#I said I was gonna finish the animation before I get my laptop fixed and I DID

[blackkatdraws2]

[Achromatic Loop AU] アゴニー (agony)

[This is a promotional post for my Youtube.]

[lucysgraybird]

pairing: billy the kid x veterinary student!reader

warnings: none? mild anxiety?

a/n: yes i did write this to deal with my own academic issues. i am however a politics and theology major so idk what vet school is like at all it just fit the vibe for the story

Veterinary school was, quite frankly, beating your ass. It was a seemingly never-ending stream of deadlines and test dates, and you stumbled home to your dorm each night (or early morning) with barely enough energy to brush your teeth before falling into bed for a couple hours of sleep.

Fridays were a reprieve from this monotony. On Fridays, you made the hour-and-a-half drive out of the city to your boyfriend Billy’s farm, where you'd spend the weekend resting and helping him tend to the animals. You had called him on Wednesday and told him you couldn't come this week because you had too much work, and because you were in a miserable mood that you didn't want to bring into his house, but he'd insisted that you come out. He said that, one, he wanted you in his house no matter what mood you were in – he had, in fact, called it “our” house, which sent your heart soaring every time you thought about it. He also promised that he would make a space where you could work without being disturbed, and he had sounded so earnest that you simply couldn't turn him down.

Thus, on Friday, directly after your last class of the week, you threw your weekend bag into your car and drove down to the farm. Your Fridays ended blissfully early, so it was just before noon when you arrived.

Taking advantage of the unseasonably warm day, Billy was taking care of a rusty gate hinge in just a button-down, forgoing his usual canvas jacket. You strode up to him, checking that he wasn't handling anything particularly delicate before you spoke.

“Finally worth it to fix those hinges?”

He'd been bemoaning the state of his gates all winter, but there had never been a point to fixing them – the past months had been so wet and cold that even if one issue did stay fixed, it was almost certain that another would crop up.

A half smile curved across his face at your teasing as he stood.

“Well hello to you too,” he said. There was a laugh playing at the edges of his words.

“Hi, baby,” you acquiesced, standing on your tiptoes to peck him on the lips. “How was your week?”

“Better now that you're here.”

You rolled your eyes and nudged him with your shoulder as the two of you meandered up to the house.

“Seriously, Billy.”

“I'm bein’ serious! It was a fine week. Not much happened besides the sun finally showin’ her face, so there ain't much to report out on.”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed. “How's Britta doing? Is her hoof looking any better?”

Britta was a cow who'd had an infected hoof the last time you were there. You had taken care of it, welcoming the opportunity to practice what you were learning in school, but had been wracked with anxiety all week that you had done something horribly wrong.

“She's back to her old self, just clopping around and terrorizin’ the bull,” Billy said. “You did a wonderful job, darlin’, I really can't thank you enough.”

“You thanked me plenty last weekend, I promise.”

Once inside, you hung your sweater up and turned to your boyfriend.

“I really hate to do this, but I have to get some work done. Am I gonna be in your way if I sit in the living room?”

“You wouldn't be in my way if you sat smack in the middle of this hall, Y/N,” Billy said. “I'll move ‘round you. Don't worry about it.”

You settled on the couch with your laptop and got to work, focusing on the flashcards you had made for your exam the next week. True to his word, Billy left you undisturbed, mostly finishing work outside to give you some quiet space. You didn't even notice how much time had passed until Billy was handing you a plate with a sandwich and chips and settling next to you with his own. The light in the room had changed from the brilliance of midday to the dusty gold of mid-afternoon. You rubbed your eyes, dry and tight from looking at your screen.

You shut your laptop and set it aside. “What time is it?”

“Just past three,” replied Billy. “I figure it's a little late for lunch, but we can just eat a later dinner to make up for it. Plus, I'd wager you haven't eaten anything since before dawn.”

He was right, of course, and you sunk your teeth gratefully into your sandwich. Billy leaned back next to you, one leg tucked up so he could balance his plate on his knee. You eat in silence; Billy turns to you when you've both finished.

“So,” he said, “I've yet to see that foul mood you mentioned on the phone.”

You cringed, having hoped he wouldn't bring that up. “You don't need to worry about it-”

“Careful, darlin’, or I'll start thinkin’ you're trying to avoid me.”

He was teasing, but your head still whipped up to look at him in alarm.

“No, it's not that, I promise. This week has just been so crazy and I didn't want to bring that to you, and-” You nearly overturned your plate in your rush, and just barely caught it before it shattered on the floor.

Billy set his plate on the coffee table, and you followed suit. He took your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs slowly over the thin skin of your wrists.

“Slow down, Y/N, ain't no one on your tail. You wanna talk about what's goin’ on?”

His tone was so gentle and his eyes so concerned that it made you want to cry, though you weren't sure why. Maybe for worrying him, maybe from exhaustion, but whatever it was, it was constricting your windpipe and threatening to spill out into the world.

Billy noticed even though no tears had fallen yet, and he sighed.

“C’mere, honey, I'm sorry for asking,” he said, tucking you into his side and pressing a kiss to your hair. “How badly do you actually need to work?”

Once you trusted your voice to be steady enough to speak, you said, “I have an exam on Monday that I need to study for, and a project I want to get a head start on. Plus my readings for next week.”

“‘kay. And will anything blow up if you take the weekend off? Have you already studied for your exam?”

“I've covered all the topics and I think I know it, but I can never be sure. I can't take the whole weekend off.”

For some reason, that was the straw that broke the camel's back, and tears began to roll down your face. Billy tucked his chin over your head and pressed you closer to him.

“What if you took just the rest of today off, and tomorrow morning?”

“I don't know-”

“Can't see how you're goin’ to get good studying in if you're cryin’.”

And damn, if he wasn't right about that. He just held you while you regained your composure, rubbing his hand absently over your bicep. The business of the last week finally caught up to you in something other than anxiety, and you felt your eyes begin to drift shut. Billy, though he couldn't see your face, somehow sensed you starting to drift off and eased you both into a lying position on the couch. He had your head on his chest, and the steady beat of his heart and rise and fall of his breath lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

[timpac-capstone]

Week 11

Timestamp: 6:18 to 7:05: A friend of mine recommended this video of Billie Eilish watching and cringing at her old Vanity Fair interviews. For the most part, she isn't too hard on herself because she takes into consideration her age and feels more forgiving for what she says because of that factor, it could also be because this is her sixth time doing this in a row. However, in the timestamp that I gave, she reacts the same way that I react when I watch my old YouTube videos which is comforting to see that I'm not the only one that wants to choke myself because of the dumb things I said and did in the past.

This was another recommended video, I can't remember if it was from a classmate or my teacher but this was a lot more useful to watch. For starters, I finally understand why there are no camera positions indicated in screenplays thanks to 13:47 to 14:04 and that is because the screenwriter's job is to make the story and the director's job is to present that story. This is also helpful because Emily is writing a SciFi story which has its own issues of having ideas too ambitious for the audience to understand. It was also insightful to see how the writing process progressed as Emily got more studio notes, an example being how loose she was in writing the first draft, and then in the second draft she made many quick decisions to get rid of scenes or dialogue she didn't like and flesh out the stuff she did like, and in the third draft was further fleshing out extra details and adding more background info about the characters and the world.

I FINALLY DID IT, I FINALLY ANIMATED A CHARACTER IN KRITA. After months and months of telling myself that I couldn't do it, I finally got around to making this walk cycle of the brain cell carrying a heavy bag. I think what definitely helped me was using the drawing tablets that the Fablab provides rather than the cheap one that I have, it actually does make a huge difference and it's not cause the Fablab one has more buttons. For one I have more surface area to work with that is closer to the sketchbook size that I'm used to and the pen feels like it has some resistance when I'm drawing and I can feel how hard I am pressing into the tablet. Once I got used to it I just started drawing the first pose of the character and then when I finished that I said "Fuck it let's just try animating this bitch" and looked up a tutorial and loosely followed along. I won't lie to you this was a very long learning process and I did get frustrated at times to the point where I had to leave my laptop, this animation that you're seeing right now took me a whole day. Something that was very frustrating was definitely the size of my laptop since there are a lot of panels that I needed open but Krita doesn't like it when you try to shrink those panels past a certain point so I had to constantly close and open panels. Another frustrating thing was the legs didn't seem to be coming out right no matter how many times I redrew them so I recorded a video of myself trying to act out carrying a heavy bag of laundry as a reference and I was finally able to fix it. I also had to figure out how to space out these 6 frames to make the bag look like it's heavy to pull. Before I had the frames evenly spaced out and the physics just didn't seem right and was about to draw some more frames but thankfully I figured out the timing before I did all that work. I'm really proud of myself for this even though this is just a rough test animation but I'm not as reluctant on digital drawing anymore.

REFLECTION:

Honestly, I have nothing to reflect upon, I finally did an animation and that is a victory in itself. Next week for my Capstone presentation I'm going to try and put together a scene from my storyboards. It won't play out exactly how I want it to because I'm still just doing early test animations to see what works and what doesn't work as well as just figuring out Krita. Not sure if I'm gonna put dialogue in or just let the animation speak for itself but if I have time I'll try to do some voice acting.

[jojobee2256]

Dance for me

you grab your water as you wipe the sweat from your face with a towel around your neck. After a talk with your overbearing father nothing was better than dancing the stress away. Thank god for this job and your friends or you might've had to go back.

You take a look around the studio you worked at and smiled. the owner was a whimsical old man and he pretty much let you run the place however you wanted so long as he got his cut. He even helped you leave your house when you turned eighteen and rented the upper floor to you for cheap.

"not all old foggys are like dad." you remind yourself. "Assholes like him are one of a kind, hopefully." Feeling yourself calming down and having got your breathe back you move to start the song over again so you could continue to practice your routine.

BAM!

Just as you had reached your laptop the door slammed open and two familiar orange and pink haired women rush in. You could tell that they were a tad drunk by the stumbling and flushed faces. The party animals.

"I knew she would be down stairs and not at home!" Nami huffed proudly and started shutting everything down for the night.

"It's eleven at night! Forgive me for thinking goody two shoes had a bedtime!" Bonney huffed.

"Our little (Y/N) is finally getting into her rebellious phase, remember?" Nami started to walk to the door with your keys she had gotten from the table your laptop was on.

"True." Bonney then grabs you by the arm and starts to drag you out the opened door as nami turns off the lights and locks the door.

"Um, guys. Do you mind telling me why two drunk girls are pulling me into a taxi in the middle of the night?" You ask as the shuffle into the car. They had obviously come from a party looking at how they were dressed and the smell of sweat and booze coming from them.

"We are gonna show that snobby bitch who keeps trying to steal Nami's boyfriend she is nothing!" Bonney declares as she starts to mess with my hair and make up. "She had the nerve to flirt with Sanji saying she is a better dancer than her and even purposefully waited till she was to drunk to dance properly before saying it!"

"That's right!" Nami agrees while texting on her phone. "So I told her that she was a fucking coward and that she couldn't beat anyone who was taught by you if they weren't drunk and she knew it." You could tell that both girls were furious at the situation and had been trying to sober up the entire drive to your home. "She fell right into my trap and said she could beat you any day! So we told her we would go get you and that we would be back at the party in twenty minutes." Bonney finishes your make up and starts to fix hers.

"So I have to go dance a routine in front of a bunch of drunk strangers cause Kinderella is antagonizing Nami again?" They both look at you.

"Yep"

"Yeah"

You sigh as they both respond simultaneously. You did promise to go to a party with them sometime soon so why not now.

"Sure, I've been wanting to meet your friends for a while anyway." They three of you got to know each other at the studio when you were just a trainee, otherwise the three of you probably would have never hung out together. Excluding your loner personality even Nami and Bonney had different clicks and people they hung out with. So they had been trying to add you to their friends groups for a while and you honestly did want to meet new people.

As the taxi pulls up to a large house with blaring music and people scattered around the yard, you see a blonde man waiting by the door. You had only ever scene pictures but you knew it had to be Nami's boyfriend Sanji. The three of you get out and you instantly feel out of place in your work out clothes.

"Nami, I did what you asked and cleared the living room out." Sanji updated Nami with hearts in his eyes and a look of total adoration on his face. Anyone stupid enough to mess with Nami was already a lost cause, but to go after this guy? No way they would get what they want.

"Great!" She gives him a quick kiss and you could practically see him floating. "Let's not keep them waiting." You can't help but shirk back a bit as the evil grin spreads across her face. All that was missing was the gleam in her eye that let you know she was hatching a plan to make money and this would be her default villain face.

Once in the cleared out room with couches and a coffee table pushed to the side of the room, you notice the ridiculous amount of people looking in. The room had three walls while the fourth was a glass sliding door where people stood with red solo cups in hand. The room also had a balcony like second story area so that those on the second floor could look down from there as well. Despite all the people staring at you and the obvious anticipation for excitement in the room, you felt calm. Thanks to your father you were used to eyes being on you and as a dance teacher you learned that not all eyes were ones to be weary of.

Before you could even do anything else other than walk into the room, Nami had already gotten a betting pool started and Bonney was off looking for Kinderella so to make sure she was thoroughly humiliated.

By the time Bonney came back with the bob haired pinkette, the room was as packed as it could get while still having room for you to perform. Nami was locking her bets and Sanji had got things hooked up to his phone so that music would fill the house.

Taking a deep breath you have Sanji start the music. Tones and I's dance Monkey begins to play and you let the rhythm take your body as you begin to dance to one of the first routines you ever made and all three of you knew it like the back of your hand.

once your routine was done Nami pounced on you. She began to ramble about how you were her golden goose and other nonsense. Bonney on the other hand used the attention to try and score a new boyfriend. It seemed you were the only one to remember the point of the dance in the first place as you watch a red faced kinderella storm off.

After getting Nami off you by reminder her to collect her bets, you answered some questions about your dancing and advertised your classes. Once they questions started to get a little more personal you opted to leave under the guise of needing to get at least some sleep before work tomorrow.

You didn't realize at the time, but your classes were about to have a lot more students.

[quietmyfearswith]

bratty little ; preferences

warnings — GASLIGHTING, DDLG, swearing, mentions of punishment, spanking, choking, vibrator, threats of abandoning someone, swear words, allusions to smut

characters — dark!andy barber, dark!steve rogers, dark!ransom drysdale, dark!bucky barnes, dark!lance tucker,  dark!clark kent, dark!syverson, dark!august walker

a/n — THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH DARK THEMES WITH DDLG DYNAMICS,, do not interact if youre not 18+,, i know the visual for bucky’s preference is for like when you go potty but imagine it on a dining chair okay?? ok.. lmk what you think!

their love language | with their little | when you’re insecure | slipping into little space | fussy | happy hoelidays | cartoons | obssessed | little rules | innocent little

masterlist

“Dada!” Y/N shrieked out loud from where she was seated on the living room floor while she played with her toys, the sounds coming from the television were quieter in comparison to the wail she let out. When her screaming failed to get a reaction from the lawyer — Andy knew that he gave her everything she needed so there was no possible thing that she could possibly need at the moment —  whose eyes were only focused on either his laptop screen or on the paperworks for the case he was assigned to. She then held her stuffie in her hand then threw it at the busy man; upon seeing the stuffed animal land on his workspace he turned to her with a deep frown on his face, “Petal, don’t throw your stuffies at me; unless you want me to throw them away in the garbage?” She was about to speak but when he raised an eyebrow  at her, “Are you that ungrateful for everything that dada gives you?” With that, she then brought her attention back to the show.

“That’s what I thought,” Andy mumbled as his eyes focused once again on scanning the computer. But his focus was short-lived as another stuffie hit his forehead — and that was the final straw. Pushing himself off from the table he walked over to where his usually obedient girl was and kneeled down to level with her, “I said to behave, petal — and I asked nicely right?” Seeing the veins become even more prominent on his neck turned her on and it was even made apparent when she shyly looked down on the floor as she told him, “I just wanted you to pay attention to me, dada.” Her statement had him amused as smirked at her while filthy thoughts ran around his head, “Well you not only got my attention,” She flashed a hopeful grin at him before it was replaced with a horrified look when he added, “You have a punishment waiting for you.”

“Daddy! I told you to come play with me,” She whined as she stomped her foot and crossed her arms. Fastening the screw on his bike, August could only huff in annoyance as he heard his little one whine, “And I told you to wait a while, little one. Didn’t daddy teach you to be patient?” This just angered Y/N even more — she was excited that he was home following a month-long mission wherein he was sent somewhere in Europe and wanted nothing more than to make up for lost time. While the Hammer did want to spend time with her, he just wanted to fix something in his bike since he has been putting that off for a while now. “If you don’t want to play with me, I’m gonna go play with myself!” She huffed out as she strutted out of the garage and into the inside of their home. Confused with her statement, he didn’t know if she meant that in a little way or in a big girl way; either way it had him fed up with her attitude. Dropping the tools on the floor as it made a loud noise, he then washed his hands with the sink before making his way inside to search for her.

“Where are you, little one?” He called out; and almost instantly she replied to him, “In the playroom!” Leave it to her to still be extremely needy for his presence despite being a rascal. Entering the bedroom that was transformed as her playroom, he kneeled behind her as his lips grazed the shell of her ear while one hand trailed over the front of her neck, “Did little one not learn her lesson?” Feeling his breath tickle her skin made her halt her movements as she was playing with the tea set he had gifted her when he returned from Paris after a two-month deployment. “I just wanted daddy to spend time with me,” She nervously gulped down, “Missed you too much.” He knew she had good intentions, but that didn’t excuse her behaviour; and he made it clear by tightening his grip on her neck by pushing his fingers down on the sides of her neck as he whispered, “I missed you too but you don’t see me getting all whiny now do you?” The iron grip he had on her neck allowed minimal movement as she shook her head no as she got even more ansty at that thought of what might follow. “Here I was ready to reward you — I've been watching the camera footage of you and noticed how you obeyed all of daddy’s rules.”

“Tătic, I wanna go out in the park!” Y/N whined as Bucky was hauling her over his left shoulder, into their shared living quarters. Using his metal hand, he swatted her bum softly as he scolded her, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough playtime today? It’s about time you spent some time with your daddy, sweetie.” When placing her back on her feet, she turned around to head for the door; the super soldier’s strength allowed him to prevent her sprinting figure from leaving him. “I’m gonna give you one last time to behave and stop wanting to go to the park, sweetheart,” He sternly scolded her, but she only persisted harder as her smaller hands hit against his chest as she wailed out, “Wanna go to the park! Wanna go out and play, tătic!” Continuously repeating those two sentences, Bucky has had enough of her whining state as he carried her once more and placed her on the dining chair she dreaded the most.

“Wanna be a fucking brat?” He muttered under his breath as he strapped the belt just right under her breasts before joining the lock on her thighs — effectively restricting her movement and there was no way for her to break free from it since there was a padlock to both belts, “Then I’ll treat you like a fucking brat.” Y/N was now full on sobbing as she sat on the chair and looked at the Avenger with a pout, “Just wanna play more with Peter and Wanda and Steve!” She managed to get out in between hiccups; Bucky levelled his face with her with a mocking pout of his own, “Is that what you want, sweetheart?” She nodded her head desperately as trashed around the restraints, wanting to rip it off of her. “But little sweeties like you don’t get to decide for themselves. That’s why you have your tătic, remember?” Deep down inside her, she knew he was right; so she remained silent as tears continued to race down her cheeks. Bucky used his flesh hand to wipe her face off as he kissed her forehead lovingly, “And I think it’s about time you ate some snacks hm? How about some of those cookies we baked?”

“Doll? You called for me?” Steve peered his head from the door of her playroom; he was currently going over the file Sam sent over to him when his little doll shrieked out loud for him, and he rushed over to the next door as he thought that something bad had happened to her. Low and behold there she was smiling widely as she was sitting on the floor while playing with her train and car set, “Hi, sir.” Puzzled with her behaviour he knelt down to level with her as he pressed the back of his palms to her forehead and neck — checking her temperature as he asked, “Are you alright, doll? Are you sick? Why did you call me?” Sheepishly grinning at him, she shrugged her shoulders, “Nothing, sir. Just wanted to see how you were.” Thinking that she was concerned with his well-being, he cooed as he kissed her forehead, “‘M doing good, doll. Just need to work for a bit before we spend some time together okay?”

“Yes, sir,” She saluted, making Steve laugh as he exited the room and headed back to his office. A few minutes into reading the file, he once again heard her yell out for him, “Sir! Come over here!” He went back to her playroom, “What’s wrong, doll?” He didn’t see anything wrong or out of place since the last time he was in here — she was still sitting on the floor as she was playing with her toys. Peering up at him as she batted her lashes, “Missed you, sir.” The former Avenger had to sigh out loud before answering her, “You know I have to work right? I need to finish my work before being with you?” This upset her as she threw the toys she was playing with on the floor as she crossed her arms, “I don’t want you to work! I wanna be with my sir!” It was adorable to see her in such a needy state for him; but that didn’t excuse her  for disrupting his work and for flinging her toys on the floor. Walking over to where she was, he carried her with him to his office, “Okay doll, you get to sit on sir’s lap as he works — does that sound good?” Nodding her head up and down against his broad chest, she squealed excitedly and hugged his torso; her cheerful reaction however, was short-lived as she quickly whined out in complaint when he said, “Though I will have to punish you for disturbing me and for throwing your toys, doll. You get no cummies for a week and some spanks later, okay?”

“Can we go now, Captain?” Y/N asked as she batted eyelashes sweetly at her boyfriend as she had her arm hooked tenderly around his muscular one. Leaning over to whisper in her ear, his beard tickled her skin a bit as he answered, “You know we can’t just go yet, baby girl.” It had only been a half hour after he had been given a medal for his service during his time in the army and now they were currently eating their meal as Sy chatted with one of his former superiors. Since she didn’t know anyone else, she let her eyes wander around the venue as she currently wasn’t conversing with anyone. Wanting to relieve her dry throat, she drank a bit of the water and noticed how Sy’s superior excused himself to go to the bathroom; wanting to take advantage, she then traced the newly added medal on his uniform, “So shiny, Captain.” Her small, fascinated voice caught his attention and he kissed her forehead, “Like it, baby girl?” In an instant, her mood changed as she bluntly confessed, “Not really; just wanna go home now. That’s what I like! Wanna play with my shiny toys,” She whined, referring to the iPad he ordered her to leave at home since she wasn’t allowed to use it for this event.

“If you continue to act like this then I might just ban you from using your shiny toy for a month,” Sy exhaled angrily as he gripped her thigh through her dress tightly, leaving his handprint on her skin. Shocked with his sudden display of aggressiveness — especially since they were in public — she nodded but still managed to whimper, “Don’t wanna be here anymore, Cap’n. Wanna go home now.” Seeing how restless she was being, he decided to play around with it as smirked at her after setting the vibrator that was nested in her pussy to at the highest setting, “Well if you stay still for the rest of the hour, we’re gonna go home and I’m gonna reward you for your great behaviour.” Looking down on her phone, she gasped out loud when she read the time as 9:01 pm and whimpered as she realized the long hour ahead of her.

“Time for bed, little angel!” Lance declared after dressing his baby up in her onesie. Despite having just taken a bath, she sprinted off from the bathroom and onto her playroom; the gymnast was surprised when his girl left him alone while he had his back turned away from her as he was keeping the lotion and brush he had used on her. “What the? Angel, where are you?” Walking out of their shared bedroom, he opened the door to her playroom and yet she wasn’t there. Hearing the soft chatter coming from the television, he then went to the living room where he spotted her best girl watching her favorite cartoon. “Didn’t I tell you it was time to go to bed, angel?”

“Don’t wanna go to bed, papa,” Y/N calmly said as she snuggled into the couch even more. Taking a seat beside her, he placed her in his lap; she was instantly squirming away from his lap for she knew that he was gonna put a stop to her watching. “Wanna watch, papa! Don't’ wanna sleep!” Lance swiftly smacked her bum, hoping to calm her down, but it just made her wiggle away even more from the gold medallist. “Not going to sleep, papa,” She sassed as she pouted while her eyes were glued to the screen. Feeling his patience wear thin due to how she was being , he grabbed her by the cheeks, making her look down on his fierce, angered features, “This isn’t my angel whom I’m talking to. I think this is someone else’s little brat,” He observed as his thumb ran across her lips, “Might have to ask around for who owns this little brat so they can go back to their respectful caregiver.” Terrified at the thought of being away from him, Y/N launched herself to curl on Lance’s lap as she wrapped her arms around his neck, “I’m your good angel, papa! I promise! I’m gonna go for bedtime now,” She was spitting out the words in a rush. Smirking, he turned the television off as he carried his angel to their shared bedroom; kissing her forehead, he rubbed her back to calm down her sobbing figure, “There’s my angel! I knew she would never leave me alone.”

“Princess, what’s wrong?” Ransom had been waiting for her to come out of the bathroom since they were headed to Harlan’s for dinner with his family. Hearing no coherent response from her, he went inside and saw how she was sitting in her vanity, wearing the dress he told her to wear, “You look ready to me, princess. Let’s go.” She turned to face him and instead of giddily standing up and latching her arm with his, she just sat there and told him, “I’m not going with king.” Smirking since the spoiled Drysdale thought that she was bluffing, he sarcastically asked, “And why is that?” With a pointed look and firm tone she answered, “‘Cause I don’t want to! Wanna be a princess in here!” Upon realizing how her little persona was clouding her mind, Ransom wanted to ease her worries. Kneeling in front of her, he grabbed both her hands, kissed the back of both palms as he looked her straight in the eyes and promised her, “You still can be my little princess when we’re having the dinner; you don’t have to be a big girl when we’re over there.”

“But won’t they think I’m weird?” His statement just caused her to stress even more despite being in her comfort space. “Don’t wanna go at all, king. Just staying here, and in this pretty dress.” This just irked Ransom even more as he thought he was giving her solutions to her dilemmas, but clearly it just didn’t solve anything at all. She continued to whine about how his family would think even poorly of her when he decided he just had enough; he grabbed both her arms and guided her to her feet, dragging her to his car. Catching his drift, she panicked a bit, “I don’t have any shoes on, king!” Opening the passenger door, he shoved her to sit down, buckling her seatbelt as he spoke, “Well too bad, princess. Maybe if you weren’t too whiny you would have shoes on your cute feet.” As he began to drive to his grandfather’s mansion, she was letting out huffs of annoyance and threatened her, “If you keep pouting and whining you won’t get any new clothes for a month,” And that shut her up real quick as she remained silent for the rest of the drive.

“Okay honey, here you go,” Clark sing-songed as he presented you with a plate of pancakes with strawberries around it to mimic hair whereas the chocolate placed on the flapjack was formed into a smiley face, “Bon appétit, honey.” It was her favorite breakfast, and yet it didn’t lighten up her mood or even get her to smile; with a pout, she crossed her arms after pushing the plate away from her. “Use your words, honey,” He reminded in a stern yet gentle tone. Despite his warning, she wasn’t threatened or scared as she continued to wordlessly pout and push the plate even further away from her unti; the plate hit the hero’s forearm that was on the counter. Exhaling angrily, he warned her one last time, “Unless you want a punishment I suggest you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Mad at bubba,” She finally spoke out quickly as she finally looked at him with a fierce look on her face; but it didn’t faze Clark for he thought that it was a really adorable look and it reminded him of an angry baby bear. “Why are you mad at me, honey?” She debated internally whether or not she should tell him about it before ultimately deciding to continue being bratty and leave him unanswered. The Kryptonian scoffed as he watched her saunter over to the couch and turn on the television; with purposeful strides, he walked on over to where she was, he sat beside her as he yanked her arm to get her to look at him while he stared at her with dark eyes and spoke huskily, “Cut that attitude out honey or I will have to spank you until you forget about why you were being such a fucking brat.” It wasn’t just his threat that had her trembling in fear but it was also the way he held onto her rigidly, letting her know that he wasn’t in the mood to play games with her. After nervously nodding her head, Clark calmed down a bit as he cleared his throat, “Good, now tell me why are you acting this way, honey.”

[bokutokoutarou]

— it can’t be that sad

pairing - tsukishima kei x reader

synopsis - your boyfriend tsukishima doesn’t understand why you’re still crying over banana fish until you force him to watch it with you

warning - swearing

[a/n] - there are no explicit spoilers for banana fish in this, but there are vague references to what happened (or what could have happened). also, i’m listening to prayer x on repeat as i write this to make myself even sadder :)

You didn’t plan on crying over Banana Fish today.

Well, then again, you never did. You didn’t even plan on crying over Banana Fish before you started the show in the first place — you had thought that your friends were exaggerating when they ranted to you about how sad the show was, but the joke was on you, because now that you’ve watched it, you turn into an emotional wreck the moment you hear the first note of the outro song, Prayer X.

And that’s exactly what happened today.

It had all happened so fast. One moment you were rearranging your closet — your phone in the pocket of your sweatshirt (well, your boyfriend’s sweatshirt) as your favourite anime opening blasted through your earbuds — and the next moment you were frozen in shock as the outro song to the saddest show you’ve ever watched blared in your ears.

Your eyes started to water against your will, and you felt your chest involuntarily start to shake as scenes from the show flashed throughout your mind. You collapsed on your bed behind you, and within the matter of seconds, you were full on sobbing, taking your phone out of your pocket and putting the volume up to wallow in your grief.

You didn’t even hear the sound of your shared bedroom door swinging open.

“So you are crying,” your boyfriend said, making you sit upright in surprise. You quickly pulled your earbuds out of your ears and dropped them on your pillow beside you, yet you could still hear the faint sound of the song playing through the tiny speakers. Somehow, hearing the song playing quietly made it hurt even more.

Tsukishima let out a small sigh, a prominent frown on his face as he sat down on your shared bed beside you. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought that he didn’t care. Yet you did know better. You’ve known him long enough to understand that the frown on his face was out of concern, not annoyance, and you could practically see his golden eyes glinting with the slightest hint of sympathy.

“You want to tell me what you’re crying over?” Tsukishima asked, bringing his hand over to your face and wiping away the tears that continuously flowed down your cheeks.

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, already knowing what his reaction would be. “B-banana fish...” you told him, your voice coming out in barely a whisper.

“What did you say?” he furrowed his eyebrows, clearly confused. You gulped, taking a shaky breath and biting your lip hesitantly.

“Banana fish...” your voice came out louder this time, a bit too loud for that matter. You regretted saying those two words the moment they left your mouth.

“Banana fish?” Tsukishima snorted. Any prior concern for you had been wiped off his face instantaneously, instead being replaced with a mocking grin. “What the fuck is a banana fish?”

“That sh-show I watched a couple months ago,” you told him, nudging his rib with your elbow as tears continued to roll down your cheeks.

A look of realization flashed across Tsukishima’s face, his grin growing even wider. “Don’t tell me you’re still crying over that A-”

“D-don’t say his name!” you interrupted him, even more tears streaming down your cheeks than before just at the mere thought of what he was about to say.

A loud laugh escaped Tsukishima’s lips. “Aren’t you being a little dramatic?” he asked you, putting his hand on top of your head and ruffling your hair belittlingly. “It’s just a show, relax.”

“You don’t understand, Kei,” you sniffled, wiping your runny nose with the sleeve of your (his) sweatshirt. “It’s sad. Like, really sad.”

“First of all, don’t get your snot all over my sweatshirt,” Tsukishima grimaced. “And second of all, it can’t be that sad.”

“Oh, it is.”

“I doubt that,” Tsukishima rolled his eyes.

“Doubt it all you want,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. ”You haven’t even watched it, so you don’t have a say in whether it’s sad or not.”

“There’s no point in me watching it. You already spoiled the ending for me, so why would I?”

You pursed your lips, a pile of guilt pooling in your chest at your boyfriend’s words. Now that you thought about it, you probably shouldn’t have spoiled the show’s ending for him after you had finished watching it, but you were so overwhelmed that you had to vent to someone. You thought he would have forgotten by now, but Tsukishima Kei wasn’t the type to forget things, even if they were small.

“But still,” you let out a shaky sigh, not wanting to back down. “Even if you know how it ends, it’ll still hurt if you watch it.”

“It won’t.”

“It will!” you persisted, a small pout forming on your face. “You’re not allowed to make fun of me for crying until you actually experience it for yourself.”

Tsukishima snorted, shaking his head as though he was annoyed by your antics, but you could tell that he was thoroughly amused at this point. “You’re never gonna give up about this, are you?”

“Never.”

He let out a small huff, his cheeks inflating before becoming hollow once more. He always looked so adorable when he did that.

“Fine...I’ll watch it,” Tsukishima groaned as though he was the one doing you a favour. “But when I don’t cry, don’t go calling me an asshole or anything.”

You clutched your grocery bag with one hand, a small yawn escaping your lips as you used your other hand to jab your key into the lock on your apartment door. Somehow, you managed to miss the slot every time. The once effortless motion of unlocking your apartment door was now a challenge since you could barely keep your eyes open. Unfortunately, all-nighters tended to do that to you.

Rewatching the first half of Banana Fish was a painful experience, to say the least. After your boyfriend begrudgingly agreed to watch it, you (foolishly) decided that you wanted to be by his side while he did so. You two stayed up all night, binge watching the show from yesterday evening until you could hear the chirps of birds outside at the crack of dawn. You didn’t even realize you had to go to work until your tired (yet somehow punctual) boyfriend poked you on the shoulder and told you to get going.

“He’s probably asleep right now,” you thought to yourself as you finally managed to unlock the door and swing it open, yet your eyes widened in surprise when you realized that this was not the case.

There he was, sitting half-awake on the couch with his sunken eyes glued to the screen of his laptop, which he had set down on the coffee table in front of him. He was hunched forward with both of his hands clasped over his mouth, and a baby blue blanket was draped on top of his head and around his shoulders like he was a child staying up past his bedtime at a sleepover. In other words, he looked like an absolute disaster.

You were about to make fun of him for being addicted to the show when you realized that his golden eyes were brimming with tears. You set the grocery bag you were holding on the kitchen counter as quietly as possible, tiptoeing toward him in an attempt to get a glimpse of the screen without distracting him.

And then you saw it.

The library scene.

The final scene.

Your eyes started to water upon seeing it, yet you didn’t allow your emotions to override you. He hadn’t noticed that you were standing beside him, which was perfect because now you’d be able to get his true, unfiltered reaction.

“What the fuck...?” Tsukishima whispered to himself in disbelief, still not noticing that you were there. Tears started to roll down his cheeks as the camera panned out of the library and the screen faded to black. “What the fuck?”

You stayed silent for a couple more seconds, watching as Tsukishima put his hands under the rim of his glasses to wipe away his tears.

“Why’re you crying, Kei?” you tapped your boyfriend on the shoulder, a small smile forming on your face despite the fact that tears were rolling down your cheeks as well. “It can’t be that sad.”

He jumped in his seat, his tearful golden eyes widening in surprise. “Wh-what?” he scoffed, rushing to fix his glasses — which were now lopsided thanks to the sudden jump scare. “I’m not crying.”

“Oh really?” you taunted him, taking a seat on the couch by his side. “Then what are those on your cheeks?”

Tsukishima opened his mouth to respond — probably with one of his infamous witty retorts — yet he promptly closed it shut, his lips forming a small pout. “Just shut up...” he muttered, his voice coming out as barely a whisper.

You put your hand on top of the baby blue blanket that was draped over his back, rubbing small circles over it to comfort him. You fully expected him to swat your hand away and tell you to, quote on quote, “fuck off”, so you were surprised beyond belief when he hunched forward to put his glasses down on the coffee table, before covering his face with the palms of his hands.

“It’s not fucking fair,” you heard your boyfriend mumble. “They were supposed to go to J-”

“I know Kei...” you sighed, a heavy feeling weighing your chest down as you stared at the dark laptop screen in front of you.

“This is ridiculous,” Tsukishima sniffled, rubbing his eyes for a couple of seconds before sitting upright from his hunched position. “I can’t believe I’m crying over a fucking cartoon...”

“It’s an anime,” you corrected him, yet he didn’t seem to care. You stared at him for a second — from the dark bags under his golden eyes, to the lost expression on his face, he looked utterly exhausted.

“Kei...did you even eat today?” you asked him, titling your head to the side in curiousity.

“No,” he yawned, giving his head a slight shake. You would have told him to get up and go make something, but he seemed to be getting more tired by the second.

“You’re such a dumbass,” you sighed softly, a small smile forming on your lips. “I bought groceries — I’ll make you something small.”

You got up from the couch and walked over to the kitchen, deciding that a bagel with cream cheese would be good enough to satisfy his stomach until dinner. You didn’t bother to toast it even though he liked it that way because beggars can’t be choosers, yet your not-so-hard work was all for naught because by the time you made your way back to the couch, he was already fast asleep.

Your eyes flashed to the dark computer screen for a moment, before they returned to your sleeping boyfriend. Your lips curved upwards into a nostalgic, yet painful smile as you admired the peaceful expression that was on the blond’s face. It reminded you of a certain someone.

You set the bagel you had made down on the coffee table, before laying the baby blue blanket over him gently and giving him a soft kiss on the forehead.

“Must be a nice dream...”

[captainjanegay]

Where I’m Meant to Be | Stucky | Meet-Cute, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, No powers AU | Chapter 1 | 4.6k words | Ao3

Summary:

Bucky is a single dad coming back from a work trip with a very bored, very whiney 7-year-old girl. A mysterious stranger with a kind heart and a notebook full of doodles comes to the rescue.

A/N: This fic was supposed to be just a short one-shot for the Stucky Bingo but somehow, it's at 11k at this point and it's nowhere near done. I have two more chapters all done and ready and a vague outline for the rest of the story. It's my first time posting a fic chapter by chapter so it's both exciting and kinda scary. I hope you'll like the story enough to stick with me for a while. 

My sixth fill for the @stuckybingo2020​ ♥

.

At some point in his life Bucky didn't mind spending hours at airports and he found traveling —even work-related —quite enjoyable. But that was when he was young, stupid and alone. Now he's older, just as stupid and has a wonderful girl in his life. 

The girl in question is now standing next to him, little arms crossed and a sullen expression on her face. She's repeatedly kicking at the leg of the chair he's sitting on. There's no real force to it —she's only 7 after all —and she's not doing it to do any real damage to anyone or anything. It's just little taps, really and she's doing it out of boredom. But dear lord, Bucky's about to explode.

"Alex, sweetheart," Bucky says, slowly breathing out through his nose. "Could you please stop with that kicking? It's a bit annoying."

"But papa," she whines, drawling out the word. "I'm bored!"

"I know, love and I'm really sorry but papa’s gotta do something important for work," he sighs, trying to run a hand through her hair. She ducks and flops onto the chair next to him, an angry little pout on her face. "I have to finish it before we go on the plane. I'll do it as quickly as possible and then I'll be all yours, ok?"

It's not really surprising when he doesn't get an answer. With another sigh, he leans to the side and presses a kiss to the top of his daughter's head and then turns back to his laptop. 

From the very moment she woke up today, Bucky knew it's gonna be a long day. She was cranky and teary all morning, not wanting to say goodbye to Natasha and it took a good hour to calm her down. Then Bucky had to basically beg her to eat something before they left for the airport. It wasn't a great day. And Bucky knew she didn't do it just to make him miserable, she was just as frustrated and tired as he was. On top of that, he has to edit and upload a report from the conference and the airport Wi-Fi is so bad Bucky is close to tears himself.

The work would probably take less time if he wasn't getting distracted every minute or so and glancing to the side, making sure that Alex is fine. Or relatively fine, the bad mood excluded. At the moment she is slouching on the plastic chair, still pouting. Felicia—a pink stuffed Triceratops —is placed on her lap so at least Alex has something to occupy her for a moment.

Bucky tries his best to get through the documents quickly but he doesn't want to miss any errors either. He gets lost in the work for the entirety of about five minutes when he hears something truly surprising.

Alex laughs. It’s so unexpected after what seems like hours of complaining, crying and whining that Bucky’s head snaps up from his laptop and he looks at his daughter.

She is still sitting by his side, Felicia pressed closely to her chest and there is a smile on her face. It’s definitely not aimed at Bucky, though. So Bucky follows her line of sight and… oh.

It’s not like he didn’t notice the guy sitting across from them before. Because he did. It would be rather impossible not to notice this guy. He is tall and well-built and could look intimidating if it wasn’t for his bright blue eyes or tousled golden hair or the gentle smile or the fact that he’s wearing the softest beige sweater Bucky has ever seen. He is both ridiculously handsome and cute at the same time. So of course, Bucky noticed him before. But now he tries to figure out what about him made Alex laugh. It doesn’t take long, because the man is holding up his notebook, showing the page to Alex.

On the page are three little, cartoon-like doodles. The first one at the top looks unmistakably like Alex—her brows are furrowed, arms crossed and a little storm cloud is hovering above her. Underneath there’s his daughter again but this time she’s laughing, her eyes only small slits and a little sun peeks from behind the cloud. The last drawing, just next to the smiling Alex, is of Bucky. His head is partly hidden behind a laptop screen and there’s a look of utter concentration on his face. Above his cartoon persona floats a swarm of little gears, question marks and lightbulbs. Bucky snorts. It’s probably quite accurate.

Noticing that Bucky is staring at the drawing, the stranger startles and his cheeks turn red.

“I’m not some creep, I promise!” he starts explaining himself, before Bucky even opens his mouth. “I just—she seemed so upset and I’ve heard you said you have something important to do so I just wanted—Man, it’s weird, isn’t it? I’m sorry I promise I just wanted to help, not bug your kid without permission.”

“It’s not—,” Bucky starts, slightly taken aback. “It’s very sweet of you, actually. Thank you. Really, that’s just—I don’t mind. And Alex here seems to enjoy your drawings.” Bucky smiles down at his daughter and then at the stranger. His smile falters a bit and he sighs. “I’d really love to chat some more but I really need to get this shit done and the airport Wi-Fi is truly horrible.”

“Oh! Bad word!” Alex gasps, covering Bucky’s mouth with her little hand. “You said a bad word! No sweets for you!”

The stranger laughs at that and Bucky probably shouldn’t be as charmed as he feels right now. He just kisses Alex's hand and leans away from it.

“OK, sweetheart. Promise not to eat any when we get home,” he says solemnly. “But papa really needs to work a little longer, OK? Ten more minutes, I promise. Try not to bother the nice man too much until then, yeah?”

She lets a long-suffering sigh but she agrees.

“I’m Steve, by the way,” the man says, smiling at Bucky. 

Before he gets the chance to answer, Alex chimes in, “I’m Alexandra. And papa’s name is James but only mama and people at work call him that. Everyone calls him Bucky.”

The man — Steve — lets out a small laugh. “It’s nice to meet you both. Alexandra, do you want me to draw you something specific, while we let your papa work?”

“Oh, can you draw Felicia? She’s a...,” Alex furrows her brows in concentration, “tri-ce-ra-tops! That’s a dinosaur!” 

Steve leans forward from his chair and smiles at her. “She’s so cool! But weren’t dinosaurs kinda dangerous?”

“Some of them, yeah. They ate other dinosaurs. But the ones like Felicia only ate plants, so she’s cool.”

Steve lets out an attentive hum but something in his expression tells Bucky that it’s not new information for him and he’s just indulging Alex and letting her share what she knows. It makes Bucky feel a wave of sympathy towards this Steve guy.

Soon enough, a new page of Steve’s notebook gets covered with doodles of various dinosaurs, based on Alex’s jurassic knowledge—it’s a bit flawed, but Bucky is proud of her nonetheless.

It takes Bucky a few moments to stop sending glances towards the two. It’s partly because Steve—no matter how sweet he seems to be—is still a stranger. Steve might be bigger than him, but Bucky would end him if he tried to do anything to his little girl. But there are no red lights when it comes to Steve—and Bucky always prided himself on his ability to read people.

The other thing making it hard to go back to work is the fact that the scene he’s looking at is quite an adorable one. Both Alex and Steve are sitting at the edges of their seats, leaning over the passage between the two rows of chairs and their eyes are fixed on the notebook propped on Steve’s knee. They’re chatting, exchanging random facts about dinosaurs but since their knowledge is limited, they switch to talking about modern animals soon enough. Steve listens intently to whatever Alex has to say without patronising her. And sadly, Bucky has met a fair share of adults for whom it was impossible to take Alex seriously just because she was a kid. It calms Bucky enough to actually focus on his work for a little longer.

Some peace of mind does wonders for his concentration and the ten minutes he promised Alex are actually enough for him to finish editing the reports. The WiFi is still a bitch, though. However, after staring at the loading circle for what feels like an eternity, he is able to send the documents. With a triumphant little cheer, he turns off the laptop and slides it back into his bag.

Steve looks up at him and smiles. Alex completely ignores him, though, still too focused on whatever Steve was drawing. Bucky feels a bit betrayed. When she looks up, she glances at Steve first, probably to ask why the drawing has stopped and turns to Bucky when she notices Steve looking his way.

“Oh, you’ve finished the work, daddy?” she asks and when he nods, she smiles and reaches to wrap her arms around his neck. “It took you some time. But I’m proud of you.”

Bucky laughs at that, shaking his head slightly, “Thank you, sunshine. I see you were having fun with Steve while I was busy?”

“Yeah! Steve drawings are so pretty! He drew you riding a dinosaur!” Alex giggles, pointing at one of the little drawings.

Raising his brows, Bucky sends Steve a questioning look but the other man just shrugs and rubs at his neck. “It was her idea,” he says with a sheepish smile.

The doodle Alex is pointing at is indeed of him sitting on a dinosaur's back. It’s the one with the long, giraffe-like neck, Brachiosaurus if he remembers correctly. The cartoon Bucky’s arms are wrapped around the base of the reptile’s neck, his hair fluttering behind him and his mouth is open in either a big smile or a scream, he’s not sure. Either way, it’s a very cute drawing.

“Well,” Bucky says. “I’m not a fan of horses but I’d totally ride a dinosaur if I had a chance. Shouldn’t he have a saddle, though?”

It’s not even that funny but Steve still laughs and Bucky smiles at that. His daughter is less impressed or at least tries to appear so. She rolls her eyes but there’s a grin on her face.

“You’re so silly, daddy. They didn’t have saddles back then! And besides you’d need a very, very big one for a dinosaur!”

Bucky hums in agreement and looks up at the departure display. Noticing that their flight’s gate is open, he nudges Alex lightly.

“We gotta go, sweetheart,” he says. She perks up a bit but then glances at Steve with a small pout. “Sadly, we have to say goodbye to Steve. On the bright side, we’re gonna be home soon, yeah?”

Alex nods and slides off her chair. Steve looks up at the display and straightens up.

“Oh, my flight’s boarding, too. But you know what?” Steve asks and then rips the page with all the dinosaur doodles and holds it out to Alex. “You should keep this, if you want.”

Hearing this, Alex’s whole face lights up and she takes the drawings with gentle hands, as if afraid to mess it up. “Thank you, Steve! Those are so cool I’m gonna keep them forever!”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Steve smiles. He looks up at Bucky. “It was nice to meet you, guys.”

“Likewise. Thank you again for the help. It was very nice of you,” Bucky says sincerely.

“It was my pleasure. My knowledge about dinosaurs is so much better now,” Steve’s smile grows even bigger and Bucky chuckles.

Bucky leans to help Alex put on her little backpack, since she refuses to put down the drawing and then reaches for his bag. He rests his hand on his daughter’s back and turns to Steve one last time. He’s still sitting at the edge of his seat and is watching them. A smile is still plastered to his face and at this point Bucky is sure that it’s his default setting.

“Bye, Steve. Have a safe flight,” Bucky says.

“Bye, Steve. Thank you for the dinosaurs,” Alex adds, making Steve laugh.

“You are very welcome, Alexandra,” he says. “Have a nice day, guys.”

Bucky gently steers Alex towards their gate. Before they disappear behind the corner, he turns away to look at Steve one more time. The man is already looking back and he waves at them when he notices Bucky staring. Alex waves back enthusiastically and Bucky just ducks his head, feeling flustered all of sudden. He used to be more collected around nice, attractive people. And Steve definitely qualifies as both.

***

Some time later they finally make it to the plane. Alex flops down onto the middle seat and eventually — after a long discussion and promises that he won’t ruin it — she lets Bucky put the drawings she got from Steve into the folder he keeps his documents in. When the treasure is safely put away Bucky straightens to put his bag in the overhead compartment.

“Oh,” he hears a voice behind his back and a low chuckle quickly follows. “Fancy bumping into you here.”

Bucky looks over his shoulder and the surprise makes him try to close the compartment while his other hand is still holding the bag. He yelps in pain, making Alex look up.

“Steve!” she says with a smile, completely ignoring her father’s distress.

“Hello again, Alexandra,” Steve shoots her a quick smile and looks at Bucky, concerned. “You’re OK? I didn’t want to spook you.”

Man, he really got bad at keeping his cool around attractive people. Feeling a blush creep up his neck, Bucky nods. “No, no, you didn’t. I’m just a clutz, this happens a lot, ignore me.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him but he doesn’t say anything more. For a moment they just stand in the narrow aisle, looking at each other. Finally, Bucky’s ability to think kicks back in and he moves to the side.

“Sorry, you probably want to get through to your seat.”

“Actually,” Steve says and glances down at the boarding pass in his hand. After checking it, he points to the seat by the window, on Alex’s other side. “That one’s mine.”

“Oh,” Bucky looks at the seat and then at Steve. His cheeks still feel warm for some reason but he hopes he's not blushing too visibly. "That's great. I'm just gonna—"

Bucky shifts to the other side and takes a step back, making room for Steve.

"You're flying with us back home?" Alex asks with a hopeful glint in her eyes. "Will you draw something more for me?"

"Alex, come on. Don't abuse Steve niceness like that," Bucky scolds her gently but before he can even finish the sentence, Steve starts shaking his head.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. I often doodle when I get bored anyway so I'd be honoured to draw for you again, Alexandra," Steve grins at her.

She actually lets out a little happy squeal when she hears that and Bucky's heart skips a beat. He's absolutely charmed by the way Steve treats his daughter. He really seems like entertaining some random little girl is the best thing he could be doing and while Bucky - absolutely objectively - thinks that Alex is the most wonderful little girl in the world, it still seems unusual. And he positively melts every time that Steve uses her full name, just because that was the way she introduced herself the first time. Most adults Bucky knows don't do that with other adults, not to mention kids. And Steve is just so… kind and genuine, it takes Bucky off guard but it's a really nice surprise.

"Ok, fine," Bucky says with a smile. "You have no idea what you've brought on yourself. Is it possible to strain your hand from drawing too much? The flight's almost two hours, right?"

"Does your dad always complain this much?" Steve asks Alex and she giggles in response. He sends Bucky a glance over her head and he has a smirk on his face. Ignoring Bucky again, he says to Alex, "Hey, have you ever watched Sesame Street? There was this one grouchy green guy."

Bucky just sends him his most unimpressed look. Steve doesn't seem affected. Alex is delighted. And in truth, Bucky has to bite the inside of his cheek to contain a smile.

It turns out that on top of being nice and lovely, Steve is also a little shit, because he draws a Bucky-version of Oscar the Grouch - with a grumpy expression and wild hair, sitting in a garbage can. It's actually amazing. Bucky doesn't say that out loud, but he snorts when he sees it, so that might betray him a little.

This time — prompted by the mention of Sesame Street — the conversation resolves mostly around animated movies. To Bucky’s surprise, it turns out that Steve is a huge Disney fan. He doesn’t even try to hide it. Not to brag but Bucky knows his way around animated movies — partly because he has a 7-year-old daughter and partly because who doesn’t like animated movies? But compared to Steve and Alex? He knows nothing. They use names he doesn’t even recognise - who or what even is Flit? Judging by Steve’s drawing it’s some kind of a bird, apparently. When Bucky can’t remember — he knows it, of course, it just slipped his mind — the name of the redheaded princess from Brave, he is given the most disdainful look he’s ever seen. Both by his daughter and by Steve. Bucky still tries to participate in the conversation, at least for as much as they let him. He never expected his own daughter to team up with some stranger against him. It hurts.

The pain is all forgotten when Steve and Alex start quietly singing Under the Sea from The Little Mermaid together. Bucky can’t help a laugh that bubbles from his chest at the sight. How is Steve even real, Bucky has no idea. He is over six feet of muscle, his bicep is bigger than Alex's head and he could probably bench press Bucky and here he is, sitting next to Bucky’s little girl, drawing a picture of Megara, because she’s his favourite Disney princess and singing a song from The Little Mermaid.

This guy can’t be real.

About half an hour into the flight it turns out that Bucky was wrong — Alex does leave Steve alone but it’s only because the tiredness catches up to her and she falls asleep. And she’s sleeping with her head resting on Steve’s arm. It’s a really nice arm, Bucky has to admit, a nap on such an arm would be good and comfortable even for him, probably. But that doesn’t change the fact that he feels left out.

“Sorry,” Bucky says quietly. “You probably want your arm back, I can just—”

He offers to move Alex’s sleeping body but Steve just shrugs with his free arm, careful not to jostle the girl.

“Don't want to wake her and I really don't mind," Steve says, smiling at Bucky.

"You sure?" Bucky asks and after getting a nod in confirmation, he chuckles and shakes his head. “I keep trying to figure out where the catch is but I’ve got nothing. You’re just naturally this kind, aren’t you?”

Steve barks out a laugh and then slaps his hand over his mouth to quiet the noise. He looks down to make sure he didn’t wake Alex.

“Oh there’s plenty wrong with me,” Steve says with a chuckle. “For one I’m usually really awkward around kids. Alexandra’s such a great girl, though. But I do like to help and try to be nice whenever I can.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at Steve. “You think you’d side-track me by complimenting my daughter? You’re totally right, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious.”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Steve makes the ‘bring it’ gesture and grins. “Come on. Hit me with your best guesses.”

“OK. OK, fine,” Bucky says and shifts in his seat so he can look at Steve more directly. Crossing his arms, he asks, “Do I have a limited number of guesses?”

“It’s not that long of a flight,” Steve shrugs with one shoulder, grin still in place.

In a theatrically thoughtful gesture Bucky strokes his chin gauging Steve with his eyes.

“You… secretly work as a hitman” Bucky says slowly, “or like, an underwear model. Which is not a bad thing to do.”

A blush creeps up Steve’s cheeks as he laughs again. “Those are… pretty far off. Why those two?”

“Well, you’re built appropriately for both from what I can see,” Bucky explains, enjoying the way Steve cheeks go darker. Maybe he’s not so helpless at talking to attractive people as he thought. It feels a whole lot like flirting.

That terrifies him for a moment. He didn't do flirting in what feels like ages. He doesn't have time for this. Should he even do this? He has a daughter, he shouldn’t just—

Bucky takes a deep breath and smacks himself mentally across the head. He’s not doing anything bad. He’s just talking and having fun with an attractive stranger. Maybe even flirting a bit. And that’s OK, this is allowed, he doesn’t have to go anywhere else with that. It’s not like he’s ever going to see the guy again, anyway. Natasha would punch him for denying himself that. So he will make sure not to mention it the next time they talk.

“Well…,” Steve rubs the back of his neck. “I am not. Hitman or— I’m neither of those. I’m actually an illustrator. Mostly freelance stuff. I paint sometimes, too. But that’s mostly for fun.”

“OK, fine. Somehow I can believe that. You seem like an artsy type,” Bucky agrees.

“No hitman vibes anymore?”

“Who says a hitman can’t enjoy painting in his free time?”

Steve laughs, throwing his head back. Somehow he manages to keep the left side of his body completely still, mindful of Alex sleeping on him.

“I don’t know if there’s a point in trying to convince you, but I’m really not.”

“Sure. Probably what a hitman would say,” Bucky waves a hand at him but smiles. “That’s cool though. Being able to get paid for doing what you love.”

“It is. Sometimes you get frustrated enough to hate it but it’s still pretty cool,” Steve agrees. “You don’t like your job?”

Bucky scrunches his nose, making a non-committal sound as he tries to find the best way to explain. “It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s fun. Interesting, exciting, sometimes frustrating as hell, too. And the responsibility can be incredibly stressful. It’s just…  I never took time to think about what I really like doing in life. And since the job was good enough, I just stuck with it.”

Steve hums, nodding along to Bucky's words. "It's never too late to figure it out, you know?" he says. "I mean, I don't wanna impose and tell you how to live your life or anything. I'd never. I just— I think it's an important thing to know."

"You might be right," Bucky agrees. He glances down at Alex. "I don't think it's a good time for me to experiment, you know? Besides — if there's one thing I know for sure that I like it's having this little rascal around."

The smile on Steve's face turns soft. But only for a moment, before it turns back into that smirk he had earlier. "Any guesses left? About my dark side?"

"A few," Bucky grins. 

It's a bit of a lie because he really struggles to see Steve as anything but perfect but he can try. It's just a game they're playing to kill time after all.

"You are that kind of guy who can eat garbage food and not move a finger and still look like you've just walked straight out of a gym. I hate those people. It's so unfair."

"Are all of your guesses based on how I look? I kind of see a pattern here so far."

Bucky opens his mouth to protest but there's something in the way Steve looks at him, with a raised eyebrow and one corner of his mouth quirked up that makes him close his mouth without a word. He might be blushing. Maybe he's being too forward. It's probably not appropriate to talk about a stranger's body this much.

Before he gets the chance to apologize, Steve answers, "And you're wrong, again. I like working out. Takes my mind off things, helps me clear my head when I need that. Besides I used to be small and sickly my whole childhood. Couldn't even play with other kids for too long without getting an asthma attack. So I'm kinda compensating for that," he jokes.

"Really?"

"Yeah. All pointy elbows and bony knees."

"Huh," Bucky says. "Bet you looked way cuter than me when I had my bowl cut. We all had our dark moments."

Steve laughs again and Bucky really enjoys the sound of that. He really enjoys Steve's company in general, which is weird considering they've just met. It usually takes him much more time to get comfortable around people. Maybe it's the fact that they'll go their separate ways as soon as the plane lands makes it all easier.

"I'm kinda disappointed, you know?" Steve starts after a moment. "I thought you'd guess at least once. Or at least would be more creative with those."

"Who says I'm done? It was all on purpose, I was just assessing, gathering intel. I'm a scientist, I don't know if I've mentioned that before," Bucky points a finger at Steve. "You've got to be methodical about stuff."

Raising his hands in surrender, Steve tries to keep a straight face. He fails miserably.

"I wanted to say that you secretly hate dogs or cats but that would be just too harsh," Bucky says. "I don't think you're a monster."

"I love dogs," Steve confirms. "Always wanted to get one but my flat's too small and I doubt that'd be good for a dog. I don't have anything against cats but I feel like they don't… like me that much."

Bucky chuckles. "I feel like there's a story there."

"Just— My friend Sam has a cat and she absolutely hates me. I can't leave my phone on the table cause she pushes it off, but she doesn't touch Sam's. Every time I'm there she follows me around and hisses at me for no reason. She peed in my shoe more than once," Steve says and tries to look hurt when Bucky starts laughing. "It's not funny! I haven't done anything to deserve this. I tried to bribe her with food, I tried to pet her but I only got scratched for my efforts. And she doesn't do that with anyone but me."

"So that's your dark secret? That your nemesis is a cat?" Bucky asks with a grin.

"It's… definitely true."

“Can’t say I’ve seen that one coming,” Bucky laughs.

Steve shrugs with one arm. “I’m full of surprises.”

Clearly, Bucky thinks, shaking his head at the other man.

.

Title: Wrap me up (in your love) Creator(s): niallhoranbitches Card number: 065 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745402/chapters/67911988 Square filled: B2 - Airport Rating: Teen and Up Archive warnings: None Major tags: Meet-Cute, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, No powers AU Summary: Bucky is a single dad coming back from a work trip with a very bored, very whiney 7-year-old girl. A mysterious stranger with a kind heart and a notebook full of doodles comes to the rescue. Word count: 4591 

[junhaoshua]

say my name like it’s something sacred

summary:  everyone is born with black words written on their wrist, the first words their soulmate would say to them, and the words turn red when you hear them. you’ve heard your words a dozen times, but they only turn red after you knock into a boy then run away. how are you going to find him again?

genre: fluff, soulmate au

word count: 2,506

A/N: happy birthday to the lovely chey of @soonhoonsol​!!!! she gave me two prompts: Soonyoung and World Toilet Day for her birthday fic. Chey, you’re wonderful and I’m so happy we’re friends, and I hope you like my take on your ideas ~ 

Everyone was born with black words written on their wrist, the first words their soulmate would say to them.

For some people, their words were delightfully straightforward. “Hi, my name’s so-and-so,” their soulmate’s name disclosed right there.

Some people had phrases that were so out there or so easy to misunderstand. One of your friends had the words “You actually like the devils?” on her wrist. She’d spent her teenage years hanging around screenings of soccer matches, only to hear those words from the older brother of kids she was babysitting.

And then there were phrases like yours. “Hey, it’s fine - are you okay?” Generic words, the type that you might hear a thousand times in your lifetime.

When you were younger, you’d checked your wrist every time you heard those words, hoping that this was your soulmate. The one who would make the black letters turn as red as the string of fate that tied you together. The one whose mark would appear below the words immediately after.

But it never came. The black writing still adorned your otherwise bare wrist.

---

“Alright, let’s have a ten-minute break before you start your groupwork,” your Visual Communications professor announces, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Your two friends in the class, Mingyu and Minghao, roll their tables over to join you in the corner. “Finally, I feel like my brain’s going to short-circuit,” Gyu groans, tipping his chair to stretch out his long, long body and nearly overbalancing.

Hao grabs his hand before he can fall, glancing at you with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Mingyu,” he says, and even though there’s exasperation in his voice, he still says his name like it’s something sacred. It’s utterly romantic.

“Sorry, Haohao,” the older boy says with a grin.

You laugh at their couple-ness. “I’m going to stretch my legs, watch my stuff?”

“See you!”

You grab your water bottle and head out of the freezing room, appreciating the warmth of the outdoors. The water cooler’s at the end of the corridor, which will give you some time to bask in the sun.

As you approach the water cooler, bright yellow tape catches your eye. OUT OF ORDER, a handwritten sign says. Ugh. This is going to take a while.

Second floor cooler broken, you text your best friend Hansol as you head towards the stairs. His class is just a few doors away from yours, and you don’t want him to make a wasted trip.

He replies instantly. They said water supply in this wing has been cut for now? Burst pipe downstairs. Prof just announced.

You send him a frowning emoji and a sigh, before pocketing your phone and picking up the pace. 

It’s quite a walk from the east wing to the central block, and you let out a sigh of relief as a working water cooler finally comes into sight, taking a long drink of cold water before filling up your bottle. 

If you hurry, maybe you can make it back in time. So you turn to go, trying to screw the lid back on as you go -

- forgetting that the water cooler is right outside the toilet, which means that you only see the boy exiting the washroom when you run right into him.

Your open water bottle splashes on him, drenching his white t-shirt, and you fall on your butt. Hard. “Sorry! I’m so sorry!” you exclaim in mortification.

“Hey, it’s fine - are you okay?” he asks, reaching down to help you up, and for a moment his soaked t-shirt is in front of your eyes. Partially hidden by his black-and-orange jacket, but still, that’s a fine chest.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you grab your water bottle, averting your eyes. “I’m fine - I’m sorry!” you squeak, not daring to look the dark-haired boy in the eye.

Before he can say anything else, you turn tail and run back to your class.

You’re panting by the time you slip into your seat across Gyu and Hao. “Sorry for keeping you guys waiting.”

“It’s okay,” Minghao murmurs distractedly, tapping away at his phone. Gyu hums, and you notice he’s frantically texting too.

You turn your laptop on and pull up the files while waiting for them to finish. This isn’t really like them. Something must have happened.

Finally Gyu puts down his phone. “Sorry about that, one of our friends - oh my god you’ve met your soulmate!” he screeches, making most of the class turn to look in your direction.

“Keep your voice down,” Minghao chides him with a smack to the back of the head.

You slowly look down at where the long sleeve of your sweater has slipped down. The words are red. Red. And there’s a cartoony little sketch of an animal head on your wrist - the stripes suggest tiger, but the chubby cheeks and little ears look like a hamster.

“Where did you go? When did you meet him? Why didn’t you say anything?” Mingyu peppers you with questions in an excited whisper.

“I didn’t realise it,” you hiss back, as what just happened slowly hits you. “God - I ran into him, right outside the toilet - my soulmate’s gonna think I’m a huge klutz -”

“Outside the toilet?” Gyu parrots, his eyes wide. “That sounds like -”

Minghao slaps a hand over Gyu’s mouth. “Like you were really fated to meet, even at such an - interesting location. And he’s your soulmate. I’m sure he’s overjoyed to meet you at last.”

“But I didn’t even get a good look at his face,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “He was kinda lean - black hair, striped jacket - but that could be anyone, how on earth am I going to find him - go to the Soulmate Registry saying oh hey can you ask if anyone bumped into a girl outside a toilet and got water splashed on them? Yeah, that’s my soulmate -”

Gyu looks like he wants to screech again, but Hao shoots him a glare. “If fate brought you to meet each other the first time, fate’ll make sure you meet again,” the boy says, giving you a gentle pat on the hand. “I met Gyu on his last day working at the bubble tea shop, and I thought I’d never find him once school started, but we ended up being introduced by our friends.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Can we get to work now?”

Thankfully, they drop the subject, and the rest of the time is spent working on your project.

“Gyu, you were supposed to ask her something,” Hao reminds him, as class ends and you all start packing up to go.

Mingyu snaps his fingers. “Right, I nearly forgot. You know the showcase that’s coming up?”

You nod. It’s part of being a college specialising in the arts. Every semester, they hold a huge event for the students to showcase their talent - art, fashion, photography, music, dance, et cetera. “You’re going for it?”

“A group of us are, actually. The rap crew, Hao’s dance crew, and Woozi’s vocal group - you know him, right?” 

Minghao facepalms at the question, and you let out a giggle. “You mean Hansol’s soulmate?” As if it was possible to forget the person your best friend was destined to spend his life with. The short, fiery older boy was a perfect counter to Hansol’s easygoing attitude.

Gyu lets out a bark of laughter as you head out the door together. “God, my brain isn’t working today. We’re going to audition for the showcase together, as one big group. And we were thinking that our application would look a lot cooler if we had a nice video - kinda like a trailer, something to show us off, three talented groups -” Hao coughs at the casual boast “-coming together.”

You nod slowly. “It’ll be a lot more interesting than taping your performance.”

“Great!” Gyu claps his hands. “So Hansol recommended you to the group as the best person for the job, and we’d love if you could help us make it!”

“What?” you yelp in shock. “I’m not that fantastic - Why can’t you or Hao do it?”

Minghao shrugs. “I’ve seen your work, you’re pretty good. And we can’t exactly film ourselves while performing, not if we want nice angles and closeups. You’d be a great help.” 

Warmth blossoms in your chest at the compliment, but you still have reservations. “But - I don’t know your theme, your concept -”

Gyu waves a hand. “That’s no issue, you can come down and watch us practice and help to think of a concept. Please?”

It’s impossible to refuse those huge puppy eyes. You let out a sigh. “I’ll come watch, and think it over, and decide whether or not I feel up to the job after that, alright?”

“Yes!” Gyu shrieks, making everyone look over at you again. “I mean - yes, that’s fantastic, we’re going to have a practice later and you can meet -”

“The rest of the group,” Minghao cuts in. “We’ll let them know you’re coming, it’s right after your last class with Hansol.”

---

After class, you pull Hansol aside. “Okay, spill.”

Your best friend blinks at you with wide eyes. “About what?”

“Gyu was practically bouncing when I agreed to watch you guys practice, and you’ve been shooting me looks throughout class. You’re up to something.”

He flushes. “It’s just… we haven’t let anyone else in to see us perform before.”

You eye Hansol. Part of growing up together is knowing exactly when the other person is hiding something. And everything about his too-wide smile is screaming I have a secret. He’s always been an atrocious liar. “Are all the others okay with it?”

“Yeah! Yeah, they are.”

You hum. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“It’s - no, not right now.”

You eye him for a moment longer, but he looks at you with the same fixed smile. Never mind.

“So… I hear you met your soulmate,” he says after a few moments of silence.

“I should’ve known those two wouldn’t keep it a secret.”

He grins. “It’s going to make a great story to tell people, you know. How many people can say they literally fell for their soulmate?”

“Outside a toilet,” you say, flushing at the memory. “And aren’t you getting a little ahead when I don’t even know his name?”

“Yeah, so all you need is to know his name,” Hansol says, shrugging. “You’re soulmates, the rest will sort itself out.”

“What if I’m not what he wants from a soulmate? What if he’s not what I want?”

Hansol glances over at you. “What do you want?”

You sigh, thinking back to your childhood imaginings, to what you’ve always imagined your perfect other half would be like. “Funny. Bright - I don’t mean like smart, though that’s nice, I mean his energy? Loud and enthusiastic, but someone who’s okay with just sitting back and being chill too, or it would be tiring trying to keep up with him. And he’s got to be kind, and wholesome, and gentle - someone comforting, someone good...”

Hansol’s grin has been slowly growing as you talk. “I’m sure he’s going to be all of that. He’s your soulmate, he’s going to be perfect for you. And you’ll be perfect for him.”

“But -”

“No buts, I know my soulmate, you don’t, I’m the expert here.”

...he’s got a point there, not that you want to admit it. So you change the subject to something useful. “Tell me more about the performance?”

By now, you’ve reached the door of the studio, and he pushes it open with a grin. “Why don’t you see it for yourself?”

“Hansol got you to come along!” Seokmin cheers as you come in, leaping up.

You laugh and give him a hug. “Just to watch. I haven’t promised anything yet.”

“You will,” Jeonghan says knowingly as you settle down on the floor, offering you a bag of snacks. “You won’t be able to trust anyone else to make a video that captures our magnificence adequately.”

You burst out laughing, but it’s true. You know all the people in this room, and you can already imagine how to show them off. Seokmin had been your friend since middle school, and you’d been there when he met his soulmate in the new transfer student, Seungkwan. The four of you had been inseparable since. And you’d known everyone in the rap crew since high school. The leader, Seungcheol, was one of the lucky few blessed with two soulmates, who just so happened to be the last two members of Jihoon’s vocal group - Jeonghan and Jisoo.

And that’s when it hits you. “What about the dance crew?” Minghao and Jun are conspicuously absent, and you’re fairly sure there are a couple of others you’ve never met before.

“On their way, Hoshi wanted to run the choreo by them one last time before meeting us,” Seungkwan tells you, taking a sip of his iced Americano.

“Hoshi?” you echo. “I don’t think I know him?”

Jeonghan smirks. “Oh, you’ll recognise him when you see him, I’m sure -”

“He’s their leader and choreographer, you must have seen him at last year’s showcase,” Jisoo chimes in.

“I was sick, remember? So I wasn’t there to support you guys.”

Wonwoo gives a little oh. “Well, that explains - but there’s him, and Hao and Jun, and their other choreographer Dino, he’s your age.” His gaze softens when he mentions his soulmate’s name, and you can’t help but hope your soulmate will look like that when he talks about you.

“Hoshi and Dino,” you repeat, the names echoing oddly in your mind. 

“Their real names are Soonyoung and Chan,” Jihoon clarifies. “Those two, one wants to rock the stage like a dinosaur, the other one thinks he’s a tiger -” he stops when Hansol nudges him.

Just at that moment, the door opens.

“Are you sure you can do it?” the one in front asks as he comes in, waving his hands around. “It’s going to look flashy, but if you get injured -” He’s walking backwards, slim and black-haired, wearing a jacket with black and orange stripes.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“I can do it,” Minghao says, exasperation in his tone. “It’ll make a great ending.”

“And you need to watch where you’re going,” Jun says, gently taking the boy by the arms and turning him around, giving you a broad wink over his head as he does so.

The boy stops short the moment he sees you, and when you lay eyes on his face, you know.

“Soonyoung?” you ask, caught between hope and yearning.

“That’s me,” he whispers. “Hi, soulmate.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it, the word falling from his lips like it’s something sacred. “I’ve been searching for you my whole life,” he murmurs, and at that moment, you feel something missing in your heart click into place.

Because you’ve finally found the person who’s perfect for you, and you’re perfect for him, too.

[c-atm]

Fighting Flirty: Character Select PT4 (Act 4.3)

"Oooh, that's a beautiful shot," Alex grinned, taking a picture of the not couple standing back to back, fixing the wrist of their gloves. “and with that, we’re done with the couple shots.” She announced, getting a sigh of relaxation from the two.

As it turned out, there wasn't much official art of Shinji and Asuka together in romantic situations, and any scenes that did show them was kind of iffy. 

'Forgot how psychologically screwed up Eva was .' Alex mused, looking over her shots. ' Ah well, that’s what model sheets and fanarts for...And boy, did I get some good ones then…'

Steven and Connie watched as the photographer started to chuckle to herself, both looking a bit concerned. 

"Hey, you ok there, Alex?” Steven voiced.

“Hmm!?!” Alex looked up to see the two gazing at her, Steven with his arms crossed and brows arched while Connie had her hands in the jacket pocket smiling cheekily at their photographer, ”What?” Alex blushed, feeling the gentle tease in their eyes.

“Nothing, you. Um…”

“You seemed very proud of your work.” Connie continued where Steven paused.

“You better believe I am. This is Diamond status stuff you two gave me.” Alex praised with a grin, “to think I’d get two wonderful subjects. It’s a photographer's dream.”She laughed as she walked back to the desk, “come look at your shots, yourself.” she challenged, “You’ll understand what I feel.”

Steven and Connie took that challenge with a nod to each other walking back over to the workstation as Alex plugged the camera into the laptop and pulled up the catalog of pictures she just took of the two of them. 

“These are some good shots, right?” Alex smugly asked as she watched the duo’s faces as they stared at the first picture.

It was a simple shot and the most current one. The two of them back-to-back, fixing their gloves while looking heroically determined as if they were going to battle. It was a bit cheesy but also cute.

"Look at how hot you are with your brows furrowed, ready to take on the angels." Connie praised, "not to mention how well the picture shows your body, Bisky."

"I think you're looking at the wrong thing Heartberry," Steven suggested, instinctively pulling her close to his torso as he interlaced his fingers over her stomach, "You're the one who is stealing the picture, with the way your fist tighten and smirk on your lips," He praised, nipping the back of her ear and evoking a small purr. "That confidence is alluring. Looks like you're about to give a class on beating down evil and making it sexy." 

"That just…My 'Auska psychosis' acting up. "Connie leaned into his oral manipulations, holding his nape. " Hmm~mm,  that feels nice . " 

Steven laughed upon her skin, giving her goosebumps, as he went to the next picture. It was of Connie lifting and dangling him by the costume collar in anger while he looked surrendered, his hands up a sheepish look on his face.

"That’s a cute one." Steven laughed, "Really showed your 'mad bitch' in this picture."

"Not to mention my physical ability." Connie teased, "though holding 260 lbs of dead round, thick muscle is a lot harder than bench pressing your standard 320, you ok?" She rubbed his cheek with a smile, "Didn't dig into you, right, Mister?"

"Hey, hey! I should ask you if you're ok. You are the one who basically balanced my whole body on their forearms." He countered.

"I mean, you did take care of the strain when you touched down." She blushed, "I'm fine. More so than Alex was."

"You're small compared to him!" Alex exclaimed, "and yet; you can deadlift this burly man for ten seconds without shaking. - Clap! - What - Clap! - kind - Clap! - of - Clap! - training - Clap! - regiment - Clap! - are - Clap! - you - Clap! -on!"

Connie giggled at Alex's animated praise, "Trade secret, Alex." Connie shrugged, grinning.

"Oh, come on," Alex pleaded."You gotta tell me what's what."

"Now, if we tell you all our secrets," Connie leans a bit forward, closing her onyx eyes halfway as a slightly mischievous grin enveloped her lips.

“You might lose interest in us, and we don’t want that,” Steven added as he wrapped his arms over Connie’s shoulders, interlacing his fingers and gingerly resting his chin on her crown, giving Alex a similarly flirty smirk and gaze.

'These two! It should be a crime to be this teasy.' Alex screamed in her mind as she felt her cheeks glowed a little. "Yeah, like that gonna happen." Alex scoffed, turning away from her muses, "just finish looking through the pictures and while I set your camera for Connie's solo shoot in that costume." Alex hummed in pause, "Are you going to shoot in all those other costumes?"

"Yup. We need them for a project." Connie nodded, "Though, they won't be too big. Five singles each and five couple pics."

"Still gotta make it for the parade," Steven added as he kissed Connie's crown, getting a smile. "Though, doubt we'll be wearing these two to the parade."

"What you got planned, Mister?"

Steven grinned at her suspicious smirk.

"You two are adorable." Alex chuckled," speaking of the parade, I'm going to be there...So maybe, I can get some candid shots of you two, In whoever you two are going as."

"Alex, is that your way of asking to be our photographer?" Steven implored, grinning at Alex's sudden bashfulness.

"I don't appreciate the tease in your voice, Universe." 

Steven's eyes widened a bit at the slight edge of her voice.

"Sure," Connie answered, looking up at Steven, who nodded.

"To me taking pics at you-

"To both, Alex." Steven clarified.

"You have a talent for getting the best shots of us," Connie spoke in slight distraction. Her eyes on a picture of Steven and her grabbing each other by the collar with angry stares. "This is a cute one too!" 

"It really is," Steven laughed In agreement before turning to Alex, "That doesn't mean I'm letting you take my solo shoots of Connie." He playfully warned Alex."Those are for me."

"Thought those were for me." Connie's arched her brow at Steven.

"No, it's definitely for him/me." Alex and Steven corrected simultaneously, giving each other a knowing point.

"Hmm." Connie bit the inside of her jaw, " you wanna make this a game then, Mister?" 

"A game?" Steven pondered, getting a nod, "what type of game, Heartberry?" He kissed her forehead.

"A competition on who can take the better photos and be the better model." Connie proposed. 

"There's something underneath that... I know there is." Steven dipped down, capturing her lips with his own as Connie squeezed his wrist in excitement, "Talk, you mischievous Minx."

'This man and his damn husky baritone gonna be the end of me one day.' Connie thought breathlessly, "Oh, of course, there's something more to that, but you haven't agreed to play yet?" She bit her lips," and if I stay silent, you'll try to force it out." She gave him a slight shrug, "why should I miss out on that?" 

"She is trying to get more kisses."Alex laughed.

"Alex isn't wrong." 

Steven sucked his teeth at those onyx orbs that shined with a prankster's ambition. Those full-sharp lips in an alluring half-smile. 'This lioness and her damn seduction gonna be the death of me one day.' Steven mused as he dipped down gently and captured her lips with his own in an upside-down lip lock.

' And once again, I get to witness their very close friendship , if you can even call it that.' Alex smirked the camera once again in her hand, putting the two in her crosshairs. Watching his palms trailed the sides of Connie's costumed torso as her hands rubbed his whiskered cheeks, simultaneously pulling him deeper into the lip lock as her back arched due to his manal manipulations.

The slight peek of tongue every time they broke with a popping -CHU!- and rejoined. The gasping breaths that slipped from Connie's mouth, accompanied by his teasing little nips on her lips that made her eager to pull him back in. It was all beautiful, all sexy, playful and them, but she was waiting...Waiting for the shot. The moment that showed everything.

Even the thing they hid from themselves.

- click!-  

' Oh! That's...That right there...That's the money shot.' Alex inwardly praised herself as she looked at her newest prized shot.

Both of their eyes half-lidded in a sensually adoring gaze with the bridge of their noses brushing against each other as Connie's fingertips gingerly touching the corners of Steven's lips, while Steven palms lovingly held her upper torso, right under her breast, and their lips met the others forehead, at the same time.

It was a quick moment, a millisecond in the deepest part of their world, a secret shared between the two, and it was caught on camera. As she placed down the camera, they were already looking over the pictures again

"Pff!! I like this... A lot" Connie laughed at the picture of her stepping on a spread out Steven.

"Bet, you would…" Scoffed her Mister, who soon rubbed his chin, "though it is kind of alluring, with how it's your toe and not your whole foot on me." The appreciation in his voice was evident.

"Can't say I'm surprised.'

"Oh!"

"You like being under me, Eh-heh-heh!"

"Cheeky Minx!"

"Yeah...What's you gonna do about it, Bisky?"

"Gonna put you through your paces during your photoshoot and then make you red-face during mine."

"I don't turn red-face, blushy...I turn maroon, heh. Besides that, you're running a lot of mouth for a 'Shinji' to an 'Asuka.' Writing a check  your butt can't cash, Mister."

"Oh, you really are cheeky right now."

"As if most of your pictures aren't going to try to exhibit my 'cheekiness.' "

"You have a lot to show."

"I feel like I'm being slandered; you hearing this right, Alex?"

"Don't pull me into your competitive  flirtation!" Alex yelled as she watched the two.' I should be working, but this is too entertaining.'

"It’s not slander if it's true. Not that I would slander you anyway." Steven said, rubbing on her knees, trailing upwards.

"Whatever you say, Hippy." Connie breathed a teasing whisper in his ear, squirming gently as she allowed herself to bask in the touch of Steven's hands on her outer thighs. ' This man and his touch.' Connie sighed.

"Hey, now. Just because I prefer peaceful resolutions doesn't mean I'm a hippy." His baritone voice argued with a grin.

"Nuh-uh, you can't back out now; you threw down the gauntlet." She nuzzled behind his ear.

"I'm trying to give you an out."

"Cocky and hippy, now aren't we?"

"You're to blame for both, you amorous lioness."

"Ain't my fault your hands squeezing my hips right now."

"Oh, it's definitely your fault, cheeky temptress. You heart-shaped, honey trap in red-latex."

"You know this and yet, here you are." She crossed her legs, "ensnared and entranced by everything under my navel."

"Who's cocky now?"

"By the way, you're breathing and staring...I'd say both of us...Though, mine is more mental and less physical ."

"Why'd you crossed your legs then?"

"Cause you like when I do or anything that has to do with my lower half, Hippy . "

"Upper-half too, Nini. The whole package is lovely."

"You're a hot package yourself, Burly Bisky in blue."

"You just like big guys."

"You're to blame, big guy."

" so we're both to blame for our preferences."

"Admitting you're a lover of the hips."

"If they're yours."

'I think that's a checkmate.' Alex chuckled, lifting her camera to Connie's adorable marooned cheek face, bit-lipped pout in a low glare at the smug charm of Steven and his smile. 

-click!-

Just when Alex was about to sit the camera down, it happened. 

Connie's face switched from blushing prey to beautiful predator as her thumb and index finger gripped his chin, making him face her before closing her eyes and giving his lower lip a nipping, suckling kiss.

Steven brows rose before the sensation traveled through his nerves. His eyes closing, his body melting into the kiss as he held her by the hips, instinctively kissing back, getting a swooning giggled from his Heartberry, though not as vigorously, willingly being led by her in this lip lock.

She broke the kiss with a clipping -chu !-, licking her as she opened her eyes to a dazed and lovestruck Mister, feeling herself slowly fall into the same state. "Since you love my hips so much.." she chuckled like a fox, grinned like a jackal, "I expect you to show that reverence in your pictures." and spoke like an empress.

 A conquering empress, treasuring her most precious heirloom as she thumbed his lips. Her onyx eyes steeled as they were, glowed with passion, affection, playfulness, and protection. All while being the target of Steven's dreamlike gaze and pink-cheeked smile as he nodded.

-click!-

' She took the win from defeat.' Alex surmised, looking at the last two pictures. 'These two...God damn...Can’t wait to see how they act during their head-to-head photoshoots'

"Well, then." Connie stood with a stretch giving him a peck on the nose before bounding back on the stage. Turning on her right foot to face Steven and Alex, the not quite yet birthday-girl bent forward by her waist, letting her hair hang low, pulling the hat down, so the brim shadowed her left eye."I'm ready for my close up, Mr.Universe."Connie breathed out flirtatiously before she gave a small toothy snicker.

'God damn. She can switch from cunning and amorous to cute and adorable at a drop .' Both Steven and Alex thought, both red-face. 

"Good-luck."Alex teased, handing  Steven the camera, who nodded before turning and walking towards the stage. Stopping just foot away from it and six from Connie.

"Ten shots." Steven started. "Ten shots to make me fall for you...want you."

"More than you already are and do, you mean." Connie countered with a lick of her top front teeth.

"Cheeky. "

" And love it…" She teased, patting her hip. "You got ten-shots to make me squirm and blush involuntarily."

"So you gotta charm me."

"And you gotta break my character."

The two stared at each other before laughing. Excitement surging through them over the new game. 

The new bond and memory to be had.

"Good-luck, Heartberry." Steven teased with adoration and competitiveness on his tongue.

"Good luck to you too, Mister." Enamored heart and a hunger to win fueled her reply, " make me beautiful."

"You already are...Now give me, dynamic."

[apathycarestostudy]

Motivate me to get my butt in gear friend !! Uni opens again in a month !! Must finish syllabus before then !! Must stop reading fics and being in denial! Help! (P.S ily :p♡)

Hello hello love. Here are some tips I think will help, mixed in with a bit of nagging, wrapped up with some tough love!

So here we are. First, I’d like to commend you for recognizing that it’s time to get back on the hamster wheel so soon. You’ve a month left, which is ample enough. 

Don’t beat yourself up with time lost

You might be thinking you should’ve gotten up sooner, or done more, or done something some time ago. That doesn’t matter anymore. Yes, I’m an advocate of owning up to your faults, but for one second - recognize it, acknowledge it, and then move the hell on. Never mull on it unless it poses a problem and mulling on it would fix it. So stop all those thoughts - make a firm decision that you will drop all berating, toxic, or otherwise negative thoughts at the door. It won’t go away soon, you’ll need to keep stopping yourself mid-thought, but try to get it down. It’s a simple thing to start with, and I believe you can do this much. My mom always tells me, once someone apologizes, take their apology and leave it at that. The resentment won’t go away quickly, but release it. And I believe when you apologize to yourself, you should forgive yourself, and release.

So please release it.

The three Ps I just made up - paper, pen & plan (or phone, pad & plan)

I tried lmao. Phones be ruining everything. If you didn’t get it tho, by pad, I meant notepad or memo or whatever’s on phones these days. Specialized apps, all of it. It’s just that none of them started with a P and I -

Get your preferred medium of...recording stuff, and don’t make a plan. Yet. I want you to write down a list of things you need to get down before the month is up. A sentence per task. For example:

Get more connections on LinkedIn

Save up 20% of my allowance

Finish a writing commission

Finish a course I signed up for

(..........)

So something like that. One liners you need to finish up. And then don’t plan yet. After you’re done listing everything that needs to get done, you split the page in half (or just write it next to it in parentheses on your phone like this) and write “constraints”. Not emotional ones at first - try and write a logical constraint. Like for the course I signed up for, the logical constraint would be I have no time for it anymore because I got something better - an internship opportunity - and the emotional constraint would be I’m not interested in it anymore, or I don’t wanna lol. So write up some logical constraints. Is the workload a lot? Are you family members sending you off to do stuff for them and you have no choice but to do them and forsake your time? Do you not have an empty notebook to get started? These are all valid hurdles you may face.

Now, if you have some that have no constraints yet, write your emotional ones. You don’t want to. You’d rather do something else. Fanfiction. All of that. 

Look back at your list. What’s causing the emotional ones? How can you get rid of the logical ones? Remove them, run away from them, address them, or ignore them - pick one.

Now, plan.

Distractions

So when I feel like I should get up and do something, I’m learning to seize that feeling prematurely and do it. I say prematurely because you know when the thought matures, you’re gonna talk yourself out of it or dismiss it, so you gotta grab that as soon as it crosses your mind. How to stop doing what you’re doing immediately? Remove access to the distraction. And I don’t mean use those apps - although if it works for you, go on with your bad self. If not, do the old school method of throwing your phone to the roof of your cupboard. 

Yeah. I had this period of time where nothing stopped me from indulging in fanficion - not even deadlines and consequences, which are the biggest things that drive me to do stuff, and the only way I could get over it was to throw my phone over the cupboard. I gave myself a hurdle to stop me from pulling it back towards myself, and not only that, imagine the shame of getting a chair, dragging it all the way to the cupboard, climbing up on that thing, and then pulling your phone down - just squeezing lemon juice in your damn eye and living with that burn. So, put a hurdle up.

(cupboard = dresser btw, not sure which word y’all use so)

You don’t need a whole lot to get started

Going back to not having an empty notebook. There was a time I needed one to get started, but I didn’t want to go out and buy one, and so I kept putting off my work and blaming the fact that I don’t have a notebook. You don’t really need the notebook to get started. I could’ve easily pulled out my laptop and used One Note or MS Word or whatever if I really wanted to work. I mean I hate using digital stuff, but I could’ve sucked it up if I really didn’t want to go out and really wanted to work. The right answer was I really didn’t want to work, not the notebook.

Just start. Screw the notebook, screw your shitty pen, screw the messy table - just start. Shove all the mess to the edge and cram your arms in that tiny space and just start. You don’t need highlighters or a bottle of water or quiet time or the lights dimmed three notches down or your face moisturized or your plants watered - just start.

Not saying all of that is unnecessary, or wouldn’t help, but when it comes down to it, you don’t need all that to start. Don’t waste your time preparing to study or work. Just start.

Just start. Get your scrappy paper that’s 1/4 cut in a weird angle and just start.

One thing is better than nothing

I know I’ve said that a whole lot. A WHOLE LOT. But it’s true, and you truly need to take that to heart. If you’ve scratched one thing off your list, that’s good. 

But here’s what I’d do if I felt like I needed to do more.

First, seize that feeling. Next, do more. Start a little mantra of, “Just one more!” and do it like you’re taking one more cookie out the cookie jar. One more cupcake. One more chip. One more practice question. Romanticize it. Say it like you desperately want it, even if you don’t and do it. Oftentimes it’s the start that has us feeling some type of way, but once you accept what it is - as in you start eating it a little more quickly - you’ll sink into it and release that feeling. Next thing you know, you’ll find yourself done with one more thing.

Still tho, one thing today is one thing off your plate. Celebrate that, and promise you’ll do one more - at that moment or some other time.

Lesson from Naruto: give yourself a self-rule!

So there was this character in Naruto that was a total failure. He didn’t make it into the ninja academy, so he decided to give himself a self-rule: “If I run 500 laps, I’ll be accepted as an alternate.” which means he’ll be placed as a back up in case an already accepted student drops out. His father finds out, scolds him, and says that’s not a self-rule. That’s a wish. A self-rule doesn’t involve anyone else. A failure to accomplish what you say is accountable to you. Not circumstance, not anyone else. 

His father says, “Because of that [a self-rule on your self only], you are able to gather your strengths and focus on your efforts...That is how a self-rule works!” So how does the character change it? “If I can’t do 500 laps on my hands, I’ll do 500 push-ups!”

You see what I’m going for? 

I am not saying do 500 laps on your hands - this is a ninja anime we’re talking about here - I’m saying apply a self-rule that keeps you accountable and feeds into your efforts. Say, “If I can’t do ten practice questions, I’ll do ten rounds of this example question!” Give yourself an alternative you have to do if you fail your first attempt, and have it be of the same magnitude. What happens if you can’t do both? Keep adding on of course! The character would say, “If I can’t do 500 laps on my hands, I’ll do 500 push-ups! And if I can’t do 500 push-ups, I’ll do 500 sit-ups!”

Limitations exist, and you may not be able to get it the first few times, but eventually, the character manages to do 5000 laps - and he falls tiredly into his father’s waiting arms.

Just a little nice bonus I thought would be fun to add. I do something like this, but not as well thought out of course - I’d say something like, “I’ll do process design questions right now, and if I give up half-way, chemical separation processes is waiting for me.”

I thought I’d stop here because it’s getting kind of ramble-y and I think this’ll be enough of a push to get you started. Maybe not a push even - a nice little pat from your friend that’ll evolve into a push by your fine self. You can do it. Just start LOL.

I’mma end this with a positive note from that same episode of Naruto. Here’s a quote from that father to his son when he asked him why he was so chipper when he failed so much and couldn’t be “strong” (as in overcome the obstacles in his way). I see this in our lives, be it with friendships, biting your tongue when your boss yells at you, or giving up after failing a class.

“True victory isn’t about winning from someone strong. It’s about defending what’s important to you!”

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again no problem

difficult week, personally/professionally/politically/in the world

listening a good song never dies, van horn- i don’t know enough music theory words, but the driving guitar that comes in in the first couple seconds? good. love it. it has a sneaky but cool feel, like if modern james bond were american? i don’t really know what i mean by that bc i think that’s just the mission impossible movies BUT it has a cool, detached sound with a rougher edge. i think the chorus has my favorite lines:

Cause a good song never dies/It just reminds of where you were/The first time it made you cry/The first time you felt alive

reading finished but did not enjoy The Infinite Horizon, a modern Odyssey retelling by Noto & Duggan. didn’t quite jive with the pacing or art style, the setting in the hear future with a flooded nyc and lots of climate refugees in upstate new york that penelope has to deal with was interesting but wasn’t pushed far enough or used in an interesting manner.

watching

 the Dragon’s Dogma anime (netflix, 2020), whose opening credits have enormous Black Sails vibes. despite the many people in my life who love this game and have also told me “kay you would hate this video game”, i am shocked and appalled to find it has a standard video game plot. the only context i have for this franchise is the two-ep monster factory run. (SPOILERS FOR THE FIRST EP AND A HALF) man replaces dead wife with perfect blank slate magic no-named magic woman he names after dead mother, i said “no thank you!” out loud and closed my laptop.  

all dead wife plots would be infinitely more interesting if they were dead husband plots and here’s how i would rewrite this anime and game i know very little about:

pregnant wife survives, has to protect her young daughter who’s the only thing she has left of her beloved husband while forming an anti-dragon resistance group, turns desire for revenge into cold political fury

bc the dad rushing in headlong left such an impression on the mother she's convinced the only way to defeat her deadliest enemy is by first weakening it through politics and subterfuge/targeted assassinations against the dragon's political allies

the dragon doesn't actually have political allies this anime as-is isn't that complicated

flashback arc as the mother tries to gain political allies, where we learn how the dragon came to power: complex targeted campaign of burning certain duchies/kingdoms/key towns to the ground in order to get others in line,

the beginning of the show when the husband died was the very old dragon deciding to go on one more fire and brimstone campaign for funsies, like an old general going out to lead one last battle

dragon’s seneschal or main spokesperson or whoever is a hot witch lady under thrall or some shit bc she sought power from the dragon and it backfired spectacularly

daughter is basically emily dishonored, trained in the art of sabotage and assassination, mother uses her as a scalpel in order to maneuver the counties/kingdoms surrounding the dragon’s lair to stay out of the way of them killing the dragon

an effort that will be led by the daughter, who will probably not make it out of the spearhead effort to weaken the dragon by flooding the lair with ??? magical Greek fire or some shit?

daughter’s lover, who has been off researching the magical equivalent of Greek fire or some shit to use against the dragon, comes back with the goods and pleads with her to choose her/life/hope over almost certain death while fighting the dragon

the dragon dies the night before the daughter is about to assassinate it! she finds the dragon dead in a gigantic lavish set of a cavern of gold and skulls and shit!

struggle in power vacuum! what does a new order under no dragon look like! what’s the mother’s fucking purpose any more and what does she do with all this power she’s accumulated under the shared banner of killing the dragon! do they lie and say they did actually kill the dragon? how do the daughter and her lover fix their relationship! how do the MOTHER and her adult daughter deal with their new relationship???

WHERE DID THE DRAGON’S HOT WITCH SENESCHAL GO AND WHAT IF ANYTHING DID SHE HAVE TO DO WITH THIS. WHAT HAPPENS TO THE DRAGON’S HOLDINGS AND STAFF

season two babey! political maneuverings in the background of a murder mystery bc now the daughter wants revenge on the person who stole HER revenge and also, from her point of view, wrecked her relationships with her mother and her lover for nothing!

please god someone hire me for some sort of well-paying job bc i've made this simple revenge plot infinitely more interesting while high off my ass on benadryl

playing animal crossing continues to be a balm. gotta pick up a couple hundred acorns to make a cool table and chairs set. not a lot to say about this real simple game that’s a quiet delight. i feel like that was a lot of text all at once have a pic

making curtains, bc the light/window/curtain situation in this apartment continues to be abysmal. these two printed panels i’ve been terrified to cut into have been in my possession since the first time i came back to college. my boss at the time did a lot of networking and traveling, and she was given these at some point by someone. sensing the latent feral textile energy within me or something, although she probably just wanted to clear out her office a little bit, i got these along with a bunch of other shit that has since come to its useful end. but these two panels have been with me through half a dozen moves, and now they’re curtains.

i do not think they are the sort of religious textile a white person shouldn’t own, to the best of my research they are somewhat generic touristy souvenir fabric, but i would be interested to hear otherwise and fix my mistakes, bc i have not cut into them just made some very deep hems. they are printed slightly askew, so my regular perfectionist “pick a warp or weft thread and pin along that line” doesn’t fucking work but i mostly had room for nice finished seams. this fabric is a touch heavier than quilting cotton but lighter than a linen sheet, pretty tightly woven, a little shiny, and i would be reluctant to wash these since in the process of hemming quite a lot of the dye has come off on my hands. didn’t hem the selvedge edge bc i can’t be fucking bothered. here is an abysmal picture, i am very proud of my precise measurements and how nicely they line up. they are a little bit of a weird size proportionally speaking for this room, but they stay out of the way of the outlet and the heater, they go with my bedspread, and that’s what i really care about. if you think i’m gonna fucking iron twelve square feet of curtains you are wrong 

[inkedsoldier]

Chew the Bullet - Chapter Six

A Modern Warfare series

Casey Vos is a liaison officer for the Dutch Special Forces. She has been stationed in Afghanistan and Syria, but now works everywhere they need her assistance. Specialized in counterterrorism and intelligence, she is unmistakably a great asset for the upcoming Taskforce 1-4-1, under the command of Captain John Price.

A/N: Here it is – the official chapter six of the Chew the Bullet. Let’s continue the story. English is not my first language, but I’m getting better at it. Please, if you see any errors, let me know so I can fix it. It’s much appreciated. Well, I hope you enjoy! And please leave a note, vote or message with your thoughts! Bravo team out.

Warnings: angst, violence.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

_____

As Casey pulled off her gear and locked up her weapons in the armory, Price walked in with a phone in his hand. “Case, Laswell wants to talk to you,” he said handing the girl his phone. Casey nodded. “Kate?” she said. “The attic of the Al-Qatala townhouse was a gold mine. It looks like you found the Wolf,” the American officer spoke. “Communications from the laptop were tracked to Ramaza hospital in Urzikstan, where the Al-Qatala leader is believed to be holed up,” Casey replied. “Farah’s forces will track activity at the hospital while a marine ground force can be mobilized to advance on the complex. Echo 3-1 will capture the Wolf for interrogation about the stolen Russian gas,” Kate informed. “Good! We need to end this bastard,” the Dutch lieutenant stated. “Indeed. And I need you for that, Casey,” Laswell announced. “What?” Casey said surprised. “I want you to assist on the interrogation, Vos. A cargo plane will pick you, Price and Garrick up and bring you to base. You leave in 4 hours,” Kate finished before hanging up.

 Aqtabi, Urzikstan The orange gold stretched far and wide. Alex’s eyes were steady on the horizon, face aglow with the last warm rays before twilight introduced the stars. His lips bear the resemblance of a smile, just enough to show that he is enjoying a thought that came up in his mind. The sunset reminded him of a moment he shared with Casey weeks before the accident. She took him back to the Netherlands, where they had the time of their lives. Watching the sun go down at the coast, eating fries and seafood late at night and driving to the southern border for her favourite pastries. He missed her, but the beautiful memories kept her alive in his head.

 Farah was keeping watch on the roof as he dreamed away. A sudden talking on the comms got him back to reality. “Commander? Al-Qatala was shooting in the hospital. It’s quiet now,’ one of the militia fighters said. “Copy. Keep us posted,” the Urzik leader replied. “My soldiers confirm that the hospital is under siege. Al-Qatala is taking civilians as human shields. They’re protecting someone,” she said to the American soldier. ‘Or something,” Alex spoke. Farah glanced over the operator and smiled. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not much,” he replied leaning against one of the walls. “Doesn’t seem like it,” the commander stated. Her stubbornness reminded him of Casey. “Where will you go when this is over, Alex?” she continued. “Wherever they send me.” Farah was surprised by his answer. “You don’t choose?” she asked. “Not exactly,” Alex answered.  

 1540 clicks from base The cargo aircraft was noisy and for most of the passengers sleeping was a no go. The engines roared and the sky-born plane rocked by the winds far above the ground. Casey on the other hand didn’t have any problem with sleeping. She had flown in these aircrafts so often, that she would easily doze off in her seat. Unfortunately, nightmares haunted her sleep. It wasn’t always the same bad dream, but she would always end up like a mess, trembling from fear and unspoken pain.

 Same shit, different day. The guy in the grey uniform was back again, asking the same questions and getting the same answers from the soldier. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said. A fist collided with the right side of her head. “You get one more chance!” the man growled. “WHAT DO THEY KNOW?”

 He didn’t get the answer he wanted so he switched to a different tactic. Within seconds one of the Al-Qatala soldiers came in, dragging a little girl behind him. She must have been no older than 10 years, her arms and legs tied, tears staining her face. “Give me what I want or I kill her,” he informed Casey. She looked at the girl with hurt in her eyes. He held her up by her hair – a knife against her throat. “If you hurt her you’ll get nothing out of me,” she yelled. All he did was shrug, “Tell me or she dies!” The girl was so scared. Her eyes begged Casey to give them whatever they wanted, but she couldn’t comply. “You’re gonna have to beat it out of me, you sick fuck,” she screamed. “What you wish,” the man spoke, before he slid the knife across the little girls throat. “NOOOOO!” Casey yelled.

 Casey gasped for air and shot straight up in her seat. Price noticed and slowly moved over next to the lieutenant, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Everything alright?” he asked. Her heart beats fast and there is a buzzing in her head. “Uhum.. just a bad dream,” she replied softly, but loud enough for Price to hear over the roaring engine. He had a worried look in his eyes – he knew how bad nightmares could get. “You have them often?” the captain asked. Casey didn’t know if she should be honest, but she also knew he would not stop trying to get the truth out of her. “Just when I close my eyes,” she answered. John sighed, “You want to talk about it?” Casey hummed in response, “…but not now.”

 07:30AM Ramaza Hospital, Urzikstan Led by sergeant Marcus Griggs, Marines of the Demon Dogs unit launched the assault against the hospital occupied by Al-Qatala. In the early morning of the 28th of October the team entered the warzone to capture the Wolf, before he had the chance to kill the marines that were taken prisoner during the fight. “Griggs, were heading inside. Stand by,” Alex informed. The main door was blocked – the team had to find another way to get tot the Wolf. Just as he opened the door, he noticed the grenade that was strapped near the left side of the entrance. There was no way he could open the door fully without blowing up its surroundings, which meant he had to dismantle the frag first. The American operator opened the door just enough to locate the tripwire to defuse it. It was a M67 - something Alex was all too familiar with. “Demons set. Take this animal alive, Alex. Don’t shoot him, get him on the ground,” Griggs said on the comms while he prepared for a breach on the other side of the area.

 The end of the hallway was blocked by some furniture. Alex lowered himself and crawled under the table, giving him a position behind the Wolf, without being seen. Before the Al-Qatala leader had the opportunity to slash the marine, Alex took his chance and threw him on the ground. Immediately after the marines burst through the door to shoot the remaining fighters that were there to protect their leader, Omar Sulaman. “Clear,” Marcus announced, helping one of the marines up from the floor. “We gotchya, brother-man, you’re alright.”

 Alex cuffed Omar and looked him in the eyes. He finally had the man behind what caused Casey’s death. Oh, how he would have loved to put a bullet between his eyes. “You good, Alex,” Griggs asked. “Good, Griggs,” he answered. “Omar Sulaman, you are now in custody of Special Operations Force. Do exactly as you’re told, or you’re a death man.”

Taglist: @imahardcase​ @yvessaintrogers​

[improvidus]

Like a Bridge Over Troubled Waters | Oneshot

Rating | K+

Warnings | None

Genres | H/C, friendship, family

Characters | Christopher LaSalle, Dwayne Pride

Relationships | Christopher LaSalle x Dwayne Pride (friendship)

Word Count | 3K

Summary: With two full-time jobs and the investigation into his family's company, Christopher LaSalle is beyond exhausted. Pride decides it's time to stage an intervention. Takes place in early S5.

"You always were a party animal."

The team was gone, the bar was closed, the lights were low, and Christopher LaSalle sat alone, the epicenter of a semi-organized explosion of paperwork that spilled across nearly every inch of the table he occupied. At the sound of Pride's voice, he looked up and stretched, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. He huffed. "Yeah, well. Not anymore. Lately my nights are filled with a whole lotta...this." He flung out a hand to indicate the chaos surrounding him.

"You've been goin' pretty hard, Christopher. For a long time, now." Pride dragged a chair out and straddled it, gazing at LaSalle with what Percy used to call his 'concerned basset hound' face. "Why don't you head on home? Get some rest."

"I'll be alright, King. I gotta get this stuff squared away with the IRS."

"I know. That's what I'm talkin' about. NCIS, your family's company—" LaSalle appreciated that Pride never referred to it as his company. "You've got two fuller than full-time jobs and now all this, too. You're burning the candle at both ends, and I suspect the middle's gonna catch up wit' you sooner than you're thinkin'."

LaSalle ran a hand over his face. "I know, King. I do. I just—I don't see what I can do different. My family needs LaSalle Enterprises. Not to mention all the employees who're depending on it to keep them and their families afloat. And NCIS…" He trailed off, studying the grain of the wood where a bit of table peeked through the sea of paper. His voice grew quiet. "Well, I need that. Keep me afloat."

When he looked up, Pride's eyes were smiling. "An' we need you. Always. But if you need to take a break an' deal wit' all this—we'll manage. And we'll be around when you're ready to come back."

"I appreciate that, King. But I'm good. Really."

Pride did not appear to be convinced. "Christopher. When was the last time you—"

"The last time I what, slept?" LaSalle bristled. "Don't do that."

Pride drew back a little. "Don't do what?"

"Don't try to take care of me."

Pride let out an incredulous bark of laughter. "Christopher, I'm always gonna take—"

LaSalle cut him off, surprised by the sudden irritation flaring in his chest. "No, I know, that's not what I mean. You're always tryin' to take care of everybody, but you never stop to take care of yourself. At least, not lately. You think I don't see it? I know you, King! How many times, how many cases, have you told me that I couldn't take care of anybody if I wasn't takin' care of myself? Well, I'm pretty dang sure that isn't a principle that applies exclusively to me! I know you haven't been sleeping either, so don't be all up on my back about it!" He took a breath.

Pride was staring at him.

There was an awkward beat.

LaSalle deflated a little. "Look, it's not like I don't wanna sleep. Believe me, I want to. I just…" He let out a mirthless huff. "I don't have time to sleep. And when I do…" He trailed off and shook his head. Pride didn't need to know about the nightmares.

Pride was quiet, waiting for something.

But LaSalle didn't have anything to give him. He tapped his fingers on the table once, twice. Then the fight drained from his shoulders, and he put his head in his hands. He wouldn't have thought it possible, but he felt even more wiped out than he had a few minutes ago.

"Christopher." There was a hand on his shoulder. He lifted his head, but a few moments ticked away before his eyes flicked up to meet Pride's. The hurt he had expected to see there was nowhere to be found. Only concern shined back at him. Fourteen years, and the patience of this man still blew him away sometimes.

A wave of regret washed over LaSalle. "I'm sorry, King. I know you're tryin'. It's not fair for me to take this out on you. I just...Well, I wish you'd take some of your own advice every once in a while." A sigh shuddered free, unbidden. "And as far as work goes..." He shook his head and rubbed at his chin. "Well, the truth of the matter is, I'm afraid if I give the company my full attention, it's gonna suck me up and never let me go." He shook his head once more, meeting Pride's eyes, now. "If it's all the same to you, I'd just as soon stick around."

Pride smiled, but LaSalle knew him well enough to spot the worry mostly concealed behind the crinkled, twinkling eyes. "Always happy to have you."

LaSalle nodded, somewhat relieved. Then the time, lit up in the lower-right corner of his laptop, caught his eye and he straightened. "Shoot, King! I had no idea what time it was. You must be waitin' to get to bed."

Pride shrugged. "Nah. It's like you said. I haven't been sleepin' much either. You're welcome to keep workin'. Here." He tossed LaSalle a fob of keys and rose, grunting, to his feet. "I'm gonna get a shower. Lock up when you finish?"

"Sure thing."

Pride squeezed LaSalle's shoulders as he passed his chair. "Don't stay up too late."

"Yes, Dad."

Pride chuckled and LaSalle smiled, but then the attic door clicked shut and he was alone with his exhaustion and a mountain of trouble in the form of receipts, bank statements, and a whole lot of zeroes. The glare from his laptop suddenly seemed blinding, and he rubbed at his eyes again as a long-pent up sigh burst from his lips. Times like these, he wished he'd never given up coffee.

                                                          ***

Dwayne Pride pulled a clean t-shirt over his head and sighed.

Christopher was right; he knew that. It was hypocritical of him to scold his friend for pushing himself too hard when he was doing the same thing to himself. Remove the log from your own eye…

He shook his head. Well, it was easier said than done.

He had seen the exhaustion pulling at Christopher ever since his father's death, since LaSalle Enterprises had fallen squarely on his unwilling shoulders. And in the weeks after Pride had been shot, there had been something else, too—a hollowness in Christopher's eyes amidst the relief, dimming the sparkle he could usually count on finding there. Lines and shadows had formed around his eyes, ones that Pride knew from years past—and more recently, personal experience—meant nightmares.

Like the scars Amelia's bullets had inflicted on Pride's body, the shadows faded over time, but the weariness remained and deepened as the burden of the investigation into LaSalle Enterprises grew in size and weight. Something had to change, and soon.

He could order Christopher to take time off, get things sorted, but he suspected the team was the only thing holding Christopher together right now. His words of fifteen minutes ago were all but an admission.

Pride reached for his towel as an idea took seed in his head. He mulled on it for a minute or two, giving his hair a few brisk shuffles before returning the towel to its hook and heading for the kitchen. If he played his cards right, maybe he could lull Christopher into catching some sleep without his getting wise. It was a temporary fix, but a far sight better than no fix. He opened the squeaky cupboard above the stove and reached for the hot chocolate.

While milk—braced with a generous dose of heavy cream—warmed on the stove, Pride took his Fathers' Day mug from Laurel down from the shelf by the coffee maker. A flash of red caught his eye, and he moved another cup aside to reveal Christopher's Alabama mug. He pulled it down, cracking a grin as he ran his thumb over the slightly scratchy paint of the Crimson Tide emblem. Roll tide. He wasn't actually sure when—or how—the mug had made its way into his kitchen, but he did know it had been there for a very long time. Boy'd probably left it in the truck, or something.

The milk began to hiss and he dropped a few scoops of cocoa in, mixing until the dark globs disappeared. When the mugs were filled, he dunked a stick of cinnamon in each and stirred them around a bit. He paused to wipe up the small mess he had made when he poured the mugs and then headed back down the stairs to collect his drinking partner.

"Chris? I've gotta fresh cup of hot chocolate up here, and it's got your name all—" he reached the last step and looked up, stopping in his tracks. "—over it."

The makeshift workplace was even more disheveled than when he had last seen it. Several of the stacks of paper had been toppled over, loose pages floating to carpet the barroom floor. There was a file folder there, too, its contents fanned out amongst peanut shells and crushed pretzels.

In the middle of this chaos, Christopher LaSalle slept, face pillowed on his keyboard, one arm flung out across the table, the other curled around his laptop.

Pride huffed, a smile lining his face as a feeling too large for his heart to contain swelled in his chest and prickled his eyes. Christopher LaSalle had come such a long way from the angry young detective he had met over a decade ago. He had become family. Pride would trust him with his life—with Laurel's life, even. They had been through hell and back together, and Pride took a moment to thank God for this Jonathan of a friend.

On an impulse, he pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the camera app, turning on the flash before snapping a photo. Neither the sudden burst of light nor the unnecessarily loud shutter sound did anything to rouse the sleeping man. Pride swiped to the photo and grinned. Whether to share with the team or to save for himself, it was a keeper. At the very least, he'd be sending it to Laurel.

He was reluctant to wake his friend, but he reasoned that he'd have a much better chance of sleeping through the night if he did his sleeping on Pride's couch rather than on his keyboard. At the very least, he'd have fewer cricks in the morning.

"Christopher." There was no response, and Pride stepped around the table to try again. Motion on the laptop's screen caught his eye. A text document was open, reading simply, "jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj." Even as he watched, it filled the remainder of the page and moved on to the next. He smirked. "That'll show 'em." Shaking his head, he put a hand on Christopher's shoulder. "Chris?" He knelt and shook him a little. "Christopher. Hey, son."

It took a bit more prompting, but eventually Christopher stirred, inhaling sharply. His left eye—his right was squeezed shut by his cheek plastered to the keyboard—cracked open and blinked in confusion for a moment before he frowned and lifted his head. Little squares were imprinted on his cheek where the keys had pressed. A few pages drifted to the floor on the breeze he caused as he sat up.

"Hey." Pride smiled at him and did his best to swallow the laughter that rose in his throat at the bleary grin Christopher offered him in return.

"Hi."

"You sleepin' good there, m'brother?"

Christopher squinted and looked around the empty bar. His frown deepened.

This time, Pride didn't quite manage to catch the chuckle before it escaped. "C'mon, son. Let's get you someplace you can lie down."

Christopher mumbled a hazy "'kay," but Pride was fairly sure the kid hadn't actually understood his words.

He tried again. "Can you get up an' walk wit' me upstairs?"

Christopher nodded. And made no move to comply. In fact, after a moment or two of blinking blankly at Pride, his head returned to the keyboard with a dull clunk. This time, the h key was sent on a marathon.

Shaking his head, Pride allowed himself another chuckle. At the moment, Christopher resembled nothing more than a toddler who'd been awakened too early from a nap. When his eyes fell closed again, Pride stood and took him gently by the arm.

"Alright, okay. Let's go." With some difficulty, he coaxed Christopher up and guided him towards the stairs.

"Case?"

Pride gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. "Nope. No cases tonight. Just sleep."

Halfway up the stairs, Pride was cursing himself for neglecting to have the new banister installed as he barely managed to catch Christopher when his clumsy steps nearly led him right over the edge. A few stumbles and catches and grunts later, they made it to the top and Pride reached around Christopher to push the door open. He wrestled his friend inside and kicked the door shut behind them.

"Kin'?"

"Yeah, Christopher," Pride strained, doing his best to abort Christopher's collision course with a bookcase.

"'M really tired."

Course corrected, they made their way into the living area. "I know it, Christopher. We're gonna get you some sleep, okay?"

Christopher nodded as Pride propped him in the corner between the wall and the bookcase. "Stay put." When he was sufficiently that convinced Christopher would topple over when he let go of him, Pride turned to gather up the sheet music scattered across the couch and transfer it to the piano bench. "Over here, Christopher."

Christopher obediently sat down on the edge of the couch, hands planted against the cracked leather on either side of him. Pride felt his bewildered gaze on his back as he entered the bedroom and re-emerged with a pillow and a quilt. He placed the pillow against the arm of the couch and patted it. "Lie down."

The younger man shook his head in a petulant way that brought the photo of seven-year-old Christopher, barely-visible in his big brother's football gear, flashing through his mind's eye. Then Christopher set his jaw, and the little boy disappeared. "This ain't right."

Pride frowned. What did that mean? He had no way of knowing if Christopher was referring to his obvious state of disorientation or something deeper, but he decided answers would have to wait until they had both had some sleep. Instead, he looked his friend in the eye and infused his voice with all the conviction he had in him. "This is exactly right." He held Christopher's eyes until he saw a flicker of understanding, and then he gave the pillow another pat. "Now lie down, son."

This time, Christopher complied, face crashing into the pillow, eyes slipping closed—and feet remaining on the floor. Pride waited a moment for him to kick his shoes off and pull them up, but Christopher was still. Like a light, Pride thought with a smirk. Kneeling, he pulled off Christopher's shoes before taking his ankles and swinging them onto the couch. He watched Christopher's face as he shook out the quilt and laid it over the boy.

The weariness that Pride had seen in his face earlier was gone, replaced by an expression so peaceful it bordered on serenity. If before Pride had thought he looked ten years older, he now looked ten years younger. The lines of stress and sadness, engraved by years on a job that had given him a front-row seat to all the worst the world had to offer, were softened in sleep. Only the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth remained distinct, and Pride smiled.

He made one last trip downstairs to lock up and shut off the lights, pausing by Christopher's abandoned workspace. He saved the open documents, opting not to erase the gibberish inflicted by his friend's impromptu nap. Something to tease him about, later. Then he powered down the laptop and put the papers—as much in order as he could figure—back into the accordion folder at the foot of the chair Christopher had occupied.

He carried these things upstairs and placed them alongside his sheet music on the piano bench before the scent of cinnamon and cocoa drew him back to the kitchen. He poured the not-so-hot chocolate into a pitcher, cinnamon and all, and put it in the fridge for another night, another dilemma. His job had been much easier than expected, tonight. A yawn swelled in his throat as he placed the mugs in the sink and filled them with water.

Pride checked on Christopher one more time on his way to his room. He slept soundly, one arm dangling over the edge of the couch, feet up over the arm at the end. The glow from neon lights outside the window cast his face in squares of cool blue and flickering yellow. Pride bent down and took his wrist, gently folding his arm back beneath the quilt. He put a hand on the younger man's back.

"Sweet dreams, Christopher." God knows they're precious.

A few minutes later, he was in his own bed, his partner of years asleep in the next room. Outside, someone played "Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water" on a tenor sax. He closed his eyes.

And for the first time in many weeks, Dwayne Pride slept deeply and free of dreams.

A/N: Welcome to my brand-spankin’-new NOLA blog! This fic is my first foray into this fandom, and I’d love to hear y’all’s thoughts! I’ve got another one well underway, as well as a long-ish series in the brainstorm stages.

The events of this fic are largely based on real-life experiences that I do not recall because I was still so sleepy I was falling all over the place. Ironically, my beta was falling nodding off at her laptop whilst reading about Pride making hot chocolate, which is about the point Christopher was doing the same thing downstairs.

Speaking of my my beta, you should all go check out the brilliant, brilliant Mellia Bee on AO3 and FF.net. Her Steggy stories are the bomb, and a huge part of why I started writing fanfic.

The Scripture Pride references is from Matthew 7:5, and because it’s probably kind of obscure, “Jonathan of a friend” was referring to the best friend of David, Israel’s most famous king. Jonathan really stuck his neck out for David, helping him at great danger to himself. You can read about them in 1 Samuel. And finally, the photo of small Christopher was just me throwing in a nod to Lucas Black’s role in Friday Night Lights. I’ll try to post the actual photo, because it’s really stinkin’ rotten adorable, and y’all must see it.

Apologies for the long A/N! Thank you for reading this, and thank you in advance to anyone who takes the time to comment! Feedback is soul-food, like pecan pie, and it keeps le old gears turning. While we’re on the topic of food, don’t forget to eat today, lovey human! Drink your water, take your vitamins, eat an orange. I love you. Jesus loves you. Hang in there.

Author out.

My FF.Net page:

https://www.fanfiction.net/u/12357741/

My AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project7723/works

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty, “Close Calls”

All chapters can be found here! 

Inspiration tag for the story! 

I recently completed a character survey from Becky’s POV that you should check out! 

Warning! This story contains mentions of: cancer, vomiting, chemotherapy process, and brief mentions of blood.

                                       Sneaky peeeeeeeek!

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. The paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit.

But I can’t, and I don’t try to put the feelings into words. I sit there and cry inside of my car until I can’t anymore. And until I find enough strength to sit up and leave, knowing that I won’t call him back.

Snowflakes flutter in front of my eyes, painting the world white. Cars zoom past on the streets down below, the size of my fingernail. Yeah, it sure looks like the first of February out there, the thought sounds inside of me. The festivities of Christmas are long over as a new year has begun. Thinking of what comes next leads to a disorganized mess behind my eyes. I try to rid my thoughts of it with a hard blink, but instead it brings something else forth. 

February 1st. 

It’s Harry’s birthday today. 

He’s 29. Shit. 

Flipping my phone over in my lap, my thumbs get working fast. But once that empty conversation is in front of my eyes, I stall. Before I chicken out, words appear on the screen quickly. 

I read them over and wonder how they sound. Or, more like, how they would sound to him. Do they sound too personal? Do they not sound personal enough? Or am I worrying too much and it’ll just blend into all of the other birthday texts he’s sure to receive? 

“I think if you stare at that thing any harder your eyes are gonna pop out of your skull, Ree.”

I raise my head to find the voice who said that. My dad. He smiles tiredly at me a few steps away. I laugh, realizing he’s right. 

“What’s got your attention so peaked anyways?” he asks. His eyes framed with exhaustion stay for only a second. They return to the Arsenal football match playing on the telly. 

“Um, just trying to write a text to somebody. But I don’t know if it’s good enough.”

“Don’t think about it so much, sweetie. I mean it, you’re probably thinking too hard about it,” he comments, scratching at the blue wool hat covering his head.

Sometimes I still expect to see the IV tubing dangling from his skinny arm. Like all of the other times at the beginning. Patches of faded red cover the insides of his arms from them now. You wouldn’t notice their small marks, but I know they’re there. The seconds of relief from their absence is whisked away when he tugs at his shirt. The moving of the material reveals the tubing leading to the port in his chest. The one I forget has been there for months when his shirt covers it. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” I tell him, and go ahead and hit Send. 

Hi. I’ve been thinking of you. I hope you’re doing alright. Just remembered it was your birthday. Wow 29, huh? Damn you really are getting old, you geezer. You better hurry and claim your senior discount now. No, but really I hope you’re having a good day, Harry. Enjoy your day. Have some drinks and do something for yourself, something you enjoy. I hope 29 is a fantastic year for you. Hopefully you’re not as run down yet as Chandler is. 

I tap Send again, watching the clip from F.R.I.E.N.D.S go with the text marked by a heart. A smile pulls up my cheeks, thinking of the scene. 

The three guys are sitting on the sofa in Central Perk and Chandler talks about not being 21 anymore. He’s 29 now and just wants to relax and go to bed at his bedtime, according to him.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” my dad comments, bringing my eyes back to him. A small smile pinches his sallow cheeks. I nod, thinking of those words, but in a different way. If only that could be said about everything.

Setting my phone down, I try to watch the match with him. I’m glad it’s taking his mind off of the poison coursing through his veins. But I’m distracted by the anxious excitement of waiting to hear a ding from my phone. 

Point after point is scored and it doesn’t come. And I try not to be disappointed, but I think I’m getting rather good at being disappointed lately.

+

The last words of a Katy Perry song trickle from the speakers as I put the car in park. A soft glow pours out the living room window, waiting for me. 

6:13 pm, the digital clock reads. 

I let my head fall back to the head rest. The events of today and their emotions flood my thoughts. As well as the things I still need to do tonight. Bring in the groceries. Put them away. Make dinner, even though he’ll eat 5 bites that he’ll throw up. Sweep and mop the kitchen. Disinfect surfaces. Find time to vacuum when he isn’t sleeping. Change his bedsheets. Do la-

Brrrrrrrrrrring!

Brrrrrrrrrrring!

The incessant words forming inside of my head cease. Looking over to the passenger seat, my phone buzzes face down. I pick up and answer it without looking. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Becks,” a refreshing voice answers. It almost removes the heavy words inside of me, but not quite. 

“Hi, Harry. How was your birthday?” I answer, peering down at my lap. 

“It was pretty fantastic, thank you. ‘m sorry I didn’ get t’ yer text yestaday. Tha’s why ‘m callin’, an’ ‘cause I got yer gift. I love it, it was so nice o’ you! I don’ have this Fleetwood record yet, so thank ya very much. ‘s in incredible condition, too! Hope ya didn’ have t’ pay too much. I know how pricey original records can be,” his syrupy voice utters with extra sugar today. It fills me with comfort, but he also picked the worst time to call. Although, maybe it would help to get out of my head for a few minutes. If I can.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it. I uh, wasn’t sure if you had it or not,” I reply slowly, unsure of what to say. I find it hard trying to pick out words from my head as so many others are whirring around. Playing with the zipper on my coat, I wait for his reply. 

“I can’ wait t’ listen t’ it. There’s not a scratch on it, ‘s unbelievable. I got sum drinks with sum mates last night afta work, so tha’s why I forgot t’ text back. Had lots o’ fun tho’, an’ ate sum good food,” he narrates for me in an animated voice.

I nod at his words, wishing that would suffice. But I have to talk, even though yesterday I would’ve jumped at the chance to hear his voice. Well, I still would today. Just minus the jumping part. 

“Good,” is all I say, amidst the lump building in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe. But it doesn’t help, it never does. “I’m glad you had a good time,” I somehow manage. Cursing myself, I know he heard my voice crack at the end. Because so did I.

“Becks-.”

“I’m glad you had a good birthday with friends. It did sound fun. Um I’m sorry, but can I call you back? I was just going to run into a shop quick,” I cut him off, the lie knitting together fast. 

“Ya sure, an’ thanks. ‘ll talk t’ ya later, Becks. Drive safe,” he replies, something amiss in his voice. But I can’t listen any further than that, or else the guilt will make the tears come sooner. 

“Thanks, Harry. I will, and happy birthday,” I finish, not giving him a chance to reply before I hang up. 

Because the tears already arrived at my last word. And he sounded so happy, and I couldn’t ruin it. Over the course of the few texts we’ve sent back and forth in the last month, it was the happiest he’s sounded. And I didn’t want to share my dark cloud, and reveal that I’m in the lowest of my lows. Another side of me selfishly wanted him to notice, almost begged him to. And that part is disappointed that he didn’t, but the other part knows that I can’t expect that. Or at least it tries to. 

It’s going to take everything inside of me. To lift my head from the steering wheel and walk back into that house. And to do yesterday and the day before, all over again. Dole out the meds and write them down. Clean up the vomit. Cook the meals. Clean and clean. Endure watching the pain and suffering I can’t do a damned thing about. And on top of it all, try to deal with my own pain and suffering. Not to forget, the schoolwork. 

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. Or the paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit. 

But I can’t, and I don’t try to put the feelings into words. I sit there and cry inside of my car until I can’t anymore. And until I find enough strength to sit up and leave, knowing that I won’t call him back. 

+

“Hey, Becky. Could you do me a favor, love?” 

The pictures of puppies I was looking at suddenly feels illegal. Closing my laptop, I look up and find Sophie standing in front of me. I still think for a split second that she’s the mom from The Princess Diaries when I look at her, even after a year of working here. 

“Y-yeah yeah. What do you need, Sophie?” I ask, trying to sit up straight, for once.

“Could you run this down to the post room for me, please? I need it sent out today, and I have a video conference in a minute. I’d wait on it, but I know they pickup the post in about 20. I won’t make it since my video conference is an hour long,” she says, her lips lined in scarlet grimacing. She tugs at the end of her corkscrew brown curls, a nervous habit of hers. “I hate to be one of those bosses that makes you do stupid stuff, but-.”

“Don’t mention it, Soph. A little walk would be nice, anyways,” I insist, taking the large white envelope from her. She thanks me with a smile and a handful of ‘thank yous’ before leaving. 

Standing up, I feel my joints wake back up with a few cracks. I smooth down my maroon blouse over my black dress pants. A shiver tickles my spine, and I decide to slide on my zip up black Columbia. The last thing I do before leaving is to grab my steel water bottle to fill up. 

“Be right back,” I let the girls know at the front desk. They nod with a smile before resuming their hushed conversation. 

My pointed flats hardly make a noise on the tiled floor. It’s hard to look for a noise with the wind whipping around the snow outside. Just looking out the windows lining the hallway makes me feel cold, colder than it should be in March. And regret choosing these shoes this morning. I reach a corner and take a left, thinking back to when I first started and always got lost. I pass a handful of people on my way, familiar and not, and we exchange smiles or nods. I pass the doors for Human Resources, and wave at a friend. A gruff bailiff passes without either, but he was a little too scary looking to make eye contact with anyways. 

I reach another corner, knowing the post room is only two turns away now. I take a right, but a few steps in, I hear voices. And laughing. My feet stop at the sound, and I turn around. The large doors to Courtroom 5 are down the hallway behind me. A clump of people stand across them talking, leaning against the wall under a clock. One of the laughs stands out to me from the others, like a musician can recognize a note. I can only see the backs of heads of those facing away from me. They shield the others from my view. My head goes from side to side with dismissal as I turn back around. But I don’t get very far, because I hear something they say. 

A name. 

It’s like it takes control of my limbs, and again I’m spinning around. I make it just in time to watch a figure break away from the group. Smiling and shaking hands, a laugh tickling their lips. And walk over to the drinking fountain. It’s Rose, one of the lawyers from Harry’s firm. Hmm, I think silently before walking away for real this time. 

I soon find another water fountain and I decide to fill up. Luckily almost all of the ones I come across here have the nifty water bottle attachment. It was always a pain any place I’d go trying to fill it up directly from the spout. With the thick envelope under my arm, I screw the cap back on. Slipping my finger through the little handle at the top, I take off. But once again, I don’t get very far. Because this time I almost run into somebody. 

“Sorry,” I automatically say before even taking a look at the person. But I don’t need to look when their voice tells me what I’m looking for. 

“‘s alr- Wait, ‘s that you, Becks? Well hi, love,” Harry coos, his words catching. 

“What, I don’t get an ‘it’s alright’ just because I’m not a stranger?” I joke, looking into his brilliant green eyes. 

The skin around his eyes crinkles as amusement paints his face. Nodding, his growing curls dance a little on his head. “Yeah, I guess ‘s alright ya almost plowed me ova,” he jokes, his straight white teeth showing behind his happy lips. 

Scratching at the back of his neck, his navy blazer pulls to the side. I see more of the cream button down underneath decorated with small navy polka dots. 

“Hey, I could say the same thing about you,” I argue, trying to calm the happiness budding on my lips. But my control doesn’t last very long. 

Harry replies with a breathy laugh, dropping his hand. “Oh hush, you. Now, what’re ya doin’ here, love? I hope yer not here fer a hearing,” he asks, swinging the leather messenger bag to his side. Probably heavy from his files and laptop, from the look of its bulging seams. 

“I uh, work here,” I tell him slowly, my words escaping me. My fingers wrap around and lift the sleek card resting on my chest. 

His moss green eyes fall to the lanyard hanging around my neck holding the access card bearing my face and name. I receive my answer when his expressive eyebrows shoot to the sky in surprise. “Here? Really, doin’ wha’?” he questions.

“Um, I do some clerk stuff back in admin,” I reply, watching his expression relax into a content smile. 

“Tha’s great, Becks. That’ll look really good on yer resume when ya graduate. Good fer you, ‘m proud o’ you, darlin’,” he comments, patting my arm. I hardly know what to say with everything jumping around in my head all of a sudden. The arm pat. The beaming pride coating his features. The part where he said he’s proud of me, for the second time now. Okay, chill out, Becky. You can’t lose it, not yet. “An’ ya like it here? Are ya learnin’ more ‘bout law?”

“Yeah, I really like it. I work with a small group of people, and we get along really well. I mean there’s always that one coworker you don’t like, but what can you do?” I try to laugh, but I’m afraid it sounds fake. It’s okay though, because his laugh covers the doubt I hear in mine. And the nerves. “And I am learning, too. My boss is really great and I think she uses me being in law school to her advantage. It’s a match made in heaven, I guess.”

“Good, ‘m glad t’ hear that. ‘m happy t’ hear well, that yer happy,” Harry tells me with a smile framing his words. But when I look at it a second too long, I see the sadness in it. Suddenly, I regret my words, and how they sounded like he wasn’t a good boss. Or that I didn’t like it at his firm. But he doesn’t let me get too far into my thoughts, luckily. “How’s yer dad doin’? I haven’t heard from ya lately, but I undastand yer prolly real busy.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I apologize, looking away with warming cheeks. But his automatic ‘’s okay’ and squeeze to my arm makes me look back at him. “Things have been pretty crazy with classes and being there for my dad. He started chemo again the beginning of last month, since they didn’t get all of the tumor, like they hoped they would. But I guess most people still do it to ensure it’s gone, or something like that. I can’t remember.”

“Stop, ‘s okay,” he says firmly, his eyebrows raising a tick. “How’s he handlin’ tha chemo? ‘ve heard that stuff’s pretty shitty.”

“Yeah, it is. It makes him really sick. It’s hard because sometimes he has to wait to do an infusion of it, because some levels of his are too low. Or they want him to be at a certain weight, even though the chemo makes him lose weight,” I explain, the words coming out effortlessly. “It’s hard to see him like this, and to still be a student and an employee during all of it. But my professors and boss have been really understanding and lenient.”

I bite back the tears, hoping they won’t fall without my permission. But one breaks loose from the gate as I stare at the floor. My flats are separated from his brown leather chelsea boots. Then after a blink they no longer are. I don’t make the decision to look up, but it’s made for me when I feel his thumb wiping the tear away. Peering into his gleaming green eyes always seems to make time stop. A warm smile places dimples in his cheeks, and does something to me. Like it always does. 

“‘s okay. I can’t imagine how hard ‘s been fer ya, Becks. Why didn’ ya ring me? I woulda listened,” Harry asks me, his hand regretfully belonging to himself again. But there isn’t annoyance or anger in his voice. There’s emotions from the other side of the spectrum heard there. Like regret and sadness, and others I can’t fathom right this second. 

“I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. Plus, I hate to be a Debbie Downer,” I confess, admiring the length of his dark eyelashes when they tickle his skin. 

“Yer notta Debbie Downa, Becks, whateva tha bloody hell that ‘s,” he insists. A hint of his giggle meets my ears when I look at him weird due to that revelation. “Ya can call me anytime, ‘kay? Whether ‘s happy or sad, ‘d wanna hear ‘bout it.”

I nod at his words, savoring the sound of his voice. And what it said. His minty breath strokes my cheek as he’s close enough to touch. The words get lost in my throat as his familiar smell wafts over me, catching me off guard. “Thank you,” I mumble thoughtfully, seeing his head move in answer. 

“What’re ya takin’ this semesta fer yer LLB tha’s so tough? I mean, I know all tha courses can be, but ‘m curious. Ya must be onto tha heavier courses by now, ‘s that right?” 

“Well, I’m still catching up to where I should be as a kind of sophomore. Because they changed the degree around since I’ve been gone, so that’s kinda why I took Crim later than usual. But right now I’m taking Banking Law, Family Law, and Environmental Law,” I answer, watching my words register with him. He nods at certain parts, his brow knitted together as he pays attention to me, like there’s nobody else in the entire room. 

“Ugh, those don’ sound any fun. I rememba takin’ those, or what were tha equivalent t’ ‘em when I was in uni. They’re tha ratha borin’ ones, an’ Family’s sad, too,” he comments, a look of disgust playing with his features. It’s amusing, but I get away with not letting it show on my face. Reaching to scratch his chin, I notice the stubble there. And the pops of color on his fingernails. Both fitting, I must say.

“Yeah they’re super boring. I’m surprised you even remember them, seeing as you’re 29 and everything,” I joke, earning a well deserved eye roll from him. But he can’t get rid of the grin showing on his raspberry lips. “Hey, I like your nails. It looks like you did a pretty good job, better than I could even,” I laugh and it grows harder when he holds them out for me to see. A wine red and turquoise blue decorate his fingers. But what gets me is that he puckers his lips, modeling like Zoolander. 

“Thanks,” Harry titters, looking down at them. “Me little niece picked out tha colors an’ helped me paint ‘em tha otha night. But I think they’re growin’ on me. Already chippin’ tho they are, whatta shame.”

You let your niece paint your nails? 

Wait, you’re an uncle? 

Okay, the thought of you with tiny children is not helping things. 

“You sound like a fun uncle.”

“Ya, I hope so. Harper says I am anyways, which ‘s quite tha compliment. Also, stop callin’ me old. 29 isn’t old,” Harry whines, sticking his bottom lip out at me. 

“Oh stop it, you baby,” I giggle, and soon his joins mine. For a couple of seconds, we’re just looking at each other laughing and things couldn’t be better. But I’ve learned that good things can never last, and soon enough we’re interrupted by a voice. 

“Harry, are you coming?” Rose says from across the hallway, a ‘hello’ to me following. The sweet sound coming from his lips soon fades as he looks over to her and nods. Pushing his sleeve back to look at his watch, he clucks his tongue. 

“‘m afraid I can’ talk any longa, Becks. ‘m sorry. Rose an’ I are workin’ togetha onna case. It starts in half an hour, an’ we gotta go ova sum things befo’ it all starts,” he explains regretfully. I nod, acknowledging his words. And try as I might, I can’t get rid of the disappointment growing heavy in my gut. 

“Yeah o-of course, don’t let me keep you. Good luck, Harry, knock ‘em dead,” I wish him with a small, but sad, smile. 

A hint of one inches up his cheeks before he says, “Yer not keepin’ me, I dunno why ya always say that. I enjoy talkin’ t’ ya. ‘s nice t’ catch up again,” Harry tells me. As if in slow motion, I watch him take another step closer to me with outstretched arms. I follow suit and soon find myself in one of his hugs. “Ya ring me if ya need anythin’, ya hear me? Even just t’ talk. Maybe we could get coffee or tacos sumtime.”

The moment in his arms doesn’t last long enough, although I’m sure any amount of time wouldn’t be enough for me. Soon, I’m leaving the safety of his arms and again, I’m alone. “Of course. Thanks, Harry.”

“Welcome. Tell yer dad an’ Robbie ‘m thinkin’ of ‘em,” Harry rasps, and I just nod. “An’ take care, Becks. Good luck in yer courses, I know ya’ll do well.”

Happiness seeps through the sudden sadness with his kindness, and I muster a smile. And another thank you. 

“Have a good day, love,” is the last thing he says, before he turns to walk towards Rose who waits for him. 

“You too,” I mumble, watching him walk away. 

Bittersweetness lines my thoughts, wondering if the sadness is worth getting to see him. And that hug. God, that fucking hug. They do fix everything that’s wrong, if only for a couple of seconds. It makes me wonder how much happier I’d be if I could have one of those every day, as a respite from the chaos of life. But that would only be in the case of if I was his-. 

Yeah, I’m not going there again, I tell myself. And with that, I finally continue my journey to the post room, unsure of how I’ll be able to top that. 

For the rest of day. 

Week. 

Maybe even, month. 

+

The butter melts on my tongue and next the pillowy bread does too. I close my eyes and smile at the taste. Like home. Opening them again, my eyes flit over the half dozen crock pots and several other plates. Frowning, I can’t stop thinking about the meatballs, the macaroni and cheese, the sugar cookie fruit pizza, and the homemade bread. 

But with a longing sigh, I walk away and leave the break room. Excited coworkers of mine pass me on the way to the food. My desk eyes me from across the room, but I ignore it. Soon, I find myself in the hallway. Twenty minutes left of my break after scarfing down the monthly potluck meal. It only gets better each month, and makes me wish it was weekly. The last bite of airy bread passes my lips. I wipe my hands on the napkin and toss it in a bin. The new storm delivers snow outside of the hallway-long windows. Although they’re frosted from the chill, I can still just make out the falling flakes. 

My thoughts of snow are whisked away by the shuffling of feet. And hurried voices. It takes me a moment to figure out where I’ve gone off too. Soon, I realize I’m back by Courtroom 5. And that the people are bustling inside the doors to sit in the gallery. And watch. The sleeve of my zip up glides over my watch, revealing the time to be one o’clock. Quickly, thoughts come together like puzzle pieces in my head. 

My break is over at 1:30. 

It’s Friday, so it’s not like I really have anything important to do when I get back. 

Sophie has been bothering me for ages to go and learn from the teachers I have just down the hall. 

So she won’t mind. 

And the only teacher that I can think I want to learn from is in there right now. 

About to argue a case that appears to be available to the public. 

I don’t remember telling my feet to move, but suddenly I’m behind an older man. And the scene in front of me changes drastically. It fills me with nervous excitement at the sight of the judicial panel, the jury box, and the witness stand. But I don’t have time to gawk, because the chatter around me is quieting down. I quickly find a seat towards the back of the seating in the gallery. 

Silence follows the clanging of the doors shutting. Within a few seconds, everybody rises when the judge enters. But the rest of the room - the jury made up of all kinds of faces, the bailiff, court reporter etc. - melt away when I see that head of curly hair. I’d know it was him if we were in a crowd of people, but any doubt I had from afar is washed away when he speaks. 

Harry and Rose take turns delivering their opening statement. They’re defending their client, the plaintiff, who from the sounds of it, was harassed by the defendant. It kills me to watch the opening statements unfold, even if all I can see is the back of the girl’s head. The hush over the courtroom is chilling, and goosebumps grow on my arms at the sound of Harry’s tone. His professional voice that I’ve yet to really hear before. Because although I worked for him, I was only his assistant. I never got to tag along to trials, or hear much about them. Yes, I did some of the dirty work for them, but I only saw the outside. I heard about how good or bad it was going, and then was dealt with the good news or bad news of the verdict. No more than that. 

It’s awe inspiring to witness him arguing the case firsthand. The way he uses his hands to speak, or the times when his voice does all the speaking he needs to. His eloquent choice of words drills the emotion home, and is accented by the expression on his face. It’s often neutral, but at times, I watch him struggle to hide the effects of the words playing on his face. I find myself having a hard time doing the same when he returns to sit next to the plaintiff, patting her on the back during difficult moments. Unbeknownst to me, the defending lawyer may have been practicing for two years or twenty. But their skill wanes next to Harry’s, even though he’s been practicing for less than ten years. I can’t stand to watch the discrepancies and weaknesses in his arguments. Luckily, my break is over and I don’t care to waste my time watching Mr. Bow Tie over here. 

I quietly leave a few minutes into his opening statement, hoping one day I can evoke as much emotion as Harry with my words. And hide from my face all of the ones that I’m feeling inside. Walking back to my department, a smile curls the edges of my lips. But then it falls, because I realize the mistake I made. 

I just fell a little bit harder. Again. 

+

“I’m gonna bring the dishes down,” I mumble, watching him nod at me. 

The wooden steps creak with my weight as I juggle the tray of barely touched food. A bowl of chicken noodle soup. A piece of toast. And apple slices with peanut butter. 

Options, options, options. 

The plastic tray hits the counter with a hard slap, and an accentuated huff. I bend down and grab tupperware from the drawers. As I pour the soup into a container, the slam of a door upstairs makes me jump. My thoughts fly to the soup spilled all over the counter, but they stop when I hear another noise. Besides the tv in the living room, it’s the only other one I hear. It pulls my feet out of the kitchen and through the living room until I’m at the stairs. I take the steps two at a time until I’m at the top. The terrible sound carries down the hallway, leading me to the bathroom door. 

I nervously rap my knuckles against the door. 

“I’m fine,” my dad says from the other side, coughing. 

“Dad, they said if it gets bad-.”

“It’s not bad yet,” he interrupts. There’s a pause when he blows his nose. “Please, Ree, I just want to be home. I hate having to go there.”

“I know, dad,” I reply, sighing when I hear him start to vomit again. 

Walking away, I give him privacy. And my ears a break from one of my newest least favorite sounds. My fingers drift to my back pocket, sure of their actions before I am. Exhaling, I take a seat on one of the stairs.  

It rings and it rings. 

“Come on, pick up,” I mutter, bouncing my leg. 

Kneading my temple, I listen to it continue to ring. And ring. Finally, it stops. But I’m not greeted by the sound I want to hear. Instead I hear their voicemail, making me groan. I listen to the old recording I’ve heard time and time again, but this time I just want it to go away. So I can hear the instructions, and that final beep.

“Hey, it’s me. J-just call me back when you get this, please,” I say quickly, the words running from my lips. Alongside the tears. 

Dropping my phone onto my lap face down, my head falls in my hands. Noises surround me. Those of everyday life bustling around me. The sound of the laundry machine whirring downstairs. The hum of the tv. And the ones I try to ignore coming from the door behind me. The sound of the crying. And the vomiting. 

I can’t keep my hands still. They go to rake through my hair. To cover my face. To play with my fingers. To make fists. I even try to sit on them, and it doesn’t help. And I can’t stop bouncing my legs, as my nerves jitter from the thoughts.

 The worries.

The uncertainty. 

It feels like an hour before I hear my twinkling ringtone. But when I see the time on my phone, it’s only been eleven minutes. I barely take the time to look at who’s calling before I answer it. 

Clearing my throat, I say a shaky ‘hello.’

“Hey, I got yer message. ‘m sorry I didn’ answer, I was inna late meetin’, but I can talk now. ‘s everythin’ okay, Becks? Ya don’ sound so good, love,” he inquires. His caramely voice is the first comfort I’ve felt all day. My respite from this mayhem. 

“No, I’’ll um, let you go. I don’t want to interrupt your meeting. I can call later,” I insist, guilt weaving its way into my words. 

“No, yer okay, Becks. I stepped out. It wasn’t anythin’ important, anyways. I can have Myles tell me later. Now, wha’s goin’ on?” he tells me, but it doesn’t revoke all of the guilt consuming me. I grimace at the pain from my chapped lips when they smash together, salty tears flowing over their cracks. “Becks, talk t’ me, please. Yer not a botha, not ever. Please tell me wha’s wrong.”

“Harry,” I begin, not capable of any other words. Because that one has been constant in my head for the last twenty minutes. Ever since it started. It’s the one I’ve been holding in, and not been able to say, until now. 

“‘m here, Becks,” he says. Never did I think three words could be so comforting. And at the same time, hurt so much. Because they’re true, and then they’re not. I want them to be true so badly I feel it in my veins. 

“M-my dad . . . he won’t stop throwing up and I don’t know what to do. He had chemo yesterday, b-but it went fine. And then we had dinner tonight, and he hardly had three bites, before he got sick. It’s been like that all day,” I confess, leaning against the staircase railing. Letting it hold me there, because nobody else can. Because I can’t do it for myself anymore. “This happens sometimes with the chemo, b-but . . . . . it was getting better recently. I think I should bring him in like they said, but that means staying the night in the hospital. Again. I’m just so tired, Harry, I want all of this to be over already. I want him to be okay, and I want to feel what it’s like to be okay again.” I can’t get out another word, because the tears consume them. And the anxiety. And the exhaustion. My head falls to my knees and the hand cupping my mouth slides away. 

“I think ya should bring ‘im in, Becks. ‘Specially if they said so. Don’ want ‘im t’ get dehydrated, that certainly won’ help things,” Harry murmurs, his voice quiet and controlled. “I know ya don’ wanna be there ‘gain, ‘specially twice in tha last two days. But he needs their help . . ‘s there anybody who can come an’ be with you? Maybe that aunt o’ yers who was at tha hospital that night? Robbie, or Skye? But I s’pose they’re 3 hours away in London . . . ,” Harry sighs, his words trailing off into the air. For some reason I nod, glad to hear that my reasoning for not wanting to ask them to come is valid. 

“Yeah, it’s just me here. That’s how it’s been. Robbie and I switch off . . . But my dad doesn’t want me to bring him in, he hates going there. Being poked by them and everything. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day,” I cry, the tears soaking the knees of my ripped jeans. 

“Ya hafta bring ‘im in, Becks. What if ‘s sumthin’ else, like tha stomach flu or sumthin’ worse? He needs t’ be able t’ eat an’ drink in order t’ get betta,” he urges, and finally I decide to listen. 

Nodding at his words and the truth they hold, my lips part, “I know, you’re right. I-I’ll bring him in. T-thanks, Harry, for answering your phone.”

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I sit up slowly. “Course, Becks. ‘m sorry I was a li’l busy when ya first rang . . . Um drive safe, ‘kay? Maybe bring yer laptop t’ do schoolwork or even jus’ t’ watch Netflix. Sumthin’ t’ distract yerself - a book, or headphones fer music.” His suggestions meet my ears, but they go through one and out the other. They’re not the kind of distraction I want, I think selfishly, but the kind I want, I can’t have. Because it’s you. 

“Yeah, I’ll bring something. Thanks, Harry. Have a good night,” I say in almost a whisper, exhaustion stealing my words. 

“Yer welcome, Becks. Lemme know what happens, ‘kay?”

I mutter an ‘mmmmhmm’ before hanging up, and trudging up the stairs. Listening for the sound again is hard, because I don’t know what I want to hear. Part of me doesn’t want to hear the vomiting, but the other part oddly does. Because if it stopped then he’ll try to convince me that we don’t have to go in. But I hope it hasn’t, because there’s something at the back of my head telling me we have to. Making me think we need to, because something’s wrong. And I know that if he’s stopped, he’ll tell me that there’s no reason to go in. 

My gray striped socks stop on the hardwood floor in front of the door. I knock before I can convince myself to wait. “Dad?” 

No answer. 

“Dad, I’m bringing you to the hospital. Something’s not right, I just know it. You need to be looked at, and they can help,” I plead from the other side of the slab of wood. A sigh meets my ears and the shuffling of a body. 

“Okay,” he relents. I push the door open and am met with his tear-stained face. 

Trying to ignore the smell I’m by now used to, I wet a washcloth at the sink. Returning to his side, I bend down and wipe his face with it. And then his mouth. Tossing it in the laundry bin, I wash my hands. Watching him as I do so, his frail figure is slumped against the closed toilet. Embarrassment blanketing him like a sheet. 

“It’ll be okay,” I try to tell him. But as I watch his barely there nod, I’m not sure if I believe it either. “Let’s get you downstairs to the car,” I say, drying my hands. 

It takes us awhile, to stand up together. To get down the stairs, one step at a time. To slip on his coat. To grab my things. And to drive to the hospital as he threw up into a bucket beside me. But we got there, and the worst part still awaits us. 

It pains me to leave his side, but I can’t handle watching them stick him with needles. Or the blood. Not after everything that’s happened in the last 7 months. Combing my hair out of my eyes, I begin my walk down the hallway. Yet another one. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey,” I respond to the voice I could pick out of a crowd. I try to prepare my words, but I’m not sure what to say. I’m so tired. “I’m at the hospital with dad. Everything is okay. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day, he’s been throwing up off and on. And after dinner, it got worse. They’re taking some blood now to run it for labs. I’ll let you know what I hear.”

“Shitttt,” Robbie replies, holding out the last syllable. Just like our dad. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Ree. I’m surprised he let you take him in, but thanks for doing that. Yeah, I guess all you can do is wait until they have the tests back. Hopefully you two can go home soon,” he says quietly in a tone the polar opposite of the one he answered with. 

I echo his words with a ‘me too’ before there’s nothing else to be said. And I let him go. I call Skye too to tell her, and because I can’t go back yet. I just need some time. She talks my ear off, but I’m grateful for it. She tells me about work, her newest boyfriend, the weather, and a show we’re watching together. 

After I finally get away from her jabber mouth, almost half an hour has passed. I find my way back to his room in the Emergency wing. As I walk in, he shoots a tired smile at me. One I can barely make out amongst the dark room. 

“Early bedtime?” I ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He nods, barely able to keep his eyes open. 

“Yeah. They did all their tests, and said it would take a little while, so fluids, anti-nausea meds, and naptime it is.”

“Good,” I respond, wrapping my fingers around his. Squeezing them, his dusty lips offer a laugh. Or the closest thing to one. He tries to squeeze back, but I barely feel it. It’s nothing compared to when he’d nearly break my fingers giving my hand a squeeze. Somehow his hands look older than the rest of him as I look. His skin wrinkles among his bulging veins, liver spots, and freckles. 

“You should too, baby girl,” he replies, surprising me. My eyes return to his face where he’s opened his eyes to look at me. “You look exhausted too. Get some sleep, I know it’s been a lot taking care of me for this long.”

“Dad,” I begin, an argument forming in my voice. But I don’t get any further than that.

“You know it’s true, and you’ve been doing a fantastic job. Don’t let yourself think any different,” he insists, the area above his eyes raising. But it doesn’t have the same effect with his dark eyebrows absent from his expression. A whimper escapes my lips as tears obscure my vision. Lifting our joined hands, he brushes the back of his hand over my cheek. “Come here, my baby.”

It confuses me when his clean scent doesn’t surround me. But it’s there in a hint when I bury my face into his neck. His right arm pulls me against him, and I cry into him. It’s one of the only times I can remember doing this since this all started. I want to stay strong in front of him, but sometimes it’s too hard. I feel a warmth on my forehead, and my lips break into a smile at his trademark forehead kiss. “Get some sleep, sweetie. They’ll wake us with the results if they need to,” he tells me. I nod into him, feeling him scooch over for me to lay more comfortably beside him. 

+

My words are taken away with a whooshing sound just as a ding meets my ears. A bubble appears at the top of my phone screen. With widening eyes, I hold down the bottom button for volume on the side of my phone. Peeking across the room, I exhale watching his chest lift and fall with every breath, his snoring greeting the air. My attention returns to the dings coming from my phone. I read the first one. 

Me - a few minutes ago

Tests came back positive for some type of bacterial infection in his digestive tract. Starting antibiotics now. Keeping him overnight and until further notice for observation because infections can be scary with weak immune systems like his.  

Harry

thx for the update. glad 2 hear it isnt anything 2 serious. its a good thing u brought him in when u did becks. thinking of u and him. 

Me

Thanks so much, Harry. I’m glad I did too. Looks like I’m sleeping on the couch again, yay!

Harry

get some zzzz’s love. might be a long nite. dont forget 2 eat. 

Me

Goodnight 

+

My eyes don’t want to believe the clock when the growling of my stomach wakes me. Shuffling into the hallway rubbing my eyes, I swear under my breath. 

“No fucking way it’s only 11 o’clock. Why can’t it be 8 am or something?” I groan, trudging down the quiet halls of the oncology wing. But I’m glad for the quiet compared to the craziness of the E.R. earlier. 

Dropping my hand, I’m welcomed once again by the stinging fluorescent lights. And the packaged foods waiting for me behind the glass. Pulling my wallet from my back pocket, I scan the many choices. Hmmm, salted nut roll for once, hostess cakes, sour patch kids, hard pretzels, jelly beans, or Cheez-Its? I wonder to myself, blinking the sleep from my eyes. 

Another ding meets my ears. But when I lift my phone to my face, there isn’t a new text popping up on my screen. There are some, but they’re from an hour ago or longer. Weird, I think, staring at the screen and reading the words. 

There’s a cough as somebody clears their throat. “We’ve gotta stop meetin’ like dis,” they almost laugh, making me turn my head without a choice. 

[yuthoe]

Schedule Changes (PENTAGON: Adachi Yuto)

HELLO, IT’S 12:48AM AND I COULDN’T HELP MYSELF.

I had to churn this out because it won’t leave my head. I’d like to thank my irl friend @shiiiiiiiiinwun for inspiring me to write this collection (yes, I’m gonna be doing one for all of ot9). And for someone who’s been watching anime since she figured out how to use the internet, you’d think I could’ve come up with better names, and faster.

EDIT (06/29/20): Hi! it’s my first time making an edit like this, so i’m kinda insecure abt it lol, i hope it’s okay. this is the 2nd yuto version i did, so it’s slightly better than the first one. tumblr rlly doesn’t want us to go overboard on image size huh

WARNINGS: n/a; some angst, maybe? who’s proofreading idk her. WORD COUNT: 3,314 it’s so fucking long.

---

Minister Sakaguchi,

Unfortunately, Her Majesty will not be available for your meeting today at 3PM; urgent matters have arisen that need her immediate attention. If you would like to reschedule with her, please reply to this email.

Thank you very much for understanding.

Regards,

Y/N L/N

Secretary to the Queen

You sigh, wondering if the email you’ve typed is in the appropriate tone that won’t offend Minister Sakaguchi; in all the years you’ve been working for the royal family it doesn’t get easier writing and replying to the emails of government officials, invitations to interview Her Majesty for magazine features, requests to attend public functions like galas and balls. The ridiculous amount of mail she gets, that are automatically forwarded to you, is mind-boggling, in anyone else’s eyes. It doesn’t surprise you anymore, though.

The queen as a monarch takes the backseat to running the kingdom, to any foreigner that decides to take a look at articles from international news sources. Her name isn’t mentioned as much as the king’s when it comes to referencing big developments in the state. Rather, the local newspapers and online sites have her name and face on some article at least once a week. The queen takes care of the little things, smaller projects that delve more into social welfare than her husband’s institutional programs. She is a strong advocate for women’s and children’s rights, as well as a figure in health outreach programs for the poorer sectors of society. Her compassion and dedication to her job is what made you want to work for her; she was like a role model to you, along with her husband.

It was a stroke of pure luck that got you this job; your first day as the secretary for Minister Yamazaki turned into you being his substitute with only a day’s notice. He had gotten sick with the flu and you were immediately thrust into a role you knew almost nothing about. So you took all the files related to the subject of the meeting and studied up on them the night before, turning up the next day and pulling out opinions as if you yourself spearheaded the project. The queen, upon finding out that you were new, was so impressed and had talked to Minister Yamazaki (who was still in his sickbed) over the phone about enlisting you under her employ.

It’s been five years since then. Five fast-paced, fulfilling, exciting years working closely with the royal family. At this point, your relationship with the queen is more of a friendship than strictly professional, and you’re grateful for it. The people you interact with on a daily basis are mostly considerably older than you--ministers, program leaders, the palace staff--and the talk is all business. So you’re grateful for your weekend teatime with the queen, sometimes with her children joining you, who are some of the only people your age you talk to on a regular basis, apart from the younger maids and kitchen staff. The afternoons out in the garden are the queen’s time to unwind and review everything that happened the previous week, as well as scheduling the succeeding weeks. The stress of planning therefore comes to a head on Saturdays so the week can sail by calmly.

Today is one of those Saturdays. Minister Sakaguchi had scheduled a dinner meeting with the queen yesterday--something about the upcoming fair for disenfranchised women, although you suspect Minister Sakiguchi will try to sneak in pitches for other programs she has in mind. The queen had agreed, so you penciled in the meeting into your schedule. However, the queen seemed under the weather when she came out earlier, that you had advised her to cancel it, assuring her that Minister Sakiguchi would understand. 

The queen takes a sip of her favorite rosehip and lemon tea, fingers delicate on the porcelain, and you send the email, huffing out a sigh. You place your phone facedown on the glass table and take a sugar cookie from the plate. “Just sent the email, Your Majesty,” you say. “Now you can just focus on resting tonight.” You smile as you take a bite.

Your boss smiles as she replaces the teacup on its saucer. “Thank you,” she says, relaxing against the lounge chair. “To be honest, I didn’t think Minister Sakiguchi would talk so much about the fair anyway. She probably suggested a meeting to tell me more of her ideas for the women’s sector.” You smile. Bingo. “Is anything else scheduled for tomorrow?”

You glance at your open laptop, as well as the printed-out spreadsheet on your lap. It’s an organized mess of colors and times and places and people. “Just the charity gala tomorrow night. I’ve coordinated with Subaru and she said the king will be late by an hour. Will you go alone?”

She tilts her head in thought and hums. “I don’t want to be late. Is there anyone available?”

You click through the several pinned tabs on your laptop to the tab for the royal family’s shared schedule. “It seems Princess Akari is free, as well as Prince Yuto,” you say after a moment.

“Ah, Akari will be busy designing something for the fair, I think, so maybe she won’t want to go,” the queen muses.

“So you’ll just take the prince, then? I’ll contact Daiki and ask him to notify the prince.”

“No need,” a deep, disembodied voice comes in from somewhere in the hedges before Prince Yuto pops his head into view. He walks towards the table as you clear up a space for him, closing your binder and putting that on top of the clipboard among other printouts on one of the spare chairs between you and the queen.

The prince strides across the grass in his black dress pants and long-sleeved shirt, to greet his mother. He places his hands softly on her shoulders and leans down to give her a kiss on the cheek. The queen smiles and accepts the kiss, patting a hand over one of his; her mood instantly lifts, and her posture relaxes further. As the youngest son, she dotes on him a lot; he in turn always keeps his mother company and can rarely be seen in public not by her side or his father’s. You think their relationship is sweet, and so do the many news articles posted online about it.

Prince Yuto takes a seat on the only empty chair and fixes himself a cup of tea while saying, “What’s the gala for?”

“The orphanages in the farther provinces,” the queen says as she takes a saucer and stacks it high with dark chocolate-coated cookies, pushing the small plate at her son’s direction. “Some dignitaries from other kingdoms as well as celebrities will be attending. And I will announce the new scholarship program for our state schools. There’s a chance your father won’t make it, so I’d like a companion.”

“Of course I’ll go with you, Mother,” Prince Yuto says after swallowing a bite of cookie. He turns to you. “What time is it?”

“Call time for the royals and major government officials is 7PM, and the program starts at 7:30. I’ll contact Daiki with the details as well,” you say.

The prince shakes his head, but there’s a smile on his face as he turns to the queen. “It’s such a shame, I thought you two were talking about Y/N transferring to my office,” he jokes. It’s a bit that he’s brought up many times before, and both you and the queen take it as a joke since you figure he just wants someone closer to his age with more experience than Daiki, who is about four years older and has only been working with him for two years.

The queen lets out a laugh and takes her teacup again. “What’s the matter with Daiki? He seems to be doing a good job.” Her eyes meet yours as she takes another sip, glinting in amusement.

Prince Yuto is smiling his bright, beautiful smile that the camera loves as he looks fondly at his mother. He probably got wind of her feeling run-down and hurried here to try to distract her. You know the queen is the most important person to him, and the queen may not know it, but it’s obvious to everyone else. “Well, as you know, Y/N is better,” he continues, “and Daiki-san is a stick-in-the-mud.” The teasing makes you huff out a laugh, immediately raising a hand to cover your mouth; Daiki is truly a stick-in-the-mud, even more than you are.

The queen laughs boisterously, throwing her head back. “Oh, you’re such a jokester, Yuto.” She sighs, fully relieved, and you’re thankful he decided to stop by. The queen finishes her tea and says, “Well, this was a fun teatime. I have some paperwork I have to sign, so Y/N, you may go.” She turns to her son. “It’s so nice of you to stop by, sweetheart,” she says, and leans down to drop a kiss on the crown of his head. “I’ll be seeing you both.” The queen glides away, and you briefly wonder how she can walk that gracefully in heels over damp, unpaved grass--but then you remember she’s the queen and has been doing this for years. She turns around the corner of the hedge and disappears.

You sigh and shut down your laptop, gathering your stuff as you message Daiki about the charity gala. You slide the laptop in your bag, and put all the printouts in order into a folder, before slipping everything else inside. You’re just about to get up to leave before Prince Yuto’s voice stops you.

“You sure you won’t consider transferring to my office?” you hear the prince suddenly ask. He’s looking at you, piercing eyes that make everyone in the kingdom, young and old, swoon. And if you didn’t talk to him everyday and your self-control had been any less, you would probably give in to whatever he wanted.

So you try to mask your rapidly beating heart behind a fond, teasing smile. “Well, I don’t really have a say in it. Don’t think the queen wants to let me go, anyway,” you say, taking a proffered dark chocolate-covered cookie from the prince and biting into it. The rich, slightly bitter punch of the chocolate explodes on your tongue.

The prince looks at you with a small smile. “I was serious, you know,” he says simply. “I mean, you won’t be as busy so you’ll have more free time, and the stuff I do is just small, as a minister for cultural arts. I split it with another person.”

You’re already shaking your head. “I like my job. I love working for the queen and seeing the results of what she’s done. You know she’s been my role model since I was a teenager, so this is a dream for me. And as much as I want a break sometimes, I can’t let this opportunity go.” You sigh, heart heavy now, and stand. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

He stands with you. “I know I’ve told you to call me just ‘Yuto’ before, didn’t I?”

“But decorum--,”

“Yeah, fine, practice etiquette in public, but when we’re alone you can just call me by my name.” You don’t answer, and hesitantly purse your lips. And then the prince begins to pout. “Come on, if you don’t wanna work for me, at least call me Yuto.” He presses the tips of his index fingers together and says, “I miss you,” so cutely, with his big puppy dog eyes and hilariously deep voice that’s sorely out of place for the cutesy thing he’s trying to do.

You have to laugh, bending down at the waist and steadying yourself with the table as you cackle. “Fine, fine,” you relent. “I’ll call you Yuto in private from now on.” You heave your heavy bag up onto your shoulder with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

***

“You look beautiful tonight,” someone says behind you. You turn carefully, eyes meeting Yuto, in another black ensemble: turtleneck under an overcoat with black dress pants and boots. His hair is slicked back artfully, apart from the stray locks of hair that insist on falling over his eyes. Simple, but very handsome; the paparazzi and journalists must be having a field day with that outfit.

And you look down at yourself: standard black satin-and-chiffon off-shoulder gown that you usually wear to these types of stuff. Your shoes are your everyday pair, and you’re thankful that the dress comes all the way to the floor because they are getting scuffed at the tip. Your hair is wavy, the result of sleeping in a braid through twelve hours, but you manage to tame it into a loose bun that’s mostly out of your face. The only accessory you have is the necklace you’ve worn since your mother passed down to you six or seven years ago. Makeup is minimal because you are here to assist, not be the center of attention. Everything you put into your appearance tonight is just to make sure you look clean and professional. And invisible.

You roll your eyes at the prince. “Your Highness, I look like this everytime the queen needs to go somewhere fancy. I don’t think ‘beautiful’ is the right word.” You know he means well, but you’re just plain, from your shoes to your face to your position in society, you’re just simple, unremarkable.

The prince furrows his brows and takes his place standing beside you. “You are, though. You may not see it, but I do.” He casts you a quick glance before turning his focus to the stage, where a popular singer is performing one of her new songs onstage as an opening act. “And those photographers over there see it, too.”

You whip your head at him before scanning the event hall for any cameras pointed at you, heart pounding hard in your chest. You don’t spot any, but you still say, “I think you had better take your seat, Your Highness. I bet those people just want to make a scandal out of nothing.” Prince Yuto may be the youngest out of the royal children, but that does not mean he is risk-free. He is being trained for the position of Minister of Culture and the Arts; he has a large following of young people who look up to him as a leader and as a person; he is one of the most important people in your life, and you can’t bear for anything bad to happen to him.

The work tablet you brought is getting crushed in your folded arms from how tight you’re clutching it. “I’m going to find Daiki--,” you say softly, making to leave, but getting stopped once again by the prince.

He’s holding one of your arms gently, but strong enough to pull you back beside him. “It’s okay,” he says. “Let them. It’s fine.”

You pull your arm away. “Your Highness, it’s not fine. You can’t risk a scandal blowing up on you right now. Everyone has eyes on you, even if you don’t think so.” You’re worried. The last thing you want is for him to get in trouble because of you.

The prince sighs. “Y/N, there’s not gonna be a scandal if we’re actually together.”

You take a moment to think. “What? You want us to pretend to be a couple? I don’t think it’s a good idea; people might get the misconception that you’re slacking off, or--,”

“No, I mean--,” he sighs frustrated, more at himself than at you, but he keeps his composure and his face remains stoic; you both are still in public, after all. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for a while now, but I just didn’t know how to say it, and I certainly didn’t plan on telling you at a charity event where hundreds of people could hear.” He’s rambling--a sign that he’s nervous, unprepared.

Prince Yuto takes a calming breath before fully facing you. “I like you, Y/N,” he says softly, aware of the number of ears that are possibly listening in. “I’ve liked you since the day you started working for my mom, and I liked you even more the longer you stayed. You’re a hard worker, you’re dedicated to your job, you genuinely care for the queen and the things she does for the people. And I’m thankful that I got close to you as much as I have because you do mean a lot to me. I know I don’t show it, because I’m not sure how to show it, and I don’t know how you would react to it. But I do like you. Very much.” He releases a breath and looks you in the eye. “So will you try? To be with me?”

All this you take in with wide eyes and a shocked-open mouth. You know the prince is not the most outgoing person; he’s most relaxed when he is with people he knows, which are limited to his family and their secretaries, along with some of the senior palace staff. You’ve never seen him in a pickle of trying to get someone’s attention, but you do remember him offering to carry your heavy work back once or twice and you insisting on carrying yourself; him telling you that you look beautiful even if you wear the same plain things all the time; him giving you a box of (really expensive) chocolate for Valentine’s Day on the excuse of “I gave all the royal family’s employees chocolates”; him giving you a piece of his favorite chocolate cookies, even though you’ve never seen him offer them to anyone else.

All this time he’s been telling you how he feels and you’ve never noticed. And you yourself can’t even tell him the same because you don’t want to risk the prince getting hurt, you getting hurt, the queen getting hurt because of your selfishness. Your work is important to you, and you can’t jeopardize it for your happiness.

But here he is, Prince Yuto. Being brave enough to know the uncertainty of what lies ahead and being prepared to face it, if you answer him; if you push aside your fear of messing up and tell him you like him back; if, for once, you look to your heart instead of thinking of your work.

He stands tall beside you, an imposing figure of grace and compassion. A man people look up to. A leader who is innovative, yet respects traditions. A role model for young people who are inspired by his music, his acts of service to everyone. A son that is loved by his parents, a brother that is loved by his siblings. A friend who listens and is always there, but always pushes you out of your comfort zone.

How can you not fall for him?

How can you say no, when everything around you points to yes?

You’re nodding your head before you know it, still too shocked to properly process the last five minutes. “Yes. Yes, I’ll try being with you.”

The blinding smile is back, and you can’t help but return it. The prince nods, unable to suppress the grin on his face and gestures to the audience, milling about finding their tables. “I’ll be on my way, then. Find my mother.” He clears his throat, fidgets about with his coat and pockets. “Good luck for the rest of the night,” he says with a nod, before leaving.

You just curtsy, still beaming and your heart is drumming in your chest like crazy, but it feels light. Like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders and you can take flight at any moment, straight into his arms.

[permanentcrossfics]

Thirty-Six Hours Ago and One Rumor Later.... // h.s.

A little late to Tumblr due to duties to an animal friend, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. x

“Warm enough now?”

You nodded, lips turned down at the corners.

“Gonna talk to me?”

You looked at him, blinking owlishly, and his mouth twitched.

“S’a ‘no’, then?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Harry bit his tongue and chewed out the frustration in it. “Me neither, really,” he said lightly. “But we should. And you know how much I hate talking.”

How long had it taken him to kiss you in that bakery? To turn up again after you’d spent the night with him because he was going mad and couldn’t stop thinking about you when he should have?

“Shoe’s on the other foot, now, innit?”

You flashed him a close-mouthed smile.

“You don’t read the Daily Mail,” he said. “Why’d you start now?”

Read now on Patreon // Tumblr // Wattpad

Thirty-six hours ago, there’d been sunshine. Thirty-six hours ago, Harry had been soaking up warmth with sunnies perched on his nose and the wide Californian sky stretching endlessly above him. Now, he could hardly see his garden through the thick London rain pouring down in buckets outside his window, and every now and then, he shivered despite his slouchy jumper. Even inside his house, the damp chill afflicted his bones — a harsh welcome back from his homeland.

In his very recent memory, the dark, gloomy weather would’ve left him climbing the walls and scheming his way back across the pond, but lately, it was London he’d been craving. England was home — his childhood, his mother, his sister, they were all there. Friends made home for him around the world, but this one had his name on it.

This one had you.

Harry glanced at his window when wind changed and the rain pelted the glass more directly, the fat drops frosting the panes. He’d yet to see you since he’d landed — you had uni and couldn’t take off in the middle of the week, and he was trying to wrap some work up to be able to put it away for the weekend. You’d made a plan together for you to come in on the train, and he’d promised to pick you up — one simple pleasure he’d allow himself regardless of the risk of a feeding frenzy in public — but it was days until you’d be here, and he found himself wishing he’d booked a room somewhere near your university. You could’ve stayed with him, even. He’d have been an all too willing revisions partner, and he was sure you’d remember every detail you two discussed.

Eyes burning and scratching the back of his neck just underneath where his hair was gathered up, Harry turned back to his laptop, index fingers poised over the keys. Just a few more days. He’d made it this long, he could make it a little longer with the knowledge you were at least closer without having to struggle with a time difference. There was a film on that weekend he’d like to take you to, and he’d like to cook you dinner if you’d—

Ding-dong-ding-dong.

Hands still frozen mid-sentence above his laptop, Harry frowned, glancing sideways at his front door without turning his neck. Who knew he was back? Next to no one. His mother was home, Nick was on holiday, and he’d purposefully held off on telling anybody else he’d returned to keep the pool small in an effort to stave off the welcome back invitations to pop next door to the pub. Post? His mum sent him things sometimes if she thought he’d like them, but he’d seen the truck puttering along the road when he’d gone for a jog earlier.

The doorbell rang again and he stared, paranoia starting to itch his skin. The knock that followed had him all but flying to the door, heart racing, and he peeped through the hole to confirm his suspicions, already grinning when he twisted the lock.

“Where’s your umbrella got to?”  

The hood over your head offered at least some protection from the weather, but the rest of you was drenched. Rain was dripping off you just like his roof, and your blue jeans were a darker shade than he remembered those particular ones being. Your trainers looked soaked, and you were shaking like a leaf, teeth chattering, but your mouth was sullen when you wordlessly held out a rolled up newspaper.

“What’s this?” he asked, unfurling it. Instantly, his stomach dropped so hard and fast it landed in China. There, on the front page, was a blurry, overexposed photo of a hulking man with a woman in a short dress. Her face was turned, but neither of you needed to see her face to know it wasn’t you, and the name of the restaurant he’d been at thirty-six hours ago was more incriminating than even the headline.

Opening his door wider, Harry stepped back, jerking his head in invitation. For a moment, it looked like you were going to run, and his muscles tensed in preparation to sprint after you. To his relief, you strode past him instead, trainers squeaking on the hardwood floor.

“Tea?”

Without waiting for an answer, he skirted around you and headed for the kitchen. “Should shower, too,” he said, throwing the paper on a chair. “It’s cold and you’re—“ Wet. “—soaked to the bone.”

He dragged two heavy mugs from his cupboard and set them on the counter with successive clunks before flicking the kettle on and opening the fridge for the milk. He could feel your eyes on him from the doorway, and he was growing progressively hotter under his jumper, but he refused to engage until the pop of the box of teas wasn’t the loudest sound in the room. They plinked against the porcelain when he threw them in, and he eyed the kettle, waiting for the switch to pop.

‘“Tea’?”

Harry stiffened and closed his eyes briefly to brace himself.

“‘Shower’?” you asked shrilly.

He turned, weary, to where you were dripping water on his kitchen floor.

“That’s all you can say?”

“S’all I’m gonna say now, yeah,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because we’re gonna talk about this.”

You laughed, a breathless, derisive little noise, and sniffed, rubbing your nose. “Sure,” you said. “Let’s talk.”

The kettle whistled angrily behind him, and when the switch clicked off, he poured the boiling water over the teabags.

“Some milk’s there, if you want it,” he said. “Sugar’s in the bowl.”

He took his own mug back to the living room and when he’d sat himself on the couch and set the mug to the side, you followed, hands empty and wet trainers squelching against the floor.

“D’you wanna sit down?”

He glanced at you briefly before punching his password in on his laptop.

“Not really, no.”

Harry inhaled sharply but pursed his lips and nodded, navigating to his browser.

“Do you have anything to say?” you asked.

“Few things,” he said. “Can I ask when you started taking the Daily Mail seriously?”

“When they started running pictures of my—“ You stopped short and gulped. “When they ran a photo of you. With her. Whoever she is.”

“Think that’s something I’d do?”

His stomach turned just asking the question, but he had to ask. He had to know.

“I didn’t,” you whispered.

He clenched his jaw and nodded.

“Can I ask—“ you choked and his chest tightened. “Can I ask when you decided to do that?”

“I didn’t.” He cleared his throat. “And you know I wouldn’t.” Harry looked up at last, and, doing his best to ignore your welling eyes, he gestured for you to come forward.

“Why?”

Your voice cracked with accusation but he held his hand out still.

“Because I’ve gotta show you summat,” he rasped. “And we’re not gonna fix this unless y’see it.”

You were stubborn — he’d given you that before, and he’d give it to you a million times over. He held you gaze unwaveringly, though, and finally, you teetered forward.

Squick, squick, squick.

Harry tilted his laptop towards you, headline after headline on a page of search results. “How many of these d’you reckon are true?” he asked.

Your eyes flickered down the screen.

“How many of these d’you remember laughing at with me in Mandeville’s?”

Your lower lip quivered. “I saw the— there’s a photo, Harry, and you had that shirt—“

“D’you know some people get my tattoos exactly?” he asked. You looked at him and back at the screen. “They do. Down to—“ He waved the back of his left hand. “How many people do you think have seen Harry Styles somewhere in Miami, or Ibiza just recently?”

Your throat bobbed.

“They can do anything they want, pet,” he said. “They can say anything, they can… anything that gets them a story, and a click, and a pound. And you know that, just like y’know I wouldn’t do that.”

You bit your lip, which was vibrating by that point, and took deep, slow breaths, hands in fists at your sides.

“Wouldn’t try like this for hardly anyone else,” he said, running his hand around his mouth. “But it’ll tear us apart if you let it, and I can’t… I’ve gotta know you trust me, cause they say a lot of shit about me. And about you, too. And—” Harry cleared his burning throat, but whatever was stuck in it refused to budge. “I’m not always going to be a train ride away to fix it and talk about it with you,” he said hoarsely. “S’what it is to be with me, and I told you that when we started this.”

You stamped your eyes shut and two tears fatter than the raindrops outside rolled down your cheeks.

“So I need you to trust me, because if you can’t, I don’t… I don’t….” Harry swallowed convulsively and fell silent. He couldn’t finish that thought out loud, because as much as he’d mean it if he did….

One minute, you were holding it together, and the next, your shoulders were shaking with quiet sobs, tears spilling in full force.

“I’m sorry!” you all but wailed under your breath, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so-so—”

The table nearly upended with how quickly he stood, and he caught one of the legs with his big toe on his way around it. He ignored the throb and his watering eyes, though, to wrap you in a tight embrace. The cold rainwater soaked into his socks and jumper, but he kept you nestled under his chin, rocking you in place through your sobs. After countless minutes of gentle shushes and kisses to your hairline, he murmured his suggestion for a shower again. This time, you nodded, and he held your elbow as you struggled to get your wet trainers off and he took your coat to hang it on a hook.

While you warmed up, he wiped down the puddles that had accumulated and set the kettle to boil again. By the time you got out, dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of his jogging bottoms rolled at the waist and cuffed to absurdity, he had a mug waiting for you the way you liked it, and you took it this time before fitting yourself under his arm.

“Warm enough now?”

You nodded, lips turned down at the corners.

“Gonna talk to me?”

You looked at him, blinking owlishly, and his mouth twitched.

“S’a ‘no’, then?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Harry bit his tongue and chewed out the frustration in it. “Me neither, really,” he said lightly. “But we should. And you know how much I hate talking.”

How long had it taken him to kiss you in that bakery? To turn up again after you’d spent the night with him because he was going mad and couldn’t stop thinking about you when he should have?  

“Shoe’s on the other foot, now, innit?”

You flashed him a close-mouthed smile.

“You don’t read the Daily Mail,” he said. “Why’d you start now?”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “I didn’t,” you said. “It was there, and I saw the headline and the photo, and….” You paused, but he kept quiet so you could gather your thoughts. “I’m under a lot of… there’s a lot going on, with uni and other things.”

“What other things?” he asked, because last he’d heard, everything was fine, but you shook your head.

“All I’ve been thinking of are reasons why—“ you gulped several times. “—why you’d want to leave. You come home, and I can’t even….” Your face crumpled. “I can’t even be here, and that’s not… why wouldn’t you get sick of that?” You sniffled and composed yourself before looking at him with a shrug, eyes full. “So when I saw that, I thought… well, why not?”

“But you know I wouldn’t,” he said.

“Doesn’t matter what I know,” you said, shaking your head. “Because why wouldn’t you go with someone who could be there?” you asked.

“I’m the one always having to run off, aren’t I?” he asked.

“But I can’t run with you,” you whispered.

“You’re there,” he murmured. “You’re here. When it counts, you’re here,” he said, touching your chin when you looked down. “Hey. Took a train to kick me in the ass. That’s all I need to know.”

You swallowed hard and he kissed your forehead. “M’gonna go lie down,” he said. “Jet lag is killing me, and you’ll be carrying me to bed if I don’t go now. Why don’t you join me, hmm?”

Nodding, you set your mug down and he locked his fingers with yours to pull you to the bedroom. “Just for a little bit,” he said, flinging the duvet back for you to crawl in. “Just for….”

Harry trailed off, settling in bed, head spinning when it hit the pillow. “C’mere,” he mumbled. “Come have a cuddle.”

You fit your body in against his, back to his front, and the last thing he remembered saying was, “Promise t’always talk t’me when you’re… when you’re scared…” into your hair and under his breath before everything spun into blackness.

***

It was still raining when Harry finally started to wake up — blissfully unaware of the time, but equally as aware of the rise and fall of your chest underneath his arm.

For the first time since he’d gotten home, he felt like he was. This was how you should’ve reunited.

Harry pushed his nose into your shoulder and nuzzled, inhaling the sleepwarm smell, but his eyes flew open as wide as they could when you scratched his arm lightly.

“Thought you were asleep?” he rasped. You yawned and smacked your lips, stretching out against him in his hold and shaking.

“Not anymore….”

You squirmed and wriggled until you were facing him, eyes closed and smiling contentedly.

“Hi,” you whispered.

Harry kissed your browbone. “Sleep well?” he asked against your skin.

You hummed, nodding, and wrapped your arm around his shoulders while pulling your leg high over his hip.

“Don’t really have to go back, do you?” he mumbled and you smiled wider, opening your eyes at last.

“Not a believer in higher education?”

“Never graduated myself, if you look online,” he chuckled.

“Wouldn’t believe everything I read,” you said, touching his face. He gripped your wrist gently and rubbed his thumb back and forth when you looked away.

“Get some things right,” he murmured. “Most of them say you’ve got me whipped.”

You lips quirked and you looked at him again, and he leaned in for a kiss. Soft, pert, he shifted to get closer. It was the first proper kiss he’d been able to give you, and you were welcoming receiving it as much as he was giving it.

“Can stay the night, can’t you?” he asked and you nodded, looping your other arm up around his neck. “Good….”

The suggestion of cooking you dinner died when he moved on top of you entirely and you hooked your legs around his waist, both of you dissolving into groans and each other. You were particularly aggressive, ankles locked and hands clapped firmly to his cheeks, and he got the distinct impression you were trying to make up for the afternoon.

“No, no,” he mumbled against your mouth. “Don’t have to…. Lemme…” he barely got out. “Lemme… I wanna….”

He was already crawling down your body under the duvet and pulling your underwear and his jogging bottoms down your thighs. You said his name, breathless but muffled by the blanket over his head, and you lifted your hips when he settled between your thighs. They tensed against his shoulders when he landed a kiss to your clit, and your hand clapped down over the back of his head when he pressed his tongue to it. He wanted this, but he wanted this for you. Something just for you to relieve the tension that’d boiled over.

Harry licked slowly, once, then twice, before languidly pulling your clit between his lips. You shifted and he gripped your thighs with his forearms to keep you in place, groaning and pressing in tighter. He chuckled when you squeezed your legs around his head and you dug your heels into the bed next to him, pushing your hips up while pushing the top of his head, but he stopped sucking for only a second to lick as deeply as he wanted to.

“Har—oh….”

His eyes watered when you drilled your fingers into his skull, and he felt the briefest rush of cool air before you reached under the blanket and dug your fingers into his hair, wrapping them tightly in the strands.

“Feel nice?” he mumbled more to himself than anyone else. “C’mon, pet, let’s make it better for you… s’make it better….”

You moaned, long and keening, when he slid his index finger in just under his mouth and hooked it up inside you, pulsing his finger until he found the spot that always had you bucking your hips like you would if you were riding him. You twisted but he held you tightly in place while adding another, and he pumped his fingers in a staccato rhythm while suckling with gentle vigor.

“S’it here?” Harry pressed his palm to your abdomen. “D’you feel it here?”

“Yes…!” you called out and he heard a thump followed by a choked gasp. “Harry, m’gonna cum, I’m… ah…!”

Not yet. Harry popped off, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth to suck instead, teeth digging in harshly even as your hips rocked fervently in search of his slowing fingers.

“Harry!” your cry was sharp and desperate and made a chill run through him despite the sweat on the back of his neck. “Harry, I—“

“Shh,” he kissed your clit again. “Shh, shh… we’re gonna make it a good one, aren’t we?” He rubbed circles over your abdomen. “Gonna make you feel it from right here.”

He sucked softly, laving his tongue up and down in featherlight strokes that had you sighing, but every time you tightened around his fingers, he slowed and you immediately cried your protest.

“Please… please….”

He pressed his mouth to your cunt. “D’you wanna cum?” he asked. “Y’making such a fucking mess already, pet.” He kissed the inside of your thigh. “Feel how wet my face is?” Harry laughed when you whimpered. “I know, I know, all right… c’mon.”

When he pulled your clit between his lips this time, he sucked strongly with wet, puckering sounds, and this time when you got closer around his fingers, he kept pumping, groaning with each buck.

“Yes!” you cried out and he stamped his eyes shut, that simple sound escalating the throb in his cock from steady to painful. “Yes, yes, yes… Harry… Harry, m’gonna cum, I— I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m—“

Your frantic cries dissolved into a garbled scream and you sat up, pressing down on the back of his head to the point he nearly suffocated, but if he died between your legs he didn’t think he’d mind. That would be a headline to read.

It was only when he felt the last pulses and you dropped back to the bed that he stopped sucking and pulled his fingers out to lick them off. “So good,” he mumbled, mouth full. “So… so good….”

He wiped his chin and scrambled up your body, throwing the duvet off his head and dropping down onto his elbows in his haste to kiss you. You pulled him in and clutched him close, panting against his mouth.

“Can….” You exhaled harshly. “I wanna… condom, we need….”

Clumsily, Harry opened the drawer on his bedside table and slapped around inside it until he pulled out a foil square.

“Remind me to get more,” he muttered before lifting off you so you could tug his jumper over his head. He shoved his jogging bottoms down his legs and struggled to kick them from around his ankles while kissing you.

Somehow, your shirt came off and the condom rolled on, and he choked when he finally pushed inside, pumping deeper with each tentative thrust. “God, that’s it…” he slurred, inhaling sharply. “Oh… fuck….” Long and drawn out, holding his breath through the wet sound of his cock moving in and out of you and the creak and thud of his bed against the wall. “Fit so good on me… so, so… oh, fuck….”

Teeth bared and jaw tight, he lowered his head slowly and tucked it into the crook of your neck, still thrusting. You gasped when he squeezed your breast, and he shuddered. “Christ, I—“ His mumbles were incoherent even to him — he could’ve been telling you anything and he wouldn’t know from how lost he was in chasing the feeling while trying not to be too rough, but every time you let out a cry that was a little sharper, he sputtered an apology, unsure he was succeeding.

“God, it’s coming,” he said, throat tight. “‘S in my balls, ‘s in my fucking—“

His next thrust was heavy, slamming into you, and he ground his way through his release, groaning pathetically into your skin.

“Shit! Sh-shit!” High and reedy, he spluttered, hips jerking and cock sensitive even through the latex. His swears dissolved into wordless grunts when he finally slowed, muscles giving way, and he held you tight beneath him before he relaxed. “M’gettin’ off you, just… a minute… one minute.” Like a sack of sand, he dropped to the side, panting, head spinning like it would’ve if he’d drank his weight in alcohol. “‘L cook… cook you dinner if you… if you’d like,” he said. “Was gonna… I just gotta… f’you give me, like—“

You patted his arm, breath hitching. “Just get a takeaway,” you said. “Just….”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence, but he nodded anyway. “Can do that,” he said. “Drive you back in the morning, too.”

“Don’t have to—“

“Wanna,” he said, biting down gently on your shoulder. “Give them summat to write about if they’re gonna run their fucking fingers.”