurs in ‘the headband’ episode, but doesn’t encompass the whole episode, just the important parts :)

Y/N sat there in silence after Aang told her what he had learned in just one day at a Fire Nation school. What did that mean for her education of five years at one? She tugged one of their blankets around her shoulders because even next to the fire she was shivering. She felt like she had been punched hard in the stomach and all the wind was knocked out of her.

“I don’t know about this,” Aang whispered. “It feels wrong to steal someone else’s clothes.”

Katara and Y/N exchanged a look. “I call the silk robe!” Katara shouted as she jumped over the rocks they had hidden behind.

“But I guess if it’s for the good of humanity… I call the suit!” Aang followed her.

The rest of them joined and ran between the lines of clothes looking for anything that might fit. Y/N was reaching for a pair of pants when Katara stopped her. “Pick something else.”

“Why?”

“People are used to seeing you wear Fire Nation clothes. You’ll be more recognizable if you pick something you always wear.”

“Fine.” Y/N wrinkled her nose and pulled a deep red skirt from the clothesline.

“This too.” She whipped a shirt at Y/N’s face. When she caught a look at it she shook her head wildly. “No way!” Y/N worked to keep her voice low so the man they were stealing from couldn’t hear her. “It’ll be hard enough to fight in a skirt, Katara. I’m not wearing it.”

---

Y/N poked at the bare skin of her midriff. “I mean seriously, Katara. I have to shrug this shirt on like it’s a robe and it ties in the back. If a bad guy gets ahold of that I’ll be half-naked.”

Katara pulled her hair out of its braids and hair loopies and didn’t spare a glance at the other girl. “You complain almost as much as Sokka.”

Y/N huffed and crossed her arms. “I don’t.” She unwound the leather tie around her braid and let her hair hang loose down her back, tying a similar top knot to Katara’s. “Let’s just go find the others.”

“How do we look?” Katara asked the other three. Y/N gave a very unenthusiastic twirl. Y/N turned back to notice how Aang’s eyes widened and he blushed as he looked at Katara. Y/N raised an eyebrow and glanced at Katara’s face, who was looking back at Aang with soft eyes. What is going on here? Y/N hummed in thought.

“You look like a girl,” Sokka said as his eyes bounced from Y/N’s skirt to her face.

“Thank you for that astute observation. I am a girl,” Y/N replied drily.

Sokka was blushing furiously. “No, I mean–”

“Oh, Katara. Your necklace,” Aang interrupted.

Katara rubbed the carved bone. “I guess it’s pretty obviously from the Water Tribe.”

“Don’t worry,” she patted Katara’s shoulder. “We’ll get you something else in town so it doesn’t feel like you lost it.”

---

Y/N slid the new bracelet she had bought around her upper arm while she listened to Aang talk. All of them bought something to make their disguises more authentic, while also being able to feel more like themselves; a new Fire Nation necklace for Katara, a flame pin to hold together Sokka’s top knot, a headband for Toph and the bracelet to help hide the burn scar on Y/N’s bicep.

“I used to visit my friend Kuzon here a hundred years ago. Just follow my lead.” Aang confidently turned the corner of the building they were behind and winked at a guy on the street. “Greetings, my good hotman!”

Toph pulled on Y/N’s elbow. “Is this really how they talk in the Fire Nation?”

“Uhh.. you know, I didn’t go into the city much but I’m almost one hundred percent positive that no they don’t,” Y/N whispered.

“Spirits, do not stop him. This is hilarious,” Toph laughed as Aang tipped his head to another man walking by, calling him ‘hotman’.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I wish you could see the looks people are giving him.”

The five of them stopped in front of a restaurant. “Oh, I didn’t know we were going to a meat place,” Aang said a little dejectedly

“Everyone here eats meat!” Sokka exclaimed. “Even the meat!” He pointed over to a cow-hippo who was eating meat off the ground. Y/N’s stomach turned at the sight. Maybe she didn’t want to eat meat today either.

---

Aang left, promising to meet them in the same spot outside after he found something vegetarian. Ten minutes had passed and there was still no sign of him. Katara was beginning to pace with worry.

“He could have gotten lost looking for something to eat, right?” She asked the rest of them.

“We could go look around for him?” Y/N offered. When she noticed the hint of fear in Katara’s eyes, she added, “Nothing happened to him of course. He probably just got lost! Or he’s looking at some shop. How about you and Toph stay here, wait for him to see if he comes back. Sokka and I can wander the town looking for him.”

“We can?” Sokka asked.

Y/N nudged his ribs.

“We can,” he confirmed. He popped the last bit of his elk-caribou kebab in his mouth and threw the stick away. “Aang will come back and we’ll feel silly for being worried about him.”

“I hope you’re right, Sokka.” Katara said.

---

“Ooh, let’s look in this shop,” Sokka marveled, pulling Y/N along with him. It was only a shop full of little trinkets and bags but everything Sokka saw excited him.

“What do you think of this bag?” Sokka tossed the strap over his shoulder and posed.

“You have an Earth Kingdom bag back at camp that looks the same,” she retorted.

Sokka rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but now that we’re here, I need a Fire Nation one.”

Y/N shrugged and Sokka took that as her statement on what she thought of the bag. He placed it back on the table and picked up a ceramic box. “What about this box?” he asked.

She took it from his outstretched hands and inspected it. It was a black box with a golden Fire Nation flame on top. “What are you going to put in the box?” she asked as she handed it back to him.

“I–um, cool rocks that I find?”

Y/N hummed, amused. “And what are you going to do with the box full of cool rocks?”

“Put it in my bag,” Sokka muttered. “Fine! I won’t get it!”

---

“You’re not very fun to shop with.” Sokka said when they left.

Y/N looked up at the sun to check the time. “We’re supposed to be looking for Aang, not shopping.”

Sokka waved his hands. “Aang is fine. He’s the Avatar, he can take care of himself.”

“I’m assuming by the way Katara reacted that he doesn’t necessarily go off by himself a lot.”

“Katara–” he paused to think of the right word, “–she mother-hens us.” He held up his hands defensively. “Not that I’m saying we don’t need it, because sometimes it’s nice, but she worries entirely too much.”

Y/N stopped a fruit stand and picked up a ripe peach. “I don’t know, it’s kind of nice.” She passed along a few coins to the merchant and handed a second one to Sokka.

“How is it nice?” Sokka asked, then bit into the flesh of the peach.

“I don’t know. The way I grew up there was never anyone worried about when I would come home, you know? I just came and went as I pleased and then when I moved to the palace it was the same way.”

“You lived at the palace?” Sokka blurted out.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Y/N watched as Sokka cut the pit of the peach out with a small knife and tossed it into the road. He nodded at her to continue. “I moved to the capital to go to school and about a year after, I moved into the palace.” She bit into the peach and wiped the juice off her chin with the back of her hand.

“Why though? Why not live with your parents?” He asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

“I’m just trying to figure you out,” Sokka stuttered.

“Why?” Y/N giggled. She abruptly stopped when Sokka blushed and gave her a look she couldn’t decipher.

“I just want to,” he finally said. “We don’t know anything about you.”

“Well, if you must know–it’s embarrassing–but my parents encouraged it actually. They were ecstatic that I was able to get close to the Royal Family and even though we weren’t nobility they had this absurd fantasy that I could marry Zuko.” Y/N covered her face in humiliation.

Sokka shared a look of disgust. “Fire Prince Ponytail, huh?”

She smiled at the joke, but it faded quickly; the hurt of Zuko’s betrayal still heavy on her heart. “He wasn’t always like that.” Y/N ran quickly to his defense. “I knew him when he was still good.”

Sokka collapsed on the ground and leaned up against a wall. “So tell me about it.”

Y/N sat next to him and bumped his arm with her shoulder. “About what?”

“Your palace life, Princess.”

---

The sun was setting when her and Sokka headed back to the cave. The streets were lined with paper lanterns and Y/N could hear lively music being played somewhere. It was busier than it was during the heat of the day and Sokka and Y/N were frequently bumped into from all sides, right into one another. Finally, after losing him twice in the crowd she looped her arm through his. She felt him tense up under her touch, but immediately relaxed.

“Oh, hey, what’s that?” She pointed off in the distance to a wooden board that looked like it had pictures posted all over it. She weaved them around the crowd to stand in front of it. It was a bulletin board full of advertisements, lost items, found items, and wanted posters. Her eyes ran across the assortment of them–The Blue Spirit, an Admiral named Jeong-Jeong–until her eyes landed on one in particular.

“Yeah, they put these out when we first started traveling with Aang.” Sokka poked at a yellowing poster of Aang in his airbender clothes. “Luckily they won’t be hunting for him anymore.”

“Yeah. They aren’t hunting you,” Y/N pointed at the only poster that drew her attention. The one with a similar likeness to her face. “But I think they’re hunting me now.”

Sokka peered around them to see if anyone was watching and ripped the poster down and shoved it in his pocket. “We need to tell the others.”

They only stopped running when they reached the mouth of the cave, the sun low in the sky.

“Where were you two?!” Katara scolded. “We waited for you to come back but you never did!”

“We looked around for Aang but–” Sokka started. He unfolded the poster from his pocket.

“Well did you find him?” She asked.

Sokka and Y/N shared a look. “You mean you didn’t?” Y/N fretted.

“No and Toph and I came back here when we couldn’t find anyone–”

The four of them jumped a noise outside. Y/N reached back instinctively to grab the hilt of her sword just when Aang strode in with Momo perched on his shoulder. His clothes were muddy and there was dirt on his face like he’d been chased through the woods but he was smiling. “Hey guys!”

“Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick!” Katara raced to pull him into a hug.

Aang sheepishly pulled off his headband. “I got invited to play with some kids after school.”

Sokka’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “After what?!”

“I enrolled in a Fire Nation school and I’m going back tomorrow.”

“Enrolled in what?!” Y/N thought Sokka was going to pass out.

“Let’s just sit down and talk about it,” Y/N suggested.

“I’m learning about all the propaganda they teach–”

Behind her, Y/N knew that Sokka was still talking, still flailing his arms around but she couldn’t hear the words he was saying because–

“Propaganda?”

Everyone froze, unsure of what to do next. Y/N could hear Toph behind her by the fire. “Oh no.”

“Um–”

Y/N wasn’t sure what to think. “No, don't even think about not telling me! What do you mean they teach propaganda at Fire Nation schools?”

---

What did Sokka, Katara, Aang and Toph think of her as they realized that these were the things that she grew up learning? That she had foolishly believed that the Air Nomads–known pacifists–had created an army big enough to destroy the Fire Nation so they had to be taken out first. That the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes, after hearing of the destruction of all the Air Temples and supposedly the Avatar, had joined together and invaded the Fire Nation. That she had believed in and supported the idea that the Fire Nation was doing the right thing, that cleansing the world of troublemakers and creating obedience and peace in the villages was ‘the only way’.

In the back of her mind, Y/N was trying to reason with herself, You knew the whole time. That’s why you left, that’s why you're trying to do good with the Avatar; to right the wrongs of your Nation. But it didn’t matter. She’d believed long enough for it to be harmful.

“Not to take away from the frankly alarming things we just learned but–” Sokka handed Aang the poster. “–we also found this when Y/N and I were in town.”

“What is it?” Toph asked.

“It’s a wanted poster for Y/N,” Aang muttered.

Katara jumped up to join him in reading it. Y/N didn’t need to see it again. She’d memorized it the first time she laid eyes on it.

And suddenly, her day was ruined. She couldn’t remember the taste of the peach she had eaten that afternoon or the feeling of the sun on her face. She couldn’t remember what the music sounded like as her and Sokka wandered out of town or what it felt like to spill her life story to someone who wanted to listen.

“Maybe I should go,” Y/N said numbly.

“What?” Katara said looking up from the poster.

“I’m putting you all in danger by being around you. Without me you’d be free to roam without the fear of being caught in the back of your minds all the time. It would be better for all of you like that!” Y/N was starting to get mad. Why couldn’t they see it? Why couldn’t they understand that this is the best option for everyone? That she was trying to save them?

“Why would you say something like that? How is that better?” Toph argued.

“Because you don’t need me here anyways? How could you want me around after hearing what Aang learned at school. Mind you, up until ten minutes ago, I believed every one of those things to be true!” Y/N stood up and paced around the cave, no longer able to be sitting still. Their campfire threw wild shadows of her form on the walls.

Y/N was beginning to feel like her outburst was due to more than just learning about Fire Nation propaganda but she couldn’t stop her mouth from moving. She stopped in front of them all for a second. “Tell me exactly what purpose do I serve on this mission?”

She took their silence for an answer. “Exactly,” Y/N growled.

Sokka stood up with her. “Not everything needs an exact purpose! You just fit with us!”

“But I don’t!” Y/N shouted. Her eyes and nose were stinging with unshed tears. Y/N rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands to keep the tears at bay for just a second longer. “I need a reason. I need a purpose. I have to have one! I don’t know how to describe this feeling. I’m just... lost. And–and I don’t even know how to explain it to you. How do I try and explain that my life has no meaning when I have no one to serve? I sit here with you guys and I’m wondering how you even wanted me to come when there was no reason for me to be here? I can’t even be your Fire Nation guide because I’ve never even seen most of the cities and apparently, I don’t even know my own history!”

Y/N looked at Katara. She blinked and twin tears traced down her cheeks. “I told you. I’m weak. I care about someone who wants me dead so badly she made me a wanted person. And all I want is to make her better so I can go home and I just can’t get past it all.”

Y/N put her head in her hands and sobbed. She felt two arms wrap around her waist and a head lay on her shoulder. Two more arms wrapped around the both of them. And pretty soon all five of them stood huddled in the cave in a group hug.

Y/N sniffled. “Why are you all comforting me like you’re my friends?”

“You are our friend,” Katara murmured into Y/N’s shoulder. “Don’t you want to be friends with us?”

Y/N whimpered. “I really do. I guess I just needed to hear you say it.”

“If it makes you feel better. I have no problem bossing you around.” Toph’s voice was muffled from the pile they were in.

Y/N smiled through her tears. “Thanks, Toph.”

---

A/N: listen, I don’t care if I made you cry, because I cried while writing that scene more than once and that’s all that matters.

Taglist: @myexgirlfriendisthemoon @reclusive-chicken-nugget @astroninaaa @aangsupremacy @beifongsss @crownofcryptids @welovediaaxx @littlefluu @lozzybowe @thebluelcdy @ohjustlookalive @sugarmoongey @fanficdepot @teenbiology @13-09-01 @riespage @davnwillcome @naanlianid @creation-magician @lunariasilver @vintagerose1014516 @bcifcng @rockinearthbending-marauders @francesciak @thia-aep @aphrcditeee @milk-n-cheese @solarsuki @sendnuwudes @humbleseame @my--shitty--art @lovingcupcake51002 @loganrwebb @celia-not-cecilia @treestarrrrrrrr @p--e--a--c--h--e--s@velveteencurls @izzieserra @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak

#atla #atla fics #sokka x reader #sokka x you #sokka x y/n #sokka #katara #aang #toph beifong #zuko #azula #ty lee #mai #avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #avatar #avatar resurgence #avatar fic #avatar renaissance

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kissinginkitchens · 3 years ago

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You Bring Me Home—Chapter Two: Where the Heart Is

a/n: Thank you so much for all of the love you have shown to part one! I’m so glad to see that you’re enjoying YBMH so far, the story is just getting started. I hope you’ll stick around for the full thing, so without further ado, here’s chapter two! As always, my inbox is open so feel free to come chat with me when you have finished this part :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drug use

Word Count: 5.1k

read part one here

The phone screen flickers to life at the touch of Harry’s finger, flashing the exact same time that it had the last time he checked, though it feels like hours have passed since then. He sighs at the disappointing revelation and turns his phone over so that the screen meets the aged wood of the piano where it rests. In all honesty, Harry has no idea why he agreed to the interview in the first place. He had skillfully dodged the hundreds of requests for an exclusive tell-all following the untimely split of One Direction and successfully avoided the prying eyes of the general public for several months. So why had he indulged the first request from a girl he hardly knew without so much as a blink? The answer seemed a frustrating mystery to him, but to anyone else, the fluttering in his stomach when he caught a glimpse of her yellow Ford Bronco pulling up to the studio and the way he instinctively raked a hand through his hair gave the answer away.

“I know I’m late, I’m sorry!” Alani apologizes, emerging from the car with a notebook nestled under her arm and a smoothie in each hand. She closes the door with her hip before making a beeline to the studio entrance where Harry stands, his right shoulder leaning against the doorframe with the same stoic expression Alani recognizes as his signature look.

“I had to get my sister to cover for me at the café and then I got lost because Google sent me to a Napua restaurant instead of the recording studio,” she rambles in an attempted continuation of her apology. “But anyway, this is for you. A peace offering and a thank you for doing this.”

Harry gingerly takes the green smoothie from her outstretched hand and offers a curt nod in response before ushering her inside.Alani pushes her sunglasses up and settles them into her windswept waves, trailing behind Harry and taking in the space. In one corner across the room, she notices a couple of brightly colored tapestries thumbtacked to the wall with a microphone stand perched in the center, all encased behind a screen of plexiglass. The adjacent wall is lined with guitars all standing at attention and glimmering, despite the dim lighting. Harry stops at the doorway of another room with a couch and a coffee table, the floor littered with wires and pieces of crumpled paper. He motions Alani to step inside and then clears his throat, which catches the attention of two other long-haired men chatting with amused expressions on their faces.

“Sorry lads,” Harry crosses his arms with eyes glued to the floor to avoid their questioning stares. “‘Fraid I have to intrude. Can we have this room?”

One of the men grins behind a full beard, popping a peanut M&M into his mouth before standing. “Sure thing, boss man. Let’s bounce, Rowland.”

The other man, also bearded but smaller in stature with a thin, pointed nose nods silently. He continues twirling two drumsticks between his fingers and points one of them at Harry in passing. Alani offers polite smiles at the both of them, and a quiet “thank you” falls from her lips as they exit without another word. Harry closes the door behind them and gestures to the couch, which she takes as her cue to sit.

“I like the uniform,” Alani smiles, gesturing to her hair as a comment on the fact that the three men all share similar lengths and styles.

“Thanks,” is all Harry says, taking a seat across from hers and clearly dismissing her attempt at humor.

To pacify the urge to fill the uncomfortable silence, Alani sips her strawberry smoothie and steals a glance through her eyelashes at Harry who is doing the same. She clears her throat after a minute and sets the drink on the table in front of her; a notebook takes its place on her lap.

“Thank you again for doing this, I really appreciate it,” Alani offers while digging through her bag for her phone. “I’m gonna record this on voice notes, just for the sake of quoting you accurately.”

“Sure,” Harry replies, occupying his gaze with the condensation trickling from the cup onto his fading black jeans.

Dry retorts from everyone else, especially customers, have little effect on the way Alani conducts herself. But every short comment from Harry, or lack thereof, makes her feel like a bug under a microscope. She settles her phone onto the coffee table and takes a deep breath to calm the trembling that spreads from her chest into her fingers and toes.

“So first, I wanted to ask about your time in Hawai’i. Are you enjoying it so far?” Alani poses the question lightly, hoping to open him up just enough to extract the story that she’s really looking for.

“It’s nice,” Harry nods, finally meeting her expectant stare. When she doesn’t respond for a beat, he clears his throat and adds on to the statement. “Weather’s good,”

Alani musters a half-hearted smile and glances down at the questions on her page. This is going to take for-fucking-ever, she sighs.

“Is that what drew you here—vacation? Getting away?”

“Yeah, pretty much,”

The row of guitars behind the singer catches her attention suddenly and guides the next question.

“And to write or.. record?”

Harry shifts in his seat, calculating his response carefully. “Both,”

“Solo stuff?”

Alani watches as he takes a slow sip of his smoothie and crosses his legs, an action which tells her that she’s struck a dead end. Or, at the very least, a door that she hasn’t gained his trust to open yet.

“You were with One Direction for half a decade,” She recovers. “Constantly releasing new music and touring. But now you’re here, doing neither, and haven’t done so for almost a year. What is that transition like?” Alani isn’t sure if Harry will answer when she poses the question, but to her surprise he meets her gaze and nods, as if to say that he accepts the inquiry.

“It’s different than anything I’ve ever done, for sure,” he starts slowly. It’d be a lie to say that he hasn’t given the breakup and, subsequently, his future outside of the band much thought. He thinks about it every day, especially his bandmates and their supportive fans. That much he has been able to unpack privately, but the rest of it—the sudden need to escape and write new music— is still something he can’t quite put into words, so he leans into the nostalgia and hopes it’ll suffice.

“Like you said, it’s been non-stop for the past five years, so I guess it is a bit jarring to come to a sudden halt after so much momentum. Obviously, it’s nice to have the time off, but I love putting out music and touring it. I wouldn’t trade that for anything,”

Alani is grateful to have more than a couple of words of material, despite the fact that it doesn’t really answer the question or tell her anything new about the man sitting crossed legged and closed off in front of her. Looking through her notes, Alani selects another question and embarks on a new angle.

“You were really young when all of that began,” she starts, thinking about how she could never have left her family and home at just 16. Hell, she was 22 and still figuring it out. Hopefully, if all things went well with this interview and Rolling Stone, she would finally find the opportunity to do it. “Do you ever think about where you would be if you hadn’t auditioned for X-Factor?”

Harry knows that she’s playing it safe, trying to feel him out and test the buttons she can push. He also knows that he’s being difficult, much more so than usual due to his nerves. So with an unfamiliar pang in his chest, he decides to relent the tiniest bit.

“Well, I’m starting to think maybe I could’ve been a professional surfer,” he offers matter-of-factly which makes Alani flash an amused grin. Harry’s sudden humor makes the room a bit less suffocating for the both of them and she’s grateful for it.

“Surfing, huh? This I have to see.” she quips back, suddenly trying to picture him ditching the black skinny jeans for a wetsuit.

He nods with a faint smirk. “Maybe you will.”

Alani meets his gaze with a shy smile of her own and her eyes fall to his lips for a brief second. The almost imperceptible action sends another foreign jolt through Harry’s chest. She opens her mouth to resume questioning when a loud bang startles them both and causes Harry to spin in his seat, looking through the glass window of the sound booth.

“Sorry!” A man with short, blonde hair and a fading tie dye shirt laughs while lifting the tipped over drum cymbals. “Don’t mind us!”

The two men from earlier straggle in behind and poorly conceal their own fits of laughter. Harry flashes his middle finger briefly, mouthing something that Alani can’t see but knows is undoubtedly rude. She suppresses a giggle and sneaks a glance at her phone, which indicates only a few minutes worth of dialogue. When she lifts her head, the door opens and the blonde man peeks his head in.

“Hello,” he greets with an extended hand before entering and taking a seat next to Alani on the couch. “Tom Hull, or Kid Harpoon...or just Tom, whatever you like best,”

She accepts his hand eagerly, not missing the way Harry pinches the bridge of his nose in her peripheral vision. “Mahealani Hale, or just Alani. Nice to meet you,”

“Wow, beautiful name,” Tom compliments. “Sorry to interrupt, I didn’t realize you had company, H,”

“She was just—”

“I’m writing about-” The two speak at the same time, making brief eye contact before Harry turns his attention back to Tom.

“Did you need something?” He asks. Tom’s eyes dart between Harry and Alani before he clears his throat and reclines in his seat.

“Just dropping by to see if you wanted to go for lunch...” he trails off, which Alani takes as a cue to start gathering her belongings.

“Kind of busy here,” Harry offers with a glance back at the girl seated awkwardly across from him. “Another time,”

At this, Tom turns to Alani and ignores his friend’s protests. “Alani, do you eat lunch?”

Before responding, she casts an apprehensive glimpse at Harry who has suddenly become very intrigued by the drink in his lap, purposefully avoiding her eyes.

“Uh.. well yeah, but I don’t-”

“Great! Have lunch with us,”

“Mate—” Harry speaks up.

Tom grins, shrugging. “What? You plan on starving the poor girl?”

“I really can’t, but thank you for the offer,” Alani explains with a sheepish smile, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “It was really nice to meet you Tom. And thank you again, Harry, I’ll see you around.”

The musician watches her shuffle out of the sound booth quietly and turns his attention back at Tom, who sits with an incredulous look on his face.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” He asks, standing. “Go after her, dickhead!”

“It’s not like that she’s-”

“I really don’t give a fuck about your excuses, go!”

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes, looking out the window as Alani slips through the front door.

She fishes her keys out of her bag and sighs when a familiar voice says her name.

“Alani!” Harry calls from the doorway, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. He makes his way down the steps and over to the driver’s side where she ghosts the key over the ignition.

“Come have lunch...please?”

“It’s okay,” she purses her lips together politely. “I don’t wanna get in the way,”

Harry catches his lower lip between his teeth and runs a hand through his hair, choosing his next words thoughtfully.

“No, you’re not—you won’t,” he starts. “I would really like it if you joined us for lunch, especially since our time got interrupted. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Alani can’t help the way her stomach flips at the words “our time” that fall from his lips and she finds herself nodding in agreement before her mind has had a chance to intervene.

She makes her way to the passenger seat of the Range Rover parked behind the studio, which she learns is where all of Harry’s entourage keeps their vehicles. A variety of brightly colored vintage cars are neatly parked, and it amuses her that Harry skips all of them, instead going straight for the black SUV with darkly tinted windows. At least he’s consistent, she smirks. As Alani climbs into the car, she is met by the warmth of Harry’s scent—something woodsy and vanilla— and the fact that she recognizes it makes her heart pound.

“You can connect your phone,” Harry nods to the stereo as he buckles his seatbelt. “To the Bluetooth, I mean, if you’d like.”

��“Really?” she asks, brow raised in mild disbelief.

“Only if you play something good,” he teases with a stony expression, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. Alani takes that as a challenge, scrolling through various playlists as Harry peels away onto the main road. Over the speakers, the beginning of “Don’t Worry Baby” by The Beach Boys surrounds the two of them.

“Is this to your liking, my liege?” Alani poses in an exaggerated British accent that makes Harry cringe, though the small grin on his face gives away his endearment.

“Yes, but please don’t do that accent ever again,”

“So you admit it, you’re the one with the accent,” she wiggles her brows, eyes peeling away from the view out her window to Harry in the driver’s seat.

“If it’ll get you to never do that one again, sure,” “Dunno, love,” she continues, watching the coast shimmer under the afternoon sun. “Think it kinda suits me,”

Harry shakes his head and checks the rearview mirror to make sure that he hasn’t lost Tom, Mitch, and Jeff in the car trailing behind.

“What’s it like?” Alani questions, studying the perfect slope of his pointed nose and strawberry pout.

“What’s what like?”

“England,”

Harry thinks for a second, recalling his London flat, lunches with his mum and sister, the streets of Trafalgar Square, and Abbey Road.

“Rainy,” is all he says.

Alani scoffs, which draws his attention over to where she lounges in his passenger seat, sitting comfortably as if it was exactly where she belonged. “That’s all?”

“What?” He questions, though he knows exactly what she means and is perfectly aware of his own stubbornness.

“Just seems like... I don’t know, such a generic description for a place you consider home,”

Harry mulls her response over, the word “home” especially catching his interest. It’s a strange concept in his mind because while, yes, England is where he has spent the majority of his life and where the people he loves most reside, he has never truly felt connected to just one place. And after spending his formative years traveling the world, who could blame him?

“It’s... safe,” he tries again, attempting to verbalize what he’s feeling. “When I’m there, I mean, I feel safe. Like I don’t have to be anyone or do anything specific, I can just... be. No expectations,”

Alani lets Harry’s words sit between them for a moment, sensing that there is still more he wants to say. When she doesn’t respond after a minute, he continues in an effort to clarify and fill the lull in the conversation.

“I used to think that London was just a starting point and that if I could make it to LA, it would mean that I had really made it, and I would feel more at home there,” he continues, slow and calculated. “But I dunno... when I’m there it still feels like an extended holiday, like I’m just buying time until I leave for the next place. London doesn’t feel like that, feels much more constant... so yeah, I guess it is home,”

As if she had read his mind earlier, Alani adds on. “Not to mention that’s where your family is, I’m assuming,”

Harry nods, once again thinking of his mum and sister. The image of their beaming faces brings the shadow of a dimple to his cheek. “Yeah,”

“What’s your family like?” She continues, truly interested and forgetting for a moment about the article she still has to write.

“Kind of small, I guess. S’really just my sister and my mum, but they’re,” Harry pauses, searching for the right words, “They’re the best. My mum’s probably the kindest woman I’ve ever met. Feel pretty lucky with that one, considering what a pest I was as a child,” he chuckles lightly and it’s a sound that Alani hadn’t heard up to this point, but one she knows she’ll replay in her mind over and over again.

“Gem’s pretty patient too—and brilliant, always the studious one,” he adds finally, a dreamy look on his face that Alani much prefers to the stoic one he always dons. .

“Ah yes, there’s always one,” she nods, catching the quirked brow he offers in response.

“Oh yeah? Are you the one in your family?”

“I guess so. School just seemed to come easily to me,”

“And what made you want to study journalism?” He questions, stopping to let a woman and her toddler cross.

Alani thinks about it for a moment while twirling a strand of fabric from the hem of her ripped shorts around her finger.

“I’ve always loved to write, ever since I was really little— like short stories and stuff. And I don’t know, I guess I like the idea of traveling and seeking out a story, too.”

Harry nods understandingly, pulling up to a curb across the street from a restaurant that Alani has frequented. It’s relatively empty at Pineapples for a summer afternoon, though most tourists don’t stray too far from the beaches, so Hilo maintains a healthy local population at all times. The pair climb out of the car and Alani makes her way to the rear where the rest of the group has parked. One of the men from earlier greets her with an outstretched hand while Harry chats with the other two that emerge.

“Hi I’m Jeff, it’s nice to meet you.” He smiles warmly, pushing his sunglasses into his hair.

“Alani. It’s nice to meet you, Jeff,”

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be rude by not saying hi it’s just-”

Alani dismisses his concern with a wave of her hand. “Oh don’t worry about it! I was kind of nervous then, too. I don’t know if he told you, but I’m interviewing Harry,”

“Oh, right! Yeah, he did mention that I think,” Jeff recalls, “Which magazine are you with?”

“None.” Yet, Alani thinks, her mind wandering to the Rolling Stone rejection letter. “It’s for a class, I’m a journalism major. Harry was just being nice and agreed to let me write about his music,”

Jeff nods. “Got it. You know, he’s not normally this serious. Just got a lot on his mind but he’ll loosen up,” he explains quietly just as Alani and Harry’s eyes meet. She quickly averts her gaze back to the kind, bearded man standing before her.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” she smiles appreciatively.

“Where’s Jeffrey?” Harry speaks up, catching her attention. She looks back to Jeff, confused, before he shakes his head.

“Other Jeff, his manager.” He explains.

“Probably already inside, he said he’d meet us here.” Mitch pipes up.

With that, the rest of the crew head into the restaurant while Alani stays a few steps behind to follow their lead.

“Y’okay?” Harry asks, shuffling along beside her.

Alani startles slightly at his unexpected presence, but relaxes as their strides fall into sync.

“Yeah, thanks. And thank you for the invite, too.” She offers, the corners of her mouth upturned softly. Harry responds with a tight-lipped smile of his own and clears his throat before holding the door open for her.

In the far corner of the restaurant near the open balcony, Harry’s manager Jeff waves the group over to the table he saved. Everyone exchanges greetings and settles into their seats, the two at the end facing each other remain open for Alani and Harry.

“Jeff, this is..Mahealani, did I get that right?” Tom gestures to Alani for approval.

She nods and waves. “Yes, but you can just call me Alani,”

“Nice to meet you,” Jeff calls from the other end of the table, glancing over to Harry in search of an explanation for her presence.

“I’m writing a piece about Harry and his music,” Alani offers. “But I’d love to talk to all of you, if you have a chance.”

Jeff nods, still shooting Harry a knowing look. “Yeah, sure thing.”

The two Jeffs, Tom, and Mitch engage in their own conversations, mostly inside jokes that go over Alani’s head. Harry watches, silent for most of the interaction and barely engaging the girl seated across from him, though he is overwhelmingly aware of her presence. When the server comes to take their order, warmth floods to Alani’s cheeks.

“Alani, hey!” the tall server greets, flashing a handsome, pearly-white smile. “Long time, no see. You’re looking good as always,”

“Mahalo, David. You look good, as well,” She smiles politely, catching onto the way that Harry sits a little straighter in her peripheral vision. David still pays no regard to the rest of the table, but his gaze momentarily flickers over Harry and sizes him up before returning to Alani.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were on a date,” he apologizes, which makes Alani’s eyes bulge and Mitch snicker beside her.

“Oh no, we’re not—“

“He’s just—” Alani and Harry speak at the same time, eyes darting to one another before she explains.

“I’m... working on something—an article,” she says, and David nods understandingly.

“Oh...right. Big-shot reporter, I almost forgot,” David teases in a snide way that makes Harry’s blood boil with annoyance. “Anyways, what can I get you all? The usual for you, right Alani?”

She nods curtly while the rest of the group take turns ordering. After the server has gone, Harry notices a shift in her easy-going demeanor and decides that it’s his turn to break the ice.

“Come here often then?” He poses gently, taking a sip of his lemonade.

Her lips press into a tight line as her eyes wander to the other patrons. “Yeah, kinda,”

“Asshole ex-boyfriend ruined that, I’m guessing?”

Alani lets out an amused breath and shakes her head.

“He’s not my ex. I mean we went out, like, once in high school... and maybe a handful of times in college but that’s it, really,”

Harry studies the uneasiness in her expression trying, and failing, to understand what she’s holding back.

“Seems like you dodged a bullet,” he confides, leaning in. Alani’s eyes meet his and her pursed lips ease into a small grin, which Harry mirrors with a simper of his own. As he rests his smooth chin in his palm, she notices a large, healing scab along the underside of his forearm, and her brows furrow.

“How’d that happen?” Alani asks.

“He jumped out a window,” Mitch intervenes. “Though to be fair, he was high,”

Harry shoots a deathly glare at Mitch and turns back to Alani. “It was a one-time thing.”

“It was shrooms,” Mitch replies with an amused smirk.

“Hardcore,” Alani giggles lightly.

Mitch swirls the straw in his mimosa with his index finger while extending a pinky at Alani. “You do drugs?”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her Mai Tai. “Smoked weed a few times, though not enough to consider myself a pothead, I guess,”

Mitch snorts and steals a glance at Harry. “Pot makes our boy sleepy, and hungry. Alcohol makes him giggly. Shrooms get him buzzed just right,”

Harry’s cheeks flush and he averts his gaze past Alani where families and visitors roam the streets outside.

“Jumping out a window’s ‘just right’? I’d hate to see what going overboard looks like.” she teases, watching the blush of embarrassment creep across the bridge of Harry’s nose and cheeks.

“Keeps things interesting.” Mitch shrugs, turning back to Jeff to join his previous conversation.

Alani feels a strange sense of endearment wash over her at the thought of a giggly Harry, dimples replacing a deeply furrowed brow. In the short time she’d known and served him at the café, she’d only ever seen him reserved—polite, at best. Alani had hoped that interviewing Harry would provide some insight into his mysterious background, but she didn’t imagine that she would want to know more than what could be penned in her article. In the few minutes spent mingling with him and his friends, she began to think that maybe there was something worth getting to know, not just professionally, but before she can give it a second thought, David returns with their food.

“Thanks, Derek.” Harry says, flashing a facetious grin at David who stands confused for a second before sauntering back to the kitchen. Alani laughs, quickly clasping a hand over her mouth, and Harry’s stomach flips at the sound. He immediately wishes he knew what else he could do to hear it again.

Alani scrapes the last bits of potato off her plate and leans back in her seat, patting her growing food baby.

“I’m thinking of naming mine Oliver, you?” She sighs contentedly.

“Anne, after my mum,” he quips back, pulling out his wallet.

Alani reaches into her bag for her own, but Harry shakes his head and speaks up. “Don’t worry about it, ‘s on me,”

“Oh, no Harry you really don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, slipping his card onto the small clipboard attached to their receipts.

“Thank you,” Alani smiles, feeling warmth spread through her limbs, but she assumes that it’s mostly due to the rum in her system.

Harry pushes a lock of hair behind his ear and returns the wallet to his back pocket without another word. While there is no alcohol coursing through his blood, he refuses to believe that the burning in his cheeks has anything to do with the girl seated before him.

Alani climbs back into the passenger’s seat of the SUV while Harry settles behind the wheel. He braces his right hand behind the headrest of her seat and skillfully reverses, only becoming aware of their proximity when he turns back to switch gears. Alani peels her eyes from his and focuses on finding a playlist for their journey back to the studio, her mind racing as she clicks shuffle. Harry’s arm retreats, much to Alani’s disappointment, and his ears perk up when he hears the familiar chimes at the beginning of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere”.

“‘S a good one,” Harry breaks the silence, tapping on the steering wheel. “Christine always says it’s her favorite,”

“Christine...McVie?” Alani questions with an eyebrow quirked. “You know Christine McVie?”

“Kind of,” he shrugs, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk.

“Do you know Stevie Nicks?”

“Yeah. She lives in London,”

“Holy shit!” Alani marvels, covering her mouth in excitement.

Harry chuckles lightly, stealing a glance over at Alani still processing the news. “Big fan?”

She whips her head away from the window and scoffs. “Massive. Named my car Stevie, actually,”

“Hardcore,” Harry teases, echoing her own comment about his psychedelic escapades.

“Yes, Mr. Spider-Man. In my own right, I suppose it is hardcore,” Alani retorts.

“I thought Spider-Man climbed buildings. Don’t think he jumped out of them.”

“I’m sure he’s done his fair share of both.”

The two drive down the coast for a while without a word, Harry drumming against the steering wheel as the song dies out while Alani soaks in the view outside her window. Suddenly, she reaches over and taps him on the arm, drawing him out of his reverie.

“Turn right up there!”

“Why?” Harry asks, already putting his blinker on.

Alani doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. Harry saw it just seconds after turning into the lookout and it left him breathless. The car comes to a stop and Alani wastes no time unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping into the humid air, Harry close behind. Before them, the biggest rainbow either of them had ever seen shimmers in the high afternoon sun like a wall of unbelievable vibrant hues. Harry had never seen one this close, he felt as though he could reach out and feel each color slip through his fingers.

“Are you making a wish?” Alani asks reverently, as if raising her voice too loud will spook it away.

“I thought that was for shooting stars,”

“We’re literally staring face to face with a rainbow and you’re gonna argue with me about the logistics of a wish?”

“Okay, okay,” he relents, grinning to himself as his eyes flutter close.

Harry takes a deep breath and searches his brain for something, anything, but there is only one word pounding in his mind. He doesn’t know why it stood out to him when Alani first said it, but it struck a chord within him that hasn’t stopped reverberating, so it must mean something. Harry swallows the lump forming at the back of his throat and releases the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. When his eyes flutter open again, he steals a peek through the corner of his eye at the girl beside him and then fixes his gaze back on the rainbow.

“S’quite big, innit?” He remarks, breaking the reverent silence.

Alani snorts and shakes her head, turning on her heel back to the car.

“You’re so eloquent. Can’t wait to hear what lyrical gems are hiding in your new album,”

“Heyyy,” Harry pouts, climbing behind the wheel. “Who said anything about an album?”

As they peel away from the lookout, Harry can sense something has shifted in the atmosphere, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. He opts to ignore it and poses a lighthearted question instead.

“What’d you wish for?”

Alani narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re not supposed to tell. It won’t come true.”

Harry hums, trying to imagine what she could possibly wish for that would require such secrecy, but his thoughts wander back to the singular word that has haunted his mind since it left her lips.

Home.

Next Chapter

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles writing #harry fic #ybmh

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vampcubus · 5 years ago

Text

Quiet (Midoriya/Reader) [part 2]

| A/n: I have to admit, I re-wrote the ending several times and I’m still not satisfied with it but here we go anyways! |

| See part 1 ... here |

✦✿ Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. ✿✦

✦✿ Words: 5500+ ✿✦

are you guys ready to c r y??

. . .

You stare blankly at a red and purple sky, eyes lazily watching the clouds roll by and the half-visible sun dip down and slowly set. You leaned forward to capture that perfect in-between moment, smiling as the last sliver of the sun finally dipped behind the horizon, letting the sky gradually shift from warm pinks and oranges to dark blues, indigos, and purples. You sighed and sank into a more relaxed position as your eyes welcomed the appearance of the moon as it took to the sky, washing the park in its gentle white light.

You sat at the same rotting-wooden picnic table you sat at every night, a familiar book with kitty skeletons draped in red and black across the cover sat just beneath your hand. The lukewarm coffee you’d picked up hours earlier sat right next to the book, half-empty from your lack of interest despite it being your favorite kind.

You’d even considered dropping by your dorm to throw it in the freezer—to beat yourself with later if you kept thinking about a particularly annoying green-haired boy—before coming here, but you found that you just didn’t want to be on campus more than you had to.

Being out and about decreased your chances of running into him.

You let your eyes stray from the steadily appearing stars and to your right, where Midoriya had sat just a few nights ago.

You let out a frustrated sigh, turning your gaze back up to the sky and raising the cup of coffee to your lips. It didn’t taste amazing right now, but it served as a good enough distraction to stop thinking about him. You’d done the right thing, whether you cared about Midoriya or not, you wouldn’t let yourself be manipulated. You would not come running back into his arms only to be forgotten when other things in his life became more important than you again.

It was better this way.

You told yourself, trying to convince yourself that you would only distract Izuku from his dreams. You’d only get in the way and end up broken again when he realized that.

You flicked the book open and skimmed your eyes over the pages. The illustrations of grim-themed yet still cute cats above each new chapter momentarily consuming your attention. Your soft smile faltered when you stumbled upon a particularly strange looking cat with wild, curly fur and huge round eyes cowering underneath a couch. Your eyes lingered on the drawing, everything about it just screams Izuku.

You shake yourself out of it and flip to the front page, breath hitching when you noticed a sticky note attached to it. It was in the handwriting of the clerk you’d grown familiar with. She often scribbled funny quotes or little notes things into the books you purchased for you to laugh about when you stumbled into the shop again.

He was here today, wanted me to slide this to you once you came in today. Not quite sure if he knows that ‘secret admirers’ are supposed to be discreet?

-Kiko ッ

You almost smile at that, not doubting for a moment who she was referring to. But then you knit your brows together in confusion when you noticed an arrow at the bottom of the note. Curiously, you unstuck the unusually heavy sticky note and flipped it. Your heart stopped functioning entirely when you saw a familiar bracelet taped to the back of it.

You gasped tearing the bracelet from the note and inspecting it closely. No way… there’s no way he even remembered this existed.

It was a colorful and cute bracelet with mostly green beads and white lettered ones spelling out ‘All Might.’

The sight of the bracelet brings you way back, and suddenly you are no longer outside at the park.

Instead, you are laying on your stomach with an impressive fort of blankets hanging above your head. Your small hands fiddled with the beads, tiny fingers slipping on each random-shaped bead you could find in your craft box that was remotely green in color. Across from you lays a much smaller Izuku on his belly with his nose buried in a comic book, eyes sparkling and lips noisily slurping at the straw of a juice box.

“Y/N-chan look!” The curly-haired boy squeals, shoving the comic book over to you and pointing at a panel of a very stylized All Might with multiple civilians draped over his shoulders. It’s a familiar frame from the video you’ve watched with the boy about a million times already. You personally didn’t idolize the symbol of peace as passionately as your friend, but it always made him happy, so you always watched it with him. You squinted, scrunching up your nose at the picture.

“They drew his hair wrong!” You complained pointing at the clearly exaggerated shojo-looking hairstyle the number one hero had been illustrated with.

“No, that’s just the artists’ style.” Little Izuku exclaims, standing up in the fort, proudly posing in his All Might one-sie, holding the comic book up into the air like it was Simba.

“Ohh,” You remember humming thoughtfully before returning to tying an s-clip to the end of the bracelet, looking your newest creation over with pride. You sat up too, looking anxiously over to your best friend who had engrossed himself back into the comic. “Gimme your hand.”

You vividly remember the young boy’s freckled face lighting up and his hand being shoved in your direction. You slid the way-too-big bracelet over his tiny wrist and looped it around a second time so it wouldn’t fall off. “Here, so everybody knows you’re the next All Might!”

His big green eyes overflowed with tears, almost flooding your blanket sanctuary and drowning you both in his own tears when he tackled you to the ground, hugging you tight. You remember him showing the bracelet off to all of his friends and Kacchan the next day. He wore it even more religiously than his hero-onesie, his mother even mentioning that he only took it off to bathe.

You recall your shock when a week later he dropped a similar home-made bracelet with your favorite-colored beads and your idolized hero’s name on it. It had been the first time anyone had ever made something for you and you cherished it.

“We match now, so that means we gotta become big strong heroes together when we get big!” You remember his high-pitched voice declaring with his best All Might impression.

You felt your eyes burn with salt and the telltale weight of tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, your fingers shaking as they clutched the bracelet. Despite how old the plastic piece of jewelry was, it was in outstanding condition--save for a few scratches on the bigger beads here and there.

You’d thought that he’d lost it or thrown it away a long time ago. It’s been years. How on earth did he still have this?

Feeling your breath start to quicken you shot up from your seat, grabbing the book from the table and dashing off towards U.A. You turned each sharp corner, narrowly avoiding crashing into several other students—including Bakugou who hissed and swore at you as you retreated to your dorm You shoved the door open and slammed it shut. The next fifteen minutes were spent digging through your stuff, looking through untouched boxes of your things you’d brought from home but never needed until now.

And then, you finally found it tucked away in an old pencil pouch. You pulled out an all-too-familiar bracelet, holding it up to compare to the green one in your other hand. There was no doubt about it, it was real. Your fingertips traced the familiar beads of your own bracelet, eyes flickering between it and its counterpart.

Why…?

Why did he keep it so long?

You kicked the box back into the closet and toed the door shut, tossing both bracelets onto your nightstand and flopping face-down onto your bed.

It didn’t matter. It was just a bracelet, nothing more than a flimsy piece of plastic. Nothing compared to the friendship you had. So what if he held onto some dumb bracelet? That didn’t make up for months of distance, weeks of him slowly forgetting you existed while you stood idly by. Letting it happen because you cared too much.

So why did you feel so guilty?

You groaned exasperatedly into your pillow snuggling your face into it when it started to soothe your headache. Your eyes opened suddenly with a furious glower when your stupid brain immediately thought back to the times you and Izuku would nap together when you were kids, anywhere anytime. You often played so hard you knocked yourselves out so his mom would find you cuddled up against one another in your blanket forts, on the couch, on the slide at the park, under the sink once… anywhere you could fit into and doze off, you would.

In fact, you didn’t shake the habit of napping together until you were at least thirteen, which is usually around when parents start getting suspicious so you stopped doing it. You felt a slight blush rise to your cheeks, remembering those special times in middle school when you would sneak in and sleep together for a while if one of you had a nightmare. That was most likely the most rebellious thing you two innocent little suck-ups ever did.

You sigh, eyes drifting over to the bracelets strewn carelessly across your nightstand.

How can one bracelet bring back so much nostalgia?

. . .

Midoriya was slumped miserably against one of the couches in the dorm lounge, pen shakily scribbling away at an assignment. His handwriting has gotten a little better since last year, still wobbly and inconsistent in places but his teachers have voiced their appreciation of its improvement. He thinks back to earlier when he had dropped off that bracelet at the bookshop, afraid that if he approached you, you wouldn’t want to see him or he’d start crying again.

It really tore him apart inside to part with it, having kept it for so long. He’d found the bracelet while looking through some of his things one day. It fell out of a box with a bunch of his older more beat up action figures.

Seeing it after being put away for so long had brought the biggest smile to his face, remembering how much he’d loved it when he was younger. It was also what made him remember you… It was as if you suddenly popped back into existence. And in excitement to share the memory with you, perhaps catch up with you over coffee, he had disregarded the fact that it had been months since you’d last spoken.

He now realizes his mistake.

But after last night he knew he didn’t deserve to have such an important piece of you to himself. He absentmindedly wondered if you still had yours… probably not, huh? His wasn’t as pretty as the one you made him, and why would you keep it after he practically ignored you for a year?

Still, he had hope that just maybe there was a chance he could make it up to you, that he hadn’t messed up so bad that you never want to speak to him again. Midoriya closed his eyes, frowning down at his notebook in shame. Who was he kidding? It was just a piece of plastic and likely held no value to you after what he did.

He misses it. Already.

“Midoriya.” Iida’s voice piped up and the green-haired boy jumped.

“Oh hey, Iida. Did you need something?” He asked, trying not to sound as worked up as he really was, forcing a small smile.

“I came to ask if you’d heard from L/N at all today?” Midoriya’s heart dropped at the sound of your name.

“No… why?”

“Well, it’s just that several students claimed to have seen her running obnoxiously through the halls earlier this evening and I was curious if you’d happen to know anything about it?” Iida asks, straightening his glasses with a displeased expression, clearly not amused by your behavior.

“No, I haven’t. Sorry,” Midoriya admitted sullenly, eyes downcast to the floor.

Iida’s eyes softened and the bluenette sighed, taking a seat next to his friend. Ochako and he hadn’t managed to get much out of the sulking Midoriya since the other night, but they suspect that things didn’t necessarily go well between him and you. Not to mention he’s been a zombie all for days, barely getting any sleep at all these past few nights

“And, as your friend, I am concerned about your wellbeing,” Tenya confessed, pushing his glasses up closer against his face as Midoriya sighed.

“I’m fine, Iida.” Midoriya offered him a half-smile but otherwise made no attempt to spill anything. Tenya made eye-contact with Ochako across the common room, who had been the one to encourage him to approach Deku in the first place.

“Midoriya, what happened between you and L/N last evening?” The Iida son pressed, cautious not to pry too much in fear of upsetting him.

“I messed up,” Midoriya looked down at his lap, a drawing of your face in the corner of his math homework. He abruptly turned the page in hopes Iida hadn’t already seen it. “Really badly.”

. . .

The next morning, Izuku is as sluggish and mopey as ever, worrying his classmates with his lack of enthusiasm.

“You should talk to her.” Todoroki’s cool voice shakes Midoirya out of his daze after homeroom. He’s been staring absently at you as you ignored his existence, focusing on the lesson. It isn’t hard to guess who the half-and-half teen was talking about. And yet he still found himself surprised.

“I’ve tried, Todoroki. Talking won't help.” Midoriya sighs, eyes dropping to his mess of notes, including several crumpled up drawings of you.

“And sulking around doing nothing will?” Todoroki questions, not able to recognize the shell of the boy in front of him.

“I messed up, and she wants nothing to do with me now.” And he respects that.

“Something tells me that isn’t entirely the case.” Shouto replies and the green-haired boy sends him a puzzled look.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks, a brow raised at the possibility that Todoroki knows something he doesn’t.

“You forget that Y/N and I are close friends now, although you haven’t necessarily been around so you may not have known at all.” He states bluntly and it does nothing to comfort Midoriya at all. He hadn’t known you and Todoroki were friends! What else did he not know about you?

“What are you getting at, Todoroki?” Deku asks with a defeated tone, wishing the stoic prodigy would just be out with it.

“Y/N tells me everything, don’t think she hasn’t told me about what happened a few nights ago. But when she spoke about you it didn’t seem like she didn’t want anything to do with you.” Shouto explained, definitely catching the young Midoriya’s attention. “She’s upset, yes, and you aren’t wrong to assume that she is angry with you right now. But the longer you wait to talk to her about it—if you planned to at all that is—the longer it will take for her to forgive you.”

Forgive him? Was that even possible at this point? He didn’t know, but if what Todoroki said was true, and he actually had a chance, he couldn’t waste any more time ‘sulking around and doing nothing.’

“Are you sure that’s even possible, Todoroki?” Deku questioned, eyes adept as ever as he searched the bi-colored eyes of his rival and friend for answers he may not even have.

“I don’t know for sure, Midoriya. That is up to Y/N.” Todoroki admits, and Deku bites the inside of his cheek still torn over this. “But I don’t think she will forgive you if you don’t try.”

“Mm.” Deku nods, thanking the two-toned boy and packing up for his next class of the day.

. . .

Your ears perked up at the sound of someone knocking on your door later that night. You sighed into your pillow, not wanting to leave its soft embrace. You tried to ignore it at first, pretending to be asleep but he insistent knocking continued. Grumpily you pushed off of your comfy bed to sluggishly open the door, thinking it was most likely Mina and she’d just keep knocking until you opened up.

You were not expecting Midoriya to be standing there.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice holding no softness or enthusiasm ad your narrowed eyes stared coldly at your former best friend. He flinches at the icy tone of your voice.

“I-I um… can we… talk?” Izuku asks anxiously, wringing his hands together, elbows drawn in close to his stomach self-consciously. “Please?”

He meets your steeled gaze with his own apologetic one, green eyes pleading with yours. Izuku owned the most convincing pair of puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen, even when he wasn’t meaning to and even now you faltered.

“Why? Why should I let you in? Give me one good reason not to slam the door in your face and go back to bed?”

“B-because I w-won’t leave until I say what I need to say,” Midoriya stated as firmly as he could, a determined glimmer in his eyes as he did so. You don’t doubt that he might sit at your door all night if you refused him. “A-and I have a feeling you have some things to say too.”

He wants to resolve this.

“I have nothing to say to you.” You hissed stepping back into the threshold of your room starting to close the door but his hand smacks against the wooden surface, a desperate look in his eyes that only makes you push harder. “Move.”

“Please! Please just hear me out, Y/N, please just give me this! Let me try! You don’t need to forgive me. I just need you to listen!” Midoriya pleads, his glossy eyes already spilling hot tears down his freckled cheeks. He’s shaking. “Please…”

Midoriya stumbles forward when the door opens and he just barely catches himself, wide eyes darting up to yours as you take several steps away from the entrance. You cross your arms, you can’t believe you’re actually doing this.

“You have five minutes. Start talking.” You relent, sitting down on your bed.

Midoriya sighs in relief, closing the door behind him before clumsily scrambling over to you. You pat the spot next to you, avoiding any and all eye-contact. Izuku’s heart skips a beat when he spots his bracelet on your nightstand. So you did get it! His breath gets caught in his throat when he tries to speak at the same moment his eyes drift to your wrist, where a relic of your friendship dangles.

You kept it! He feels his eyes overflowing, the ugly fat tears streaking down the sides of his face as he stares dumbfounded at the familiar bracelet.

“You have four minutes.” You flatly remind him, and he jumps, trying to think of the words he’d practiced just a half-hour before he showed up at your dorm.

“AH—o-okay! um, I…” When he fails to speak even after a good minute passes, you sigh deeply. If he had nothing to say, why’d he even come? What happened to all that gusto about ‘saying what I need to say’?

“Why did you keep it?” You ask out of the blue after an uncomfortable silence and his head perks up, but he looks confused, eyes searching yours.

“Keep what—?” He starts, but you cut him off.

“The bracelet. Why did you keep it? It’s been years, I didn’t even think you still remembered that old piece of junk existed.” You blurt out, each word sounding distressed and just… confused. You wanted to understand.

He stares at you, mouth agape at a complete loss of what to say. His mouth suddenly feels dry and his tongue rubs anxiously against the roof of his mouth.

“Because… because it was important... to me.” Izuku breathes, the muscles and nerves in his hand twitching as it laid only inches away from yours. “I was s-so happy when you first gave it to me, my mom had to pry it off of me just to bathe me.” He chuckles, smiling at the memory.

“And I kept it because it reminded me of you, it felt like there was a part of you with me even when you couldn’t be there. It comforted me, knowing that you put s-so m-much thought into something j-just for me and I f-felt so special!” He breaks off when his hiccups start to get out of control. “A-and—”

He chokes and apologizes taking a moment to breathe again. You hadn’t realized how much one silly piece of jewelry had impacted him until now, so much so that he’s crying over it.

“And I made a promise, remember?” Izuku sniffs, wiping his eyes uselessly with his hand, only really smearing the wetness across his cheeks and wetting his hand with his own tears as they continued to spill down the freckled planes of his red cheeks.

You nod, but turn away when you feel your own emotions starting to spike up. You bit your lip, held your breath, clenched your teeth. Anything to keep the tears at bay as they threatened to fall.

“I-I said that when we—”

“We match now, so that means we gotta become big strong heroes together when we get big.” You butt in, sniffling and raising a hand to scrub at the tears streaming down your face and pooling at your chin. “That’s what you said.”

Deku stares at you, guffawed as you quoted his younger self. He hadn’t expected you to remember it so clearly, It makes him feel even worse. Knowing how much it must’ve hurt you when you grew apart. How hard it must’ve been on you to keep quiet about everything while he lived his best life, forgetting all about his dearest friend.

“Why’d you give it back?” You asked, voice trembling as you wiping your eyes with your arm. You glanced over at the green bracelet lying on your nightstand. “If it meant so much to you, why give it back?”

He closed his eyes. He listened to his heart as it slammed against his chest like a pinball machine, demanding him to say something.

“Because I forgot about the friendship it represented, and I shouldn’t have. I wish I wouldn’t have, but I did. I broke my own promise and e-even worse, I hurt you because I was just too caught up in my own problems—my own dreams—to remember that you’ve been a part of them since the beginning.” Izuku sobbed, there was no point in holding it all in now.

“I gave it back because I was so afraid I screwed up everything between us, and I don’t deserve it!”

I don’t deserve you. The phrase rang in his ears so loudly it was almost deafening, he wanted nothing more than to say it too. He couldn’t because he couldn’t catch a single damn breath to say it. But even as he feels he has gathered that breath it’s stolen away once more when he feels your hands on his face.

In a flurry of your own emotions and a nagging force of habit you had reached out and grasped his face, the soft pads of your thumbs wiping at his cheeks.

“Stop crying already, you had something you wanted to say right? Stop letting your emotions get in the way of that.”

The firmness in your tone as your stern eyes descended upon his own struck a chord in him. You’ve said something like that to him before. Years ago.

“Stop crying, Izuku! Stop letting your emotions keep you from standing up for yourself! Kacchan steps on you because he knows all you’ll do is cry!”

Multiple times.

“Would ya quit crying already? You’re tougher than that, Izu. Like All Might!”

Constantly.

“Stop crying because you don’t have a quirk! Become a hero without one!”

It had always been you. You there comforting him, encouraging him, telling him to quit crying and speak up for himself. To keep pushing on despite the fact that he just wasn’t as gifted as other children. How could he have forgotten one of the most important lessons you ever taught him? How could he have forgotten about you?

You tugged one of your bunched sleeves down with your teeth and dried up the downpour of tears from his cheeks with your hoodie sleeve. Careful not to rub the skin raw, you kept at it until he was simply too shocked to cry anymore. This is the first time you’ve done this in years, yet far from the first time you’ve had to do it at all. Even as children, you were using your fingers, your sleeves, the edge of your shirt to wipe his tears away.

“I—”

“Shush, I don’t want to hear it unless it’s what you came here to say.” You interrupt, and the look in his eyes changes from nervous to determined.

“I was going to say that I am s-sorry,” He stutters.

“What else?” You encouraged, watching as he slowly gained more confidence. “You said you weren’t going to leave until you say what you need to say, keep your promise.”

“I was going to say that I don’t deserve you!”

“And are you lying?” You ask.

“No!” Midoriya exclaims more confidently, more certain of himself than before.

“And is that all you wanted to say?” You asked again, smiling as the sobbing boy from before completely changed with your encouragement, egging him on.

“No…” Midoriya confesses, faltering slightly as his nervousness returns. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to say it yet. Would that even be acceptable right now? Even as strong as he feels right now he can’t help but hesitate, to blush, to avoid your gaze.

“Then say it.”

“I…” He trails off, suddenly terrified of the thought. He couldn’t! It would put everything on the line! “I-I…”

Your hand cups his cheek coaxing him to look back up at you.

“Stop hesitating, tell me what you want to say.”

He’s already put your friendship on the line, what difference would it make? You wanted the truth so you’d get it! He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes before opening them again, meeting your own straight on. There’s a spark in those green eyes that wasn’t there before he squinted them shut. It’s like an emerald fire was lit behind them.

“I love you!”

It’s quiet.

You stare at him, and he stares right back, his determined gaze never weakening as he maintained eye-contact.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Midoriya replies.

This time it’s your turn to shy away. Your face darkens incredibly fast, heart racing against your chest as your eyes darted from side to side, deep in thought. Your mind threw numbers together into every equation it knew, each answer coming out the same. You had expected an “I want to be friends again!” or “I want a second chance!” or “I want to fix this!”

Never in a million years could you have predicted him to say that. Not to you. Your eyes drifted back up to his. He looks a little less confident now, almost worried as he awaits your response.

“Get out.” You breathe, eyes wide as you stare at him watching his determined face change to one of confusion.

You couldn’t believe it. After forgetting your existence for almost a year, after only remembering when he found the bracelet, after only wanting to talk to you because it was most convenient to him… and he has the goddamn nerve to say that he loved you.

“W-what?” Izuku gasped, not understanding what was going on. Suddenly you were pressing yourself against the wall farthest from him on your bed.

“G-get out!” You exclaim, the angry tears running down your face.

“Y/N, what are you s-saying?” His voice shook, the tears starting to fall from his eyes again, his nose beginning to run as well as his entire body shook. Why were you telling him to leave? Did he make the wrong call? Did you not feel the same?

“Why are you lying to me?” You asked, the question coming out like a whisper.

“I-I’m not lying to you, I love you!” Midoriya cried. “Please, you have to believe me, I wouldn’t lie to you! I’ve always liked you—since we were kids, Y/N! I can’t fake that! You know I can’t!”

You shake as his desperate green eyes plead with yours, a sincerity in those irises you grew up staring into, a sincerity that just can’t be faked. He actually… he actually loved you? But why? He ignored you for a year!

“And you can honestly tell me that in that year you forgot about me you loved me?!” You demanded, your tears making your vision blurry and unmanageable.

“I never stopped loving you, even if it was overshadowed by my dream to become a hero, even if I made mistakes not even I can fix, my heart always belonged to you.” Midoriya crawled over to kneel in front of you on your bed where you still had your back pressed to the wall and your knees pulled tightly to your chest. “I’m not perfect, Y/N. I made a mistake by not being there for you, and I will do anything it takes to fix it if I can.”

“And you won’t forget me again? You promise?” You ask shakily, feeling a little embarrassed by how small you felt, scrunched up in such a way and crying in front of someone other than your cat at home.

“Yes,” His immediate response confirms it, not an ounce of hesitation present in the way it rolls off his tongue. “I promise, I’ll never forget you. And I’ll never be the reason you cry again.”

“Can you believe me?” Izuku reached his hand out to you.

“I… I believe you.” You admit, a small smile gracing your lips as you take his hand. Izuku lets out a relieved sigh, his free hand trembling over his heart. You can tell how terrified he was. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you though, Izu.”

“I know, and I’m going to try my very best to make it up to you. I promise.” Izuku states. It doesn’t bother him that you didn’t say ‘I love you’ back, he wouldn’t have deserved it. He’s going to have to work for it, and that was fine with him.

“Do you…” You started, face flushing and eyes avoiding his as you removed your hands from his face. “Do you wanna hug it out?”

“Yes!” You yelp when he throws himself at you, tackling you to the bed with his arms around you. You squeeze your own arms around him, face burrowing into his shoulder as you squeezed the life out of one another.

“Sorry.” He mutters when he realizes he’s practically on top of you and most likely crushing you. He moves to roll off of you but your arms only tighten around him.

“No, please just… can we just stay like this for a while?” You asked, and Izuku felt his heart beating so fast he was convinced it eventually just commit seppuku if it pounded any harder. He nodded against your shoulder, cheeks burning a bright crimson as he relaxes.

“Also,” You spoke up and he hummed in response, he couldn’t be bothered to move. You reached over to your nightstand to snatch the green bracelet from it, the green-haired boy whining when he had to re-adjust after you started moving. “Gimme your hand.”

He pulled away, green pools swirling with confusion. He complies with your sudden request and gasps when you slide the bracelet back onto his wrist.

“This belongs to you.” You smiled and he mirrored it with one of his own, hand impulsively taking yours, fingers intertwining with your own. Your matching bracelets reflected the dim light of the room, casting a warm glow over your faces as you smiled at each other. No longer did you feel forgotten or used, instead you felt loved again. “Now get off me.”

Izuku laughs and slips off of you to lay at your side, his arms pulling you in close so he could cuddle you, just like you did when you were kids.

Izuku rested his forehead against yours, one hand reaching up to timidly brush against your reddened cheek, causing your eyes to flutter closed and a small sigh to escape your smiling lips. He missed seeing you smile. But there was still something else that he needed to take care of before you drifted off to sleep.

“Y/N?” He asked.

“Yes?” You sighed sleepily,

“Don’t ever feel like you have to keep quiet anymore, alright? Please, always talk to me.”

You blinked, your mouth opening and closing several times.

“Okay.”

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plotting-against-you · 3 years ago

Text

Will It Ever Be the Same (Part 1)

Fandom: Nancy Drew (TV 2019)

Characters: Ryan Hudson, Nancy Drew, Ace, Bess Marvin, George Fan, Ned 'Nick' Nickerson

Prompt(s): This is based on two prompts. One of those prompts is from Alicia, who asked: "Could you do one where Nancy is 13 instead, has blonde hair like Lucy, and blue eyes like Ryan? She goes to his place like in 1x17 to get help for the ritual and on the way out she gets dizzy because she's been working herself to exhaustion. In that moment Ryan notices how similar she looks to Lucy and himself but decides not to say anything but also knows Nancy is his. She eventually tells him before doing the ritual. They go back to his place and he just says 'I know it's you'. She gets overwhelmed, almost passes out, and he just sits with her and tells her to rest."

This is also for @nancydrewcentral's week 2 hiatus prompt: Time Period AU.

Warnings: Panic/Anxiety attacks, mentions of anxiety and coping mechanisms, mentions of character deaths (past and present), mentions of suicide

Nancy wrapped her arms around herself as she bent over, heaving shallow breaths into the air. The sky grew lighter now, as she’d been running for most of the night, and she found herself unsure what to do or where to go next.

“You’re DNA wasn’t a match for the female hair.”

“It’s a mother-daughter match for Lucy Sable.”

“She’s me. The baby is me.”

She couldn’t believe the information she had just found out, and she wished she were older. She thought that if she were older, she might have had more experience in life to handle this sort of life-shattering revelation, but being only fourteen years old, all she felt was betrayal.

And heartbreak.

And panic.

So maybe she felt a lot of things, Nancy admitted to herself, but she felt she had the right to do so. Her whole life had been turned upside-down in a matter of a few hours, and she wasn’t sure what to do now.

She’d been told stories of how hard freshman year in high school could be, but she was positive her friends hadn’t meant this.

She saw headlights approaching and ducked behind a tree, holding her breath as they passed. Though she knew it could be dangerous for someone as young as her to be out alone all night, she was in no mood to face her father. Besides, it wasn’t like she was inexperienced.

She was Nancy Drew, after all.

Or was she?

She let herself plop onto her butt in the grass as she contemplated what to do next. She couldn’t face Carson—for calling him ‘Dad’ now was too hard—but she couldn’t stay out there for too much longer. She’d left her jacket as she climbed out her bedroom window and had started to shiver as soon as she had stopped running.

Her heart ached for the only woman she’d ever known as mother, Kate Drew, and her feelings were mixed there. She didn’t want to be bad at her…whatever she was to her now. Kate had died only a year earlier, and coming to terms with the fact that she’d lied to her hurt more than she wanted to admit.

Then she shivered again and realized she had to find somewhere to take shelter.

She could go to The Claw, she knew. She and her friends had picked up summer jobs working there for cash—under the table of course and no pun intended—and Dawn had always said they could go there whenever they needed. But her friends wouldn’t be there for a few hours yet, and Nancy wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to explain her new parentage to them yet.

As the rush of memories from the night prior filled her head, she picked out one statement that kept replaying itself.

“Ryan Hudson is my biological father.”

She’d seen Ryan Hudson in many different ways over the last few months. For fourteen years, she’d known him as the rich, arrogant hill topper who only graced their town when it was convenient for him or his business dealings.

Then his wife had died during her shift at The Claw, and they’d all been thrown into what she thought would be the weirdest time in her life. Being a murder suspect at fourteen wasn’t what any of her friends had expected for their lives, but it had happened. It was while she was trying to solve that case that she started to see a different side to the man.

Then she’d found out everything regarding his painful loss of Lucy Sable, and her heart broke for him.

Though she’d wanted to help him and Lucy’s ghost in some way, she was forced to put her feelings on pause as even crazier things came to pass—it would be just their luck to call to a sea spirit that wanted them dead—and she’d had to change her list of priorities.

Now all she could think about was how she knew the difficulty in trying to reconcile something in your brain that you had no control over and no knowledge of, no matter how hard you tried.

Standing from her spot in the damp grass, she took a deep breath and started walking again.

This time she knew exactly where she was going.

…

Her phone rang just as she was approaching Ryan’s house.

Groaning as she assumed it was her…Carson, again, she lifted it to hang up but stopped when she saw that it was Ace instead.

He’d been at The Claw with her the night before when she’d read the DNA match on John Sanders’ laptop. So far, he was the only one to know her secret outside of herself and Carson, and she’d only let him stay because he refused to leave her side.

Though he was usually more ‘chill’ than that, he could be a very protective boyfriend when he wanted to be.

She knew that he would be worried about her, especially considering he knew her better than anyone else in her life. So, deciding it would be a good idea to at least tell him she was alive and not eaten by a bear or killed by the Aglaeca, she answered and lifted it to her ear.

“Ace.” She breathed his name out like he was the life raft she needed to save her from drowning.

“Nancy.” She could hear the concern in his voice. “Where are you? Are you okay? Your dad called my parents and said that you ran away.”

She bit her lip. “Carson told me the truth after I confronted him.”

“Oh, Nance…” He used her nickname, and it squeezed at her heart.

“I’m sorry I made you worry.” Her voice was thick with tears as she felt them rush to her eyes. “I can’t be around him right now.”

Ace’s voice was soft as if he were calming a scared animal. “You could have come to me.”

She shook her head, though she knew rationally that he couldn’t see her. She had the brief thought that maybe he had hacked a satellite and could possibly see her. When they’d started dating, he promised he would do anything he could to keep her happy and safe.

“I’m sorry. If I had come there, your parents would have told Carson, and I just….”

“I get it.” His voice was equal parts comforting and protective. “Just tell me if you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” She sniffed.

“Good. Because I know you’re dealing with a lot, but uh, George’s mom says the Aglaeca’s coming after us.” He said it quickly as if ripping off a band-aid.

This stopped her in her tracks, and she paid no mind to the fact that she stood on the side of a dangerously curved road in the middle of nowhere.

In her silence, he continued. “Nick, Bess, George…we’ve all gotten these really weird visions. Portents. Have you?”

She sighed and closed her eyes in defeat. “I vomited up a seaweed wreath yesterday morning.”

“I would say that qualifies.” He said lightly.

“When I went to look for it later, it had turned to sand. Are you saying the Aglaeca did that?” She hadn’t believed in the supernatural before Tiffany Hudson’s murder, but she wholeheartedly believed in it now.

“Yeah.” Ace hesitated. “Apparently, it’s like a bloodhound. And because the Aglaeca responded to your call for Lucy’s bones, you’re acting as its gateway.”

“What, Ace? What aren’t you telling me?” Nancy knew her boyfriend well, and he was holding something back from her.

“Uh…well, that also means you’re the one that’s capable of stopping it.”

“You don’t sound hopeful about that.” Her heart lurched in sudden anxiety. “Do you not trust me to do it?”

“No!” He said quickly before correcting himself. “I mean, yes. Obviously, I trust you. It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

It was his turn to sigh. “Well, George’s mom says that you can throw it off your trail by mixing your blood with somebody else’s. Disguising yourself so that, you know, the curse can’t find you, because if it can’t find you, it can’t find any of us.

“Uh, but…the ritual has to be done with a relative. Your blood relative.”

There was the catch and the reason for his earlier hesitation. “Well, that’s a problem, because…you saw the test results last night. My closest relative is not my blood relative.”

“But Ryan Hudson is.” He sighed again. “Listen, I know that poses certain challenges, and don’t worry. You know your secret is safe with me. But…”

“I, uh…” She started walking again and let the gears in her head turn. “I think I have a plan.”

“Nancy, babe, what are you going to do?” His voice held concern again, but also admiration.

He constantly made sure she knew how in awe he was at her detective skills and her ability to make the best of even the worst situations.

“I’ll meet you guys at Bess’ aunt’s party, okay?”

“Can you at least tell me the plan?” Ace was quick with his words, knowing full well that she could hang up at any moment.

“I have to talk to my father.”

…

Ryan crouched on the ground, frozen in place as he looked at the papers scattered in front of him. He’d been up nearly all night searching for any clue as to why Lucy hadn’t talked to him before taking her own life.

Then he’d picked up on the clues she’d written in her journal, and his mind had stopped.

Stroking his finger over Lucy’s baby picture he’d found in her yearbook, he allowed his mind to wander to every what-if scenario that came at him

What if Lucy had been pregnant? Were either of them ready to be parents at eighteen?

What if she’d told him about the baby? Would it have made a difference?

What if she’d lived? Could they have raised their baby together?

What if his parents found out? Is that why they threatened her?

Ryan was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed his front door opening and whipped his head up to make sure it wasn’t either of the elder Hudsons coming in. He couldn’t have them knowing what he knew—they could react any number of ways. If he did have a child out there, he didn’t want them anywhere near his parents.

Then he caught sight of Nancy and sighed. “What, did you break-in? Figured you and your dad would be celebrating by now.”

Nancy remembered how Ryan had thanked them after the hearing had adjourned. He’d been upset by everything that happened but also grateful that they’d found out the truth of what happened with Lucy.

She felt horrible for having to go back on those things and hurt him again.

She wondered how she was supposed to once again break the heart of this man who had been through so much. He was only thirty-two and had lost the love of his life and his wife. Now, after twenty-four hours of thinking he knew exactly what had happened, Nancy was supposed to add more to his plate? It was causing her heart rate to spike, and she knew a panic attack was coming.

She saw the hopeful look in his eye and couldn’t do it. She wasn’t going to be the one to deal another blow to his fragile mental health.

“I need your help.”

“Uh, sorry, I can’t today. I have to get over to the free clinic in Trenton.” He was still crouched on the ground as he spoke.

Her face scrunched in confusion, and something shifted in his brain that he couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t you have rich people health insurance?” She questioned him as she moved over to the counter.

He rolled his eyes at her teenage sarcasm. “It’s not for me, okay? I’m trying to get answers on Lucy. The court clerk gave me a copy of her journal.”

Her already accelerated heart rate sped up as she turned to him. “Why?”

“Why?” He sounded appalled by the question and stood. “Because my dad threatened her! I wanted to make sure he wasn’t being physically violent. I didn’t see anything in her journal about that, but I did find some other helpful things.”

Every time he spoke, he made her anxiety worse, not that he was aware of it. “Like what?”

“I mean, you’re still young, so I don’t want to read some of it to you, but in early spring of 2000, she was writing stuff that makes me think….” He trailed off, unsure if he should tell her what he found.

She was only fourteen, after all. He didn’t know what she knew or if she was even comfortable with the subject.

“Go on.” She looked at the back of the papers in his hand, not being able to meet his eye. “I’m not a child.”

Ryan sighed. “I think she might have been pregnant.”

Nancy fought to keep the gray from edging into her eyesight as she swallowed down the rising panic within her. She knew if she didn’t give into the feelings soon, or at least do some techniques that she’d been taught, she’d pass out or worse. But she didn’t want to give away her secret to him just yet—if ever—so she shook her head.

“And you think the baby was yours?”

He scoffed. “Of course, it would have been mine! Lucy and I were…dating…around New Year’s, and so yeah. Mine.”

“You mean you were sleeping together around then.” She corrected for him and rolled her eyes at the shocked and slightly horrified look on his face. “Oh, stop that. I’m in high school now. I know these things.”

Then she caught the new look on his face and froze. He no longer looked shocked or horrified by her words but stared at her as if he was looking right through her. She felt her throat tighten and took a step back.

Ryan stared at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Whatever had shifted in his head minutes earlier when she’d scrunched her face had returned the moment she rolled her eyes at him, and all the puzzle pieces had come together.

Both of those faces were exact replicas of his and Lucy’s expressions respectfully, and suddenly he was seeing what he hadn’t through their entire “working” relationship.

Besides the fact that Lucy had been haunting both of them, the young detective had told him she was allergic to wasps’ stings, and so was he. In addition to that, he remembered seeing her bite her lip when she was nervous, a trait that Lucy had right up until the day she died.

Then there were her looks. Her blonde hair may have been turning redder every day, but it was undoubtedly Lucy’s, as were her blue eyes his. She was the perfect combination of them, and he knew the truth in his heart.

Lucy had been pregnant. And Nancy was their daughter.

Then his surroundings came back to him, and he saw how she looked at that moment.

Her usually snarky yet confident expression had turned to fear, eyes wide and pale skin merging together to make her look gaunt. Ryan saw her throat moving quickly and knew she was trying to either swallow down tears or suck in air. Her hand, which now gripped the papers he’d handed her, shook enough to be visible, and she looked utterly exhausted.

He knew a panic attack when he saw one and knew that she also knew the truth.

Not wanting to push her, he told himself he wouldn’t bring it up to her. But, still, he had to make sure she was okay. The last thing he wanted was for her to be hospitalized because she was panicking over this added thing in her life.

“Nancy?” He kept his voice even, though he could hear the worry in it. “Are you okay?”

As he said the words in the same way Ace had said earlier, she told her brain that it was her boyfriend’s voice she was hearing and forced herself to relax. “I…”

“Can I get you some water?” Ryan moved away from her, walking to the sink. “You look pale.”

“Yeah, I, uh…didn’t get any sleep last night.” She forced herself to take some deep breaths while his back was turned and felt a bit more stable when he brought her the glass. “Counteroffer…I’ll help you find out if Lucy was pregnant if you do me a favor after.”

He’d do anything she asked of him, he realized, even if it meant doing her favors or playing along with something she clearly didn’t know he knew. “Deal. Do you need to call your dad?”

He saw the way she cringed at the word ‘dad’ and confirmed his theory that she wasn’t doing as well with the news as he was.

“Uh, nope. I’m good. He’s probably at work anyway.”

He didn’t call her out on the lie, instead holding the front door open to follow her to his car. He’d find out more about that situation later.

…

She’d lied to him. She’d looked him right in the face and lied to him.

They’d taken the trip to Trenton, and acting like a spoiled, entitled rich guy had made Ryan realize just how shitty of a person he probably was in everyone’s eyes. After Nancy had insisted on speaking to the doctor herself, he stood in the waiting room and thought about it.

He knew that he was different from everyone else in Horseshoe Bay, but until he was pretending to threaten to shut down the clinic, he had never realized how those people might see him. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that you had been an asshole for thirty-two years of your life, but Ryan had decided at that moment there wouldn’t be another.

He was going to change for Nancy, even if she never knew it was for her. He never wanted to see the look on her face as he had when she’d shut him up or told him a flat-out lie after leaving the clinic.

Sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, he thought about the story she’d spun for him, telling him that Lucy had been pregnant but had died with her child still inside her womb. He had done the math and had figured out that Nancy had been born weeks earlier than her due date, and she must have too.

Her knowledge of life and her ability to spin a tale baffled him.

“So, are you going to like…tell me why we’re going to Diana Marvin’s house?” He questioned, not wanting to sit in silence any more than they had.

Nancy huffed. “It’s Bess and her cousin Owen’s house, too.”

Owen Marvin was quite unlike the rest of his family. Being their age and having so few family members that were, he sometimes joined Bess at The Claw during her shift to hang out with their group. Of course, they all knew that he primarily came to flirt with Nancy but had been sweet enough to stop once her relationship with Ace had come out.

“I know, but still. You know that I’m like persona non grata, so you want to tell me what this favor is or what?”

“Yeah, in a minute. Can I ask you something?” Nancy had shifted her head lazily on the headrest so that she could look at him.

She still looked slightly pale, something the doctor had also noticed when they walked in, but her breathing seemed to be better, and she looked less like crying.

“Yeah, sure.”

She opened and closed her mouth only once before speaking. “What would it have meant, if-if you’d had the…the baby? Do you think you were ready to be a dad at eighteen?”

He should have known this question was coming. Even so, he answered honestly as he figured she’d be able to tell if he was lying. Besides, she looked too vulnerable as she stared at him.

“At eighteen? No…” He chuckled slightly. “No, hell no. A kid like me, I was dumb and spoiled, and I had horrible parental role models, as you know, so no. That would have been a disaster.”

He thought of his parents again and internally cringed, promising himself he’d do everything in his power to keep them away from Nancy.

“Do you think…do you think that you would have tried to…?” He saw her tuck a strand of hair out of the corner of his eye before she froze and started pulling at her hair. “Oh my God.”

“Hey, you okay?” He glanced at her now, then nearly hit the breaks as she started choking. “Hey. Hey, h-hold on.”

He swerved dangerously to the side of the road and brought the car to a park. Nancy was throwing herself out of the car the second they were stopped, and he followed her actions, panic welling up inside of him.

He wasn’t sure if she was having a panic attack again, but it looked different than it had before back at his house. When he finally got around to her side of the car, she was breathing again. He reached her side the second she slammed the door shut and watched in confusion as she stared at her reflection in the tinted windows.

“Hey, what…what, are you having a panic attack?” He knew he wasn’t supposed to ask, but it scared him.

Then he saw her look at her hand and the pile of sand that sat in it that had definitely not been there a moment prior. “No, no, uh…it was a portent.”

“A portent?” How did she even know what that word meant? He sure didn’t at fourteen. “What, you mean from Lucy?”

“No. From something completely different.” She looked scared now, but differently from before.

This had nothing to do with their familial relationship, and that seemed to worry him even more. He wondered if her whole life would worry him, as she seemed always to be ingrained in some dangerous happenstance.

“This is the favor that I had to ask you, actually.” She sounded upset, tears threatening to fall. “A few days ago, I did something unusual to get the evidence to exonerate my…to exonerate Carson. Uh, my friends and I did this ritual to call to this sea spirit.”

He was completely confused but tried to keep up. “Sea spirit. Like…like dolphins?”

She shook her head as she sat on the ledge overlooking the sea. “Stay with me. It’s a local legend. Uh, and it worked. The Aglaeca answered my call. But the problem is…is I couldn’t hold up my end of the bargain.

“The…the Aglaeca wanted Owen Marvin’s blood. All of it. So we couldn’t go through with it, and now we triggered this, uh, curse, and I have to fix it. And in order to do that, I need to do another ritual to make sure that the spirit doesn’t lock onto its target, and…and that’s where you come in.”

She hated having to get someone else involved, but she was desperate for anything that might save the lives of her and her friends.

Though he wanted to wrap his arms around her and whisk her away to be somewhere safe from all this nonsense, he knew that wouldn’t solve anything. He’d seen enough of Lucy’s ghost to know that supernatural creatures existed, and if his daughter was tangled up with one, he couldn’t let her down.

“Why me?” He was genuinely curious and hoped it didn’t come off as a refusal. “I mean, unless this Aglaeca takes cash, then I’m….”

“It’s not about your money this time, Ryan.” She snapped at him now, and he could see the panic setting back in. “It’s about you specifically, because….”

He froze, watching her face carefully, and wondered if this was the moment she would reveal that she knew she was his daughter.

Then he watched as she hesitated and shook her head. “It’s a long story, uh, and one of which you don’t need to know all the details. But if you just come with me….”

He nodded immediately. “Yeah, no, of course. I mean, it sounds urgent.”

They stared at each other for a second, and he watched as Nancy tried to blink away the tears that had pooled in her eyes. He felt his resolve breaking before taking a deep breath and deciding to take a leap of faith.

“Do you need me because I’m your father?”

Part 2

#cw nancy drew #nancy drew fanfiction #nancy drew #ndcentral #nancy x ace #nancy drew & ryan hudson #younger nancy drew #teenage nancy drew au #time period au #part 1

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cherrywoes · 4 years ago

Text

001 (Mature) (P1)

Contains mature themes. Read with caution. Subtle thigh riding, nothing blatantly sexual.

YOU MET USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI on a cold, bitter day in the middle of winter at a beach that was deserted besides the small skeleton crew. They had brought their cameras and plastic tarps to keep you from getting sand all over their sample fashion pieces and were excitedly chattering over warm coffee that you couldn't have.

Modeling wasn't the job you had in mind when you had accepted the personal request from your best friend, Akaashi Keiji—the man who had skyrocketed to fame with his effortless clothing designs and pretty face—over two years ago. Yet here you were, freezing, nearly naked in the middle of winter with snow threatening to fall down from the heavens and decorate you with delicate flakes of precious ice. Akaashi paid you very well for going through with his sometimes insane concept ideas, but you couldn't help but curse him in your mind as you covered your breasts to retain some semblance of warmth, as well as any modesty you had left to keep from the photographers.

"[Name], how are we doing?" Your manager, Ayano, sidled up to you with a warm mug in her hands and looking amazingly warm and cozy, a direct contrast to your shivering form. "It won't be much longer, we're just waiting on the male model Akaashi hired. The other one flaked last minute for a trip to Argentina. Can you believe that?"

"Are you serious?" You chattered incredulously, teeth clacking together uncomfortably. Ayano had the shame to pity you. "Oikawa went to Argentina?"

You had been banking on the man to be your partner for the shoot. He was the only one you felt comfortable with half nude as you were, since you both did these spreads with each other often and enough that it wasn't strange for you to change in the same dressing room. He was amazing at lightening the atmosphere so you were comfortable with him, even if his manager got angry with him whenever he flirted with you on what he thought was the sly. Dancing his fingers over your bare shoulders was not sly, you'd laughed at him when he pouted at the hair and makeup station.

But he was in Argentina? For what? You had half a mind to text him an infuriatingly long text, and reached for your phone in Ayano's pocket, but found yourself exposed to the cold and even chillier than before. With a sigh, you pulled your arms close to your chest again, peering down to make sure you didn't have a nip slip in the process. The crazed press hiding in the sand dunes would have a field day with that.

"He never said why," Ayano answered, taking a sip of her coffee and ignoring your glare of envy. "It'll be okay though, Ushijima's a nice man and he won't try anything. Akaashi knows him pretty well, otherwise he wouldn't have gone to him last minute."

You snorted, imagining Oikawa boarding a plane hurriedly. "How last minute are we talking?"

"Around an hour or so before we got here." Ayano nodded her head sagely when you turned to look at her with more disbelief than you had at the reveal that Oikawa had dipped and flew out to another country. "Mhm. He's very reliable, according to Akaashi."

"Who has free time like that?" You laughed. "Nevermind, don't answer that. Can I get a jacket or something? I'm freezing here. We haven't even shot any singles yet."

Ayano winced in sympathy and patted your shoulder. Her fingers were so warm that you lamented the loss immediately, shuffling closer to huddle into her scratchy linen jacket. She snickered and let you stay close, almost burying yourself into her side, and too soon, you heard a car door slam near the parking lot over the quiet sea.

Your eyes darted to the top of the dunes where you spotted a tall, muscular figure cresting the half buried staircase and heading down to your entourage of photographers and stylists. At his side, two dogs loped in similar fashion, each held on leather leashes and clipped to what looked like diamond encrusted chain collars. Dobermans, you realized, from the cropped ears and docked tails when they drew closer, lithe frames stark against the pale sand. One was black and tan, slightly larger than the other one, which was Isabella and tan, with a more svelte figure and kept more closely to its owner, who was far more impressive the closer he got.

You couldn't help but poke your head over Ayano's shoulder and gawk at the male specimen before you. He was all toned muscle, from his neck down to his feet, and you could see carefully sculpted abdominal muscles through his shirt, which clung to him like a second skin in some silky nylon fabric that had some expensive name over his left pectoral. He wore sweatpants that were torn at the knees into shorts, and you raised your eyebrows at the way his calf muscles flexed when he shifted his weight to his left leg. You only saw that kind of dedication on bodybuilders and showmen, not models; they all seemed to prefer skinny muscle to actual muscle.

He had that austere cast to his features and aura, you could tell, when he turned his head just enough to reveal his eyes, brilliant chips of green and brown framed by severe eyebrows that complimented the bones of his face and the angle of his jaw. Even his hair was complimentary, a close undercut with long strands on top that looked to have been combed through with fingers and half heartedly with a comb.

"Damn." Ayano whispered your thoughts and pulled away from you, leaving you cold and shivering once more. Like a shot, she was off to speak to his manager, who was a lanky man with a startling shock of red hair that had you staring for a moment.

You almost screeched when a cold nose touched your cold knee. Somewhere between Ayano leaving and you shifting your hands under your armpits, the man had unhooked his dogs from their leashes and allowed them to wander up to you without a care in the world, because he was still listening to something the lead director was telling him.

The one nudging at your knee was the Isabella and tan one, her ears up and pointed towards you. Her stub of a tail wagged excitedly and you hesitated to pet her, eyeing the black and tan one that had settled into a sitting position beside your feet and out of the harsh gusts of wind that rose every so often.

Moving to cover your breasts with one arm, you held out your hand for her to sniff, cringing when she leaned forward and huffed over your fingers. Then, tentatively, she gave a few licks to your knuckles and bounded off towards her owner. The black one, male by the looks of it, stayed beside you, stalwart and unwilling to go back out into the cold wind.

"Nox." Their owner's voice was so deep that you were startled by the thrum that had begun in your belly. You looked over and saw the man was staring at the dog behind you, waiting for him to obey his call. "Come."

The dog, Nox, huffed and hid his head behind your leg, ignoring him. You had to stifle a snicker. The man looked at you, then, and you noticed that he kept his eyes trained on your face, analyzing your features with a slight furrow to his brows. Then he looked away, back towards the director who was pointing to you and explaining something with wide gestures. You almost felt offended at his easy dismissal.

"[Name]!" The director waved you over and you scowled, wrapping your other arm over your chest again and walking over to where he stood with the mystery man. His dog, Nox, trailed behind you, keen on avoiding both his owner and the wind. When you stood beside the director, surprised at how tall the man was and how your neck started to hurt looking up at him, he gestured to the man. "This is Ushijima Wakatoshi, Akaashi's friend. He'll be modeling with you today. Ushijima, this is [Name], the face of the brand."

Your face flushed red and crept down your neck when he looked at you again, this time an intense look of concentration on his face. Even his eyes were intense, sharp and narrowed and soul searching. You hoped he blamed the blush on the cold.

"Nice to meet you," you said, embarrassed at how your teeth cracked together, and held out a shaking hand for him to shake. "I'm [Name] [Surname]."

Ushijima stared at your hand like it was a particularly offensive bug. Your smile turned brittle and before you could pull your hand back and tuck it under your armpit, he enveloped your tiny hand in his—tiny compared to his giant ones, anyway—and shook it slowly, almost like he was pained to shake it in the first place.

"Ushijima," he said and that was all he offered. He released your hand and looked to the director again, waiting for a further explanation, and you clenched your jaw in irritation. Even if he was pretty, you didn't like being dismissed like you were nothing.

This time, the red flush creeping up your neck had nothing to do with embarrassment.

His manager seemed to notice your growing anger and slapped Ushijima on the back. Hard. You had to swallow nervously when Ushijima's eyes went cold and turned to his manager, shoulders stiffening and bunching underneath the sting of the slap.

"Wakatoshi, you can't just do that," the redheaded male admonished, pointing to you. "Be nice. Remember our lessons?"

You raised an eyebrow. Lessons? To be nice? You appraised the man in a new light; he was stiff, too tense, and seemed high strung like a live wire, like he was waiting for a bomb to go off. You wondered if he had an issue or something with any emotion other than coldness.

Ushijima stared at his manager with narrowed eyes, then looked back over to you. They softened slightly, scanning over your face—your anger ebbing away into confusion—and he dipped his head slightly in a small bow. "Sorry."

"It's fine," you whispered in reply, your confusion overriding your anger and the warmth it had brought you. You watched his eyebrows drop and then go back to neutral, as if he was thinking, and the director cleared his throat to draw both of your attention back to him.

"As I was saying—Ushijima, the poses are fairly simple. Because [Name] isn't tall enough to reach your shoulders, she'll be standing on a stool. It'll be your job to keep her steady. How uncomfortable are you with intimate skin contact?"

"It doesn't bother me," Ushijima answered in a clipped tone. You squirmed uncomfortably, cold once more, and felt Nox brush against your legs. "Is there anything else?"

"No, anything else is covered in your contract. Just put on the clothes they give you and we'll start in five."

You made your way back to the tarp, spotting the stool in question, and turned around, mouth open to ask if you should move it to the middle, and abruptly closed it with an audible snap.

There, behind a tiny rack of clothes facing the ocean, Ushijima was pulling his shirt over his head, the muscles in his back flexing fantastically with the smooth movement. A few moments later he stepped out from behind the rack, dressed in sleek and slim khaki pants that hugged at his legs a little too snuggly. The stylist rolled the hems up above his ankles and handed him a pair of loafers, which he put on once he reached the tarp and wiped his feet clean of sand.

Your mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert. His personality might be lacking, but he was gorgeous, you had to give him that. Oikawa was pretty in a different way, but he'd never appealed to you in the way this man, Ushijima, was. Even if it was solely physical appeal, you couldn't help but wonder if he had deeper issues than just being nice; he didn't seem rude, just blunt, the more you thought about it, one of those silent types that your mother adored.

You didn't like that your tastes skewed close to hers.

"[Name], up on the stool," the director yelled over rising winds. Your hair whipped into your face. "Ushijima, stand in front of her. Yes, just like that, now move a little to the left—right there. Now [Name], wrap one arm around his neck and the other under his arm and over his back."

You looked Ushijima in the eye from your slightly elevated height. He was eye level with you now and raised his eyebrows.

"Are you okay with me…?" You motioned to your breasts and then mimed wrapping your free arm around his neck.

"Oh. Yeah." He shuffled closer and when the stool trembled under shifting sand, his hands shot up to steady you at the waist, just under the ribs. His thumbs almost touched, his hands were so large. "Are you okay?"

At least he was trying to be considerate. You removed your other arm and steadied yourself on his shoulders, faintly hearing the click of cameras already going. "There, I should be okay now. You can let go if you want."

You heard his frown, more than saw it, as you hooked your right arm around his neck and the other under his bicep, draping your hand loosely over his left shoulder blade. His hand came up to your back to hold you steady, pressing between your shoulders and unintentionally pushing your breasts and upper body into his chest. "I don't want you to fall."

Ushijima was pleasantly warm, you noted, and shifted slightly so the director could get your face better. When your nipples, hard from the cold, dragged against his chest, you could have sworn you heard him take a deep inhale and exhale sharply, but over the wind it was hard to tell.

"Thanks," you said, as normally as you could make it. It was a whisper and almost directly in his ear. His hand tightened subtly against the skin of your side.

A few clicks of a shutter later and the director wasn't satisfied. "[Name], wrap both arms under his and rest your chin on his shoulder."

You did as commanded, even if your body was screaming at the pose you were in and your mind damning Oikawa to hell at the same time. You rested your hands on his shoulder blades, this time your chest and shoulders and torso flush with his. You passed off the goosebumps rising on his skin from the cold, and gave a sultry look to the camera.

"Gorgeous," the director clapped.

They took a few more photos, most of them with you or Ushijima turning your heads to look at the ocean or each other. Every time your gazes met, it was like someone had dropped a nest of bees in your stomach and set them off, and his eyes were dark and intense enough to make shivers go down your spine.

"I'm loving this tension," the director remarked to Ayano and Ushijima's manager. "This is better than anything Oikawa could have produced, I think."

Ayano snorted out a laugh. "Don't let him hear you say that. He'll be offended."

The director chuckled. "Alright, [Name], Ushijima! Ushijima, stand behind [Name] this time and [Name], face him please."

You pirouetted on the stool, Ushijima steadying you by your hips, and shifted behind you, allowing you to grip onto his shoulders and steady yourself when more sand sunk into his footprints.

"Alright, same pose as before except Ushijima, I want you to put your fist in her hair and look at the camera."

It was your turn to get goosebumps when his hand slid up the back of your neck to cradle the back of your scalp, and then close his fist into the hair at the nape of your neck. The steady pressure combined with the sound of his breathing in your ear had you mentally running laps, and in the back of your head, you wondered if he'd had experience in pulling hair—then you flushed when you realized exactly where your thoughts were going.

God, Oikawa was never going to forgive you.

Ayano whistled lowly at the display screen as the camera shutters went off. Ushijima's stare was deadly and the way his fingers were tight in your [color] hair added a flair that made her feel like she was looking in on an intimate moment.

"He's good," she complimented towards Tendou.

"Eh?" The redhead scratched his nose. It was numb from the cold. "His face always looks like that. It's terrifying."

When you and Ushijima parted for a break while the director examined the photos more closely, Ayano watched as Ushijima's fingers lingered on your spine for a moment longer than necessary. Then you locked eyes for a brief moment, caught in your own world, and then you stepped away, hurrying into the jacket that Ayano held out for you.

"What was that?" Ayano asked curiously, watching Ushijima tug on a jacket with his name embroidered on the breast pocket. "That tension was no joke."

"He's dangerous," You said breathlessly, holding a hand over yout rapidly beating heart. "Jesus, what did his parents feed him? I might faint, Ayano."

"The souls of his enemies?" She joked, and you jabbed her in the ribs. "Seriously though, maybe you should explore that sometime. I haven't seen you like that since Kuroo."

You wrinkled your nose. "He'd be happy to hear you say that. I still need to call him and see how Kenma's doing."

Ever since your ex-boyfriend had come out as bisexual to you a few months ago, two years after you'd broke things off cleanly, you'd been his staunch supporter when his parents had shunned him and Kenma. While your relationship might not have been what you both wanted, you were still good friends, and had been there for each other through thick and thin. So when Kuroo introduced Kenma, a rising video game streamer, as his boyfriend, you'd cried alligator tears of joy and hugged the life out of him.

You and Kenma got along like a house on fire, to Kuroo's relief and slight worry. You made more than one guest appearance on his streams, and being a famous face, people started shipping you in a poly relationship with the both of them. Even though it was a joke, you'd caught Kenma and Kuroo eyeing you thoughtfully more than once and you were adamant that a poly relationship wasn't what you wanted or needed, even though you loved them both.

Kenma had shrugged dismissively and said,"We might convince you one day."

Coming from him, it was a vow and not a promise. You'd laughed it off and Ayano saved the day with a phone call, but you knew he was dead serious about it. Even Kuroo had been interested in the idea, saying he wouldn't mind it at all.

You weren't sure how you felt about that.

"What's wrong with Kenma?" Ayano inquired.

"He's caught some parasite from a bad batch of sushi. He's been in and out of the hospital for a while since he can't fully get rid of them, so I like to check in and see if they need anything." You shrugged. While Kenma made good income streaming, he couldn't do it while he was ill, so you had been subtly paying their bills. Kuroo's chemistry teaching job didn't pay as well as you'd like either. You'd thought about lending your Tokyo penthouse to them since you never used it, but Kuroo would be hesitant to accept the offer. "Last I heard he was able to keep fluids down and was working on soup."

"Hm. I hope he's okay," Ayano hummed. "I know Kuroo's been struggling lately."

You nodded sadly in agreement. Kuroo never ceased to amaze you with how thoughtful and unselfish he was; he'd drop anything for Kenma in a heartbeat, or you if it came to it, and you almost pitied him because all he had was Kenma and you.

Before you could say more, the director called for you and you shed your jacket morosely. Ushijima stood with his dogs and you stepped hesitantly beside him, looking to the director for directions.

"We're going to take one last shoot and then we'll be packing up for the day," he announced and you sighed in relief. You'd finally be out of the cold. "Ushijima, you'll be sitting on the stool this time. [Name], you'll be sitting in his lap and facing the camera. I'll direct you after that."

You avoided Ushijima's gaze as best you could as you both made your way to the tarp. The edges fluttered as the wind pushed it up, but you toed them down and waited for Ushijima to get comfortable on the stool. It was a bit small for him so he had to spread his legs wider than his pants would allow, planting his feet in the sand so he wouldn't fall off. It was almost hilarious.

"Nevermind! [Name], you'll have to straddle his left thigh. Ushijima, once she's settled, I want you to wrap an arm around her breasts and the other around the waist of her shorts. [Name], I want you to reach back and wrap an arm around his neck and use the other to hold on to the arm around your waist."

This just couldn't get any worse, could it? You pleaded to the gods that he wouldn't be able to read you like an open book and carefully lifted your leg over his thigh, using all of your weight to keep yourself steady. You couldn't avoid pressing the crotch of your shorts to his thigh, his leg was too long and your feet barely touched the ground. His thigh flexed between your legs and you had to swallow a tiny gasp that threatened to break free. You had to reassure yourself that he was probably as uncomfortable as you were. That was all that would get you through this.

He made sure not to let you have an accident in front of the cameras, shielding your breasts from view with his arm while you wrapped an arm around his neck and rested your fingers on the soft stubble at the nape.

When you were in position and had your best model face on, the director adjusted the camera lens to focus more on the way Ushijima was a hair's breadth away from touching his nose to the pulse in your throat and his lips to your shoulder. Then, he zoomed out and focused more on the image as a whole, chattering to the editor about how the red of the cold could be edited out.

You couldn't help but relax into Ushijima's warmth the more the cold got to you. He didn't seem to mind; if anything, his grip tightened, and you heard him sigh into your ear. The only thing driving you insane was the way he kept flexing his thigh between your legs; he kept stiffening up and forcing himself to relax, and you had to fight off the arousal that kept building within you every time you remembered that he was touching you as intimately as a man could.

While the director pointed at something you couldn't see on screen, Ushijima stiffened up again and shifted his weight just a little, but it was enough to drag the harsh seam of the shorts against your pulsing clit. You couldn't stop the shaky, small gasp that escaped you, so quiet it was drowned out by the ocean. Except Ushijima—he heard you. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your face and a blush crept up your cheeks. He couldn't have known—

PART TWO.

MASTERLIST.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#ushijima x you #ushijima x y/n #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi

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ryuichirou · 4 years ago

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I really love the way you draw anatomy - you are literally perfect. Would you mind one day if you make a simple tutorial on how to draw anatomy, particularly hands and just keeping things in proportion. Sorry if this sounds like a demanding ask - u can definitely decline or not answer no offence taken x

First of all, thank you so much! <3 I’m so happy to hear that you think my anatomy looks good. I’m not sure if I can teach you anything, but I’ll try! And sorry it took me so long to reply.

I wouldn’t call this a tutorial, more like an outline of what I usually do (maybe with some tips here and there). Hope it’s at least a little bit helpful 🙏

I’ll start with how I draw the hands. Well, as you’ve probably seen on my previous post about this topic, I used to have a hard time with hands because I didn’t understand the logic behind them + my only reference was my own small and blobby hands. Practice helps a lot, but imo mostly because as you draw more hands, it becomes easier for you to break them into simpler shapes (this is important!) and imagine them in 3d in your head or as you draw.

When I draw hands, I start with a rough sketch. Basically I just draw a fingerless block first. It’s a bit illegible right now, but bear with me.

After this I add fingers. Once again, they’re all broken into shapes: a finger is just 3 short tubes connected to the block we just drew. Sometimes some parts of the “tubes” aren’t visible because of the perspective of the hand, sometimes you can clearly see all of them. As I already said, it’s all about learning how to imagine these things in 3d.

Since my sketch is so rough, I tried to make the shapes more clear here. I hope it makes sense.

After the sketch is done, I basically just… draw hands. Remember that this is skin and meat, there are going to be folds (??? Idk if this is the correct word) and stuff. And nails, oh nails… I scream when I remember the times when I used not to draw them lol They help to convey the perspective and the angle of the fingers, so for me it’s better to have them than not. I’m not drawing them the exact correct way, though, but still.

And once again, it took me a long time to start drawing hands more or less properly, and I still fix them all the time. For example, a thumb of the first one on the left is too short. In fact, I’d make all the thumbs bigger…

So yeah, something among the lines. It’s not perfect, but this is the basic idea of how it works, at least for me.

About proportions… Well, I’m one of those artists who like to make 1000000 sketches before I move on to the inking phase, it’s just more comfortable to me. This way, I give myself more control of the pose and proportions and have a lot of time to adjust and fix whatever feels off to me. Many good artists don’t do that because they don’t really need it.

First, I make a very quick sketch just to grab the “feel” of the pose I’m going for, plus it helps with the overall composition of the drawing. It isn’t detailed at all, so it takes about 5-10 minutes to draw, even less if I’m confident about what I want and don’t try to find the pose that would work the best. At this stage I try to keep the proportions in mind, but I don’t think about them too much.

When I’m more or less satisfied with the basic idea, I draw my first sketch. At this stage I’m err building the body. There are a lot of ways to do that, I’m drawing something similar to a mannequin that is made out of meat. Oh no, that sounded horrible…

As you can see, this time I pay more attention to proportions and sketch all parts of the body properly. I make sure that both arms are the same length, both legs are the same length, that the shoulders are on the same level, stuff like that. At this stage I don’t think about the character, just about the body: I’m trying to make it make sense lol

Also you might’ve noticed, but I changed the position of the arms on this sketch because my initial idea didn’t really work (I tried to sit in the same pose and it was uncomfortable lol)

And then I draw yet another sketch. Sometimes this can be the last stage and I ditch the inking altogether and just colour this sketch instead, but more often than not it looks too messy and I have to make another sketch… (This is also where Katsu usually tells me to chill because we were planning to draw something simple and quick and I’m already making it complicated lol)

Here I’m adding more details, like face, hair, clothing, anything else that I need to sketch before inking/colouring. After this sketch is done, I look at it again and see if anything looks off. If it does, I try to fix it, adjust it, sketch it again, whatever works and whatever makes my sketch less stiff and more proportional. It doesn’t have to be super realistic proportions-wise though.

Things that I pay attention to when I check the proportions on my drawings:

Shoulders: they should be the same size (although the perspective can create a distortion, but this is a whole other can of worms) + ideally they should be able to fit two heads in them length-wise.

Arms: I check if they’re the correct length (the hand part should start ~at the crotch level). If the arm on the drawing is bent, I try to visualize how it’d look like if they were straightened up. If it’s difficult to imagine, I just sketch it.

Oh, and the size of hands. I always check if they’re the correct size by comparing them to a face of the character: they should be about the same size (of course some people have larger hands and some of them have smaller hands).

Legs: same with arms, I try to make sure they are not too long and not too short. Also, when drawing arms or legs, you can draw this thing. The shoulder/hip and the hand/foot have the same distance from the elbow/knee. This… sounds confusing, I hope it at least looks understandable lol

There are a lot of ways to check if everything is correct: sometimes I just put my fingers on the screen to check if all of the lengths make sense lol and sometimes I draw these lil lines to check if the lengths of the parts that are supposed to be the same match.

If your drawing looks off, just create another layer and sketch the body (the meaty mannequin thingie) over it again. It might help you see some obvious mistakes if there are any. Some people might say it’s too much work, I call this practice lol

There are instances when I redraw some parts of the body completely. There are situations when it’s easier to do it all over again than to fix the existing sketch.

Another thing that I do is flip the image as I draw. Not very often though, you need not to get used to the flipped version of your drawing, it should be somewhat new to your eyes, this way your mistakes will be more visible to you. At least I think so…

It also helps to pay attention to details as much as you can, they make a huge difference. I still have a lot to learn about how the abs work, but like a year ago I knew nothing about them aside from “err I think there are 6 or 8 of them?? And they start below the boobs” (my boobs were also more square). After I started drawing them more often and learning how they actually work, my drawings changed accordingly. I think the right one is at least slightly better haha

So yeah, this is more or less my process. It isn’t necessary to draw 10203100 sketches and to go through all these stages, but I personally feel much more comfortable doing that because this way I can be sure that I would’ve noticed if there was a major fuckup somewhere.

To be honest, if we’re talking proportions, this image is literally the only thing you need to know.

Just keep in mind how many heads are in the human body length, how many heads can fit inside one’s torso, etc. Compare body parts to each other accordingly. Just make a habit out of checking if the proportions on your drawings are correct: make a shoulder bigger, make sure that the legs are the same size. It might be too much at first, but it’ll literally become a subconscious thing very soon, and you won’t have to actively think about all of this every time you draw. I google this image from time to time just to make sure that I’m fixing everything correctly lol

You don’t have to be exact with these proportions, but they still need to have some logic behind them. Like here, if we look at Osomatsu, who is clearly very stylized, we can still see that his body is proportionate. His shoulders are too small for his head, and his body surely doesn’t have 8 heads in its length, but he still doesn’t fall apart because there is logic behind his stylization: his arms are still long enough for him to put his hands in his pockets; they aren’t too long or too short. Hope that makes sense…

Sorry for the long read. Once again, I hope it was somewhat helpful or at least interesting. If you have any more questions, please feel free to ask!

Although I’m still learning myself of course, so there are things that I probably don’t know or forgot to mention…

#replies #ryuichirouart #tutorial #of sorts #about drawing

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mymadmedleyw · 3 years ago

Text

Obsession / Instincts

(ao3), belongs under Certain Moment of Time, could be read independently, just as each for the days will be shorts, but all together forming a whole picture

---

"You're late. Again." stated an impatient voice, just at the same time he phased through the ceiling.

"Had a little business." Skulker described, hardly wanting to get into the details. And really, he tried to close out the frustration that each encounter with the boy left in him.

"That's the third time." was it noted, with a pointing raised up eyebrow. "I thought ghosts don't follow schedules." to that word, Skulker's artificial face twitched, and even under the suit, he grimaced. "Should I reschedule our meetings then?" looked to his employer to him, asking it almost as if it would have been a kind inquiring. But it was a mocking, an accounting for, not an actual offering, he knew that too.

Skulker took a narrowed look at the other (this time human-formed) ghost, but then shook his metallic head. "Nah, scalping the whelp could wait." he floated lower, putting down his neatly created legs to the floor, nearing the working table where the maps and drawing were prepared for the newest information to add to it.

"Whelp?" lifted up his head the man from one of his papers, confused by the use of the word.

"The boy," Skulker explained. "Didn't you hear about him?"

"I have a life here you know…" came the explanation, in a form of mumbling, like it would have been said like a thousand times.

"Noticed." Skulker acknowledged, this time, exceptionally not making any comment on the human outlook, or on the pyjamas… (but of course that didn't stop him sneering over the sight). It was always weird witnessing the (partly) ghost in human situations, but this- this now, was the cherry top on the dessert. If the man was prepared for the bedtime, then he indeed was late, which meant, he rather shouldn't have tested the other's patience.

"I'm not paying attention to the chattings anyway among you, obviously to pass your eternal time as the only entertainment." the other said, waving to him to come closer and drew out the latestly collected data. "Ghosts appear quite often, people die, I don't have time to follow every one of your murmurings. You're worse than a bunch of bored old woman." was it described.

"He is different." Skulker debated, giving the man the small card, hid behind his metallic ear which was somehow more important, than any part of him. Once he had been informed how it worked, but to tell the truth, he hadn't been really paying any attention, not until his suit worked shiny and greatly and he got the upgrades. Then, why should have any unexplainable part bothered him?

"How so?" the man asked, accepting the card, connecting it to the computer. The question sounded automatic, not as a real interest.

"Not like us." Skulker described, waiting until he got back the data-collecting tiny device. "Just popped out of nowhere. He not even belongs within the Zone, wasn't formed there." he added.

"Maybe you just missed it." commented the other, typing something on the keyboard, then looked up to the screen. "The modelling of your realm is almost ready," he reported. "A few more measuring and we'll be done."

"You never told why you need it." Skulker pointed, suddenly realising he never asked about it, or when he did the man always eluded from the answering. If soon there hadn't been any 'part-job', he never would get the reason.

"And you never thanked me for your suit." the other told. "Neither the upgrades. Still, I am tolerating you."

To that, Skulker rather didn't add anything, just silently clenched his metallic jaw, recognising his so used-to outlook could be thanked to the most of the time posing human ghost-like being. He abhorred when someone – anyone – was blackmailing him, or when his true appearance was on plain sight in a debate.

"The outliner in the ecto-readings from the last time …" asked all at once the man. "did you figure it out what it was?"

It needed a moment for Skulker to come back from the fear that if he wouldn't 'play nice' keeping his suit had been on stake, but then put together, now, it didn't occur the other to roust him like that. Maybe the pyjamas and the late time helped him to rather end this meeting fast, so then Skulker responded, feeling as his tensed up tiny little body got calmed down to. "I think that created him."

"Who?" was it taken, but then, after a beat, it sank. "Oh, the ghost boy, you are referring to."

"You should be interested," Skulker suggested, enjoying the advantages he had against the other. Oh, this would be good, fascinating to witness how the truth would come to the surface. The possibilities of how it could turn out made a smirky smile on his artificial face.

"I don't care out some mindless children who died at young age, obviously by a lame careless accident." was it shook off.

"You might be surprised…" Skulker insisted, only getting out as much information that could get the part-ghost's attention. "My sensors you created, it detects the radiations too, his emission is similar like yours. And he is a bit like you too, posing as a human, very lovely."

To that, the motion of the man stopped, almost keeping him frozen for an entire minute, but then he blinked, as if he didn't want his halting to be visible. "This ghost boy…" was it started. "keep on eye on him." he demanded with a strict voice.

"I don't like follow orders." Skulker commented, though this time, just as a used-to retort to every dictation.

"Still, you are doing it so great."

"Watch it, you still owe me to leading you out of the Ghost Zone. I still could recall how desperate and lost you were…" the memory created a wide grin behind the metallic skin on Skulker's face. Sometimes, when he wondered how much the things changed between them, to this current unbearable level, he came back to that picture, as the other had been begging pathetically for anyone who could know the exit from the endless realm.

"And I think I already paid for that." the man snapped. "Don't forget to keep in mind, I have access to your suit. Would you like me to override that stuck-in program? Follow the boy."

Skulker swallowed at the re-appeared demanding and expecting, but then remembered the last time he had been here, the man had been cursing about his old 'friend'. Presumably, this time it was skipped by the late hour and because of the human 'tiredness', but suddenly an idea appeared in Skulker's mind. He still had the advantage to be aware of some things…

"These Fentons you are always complaining about…" he started, not letting the other to cut in with a note to the word 'complaining' – because even if the other couldn't admit it, that was it, for a very very long time. "Maybe you should reconnect with them." he said, turning invisible and leaving the thought without any further particularising. And he knew, if once the so loathed Jack Fenton and the so cherished Maddie returned to the man's mind, he wouldn't be able to fight against it. Maybe some research work could mean a short-timed distraction, but knowing the part-ghost for nearly fifteen years, Skulker was conscious of what was about his true fixation, and now, he got a new part in that picture: figuring out the identity of the mysterious ghost boy. And learning who exactly was that undoubtedly would turn out very lovely. That made a challenged joyous smile on Skulker's face, oh that would be so good…

#going angst week 2021 #going angst week #skulker #vlad masters #danny phantom

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adenei · 4 years ago

Text

Auror 99 - Chapter 10

You can find the whole story on AO3 or FFN

Curveball

Hermione’s plan had come to fruition quite easily with Amy helping. Harry and Ron had spent the past couple of days in the records office trying to gather information and possible evidence. They’d contacted Kingsley to get clearance without having to sign in and risk blowing both their real and fake covers.

Meanwhile, Jake and Charles had been placed on stakeout duty outside the Woolworth building. This time, though, they weren’t looking for a specific person, but some other type of consistency. Perhaps someone entering or exiting the building at the same time every day, or whether there were similarities in people’s gaits with their walk. Hermione and Amy had researched possible ways to imitate a person, and, with the trio’s past use of Polyjuice, they had more ideas of what to look for. Rosa was still stationed on surveillance duty, so she was monitoring the surrounding blocks for any sudden appearances. Sometimes she, Charles and Jake would switch around their duties to not get caught up in the monotony.

What Ron and Harry had found the next day was a similarity in times on the main sign in sheet for the Wand Records Office, but it was always a different name. The names were always male, so if it was Gerteso posing as other people, it narrowed the search for who the 99 was looking for. Once in the Wand Records Office, the second sign-in indicated that Gerteso was searching wand records between 1993 and 1998, but the rows varied. It looked as if Gerteso had been tackling about five rows a day, and was a week in.

He typically only spent about forty five minutes searching each day to not arouse suspicion, and he didn’t go in order when searching the rows. Gerteso clearly planned everything out to minimize suspicions. The first day Harry and Ron were investigating, they split up the rows between them.

It was a small records office, the rows weren’t very long, and the shelves were only four rows high. The years were labeled at the ends of the rows and indicated the record holder’s school age entrance year. Records were kept in manilla folders that had stickers on the end with letters. The first two appeared to be the first and last initial, and most folders only had two stickers, but some had three or four. So Harry and Ron decided to decipher the labeling system first to see if they could save time.

“How in the world does he get through five rows each day? There must be at least a hundred records to sift through on each shelf!” Harry said as he was looking down the row.

“Maybe there’s a classification system with the letters that makes it easier for him to look.” Ron suggested. He scanned the row he was currently scanning. “Americans certainly go through a lot of wands, don’t they? This one person has had at least five, and their Ilvermorny start was in ‘93!” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Guess they’re more careless than we are, or more interested in power and status. Who knows.” Harry was silent for a bit before he said, “Hey Ron, I think the third letter is the married name for those witches.”

“I think you’re right, Harry,” Ron said as he handled a folder himself. “Black and white lettering for first and last name, blue and white lettering for married name, yeah?”

“Yeah, now let’s look for-” Harry cut himself off as they heard a door open.

Ron checked his watch and knew it was close to that time. He pointed at his watch, and then the end of the row. Harry grabbed the invisibility cloak from inside his pocket and put it on while Ron made his way to an area in the shelves where the newcomer wouldn’t find him. He double checked that his phone was on silent, and opened it to send a text message to Jake and Charles. He’s here.

Jake responded fairly quickly. Harry texted Charles. He’s going to give us a description to work off of so when he comes back out we can trail him to see where he goes.

Brilliant, Ron sent back before switching his contacts to Hermione.

Her response was a bit less stealth. Omg. He’s there? Are you going to apprehend him?

Not yet.

Well, why not? Isn’t that the whole reason you’re there???

Ron rolled his eyes. He was once again reminded why Hermione wasn’t an Auror. Hermione, we don’t know for certain that it’s him. Plus, we need to be sure we know what he’s after to have enough evidence. It’d look pretty bad if we arrested the wrong guy and then spooked Gerteso.

Ugh, fine.

While we’re waiting, have you found any more on The Cryptic yet?

OH! Yes, actually. Amy is going to send you a couple files now. It may actually help us narrow it down.

As Ron was reading Hermione’s text, he saw the drop down notification from Amy and clicked on it. There were three links to articles. He clicked on the first one. Apparently one of the street names The Cryptic goes by is Francesco Martini. At least that was his good samaritan name.

He was the youngest philanthropist New York has seen in decades, only 28. It was an article about how he donates thousands of dollars to help orphaned children, both magical and non-magical. He even takes some of the kids into his home, almost like that Daddy Warbucks in that muggle movie Hermione had made him watch once.

Hmm, I wonder if that’s a cover to better assess kids for the squib trafficking. Ron texted Amy.

I was thinking the same thing. Everything we’ve found on Francesco Martini is pretty solid and checks out, though. He’s careful with his aliases. Plus, he’s only ever seen in pictures by this name, so whoever his true identity is, he keeps that locked up tight.

Merlin, how does she text so fast? Ron thought. He moved onto the other articles she sent to pass the time. The first thing he’d do once Gerteso left would be to double check the name Martini, happy to have a solid plan for once.

The last article was still open on his phone when he noticed something about Martini’s picture. Why didn’t it look the same as the other article. Ron quickly toggled back and forth. Bloody hell, he thought as he opened the text thread for Hermione.

Check those images on the articles of Martini, and tell me if you notice anything. He sent the text and waited a few moments. Sure, the years were two apart, but he was vastly different. Almost as if a beauty charm was used on the more recent article. In the older one he looked like-. His thought was cut off as Hermione’s text came through.

It doesn’t look like the same person, even though he’s labeled as Francesco Martini. That’s odd. I’m having Amy cross reference to see if we get any more image hits.

Notice anything else? Ron sent back.

The older image looks like someone I’ve seen before.

Like Gerteso.

Oh, my... YES, RON THAT’S RIGHT! Ron nodded as he read Hermione’s message.

There are some differences, though.

You don’t think they could be brothers, do you? That could fit the whole taking what’s rightfully his.

Maybe even closer than that.

TWINS? But how…

I don’t know. I’ll search both names, Ron sent the last text to her as he heard a door shut. Harry texted.

He’s leaving, but don’t come out yet. I want to be sure. I’m texting Jake and Charles to make sure he doesn’t see them following him, and not to engage. They’ll meet us back at headquarters.

They waited a good five minutes before they received word from Charles that Gerteso had left the Woolworth building. When Harry told him it was safe, Ron quickly showed him what Hermione and Amy had found and where he wanted to look.

“But that wouldn’t make sense, I trailed him the entire time he was here. He didn’t search the rows he wrote down in the log book, either, Ron. He stayed in the G section of 1998.”

“I think they’re brothers Harry, and if Martini is an alias, then of course Gerteso would be looking in G. Let’s just check the M1998 section.” Harry nodded reluctantly as they quickly found it.

“There’s no Martini here, Ron,” Harry said impatiently, but Ron didn’t move.

He stood there, thinking hard. “What did Kingsley say about the Sanguinity connection with The Cryptic?”

“Just that the Sanguinity named him head of the New York Division,” Harry said, scratching his head.

“He’s 28, Harry. Very young. There’s got to be something special about him.”

“Or maybe they couldn’t find a suitable leader in New York and sent him here,” Harry said half jokingly.

Ron looked up at him. “That’s it! Harry, you’re brilliant!” He immediately began moving to the end of the aisle.

“What? I was only-”

“But what if he was sent here? From Italy? Do they have immigrant records?”

“Er, yeah on the other side of the floor.”

“What are we waiting for?” Ron hurried to the immigration record area and searched for Martini. It didn’t take long to find one singular match in 1998. “Bloody hell,” Ron muttered as they grabbed the file.

He opened it as Harry looked over his shoulder, and sure enough, there was a picture of a boy who closely resembled a younger version of the man who Ron had seen in the article. It turned out Martini was indeed an alias.

“So The Cryptic’s real name is Lorenzo Guarnieri?” Harry asked quietly.

“Looks like it. Let’s take pictures of all this so we can take it back to the team.” Ron handed Harry the folder as he reached for his phone.

As Ron was taking the pictures, Harry continued studying the document. When it came across familial relations, Harry drew a sharp breath in. “Whoa.”

“What?” asked Ron.

“I think you might be right about the brother hunch, mate.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Ron asked curiously.

“Because it says so right here. A twin brother, who was older, but presumed dead. Leonardo Guarnieri.”

Ron looked up at Harry and both men had the same thought at the same time. “Gerteso.”

#harry potter au #hp/b99 crossover #brooklyn 99 au

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aidemint · 4 years ago

Text

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐨 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐩 - 𝐒𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐨

Word Count: 2700

Warnings: None!

There was always a boy with peach-colored hair that I would see in the village.

From the confines of my house, I would stare out the window and watch him meander about the streets of the city. He would always be clad in patterned robes with a mask strapped to his head, and a sword tied to his belt. I always wondered what it was for. Perhaps he was a samurai, like the ones I'd read about in the old storybooks, though he didn't quite look the part.

But one could dream.

As time passed, and the world grew older, I noticed that he was now accompanied by a smaller girl with jet-black locks. They would run together and weave through crowds without a care in the world. She looked younger, and wore an outfit with a similar design as his. A younger sister, I reckoned.

The more that I observed them, the more I would feel a certain emptiness inside my chest. I would get lost in my own thoughts more often, pointlessly staring at my hands as I curled and uncurled my fingers, watching pieces of my butterfly skin flake off and settle on the cuffs of my kimono.

It stung, but my heart ached even more.

I'd always wanted someone to keep me company.

It was a nice thought, something that provoked my imagination.

It helped me cope.

My condition was rare.

Though I was a whole being, I was forever cursed to live a wretched life filled with nothing but pain and agony. My skin would come off at the slightest movement or touch, which made washing myself or getting anywhere an extremely tedious task. And if the gods hadn't bound me to my hermit life enough, I had eyes that were not capable of rendering large amounts of light, which meant that I couldn't go out during the day if I didn't want to blind myself.

And I didn't want to lose my sense of sight, as it would mean no longer being able to see the peach-haired boy and his sister. So there was no other option for me. The day was detremental, and the night posed too many risks, with unimaginable monsters lurking around, so I had no choice but to remain as I was -- alone and weak.

I could only sit and watch the world pass by from the confines of my room, where I was forever trapped, cursed to my prison. As I had delicate skin and soft eyes that could not take in light, my flaws rendered me useless, and therefore I had to pay reparations to the world by staying inside.

There were many people that believed that I did something sinister in my past life, and that was the reason why I had so many imperfections now. In this age, it was commonplace to believe such a thing. I understood why they could even mention something as terrible as this, but couldn't help but feel sad at the thought.

Matters became even worse once my family got word of the rumor. Being especially spiritual, they immediately suspected me and made it their priority to discard the person that would bring bad omens into their family. They promptly left me with half of their savings and their old house, and moved away to somewhere else.

I tended to my belongings quite well and always cherished the little bits of home with gratitude, but I always missed them, despite never truly knowing who they were and what they looked like.

I hoped that they were well, without me.

But even though my family left, the rumor still remained, however, forever haunting me and my very existence. Speculations only grew as the years went by. The townspeople had somehow reached the conclusion that I had been cursed because my past life had not lived their existence justly.

Sometimes I would sit and wonder about it.

Was it really my fault?

Why did the gods condemn me so?

Had I really committed such a cardinal sin?

If I did, I think would've remembered it.

Most days were spent making woven goods that I sold to the townspeople in exchange for groceries and such things. On the mornings that the peach-haired boy came to town, I would wait for him by my window and patiently stare into the open until he came. He and his little sister would walk around the town, sometimes getting groceries, sometimes not. They looked happy when they were together outside, enjoying the many wonders of a fulfilled life.

How I longed to live like them.

But I wasn't truly in a position to complain, as there'd always be one person to stop by my house every once in a while.

Urokodaki always came to pay me a visit, which was nice. He would bring me miso soup and small bits of dried seaweed in exchange for woven baskets. Every month, he would even stay and tell me about his travels and tales from his life -- glimpses into the outside world that I never got to experience for myself.

And perhaps it was because he was so near and dear to me that I always drank the soup with fervor, making sure not to waste even the slightest drop. I hoped that if I appreciated it enough that it would never stop coming. I never wanted the stories to cease.

That bowl of miso soup was the only light of my life that my heart could hold without stopping.

I could never thank Urokodaki enough, even for such a small bowl of soup, but he seemed to be the gift that kept on giving.

One day he brought the peach-haired boy along.

When I opened to door to let the elder in, I gasped upon seeing him with the boy I'd watched for so long. Immediately starting to worry that the place was unfit for him to see, or that I looked too unruly, I accidentally strained my skin too much and tore a new gash into my shoulder. Wincing and biting back a cry, I tried to mask the pain, but relented as Urokodaki gently took my hand and led me inside so that he could bandage me.

At that moment, I knew that I would be unable to face the boy for the rest of the day. It was foolish of me to have hoped that another would be able to understand. Why should he try to understand? I was the town's hermit, a monster among the children, and a symbol of strife among the grown.

No words were exchanged that afternoon. We all just sat and ate, and after we had eaten, Urokodaki and the peach-haired boy departed. I cast no farewell gesture to the pair, only giving a small, sad smile to the elder has he exited my house.

Days passed and life went on in accordance to the usual schedule. It was boring, but served as a reassurance that nothing out of the ordinary would happen after that encounter with Urokodaki's student. But even if I was happy that my life was the same, I couldn't help but feel disappointed at myself. Subconsciously touching the bandage on my shoulder, I sighed while imagining what my life could have amounted to if I got to know the boy I'd been admiring for such a long time.

Cursing at myself, I angrily started to thread the reeds to a chair covering, fueled by the utter shame and regret in not jumping at the opportunity to know someone new. In doing so, I hadn't realized that someone was knocking on the door. The sounds from outside continued for a few minutes before I realized that they were there. Needless to say, I was particularly surprised. Urokodaki never came this early, and an unexpected visitor wasn't very common. Despite how unconventional a stranger was, they were always welcome.

I slowly got up to open the door and once I had unlocked it, I was met with an unanticipated face.

It was the peach-haired boy.

My eyes widened in shock, completely dumbfounded as to why he would come again. Had I not scared him off last time? I simply watched him as he awkwardly waited for a response from me. When I kept staring, he cleared his throat and decided to break the silence.

"Uh," he spoke, "Is it alright if I come in?" I blinked and immediately nodded slightly, moving as fast as I could to the side in order to let him in. He looked at my figure with a concerned expression while I shuffled to close the door behind him. It looked like he wanted to say something about it, but he refrained from it and moved to another topic.

"Is your wound doing alright?" he asked, matching my pace as we walked towards the table set in the middle of the closest room. I smiled at his consideration and felt a sudden tug at my heartstrings.

"Yeah, it doesn't hurt, so don't worry too much about it," I lied, "Besides, I get them all the time. I'm used to it." Despite this, the boy didn't look too assured, but chose not to press on.

When we got settled, he brought out the miso soup from his bag and set it on the table, along with two spoons and a small container of dried seaweed. I looked at the dish, anticipating it, but somehow, something didn't feel right. It felt like a stone had settled itself into my chest, weighing my insides down and putting my appetite to rest. Setting down my spoon, I gazed into the yellow-ish liquid and hesitated. This drew the attention of the pink-haired boy.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, wearing a small frown, "Have I done something wrong?" I shook my head gently, sighing and swallowing the dread that pooled in the pits of my stomach. There was one thing I needed to question him about. His response didn't matter, after everything I'd been through, but I needed closure.

"What do you think of me?"

The peach-haired boy looked confused.

"What do you mean?"

"After being in the village for some time, I imagine that you know what the people say about me." He went silent.

I had all the time in the world, so I waited. The boy seemed lost in thought, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his breath steady and lips pouted, in perhaps perfecting a reply that was sweet enough for my ears.

When five minutes went by, I asked him another, simpler, question in case he couldn't comprehend my comment about the village.

"You do know what tall tales about me the children tell each other, right?" He nodded. I maintained a small smile through the query, though my eyes got darker with every proceeding question.

"What are they?" I'd already recognized that he knew I was aware of the rumors. The peach-haired boy paused before answering in a soft tone.

"They say that you're cursed. They think that you're a monster." I hummed and returned to the main topic at hand after his reply. The words stung, but after the countless tears that had been shed over time, I learned to take them.

"So do you think the same?" I inquired, "Am I a monster, with my butterfly skin and delicate eyes? With my scars and-"

"I think you're beautiful."

Stopping, I locked gazes with him and stared in skepticism.

Are you mad? I wanted to shout, Is this some kind of sick joke? A fetish, maybe?

However, I withheld myself and stammered more questions.

"Why did you take such a long time in the beginning?" The peach-haired boy looked away, a rosy coloration dusting his cheeks.

"I didn't know if you would believe me or not." The tenseness in the atmosphere relieved itself at that moment. I began to feel my throat conjure weird bubbles and my shoulders start to hunch up. A chuckle burst out of my mouth unexpectedly, and louder ones followed after. My vision blurred as tears started to leak out of my eyes and spill onto the sides of my face. The peach-haired boy looked starstruck, watching me laugh.

Once I had finished, I looked at him, gingerly wiping the water droplets off of my cheeks and chin, my irises clear and sparkling.

"Then that settles it," I said, hiccupping, "That settles it." The corners of my mouth remained upturned as I picked my spoon back up and mixed the soup so that it clouded up again. Taking a sip, I grinned as the liquid ran smoothly down my throat and sent shivers up my spine.

It was still warm.

After a few more meetings over the course of two weeks, I didn't see Sabito again for the next three months. It was disheartening, to say the least. Though I would always wait by the window in anticipation, he never showed up with the girl. Instead, there was a long-locked black-haired boy, clad in similar patterned robes as he. His eyes appeared as blue as the sky in a cloudless afternoon, and his jaw was angled finely. Guessing that the stranger was a replacement market-boy, I started to worry.

Has something bad happened to Sabito?

When the thought would surface, I simply shook it off, convincing myself again and again that the peach-haired boy was well. Urokodaki frequently updated me with messages via crow, that Sabito was training, and nothing else. This served as a reassuring factor to quell my anxiety through the days in which I felt especially lonely.

Unfortunately, it just so happened to be one of those hours. Currently, I was in a spell of panic.

What if he never came back? What if he perished?

Merely thinking about it made my blood run cold and my fingers numb. I wouldn't even know how to react if that happened. The only thing I could do was hope that Sabito was alright. I felt helpless, defenseless, utterly hopeless.

In my fit, I hadn't realized that there was a knock at the door. It took me a couple minutes to fully register what was going on.

Was this deja vu?

Getting up from my position on my seat, I moved quickly to the door, unlocked it, and was immediately met with an unfathomable sight.

Breathlessly, I began to cry. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks with haste, landing delicately on my robes. My hands were clasped over the smile upon my features, catching the gentle sobs I let out.

There Sabito stood, with longer hair and a small sack in his hand. He grinned, his lavender eyes crinkling as he did. I could see my reflection in his glossy irises.

"Master said it was my turn to bring the miso soup again." I laughed and tried to run towards him, but only managed a meager shuffle.

"Sabito!" I cried, my arms outstretched. He caught me in his embrace, gripping onto my robes as hard as he could without risking any injury being made to my skin. Squeezing my eyes shut, I took in his scent, his being, his presence with as much attention as I could muster.

"I missed you," he whispered, voice cracking, "So much." I sobbed, my chest filling with nothing but endless adoration. Eventually separating, I fluttered my eyelids open and gazed into his wisteria eyes, then kissed him. My heart jumped at the sensation. With fingers gingerly combing through his hair, feeling his soft locks and getting tangled in the new length, I basked in his presence and familiar scent. He kissed back with the same fervor, gripping my waist with his gossamer hands, sending me into paradise.

When we broke away, I couldn't help but smile at his dopey expression.

"Can I come in?" he murmured, placing a peck on my forehead. His voice was irresistibly smooth, like silk flowing in the wind -- undulating and perfectly formed. Giggling as he kissed my lips once more, I couldn't ignore how much I loved him and his being.

So of course, I let him in.

#miso soup #oneshot #imagine #sabito #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #xreader #reader insert #i miss you sabito

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uneryx · 5 years ago

Text

Payback

Based on all the meta going around about Soren and Rayla having a rad bromance, Callum gaining a ton of upper-body strength from flying everywhere and general Rayllum fluffiness. So have a fic about Callum returning to the Storm Spire after a year of mage training, and how Rayla and Soren respectively welcome him back. Takes place about 3 years after Season 3, so Callum is just shy of 18, Rayla’s just shy of 19, and Soren is 22. Enjoy!!

From the peak of the Storm Spire, Rayla scanned the horizon, tensely waiting for something.

“Whatcha looking for?” said a voice behind her, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. In a flash, she drew her swords and pointed them at the throat of her assailant.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s just me!!” said Soren, holding his hands up defensively and backing away.

Rayla relaxed. “Don’t sneak up on me, Soren, I’m not in the mood.”

“Why? Antsy because your boyyyyyyyyfriend is coming back today?” Soren leaned back with a sly grin.

Soren’s presence on the Storm Spire had initially made the rest of the Dragonguard nervous, but he was there on a diplomatic endeavor: a human Crownguard serving with the Dragonguard. His counterpart, a Sunfire elf named Yavuz, was stationed in Katolis. And after some time, the elves had come to realize that, while not the sharpest sword in the armory, Soren was really good at guarding things, and was pretty determined to prove he was nothing like his father. Plus, even Rayla couldn’t deny that he had his good points, and a strange friendship had blossomed between the two.

Said friendship mostly consisted of trying to out-do each other with increasingly dangerous or ill-considered feats of bravery and strength, but it was friendship nonetheless.Still, just because they were bros now, that didn’t mean Soren got to tease her about Callum.

“Shut it,” she said with a glower, and returned to scanning the horizon. “He’s been gone a long time, I’m allowed to be nervous.”

“It’s been what, a year?” said Soren, sitting down beside her with a clank as he pulled an apple out of some hidden compartment in his armor.

“A year, yeah.” Rayla looked down. She had tried not to miss Callum too much, and hoped that wherever he was - Cloudvale, the Shrieking Shore, Mt. Adra - he pined for her as much as she had pined for him this long year. She’d received letters very regularly, with accounts of his adventures and drawings of what he’d seen, and she sent letters back with updates on Zym, life at the Storm Spire, her own training. But letters and drawings weren’t the same as seeing him; his wide smile, the soft look in those green eyes, the shiver that went down to her toes when he said her name.

Soren bit into the fruit, and continued to speak with his mouth full. “Didn’t know mage training was so intense. Think he learned anything cool?”

“Probably. In his last letter, he said that he and Ibis had been chasing storms, trying to find a big one so he could make a primal stone.”

“Y’know, if you’d have told me three years ago that I’d be hanging out with the Dragon Queen and a bunch of elves, waiting for the step-prince to come flying in because he’s a sky mage and can turn his arms into wings? I’d have thought you were crazy.” Soren paused, thinking. “Actually I probably would have tried to kill you, since you’d have been a Moonshadow Elf in the castle, and since my job was to keep elves OUT of the castle--”

“I get what you mean,” said Rayla, cutting him off. And then, a speck in the distance - no, two specks. She tensed, watching the shapes draw in closer, hopeful but not certain.

“Whoa. Either those are really big birds, or that’s them,” said Soren, standing.

Rayla did not consider herself to be particularly vain or fussy. She had a job to do, which was guarding the spire from threats. Her appearance was low on her priority list (aside from making sure her clan markings weren’t faded and she looked presentable). But now that Callum was approaching, she felt her pulse quickening and suddenly whether or not she looked cute mattered a whole heck of a lot. She fussed with her hair, and tugged at the edges of her uniform.

“Calm down, you look fine,” said Soren, noticing her jitters. He knew he wasn’t the most tactful or observant man out there, but he did have a little sister, and he wasn’t THAT dim. He ignored the pang of sadness at the thought of Claudia, and instead focused on Rayla’s worry. So what if she hadn’t seen Callum in a year? The guy was obnoxiously earnest and a big softie, she had nothing to worry about. And if Callum was a jerk, he’d throw him off the Storm Spire. Assuming Rayla didn’t first.

The shapes drew in closer, and it became apparent that it was two winged humanoids - Ibis and Callum. Rayla waved, excited but restrained, and one of the figures wheeled away from the other, diving lower down, heading for the landing outside the Queen’s chambers.

Soren smirked. “I’m gonna go say hi to Ibis and let the Dragon Queen know they’re back,” he said, heading towards the stairs. “Don’t smooch him too hard!” He nimbly jogged away before Rayla could sock him. She scowled at Soren’s retreating form, but the frown vanished quickly as she looked up.

Callum was drawing closer now, wide brown wings fanning out and tilting upwards as he brought himself in for a landing. His feet had barely touched the stone of the Spire’s pinnacle before Rayla rushed at him, almost tackling him with her embrace.

The mage prince laughed, and it may have been slightly deeper but it was still Callum’s laugh and it had been so long since she’d heard it. Soft feathers wrapped around her (to her delight, he had remembered that she loved his wing hugs), and she snuggled into his chest. “I missed you, you stupid human.”

“I missed you too,” he said warmly, the feathers fading and turning back into arms, before he yelped. “Ah, watch the horns!”

That was when Rayla noticed something was off. Her horn had indeed grazed his nose, and she had her face pressed into his neck, and the chest and arms around her were a lot more solid than she remembered…

She backed up, and her eyes widened. Mage training had had quite the effect on him. To start, he’d hit a growth spurt. They’d been eye-to-eye when he left (her horns giving her a slight advantage on top of that), but now he was a few inches taller than her. But whatever, she’d seen his aunt, and apparently his mother had been tall as well, so she had figured that he’d end up taller than her once they were done with puberty.

What she hadn’t expected was the changes in his physique.Below the waist, he was still fairly scrawny, although it was hard to tell with baggy pants he was wearing. From the waist up, he had gained quite a bit of muscle. His shoulders and chest were considerably broader, and while his arms weren’t the same kind of muscular as Ethari’s or Soren’s (men who spent their days swinging heavy metal objects around), there was lean definition there, similar to Ibis.

Callum beamed at her, and stepped away from her embrace, digging into his bag. “I have something to show you, one sec.” With a flourish, he pulled an object from his satchel, and flipped open an impressively made staff, topped with a small blue primal stone. He posed, staff extended in one arm and the other hand on his hip, his gaze skyward, trying to look heroic and cool. He made a small aspiro rune and blew out the side of his mouth, causing his scarf to flap majestically in the breeze before giving her a grin. Still a major dork, then. An incredibly cut major dork.

Rayla swallowed, and tried to say something intelligent, only managing a flustered “um.”

Callum glanced over at her, his smile fading.“Is… something wrong?”

At his hurt puppy expression, Rayla felt the heat rise in her face. He was so damnably attractive, and so clearly happy to see her after all this time, and here she was, her tongue tied in knots because he’d gotten a little beefier. She stammered a bit, and then resorted to giving his bicep a squeeze.

He looked down at her hand, which trailed over to his chest, and understanding dawned on him. “Oh,” Callum said with a chuckle, “turns out flying everywhere is like doing push-ups for hours.” He smiled slyly, and flexed an arm. “You approve?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, running her finger down his arm, following the line of the runes. She was wondering what he looked like under the red tunic - elven made, since they’d been on the other side of the continent, of course, but still in Katolis red and gold.

Callum tipped her chin up towards him, green meeting lavender, and his mouth quirked into a smile. And Rayla melted in his arms, diving forward and letting her mouth do what she’d spent all the days between dreaming of doing. She could have spent forever in that kiss, freewheeling through the sky that was him, but it wasn’t to be.

Another pair of strong arms wrapped around the two. “This is nice,” said Soren, hugging them both from behind Callum, smirking like the devil himself and leaning on the prince. A few more inches still hadn’t put Callum taller than Soren, much to Callum’s annoyance.

“Hi, Soren,” he said flatly. “Your timing is terrible.”

Soren pulled away, beaming. “Uh, my timing is great, thank you. I was waiting just behind that rock for the right moment!”

“That’s weird,” said Rayla, folding her arms.

“Whatever,” Soren sneered, and then spun Callum around to face him. “Time for a real hug!” He grabbed Callum, and squeezed hard, lifting him off the ground a little in a tight bear hug. Ever since that day before the battle, Soren had gotten it into his head that macho bro hugs was a thing he and Callum did, and a year apart wasn’t going to change that. Callum wheezed, frantically tapping Soren’s arm to let him go.

Finally, he did. “Wow,” said Soren, eyeing Callum up and down. “If I had known all it took to get you to work out was to make it about nerdy magic stuff, I’d have made Claudia give you that primal stone years ago.” He grinned, and dropped to the ground into a plank, and looked up at Callum. “So let’s do this!”

Callum and Rayla exchanged confused glances. “Uh… do what?”

“Push-up contest! I want to see how many you can do now!”

“Soren, I just flew here from Cloudvale. My arms are tired.”

“Oh, so you’re still too puny to do push-ups with your good buddy Soren?” He smirked at Callum, raising an eyebrow. The taunt was obvious bait, which Callum took like a hungry fish. Glaring at Soren, he lowered himself into the ready position. At this, Soren beamed. “Hey Rayla, count us off!”

“Count yourself off,” she said, her voice coming from lower down than expected.

The two boys looked over to see that she had also lowered herself into a ready position, planking effortlessly. “What?” she said at their befuddled looks. “You two really thought I was gonna sit here and let a couple of humans show me up?”

I’ll count,” said Callum with annoyance. He looked at Soren and then Rayla, who both nodded, and with a sigh, he counted. “One… two….”

He stopped looking to see what the others were doing after ten, and after 25, he felt a sudden weight on his back. Specifically, around 200 pounds of armored person, sitting on him. “Soren, why are you sitting on me?”

His arms were shaking now, but with a small note of pride he did consider that he was managing to hold Soren and himself up.

“Well, I was impressed that you got to 25 without breaking a sweat. And then I thought… payback time.” He shifted, bringing his legs up to sit cross-legged on Callum’s back. “I think you were on 26?”

Callum managed 26 and 27, before Soren roped Rayla into participating as well, and Callum collapsed on 28. At that, the competitive tension broke, and the three of them lay in a heap on top of the Storm Spire, laughing.

Later that night, Soren found several dozen moon moths in his bed. Moon moths that someone who could fly had probably flown a little ways west to gather. The note on his pillow said “Payback.”

Well, if Callum wanted to engage in a prank war, then it was on.

#tdp fic #the dragon prince #tdp fanfiction #tdp soren #tdp rayla #tdp callum #based on meta about callum getting really buff due to flapping his arms #also note the reference to a bad comedy punchline

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war-of-the-words · 5 years ago

Text

A Christmas (Fashion) Disaster

Summary: Prompt fill: We’re at an ugly Christmas sweater party and that thing is horrendous where did you even find that au, and “I tried so hard to meet you under the mistletoe that I knocked over the Christmas tree and now everyone at the party is staring at me” AU Written Dec 2017 Read on AO3

How in the name of Jolly old St. Nick did this happen . Kaito stared dumbfounded at the detective across the room.He knew that there would be police officers at this party, Aoko had invited him to her father’s annual police Christmas Party for as long as he could remember, but seeing the high school detective was something else entirely. He had only returned recently, wrapping up a case that had kept him away for almost a year, or that would be what Kaito thought if he didn’t, a), help Kudo Shinichi take down that organization, and ,b), know that he was actually six at the time. In all of Kaito’s shock, he didn’t realize he had been staring, and Kudo had just whipped his head around back, sensing that someone was watching him. Kaito quickly turned back to Aoko, who was currently perusing the buffet table.

“Aoko!” Kaito said, maybe a bit too enthusiastically, “do they have those chocolate chip cookies like they did last year?” Aoko, who jumped a little when Kaito spoke, turned to give him an inquisitive look.

“Yeah, they do, but why do you…” Aoko trailed off, her gaze moving from Kaito’s face to something over his shoulder. “Oh sweet Christmas, he wins!”

“What?” Kaito snapped his fingers to regain Aoko’s attention. “What on Earth are you talking about?” Aoko looked at him, in a ‘are you serious right now?’ kind of way. “I’m talking about that guy’s sweater, there is an ugly sweater contest, remember?”

“Duh I remember, why do you think I’m wearing this, for fun?” Kaito gestured to his own torso, that was covered by a sweater of his own design. He had hot glued an entire advent calendar to the front and drew a stick figure Christmas scene on the back, and he had sewn the most obnoxiously colored lights he could find across the whole thing, and of course they lit up. He did all this work, and now Aoko was saying he won’t even win? He won every year, it wasn’t possible. “So, point this guy out for me, who could possibly have an uglier sweater than me?” Kaito said, turning back around to face the expanse of the room.

“There,” Aoko replied smugly, “the guy that kinda looks like you.” Kaito scanned the room until he saw who she was pointing at, Kudo Shinichi, “Great,” Kaito thought and, wait, “ Oh eggnog, what is that?!”

Distracted by the detective’s presence, Kaito neglected to notice the absolutely horrendous roadkill that made Kudo Shinichi’s sweater. The thing had a stuffed reindeer piercing through the detective’s torso, surrounded by an actual wreath decorated with candy canes and gingerbread men , and just to add insult to injury, Kudo also had lights sewn into the sweater, similar colors to, but his were shaped like snowflakes.

“Aoko,” Kaito deadpanned, “I can’t believe that thing exists.”

“Me either, Kaito, it looks like you’re going to have to give up your throne.” Kaito turned away from the amazing sight to eat some pity cookies, it just wasn't fair, Kudo was already stupid pretty, crazy intelligent, and now it turns out he is also a master at tacky sweaters? It was like the man wanted Kaito to fall in with him. Aoko gave him a sympathetic pat as he nibbled on a cookie. “There is always next year Kaito.”

After moping around the party for another hour, trying to make sure Kudo didn’t spot him, the judges decided that, yes Kudo’s sweater was a monstrosity that should not exist in this world, Nakamori found Kaito in order to give him his condolences for losing the crown. “Attention ladies and gentlemen!” One of the organizers stood on a chair, cupping her hands around her mouth in a faux megaphone, “It’s getting close to midnight, and you all know what that means! Mistletoe Mines!” There was a mix of groans and cheers throughout the partygoers, Kaito, well, he would have been one of the Scrooges of the bunch if it hadn’t been for the detective in the room.

The police holiday party had a very… interesting tradition, from eleven to midnight, mistletoe was hung everywhere . Standing at the dessert table, mistletoe. Asking the DJ for a certain song, mistletoe. Just standing in the middle of the room, slightly off center, you better believe there is mistletoe. Of course, they didn’t expect people to go in for a full-blown kiss, something chaste on the cheek was enough, but you had to kiss whoever was under the mistletoe with you, otherwise you had to face a punishment, and the police force knew some punishment games. It was a relatively well liked tradition overall, and if someone was seriously against smooching, they always got a pass. The women of the TMPD were always thankful for Kaito’s attendance. If he saw some lady get stuck under the mistletoe, looking very uncomfortable, or warily watching a coworker start to make their way over, he would rush in and present the lady with an overly dramatic declaration of love, then kiss the back of the lady’s hand. Kaito was the only one allowed to get away with it.

He continued the tradition this year as well. It had only been ten minutes since the mistletoe had been hung up, and he had already rushed to the aid of three women, they were all incredibly used to Kaito’s help at these parties, so they greeted his declaration and kiss with an equally dramatic rejection, and Kaito, wearing a Santa hat and ridiculously ugly sweater, would feign sorrow and walk away dejectedly. All three events were met with applause and a little bow from both parties.

Kaito’s mood was starting to brighten, then he saw Kudo standing under the mistletoe by the insanely large Christmas tree. He. Had. To. Get. Over. There. Aoko turned to say something to him, but only found a dust cloud, he was already sprinting across the room to be the first to Kudo, who looked quite flustered when one of his companions, Ran if Kaito remembered correctly, informed him that, yes, he was under the mistletoe and, no she would give him an out. Bless her.

In all of Kaito’s distraction, a state which has seemed to happen more tonight than any other preceding it, he forgot about the ten foot tall Christmas tree. Which he managed to smack straight into. And watched in horror as it began to fall. There were gasps, some small yells, and then, the tree was suspended, mere inches from colliding with the floor, ornaments precariously swinging back and forth on their branches. And Kaito, put on his best poker face and gave the best “ Tada! It’s magic! ” pose. Everyone was silent for a solid minute before they burst into applause as the tree slowly righted itself.

Kudo though, Kudo still looked at him in absolute terror, which, to be fair, he was in the line of tree. ‘ Oh Kris Kringle I almost crushed Kudo’ Kaito thought, in horror. He hoped to God he wasn’t blushing as furiously as he thought he was. Slowly, apologetically, Kaito walked toward Kudo.

“Aren’t you glad you weren’t just crushed by a Christmas tree, I think I deserve a reward.” ‘ STUPID, STUPID, KAITO WHAT? REALLY? YOU JUST ASKED HIM THAT? ARE YOU AN IDIOT?’

“ I suppose,” Kudo looked at Kaito thoughtfully for a moment before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek “Merry Christmas you stupid thief.”

Well, Kaito knew he had to be blushing now.

#one shot #kudou shinichi #kudo shinichi #kuroba kaito #kaishin #kudo shinichi/kuroba kaito #player 2 #christmas prompt fill #dcmk

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bettsfic · 5 years ago

Note

We spend a lot of time appreciating you as an amazing writer, but even just from online interactions, it's obvious that you're also a great teacher. If you feel like sharing: any good teaching stories that made you feel great about undergraduate teaching / reminded you of why your work is important?

at the end of my first semester, a student, i’ll call her jessica, sent me an email saying how much she enjoyed the class and how she was planning to be a teacher some day, and she wanted to be a teacher like me. i printed the email out and put it in my journal. it was the first kind email a student had sent me, and i read it over and over.

a couple months later, at the beginning of the next semester, just an hour before i met my new students, i found out that jessica had died over break. it was alcohol and drugs, a party where she left and no one followed her back to her dorm to make sure she was okay. she was nineteen. i looked at her instagram, where her final post was a selfie with two friends, and the caption read, “i love college!”

it’s hard to say exactly how her death affected me, but i think about her all the time. i think about how fragile life is, and about the toxicity of college culture, and all the pressures and expectations put on students, and how they’ll graduate with mounds of debt that will take decades to pay off. i think about how hard and hopeless it is to be a young person today. i think about the surprised, grateful faces i get when i show students the smallest shred of kindness or empathy.

this is my fourth year teaching and i’ve now had around 300 students. i have yet to meet a bad one. i’ve met students who have been pushed to their limits, who are exhausted, who are in the wrong place and have no idea, who have unchecked trauma, who are utterly terrified, who are lonely, sad, overworked, or just plain overwhelmed.

once, i did a Q&A for a practicum of new creative writing teachers. i’d given them my syllabus prior to the class. they were surprised to read my lax policies, and one of them asked what i do when a student does the bare minimum, or maybe even less. creative writing is an “easy” class. inevitably you get the “lazy” students who sit in the back and work on homework for other classes, and hand in five dr. seuss sounding poems at the end of the semester.

to that i said, any student who doesn’t want to write is either overworked, afraid, or both. being overworked can’t be helped. college students are working to master their time management skills in an environment that doesn’t allow them to fail. but fear can be faced and conquered. i base my entire class around fear. they have one major assignment: write your biggest risk. i firmly believe your biggest creative risk ends up being your greatest reward. sometimes students aren’t up to the task, but if you build an environment in which they’re eager to show you the dark, ugly parts of themselves because they know you will receive them eagerly and openly, they tend to make amazing things.

i start each semester with probably over half my students utterly apathetic or even flat-out disgusted by the idea of creative writing, and i end the semester with a stack of self-assessments and evaluations talking about how much the class helped them not only see their own creative potential, but also to be less afraid to take creative risks in other environments.

i had a student, we’ll call him alex, in my composition course last year. admittedly i put less effort into comp than creative writing, mostly because it’s not my curriculum or my primary field of study. alex sat at the back of class the entire semester, asleep, on his laptop, or talking to the people nearest him. he did not participate. he did not do the reading. he did not turn in his homework. he didn’t even know my name. on the second to last day of the semester, he turned in several assignments at once, and came to me before class started saying he’d done most the work, and could he come to office hours so i could get him caught up on the rest?

no, i said. i was too busy working with students who had been seeking my help throughout the semester. he took it well, and said thanks anyway, and in the end scraped by with a B-, mostly due to my lack of a late policy. if i’d had one, he would have failed.

i was surprised the next semester to see him on my roster for creative writing. it was clear he didn’t like or appreciate my comp class. on the first day of spring semester, he came to class high. at the end of class, i have all of my students fill out a notecard with their name and other pertinent information, and on the back i have them draw a picture. when alex turned in his card, he had only scrawled his name across the front, and on the back he drew a bird smoking a giant blunt.

the next class, i announced that anyone who came to class drunk or high would be asked to leave and they would lose their attendance for the day. i didn’t want to call him out directly. honestly, i didn’t know how to handle the situation. my mentor told me to deal with it head-on, but i didn’t heed her advice, and i wish i had.

alex kept coming to class high. he didn’t do the reading. he didn’t participate in small or large group discussion. he didn’t do the prompt-fills or turn in any assignments. when he’d behaved this way in comp, i wasn’t bothered by it. nobody really likes comp. but this was creative writing, a class i put 200% of myself into and which i expected students to appreciate in kind (and for the most part they really do).

midway through the semester, i ask students to schedule a one-on-one conference with me. it’s required. they get a grade for showing up, and another for doing a write-up of what we talked about. alex, like the prior semester, did not show up for his conference, or even write a risk draft for me to comment on. he sent me an email an hour later apologizing and asking if we could reschedule. the kicker: he began the email “liz.” i ask my students to call me by first name. i tell them at the beginning of the semester and again in week 5 when they inevitably forget. so alex had now been through 4 of my “the name you need to call me” lectures. and he still called me liz. and he had the audacity not to show up for his conference with no notice, wasting a half hour of my time, and then ask to reschedule.

my mentor was right. i should have dealt with it sooner. i shouldn’t have let myself get as angry as i did. but i replied to his email with a laundry list of things he’d done wrong, and i told him he was out of chances. i wasn’t rude, but i was very firm, and expected him to forward the email to his parents and the department and try to get me fired.

instead, a couple hours later when i arrived in class, he was sitting in the back of the room with his hood over his head. i was surprised to see him. it was the last day to drop classes and i expected him to be gone. he approached me as i was getting set up, and he was weeping. like blubbery, snot-nosed weeping. my first thought was that he was manipulating me somehow. boys who don’t get their way do desperate things sometimes. he told me he turned in all the assignments, and did the reading, and he’d do better from them on, he promised, and could he come to office hours? would i give him one more chance, please?

i told him to see me after class. during discussion, to my surprise, he raised his hand for every question. he was extremely off-base on most of his comments but i appreciated the courage it took not only to show up to class a weepy, tear-filled wreck, but to actually participate through it. after class, he apologized for having lost his shit earlier. he asked how he could make everything up. i told him i’d give partial credit for what he’d turned in, but he needed to come to a conference.

a couple days later he showed up at my office. i asked if he had a rough draft for me to look at and he said he didn’t, not because he didn’t try but because he didn’t know what his biggest risk was. i asked him to write an essay about how he’s struggling in college, and to use it as an opportunity for self-reflection.

up to this point, alex had been a bad bullshitter. before, when i’d confronted him about not doing the reading, he said he couldn’t because he hurt his knee. i asked what a knee injury had to do with reading, and he blubbered through an answer. he even feigned a limp, but later that day i saw him walking normally to another class. he had ridiculous excuses for everything. so when he sent me his essay, i was expecting more of the same.

what he wrote was not bullshit, but a blunt and honest account of all the problems he was having, sans whining or pity-seeking. the boldest statement he made was that he was extremely lonely. i searched between the lines for ways he was trying to manipulate my sympathy but found none. he was flat-out admitting the truth: he felt like college wasn’t right for him, he was far away from home, he thought he would make friends but he hadn’t made any, and his girlfriend was still a senior in high school and he missed her a lot.

“it feels weird not having a happy ending,” he told me. “i kept wanting to find a positive note to end on.”

“sometimes things just suck. an essay doesn’t have to answer the questions it poses,” i said.

suddenly i got a different picture of alex’s life: he was depressed and alone, self-medicating with weed and who knew what else, and slipping through the cracks of all his other classes, where he had professors who, like me the prior semester, paid no attention to him.

he told me he really liked the class, and liked me as a teacher, and he would spend the rest of the semester trying to be better. i’d had students say similar things just to placate me and then didn’t follow through, but alex did for the most part. he still struggled with due dates, but he kept an open line of communication with me, and owned up to his failures. he did all the reading and participated in every class. by the end of the semester, he was a different person. he told me his girlfriend had gotten into our school and that she was coming to visit him soon. he revised his essay several times, got an A in the class, and gave me a hug at the end of the semester and thanked me for my patience and understanding.

i think this story stuck with me so much because it’s about my own failure. i do my best to reach out to struggling students, but most of the time if you lend a hand, they don’t take it, and there’s not much you can do. i should have tried to help alex sooner, or be more firm with him earlier on like he apparently needed. i need to learn to be more comfortable with confrontation and own my authority in the classroom. but mostly it reaffirmed my belief that everyone is hurting, and “bad behavior” is nearly always the result of a bigger picture that sometimes we can’t see.

#pedagogy #writing advice #Anonymous

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sanders-sides-fics · 5 years ago

Text

A Fanciful Dream: Chapter One

Warnings: Hypothermia, Near-death experiences, food mentions, and as always, let me know if I’ve missed any!

Masterlist

AO3

Word Count: 2564

The chef shivered as a gust of wind blew in his face. The air nipped at his nose as he dragged his feet through the muddy snow that lined the dirt road. Patton wrapped his cloak around his torso, with hope it would block out some of the wind assaulting him.

“A little further, Patton,” he murmured.

Patton could see the outline of the town’s inn. Before he set out on his journey, his Ma made him write to the Innkeeper, requesting a bed be saved for him and for that, Patton was grateful. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into a warm bed and sleep the night away.

A trip from Sandres’ outer villages to the King’s Castle wasn’t easy, and in winter, only done out of absolute necessity. On any normal year, Patton waited until the spring’s warmth melted away the winter’s snow, before he visited the outer village his family lived in, but this year his visit couldn’t wait. Ma fell ill at the start of winter and Pa needed help caring for his younger siblings and the family home.

Now Ma was well again and able to help Pa in whatever he needed. Patton would’ve waited for spring to come to make his return, but he needed to return to the castle. The Prince’s eighth birthday was fast approaching. The young Prince would be devastated if Patton returned too late for the celebration and Patton couldn’t bear to upset the boy. Patton was the only chef in the castle who could make the Prince’s favorite treat afterall, and the King only allowed it on special occasions.

King Thomas was perhaps too strict about the boy’s health, but Patton knew the King loved his son very much.

The inn Patton approached was about halfway between the castle and his family’s village. On most trips, Patton arrived at the inn before sunset, but with a glance at the luminous moon, Patton knew he was very late. This trip posed so much more difficulty than others he’d made over the years.

A journey of this length was one Patton would never make on foot by choice. Whenever he made the trip, it took three or four days on horseback. He’d begun this journey on horseback and preferred to have finished it the same way, if not for this afternoon.

Patton’s mare, Daisy, was always an anxious creature. She had been on edge the entire day and was scared away by a large red dragon that flew over them during their lunch break. The mare ran too fast for Patton to follow. All he could do was watch as the dragon, with a small creature dangling in its large claw as it flew north, Daisy already out of sight.

It had pained Patton, but he couldn’t waste time searching for Daisy for too long. If he had, he’d be stranded in a field for the night and Patton knew better than to chance a winter’s night with no shelter.

Patton wished he still had Daisy and knew she was safe. His feet were numb from the hours of walking and he’d have liked to arrive in the town much before now.

A small cough drew Patton from his thoughts. No one else should have been out at this hour, especially in the current weather. Patton saw no one on the path as he walked, but stopped to check again. At the edge of the read, there was a slightly larger pile of snow, one Patton previously overlooked.

Could someone be hiding behind it?

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

Patton watched the pile of snow for a reaction. The snow pile shook with another cough and a patch of white snow gave way to purple. Patton’s eyes widened and he rushed forward, dropping to his knees to brush the snow away. As more snow came off, Patton realized there was a child beneath the snow.

The child, a small boy who couldn’t have been older than eight, curled in on himself. He let out a small whine when Patton brushed snow out of his dark brown hair.

Patton picked up the boy with care. Patton shivered as the boy’s cold cheek rested against his neck. Patton adjusted his grip on the boy, mindful of how stiff the boy’s limbs were. Once the boy was safely in his arms, Patton pulled his cloak to cover the boy as well.

He started walking once more, hastening his pace to get to the inn sooner. Patton needed to get the boy warm again before he froze to death.

“Can you hear me, kiddo?” Patton asked, “I’m going to get you nice and toasty, don’t worry.”

The boy let out a small noise, nuzzling his head into the warmth of Patton’s chest. Patton let out a sigh in relief, hoping the boy was reacting to his voice.

As they approached the inn, Patton used his foot to open the door, trying not to drop the boy.

“Ah, Patton! I was wondering when you’d arrive,” the innkeeper called out from where he was sweeping. He turned, “How is your M- Is that a child? Patton, what happened!”

The innkeeper dropped his broom and ran over to the pair. The man paused as the boy shivered and frowned at his red face and blue lips. He looked up at Patton and pursed his lips, observing similar traits in Patton.

“I found him in the snow, Daniel.”

“Go over to the fireplace and warm up,” Daniel instructed. “I can get you two some of my boys’ old clothes. And for hell’s sake, take off those boots before you lose your damn toes! Your Ma will kill me!”

Patton kicked off his boots and carried the boy over to the fireplace. He took off his damp cloak and waited for Daniel to return.

“It’s going to be okay, kiddo,” Patton promised.

“Patton, you should get some rest,” Daniel draped a blanket over the young man’s shoulder.

Patton looked up from where he sat beside the sleeping child in the bed. He sighed, shoulders slouching.

“I know . . . but I don’t think I could. What if something happens?”

Daniel sighed and rubbed his brow, “You’ve had a rough day, rest for the night and write the King in the morning. Things will only seem worse if you’re tired. Now, get your bottom in that bed.”

Patton glanced at the sleeping boy, tucked safely into the bed. Patton didn't want to sleep yet, in case the boy woke up, but his eyes burned with the effort of staying awake. Daniel was right, he needed rest after the day he'd had. But Patton knew if he tried to sleep, the guilt of the child possibly waking up alone and frightened would keep him awake.

"Look, Patton, I'll keep a vigil. You go to sleep and I'll wake you if the boy stirs," Daniel promised, motioning to the other bed in the room. "Get some rest. Neither of you can set out for days, not in the shape you arrived in."

Patton frowned, "Alright . . . but-"

"No buts, Patton. Go to bed," Daniel insisted.

Patton waited a moment before getting up from the chair and going to the other bed in the room. He glanced over again, to see Daniel sitting down in his place and tucking a lock of the boy's hair behind his ear.

"That doesn't look like going to bed, Patton," Daniel warned without looking up.

Patton smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, taking off the slippers Daniel loaned to him to warm his feet. He stretched his arms and got under the sheets, resting his head on the soft pillow.

Patton slept soundly through the night, waking when sun rays slipped through the curtains and shone on his face. Daniel was true to his word and sat in the chair beside the boy's bed, head thrown back, where he must have fallen asleep in the night. Patton smiled fondly and sat up. The ache that filled his body from yesterday's travel was nearly gone. He had barely noticed the ache last night, focused on caring for the child once he had discovered him, but that it was gone, he knew it had been there.

"Daniel?" he called quietly.

Patton threw aside the sheets and stood from the bed, before turning to remake the bed. Patton was never one to leave a place he stayed a mess, not without good reason to and there was no reason to repay Daniel's help by leaving the innkeeper a mess to pick up once Patton had left the inn for the castle.

"Daniel?"

The innkeeper stirred in his sleep and slowly blinked his eyes.

"Patton? What time is it?"

"Morning," Patton replied. "Your boys will be looking for you. I can watch him from here. Do you mind lending me some parchment and a quill? I need to write to the King."

"Of course," Daniel got up from the chair. "Poor thing slept through the night, didn't stir once while I watched him."

Patton sighed, "I hope he wakes soon, I don't want to leave him until I know he's got somewhere safe."

Daniel bit his lip, "Well, if you don't figure it out, I can take the lad for a while at least. Till spring."

"Thank you, Daniel," Patton sat down in the chair and watched as Daniel left the room.

Patton turned away from the doorway once Daniel disappeared and studied the boy's face. The boy showed no sign of waking up but looked much better this morning than he had looked last night. It was a relief, knowing the boy would be okay for a while. He was so small. So, hurt.

Daniel returned shortly, carrying with him a basket of fabric with the parchment, quill, and ink placed on top.

"Your clothes are dry, though I've included a few spare sets since my boy told me your mare wasn't in our stables."

Patton pressed his lips together tightly at the reminder, "Daisy . . . ran off yesterday and I couldn't keep up to find here. Not without risking a night in that cold."

Daniel frowned, "You've no way back to the King's castle?"

Patton took the basket from Daniel's arms and placed it on his lap, "No, not yet. I'm informing him in my letter . . . The Prince will be so upset if I miss his celebrations though . . ."

Daniel scoffed and shook his head, "Patton, of course, that's what you're worried about. Making the trip back to the castle is dangerous on foot, especially now. If the King wants you to return on time, he'll send for you."

"I suppose you're right, Daniel. Thank you," Patton picked up the parchment from the basket.

Daniel nodded and left the room once more, to continue with his morning duties. When he was gone, Patton emptied out the basket, to look over the boy's outfit from last night. The clothes supplied by Daniel were a bit too loose and Patton wanted to see if he could mend more of the supplied outfits before the boy woke up and needed to wear them.

"Hmm, that's odd," Patton touched a charred tear on the fabric. "How'd this happen, kiddo?"

Patton could tell the outfit was once beautiful, but was now charred and ripped to shreds. The fabric was rich, worth far more than any outfit Patton had worn in his life. Perhaps the boy was a merchant's son? And was lost in the heavy snowfall?

The outfit was a beautiful shade of purple, even with the charred marks. Patton wanted to save what he could for the boy, but there wasn't enough undamaged fabric to make more than a scarf out of. No mending could fix the damage done by the flames that ruined the fabric.

With a frown, Patton set the outfit aside and picked the quill to write to the King. His Majesty needed to know of his delay, so he could inform the kitchen staff to continue without Patton until his return. With that, Patton wrote his letter to the King, detailing the events of the day before and informing him of the boy's injuries.

It was then that Patton remembered the dragon that scared Daisy away. If the boy was injured by the dragon . . . Why was he so far north? Unless, the dragon was one of the Witch's and for the boy's sake, Patton shook the thought from his head. He wrote of the possibility to the King. If it was true, King Thomas would know better than he did and could decide on what action to take.

Patton hoped his musing was wrong. The boy looked Prince Roman's age, too young to have lost all of his first teeth.

The boy let out a low moan and Patton froze. He looked over to see the boy sitting up in bed, looking around dazed.

“H-hello?”

The terror in the boy’s voice was clear. He scooted closer to the other side of the bed, away from Patton, and gripped the blankets with white knuckles.

Patton set down the pen, “Hey kiddo, are you feeling okay?”

The boy nodded his head.

“That’s good, you had me worried,” Patton smiled softly. “Are you hungry?”

The boy nodded.

“I’ll go whip something up for you then. Do you want to come?”

The boy shook his head.

“Okay, kiddo. How does soup sound?”

The boy nodded.

“Alrighty, I’ll be right back.”

Patton stood from the desk and went out the door. Daniel gave him permission to cook for the boy whenever he woke up. Once the boy ate, Patton planned on trying to find out where he was from.

“Th-thank you!” the boy called hesitantly after Patton.

Patton watched as the boy shoveled spoonful after spoonful of beef stew into his mouth. The boy barely stopped to breathe between bites, choosing to eat the stew in front of him at such a pace, Patton feared he would become ill. The boy couldn’t have been on the road long enough to be this hungry. How long was he wandering on his own?

“Kiddo, are you feeling any better?”

The boy swallowed, “A little, sir.”

“Oh!” Patton gasped. “I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Patton.”

The boy stared at Patton for a moment, eyes not entirely focused on the man before him. The boy’s lips pursed in concentration. After a few quiet moments, Patton realized the boy’s expression distorted to one of horror.

“I’m - I’m - I don’t know!” the boy cried out.

The boy’s spoon clinked as he dropped it into the half-empty bowl. Tears pooled in the boy’s eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He let out a wail with the realization he didn’t know his own name or where he was from.

Patton came forward and moved the bowl onto the bedside table, before scooping the boy into his arms. The young boy buried his face in Patton’s shoulder and screamed, chest heaving as he continued to cry. Patton held him close and rubbed the boy’s back as he continued to cry.

“I’ve got you, you’re okay. I’ll take care of you until I can get you home. It’s okay, kiddo.”

Patton rocked the boy as he cried. Patton frowned as he looked down at the small boy, crying out of desperation for a life he couldn’t remember.

#sanders sides #Virgil sanders #2019 Big Bang #my fics #tw: hyperthermia #tw: near-death experiences #tw: food #food mentions

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