#literally the moment miss minutes said “you’ll never be him” I knew he was toast

[musclesandhammering]

He deserved so much better 😭

OH MY POOR BOY

[lxvislxdy]

Lock and Key | Bakugou K.

Summary: It all started out as a harmless prank - Denki’s idea, to get the two of you to talk. It was no secret that you had feelings for Bakugou Katsuki, at least, not amongst your friends. Denki had meant well, sure, when he’d handcuffed the two of you together, but when the key goes missing... well, let’s just say, it’s gonna be a long 24 hours.

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x reader

Warning(s): Swearing, that should be it

Notes: Reminder that my requests are open! Let me know what you’d like to see on my page! Hope you enjoy this cute little fic for Bakugou :) I just wanted to write something soft and lighthearted, and cute, so this is that.

You were going to kill Denki. That is, if Bakugou didn’t get to him first.

“Calm down, Bakubro! Murdering one of our classmates would not be very manly of you!”

And if it wasn’t for Kirishima, holding Bakugou back with all of his strength and giving you a sympathetic look as you were dragged along, Denki would’ve been toast. Literally. 

“Look, man, I’m sorry!” Denki was saying, hiding behind Mina and Sero, “It’s just a prank, dude, a joke! Don’t kill me!” 

“I’m gonna end you, spark plug!” Bakugou growled, “Get over here and get this shit off of me!”

Sero, barely holding back his laughter, said, “Aw, come on, Bakugou, I wouldn’t call y/n ‘shit’!”

For a moment, Bakugou blinks like he’s stunned, but then his murderous glare returns ten fold. “That’s... That’s not even what I meant, dunce face! I meant the handcuffs! Get. Them. OFF!”

You know, from the look Mina is sending you, that you’re blushing. 

“Okay!” Kaminari scrambles out from behind the two, smiling sheepishly as he searches all his pockets, “No worries, man, let me just... let me... get the... key...”

Bakugou finally settles down, and you breathe a sigh of relief as he drops his hand, yours falling with it. You rub at your wrist lightly, eyebrows drawn together. You’d been handcuffed to Bakugou for almost ten minutes now, and your wrist was already sore from being yanked around so much. 

“What’s taking so long, dunce face?” Bakugou grumbles.

“Well, you see, uhm... okay, listen, don’t be... don’t be mad, bro, just...” Kaminari laughs, eyes wide in fear, voice dropping so low you could hardly hear him, “I can’t exactly find it.”

You yelp in surprise as Bakugou activates his quirk, feeling the heat against the back of your hand. 

“What did you say?!” 

Everyone winces as he yells, face almost as red as Kirishima’s hair. 

“Careful, dude, don’t burn her!” Kirishima says, hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. 

Bakugou shoves him off, but listens to him nonetheless, and the heat subsides. 

“It’s okay, Kiri, I’m fine.” You tell him quietly. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” Denki says, guiltily. 

“Yeah, you’re about to be real sorry.” Bakugou says, “If you don’t get these off in the next five seconds!”

“Look, let’s just calm down for a minute, okay?” You say, stepping between the two. You feel Bakugou’s arm tug back against yours, as you move farther away from him, and your blush deepens. “Sorry. Anyway... why don’t we just see if Momo can make an extra key? Right?"

“That’s a good idea!” Kirishima says, optimistically. “See? Everything’s fine.”

“Yeah, why didn’t I think of that?” Kaminari scratches his head.

“Because you’re an idiot.” Bakugou mutters darkly.

Mina purses her lips, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Yeah, that would be great... Except Momo is visiting her parents, and won’t be back till later tonight.”

And just like that, Bakugou explodes again. “WHAT?!”

...

After a stressful call with Momo, involving Bakugou taking the phone from Mina not once, but twice, and telling her to ‘get her and her stupid ass ponytail back to UA NOW!’, it’s finally decided that you’ll just have to wait it out. Even Bakugou can’t say he’d rather go to Aizawa, because explaining this meant explaining the handprint shaped burns in Denki’s door.

Of course, Momo promises to help as soon as she’s back, but that’s still hours and hours away. 

Bakugou, who still practically had steam coming out of his ears, sat beside you on the couch silently. Across from you, the rest of the group watched in sympathy (and fear). No one dared to break the silence, in fear he’d blow up on them again. You couldn’t say you blamed them. 

“Come on.” Bakugou’s sudden command startles you.

“What? Where are we going?” You ask, following his lead and standing up (you were getting dragged along, either way). 

He rolls his eyes, sighing, “I don’t know, but I’m not just gonna sit around like an idiot all day.”

He doesn’t wait for your response, marching out of the room. You look over your shoulder on your way out, a silent cry for help, and Denki has the audacity to give you a thumbs up and wink. You glare at him, sending your friends into a laughing fit.

“What are they laughing at?” Bakugou mutters, brow raised.

You flush in embarrassment, shrugging. “Dunno.”

The two of you eventually end up in the kitchen. You knew Bakugou could cook, everyone did because he regularly kicked everyone out of the kitchen so he could, but you’d never actually seen him in action. He was much calmer now that the two of you were alone, but the scowl never left his face. 

After a few minutes of awkwardly trailing behind him as he gathered ingredients, you mustered up the courage to ask, “Can I help?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, and you begin to think he’ll just ignore you, before he’s handing you a spoon. “You stir while I chop vegetables. I don’t trust you with a knife.”

Ignoring the backhanded comment, you take the spoon from him, happy he’s letting you help. You stir with one hand, resting the other on the counter beside him, so he can use both hands to chop the vegetables. It’s not easy, trying to cook while handcuffed to the angry blonde, but the two of you eventually find a rhythm. 

“So what are you making?” You ask, turning to look at him. His focus is all on what he’s doing, and he looks so serious you try your best not to giggle. Does Bakugou ever just... relax? Still, the way his lower lip just barely juts out and his brow furrows, when he concentrates hard, is really cute.

“We’re making zosui.” 

You’re heart does a little flip as he says ‘we’. He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know that, but you still have to turn away in an attempt to hide your smile. As mad as you were at Denki, you had to admit that being able to actually spend time with Bakugou doing something so... normal, domestic? It was nice. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time daydreaming about a moment like this (except, in your daydreams, you weren’t handcuffed, and maybe there was kissing involved), but you’d never thought it would actually happen. The only time you got to spend time with him outside of class, normally, was if you asked for help with the homework or agreed to spar. But that was rare, these days. Bakugou normally sparred with Kirishima, anyway, and you always felt like a bother when you asked for help. 

Sneaking another look at Bakugou, you find he’s already looking at you. He takes the spoon from you, gently bumping his hip into yours to move you out of the way, and you watch as he adds the veggies to the soup. As he stirs them in, he asks you to hand him the spices he’d set out beforehand. 

“What, have you never seen someone cook before?” He asks.

You laugh sheepishly, “I ate a lot of microwave dinners growing up.”

The look he gives you is incredulous, borderline angry, and he scoffs. “You’re kidding. That shits terrible for you!” 

You laugh, wrinkling your nose. 

He meets your eyes for a moment, lips parted slightly, and you raise a brow at him. Before you can ask, his attentions is back on the soup, and he’s quiet again.

It doesn’t take long for the soup to be done, then, after he adds the rice. And you have to admit, even though you hadn’t helped much, you do feel a sense of accomplishment when you sit down to eat a meal that you made yourself. 

The two of you sit down beside each other, forced to scoot your chairs so close that your thighs are almost touching. Surprisingly, he doesn’t complain.

“Thank you,” You say quietly, before digging in. “Wow! This is delicious!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” He rolls his eyes, but you recognize the slightly smug look on his face. “You helped.”

You giggle, bumping shoulders with him. “Sure, but you’re the chef, here!”

He hid it behind another bite of food, but you could have sworn you saw him smile, too. 

The two of you finish your meal in silence, Bakugou waiting with surprising patience for you to finish eating, before putting the bowls in the sink. 

“Thanks.”

He gives you a look, “For what?”

For being so nice.

“For teaching me how to cook!” 

He shrugs, muttering out ‘whatever’ in reply. 

“So... what do you want to do know?” You ask, hoping his tolerance for your company would last. 

You end up back in his dorm, awkwardly huddled together at the head of his bed. He was reading, as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone. The silence wasn’t awkward, like you’d thought it would be. It was comfortable, almost calming. You found yourself getting tired, the more you sat there. 

Eventually growing bored of your phone, you turned to see what Bakugou was reading, and started reading the pages yourself. You didn’t think he’d noticed, until he slipped his finger behind the next page to turn it, and paused. 

“You done?” He said, quiet and soft, his cheeks tinted the slightest pink. 

Your eyes widened, blushing, “Uh, yeah. S-Sorry.”

He turned the page without another word, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You tried to ignore him, pretending to read, before he sighed. 

And then, Bakugou began to read to you. 

“W-What are you doing?”

He stopped, narrowing his eyes. “Reading, dumbass.” He snapped. “You read slower than me, it’s annoying.”

Despite the backhanded remark, you grinned. “Oh. Okay.” 

He started again, sounding significantly less irritated, and you tried to slow the beating of your heart. In all the times you’d imagined hanging out with Bakugou, you had never thought of something this sweet. You especially hadn’t anticipated his voice ever being this soft, and calming. 

As he read to you, you shifted closer, eventually resting your head on his shoulder. He faltered for a minute, hiding his fumble with a cough, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge it. It wasn’t until he reached the end of the next chapter that he realized you’d fallen asleep. 

And he definitely wasn’t blushing, no, not Bakugou.

Hours later, when Momo and all your friends piled into his room, he whispered harshly, “Wake her up, and I’ll kill you!”

Maybe Denki’s plan had worked out, after all. 

[its-me-im-coraline]

Best Years // Thomas Raggi // Playlist

words // 1109

warnings // angst as hell, why am i writing so much angst? I dont know

pairing // Thomas Raggi x GN!Reader

author's note // if you want to be on the tag list let me know. sorry I did not post yesterday, i was not feeling really inspired at all so yeah, but thankfully that's changed today so here. WHO LET ME WRITE SO MUCH ANGST SOMEONE STOP ME OMG. Unless you like the angst, then don't stop me 😉 Also please forgive me for making Thomas the bad guy on this fic, i literally randomly picked the songs for these fics at first without thinking of the lyrics so now I'm stuck with the consequences of angst

request // nope

summary // Thomas and reader have been having an on and off relationship. One moment they are together, the next they are entertaining other people; but in the end they only ever think of each other.

“Don’t you just feel great, here, like that, with me holding you?” The man was lying on the bed of his hotel room, his partner in his arms, simply basking in the afterglow of what went down a few minutes ago.

Y/N just smiled at him, eyes closed and head resting on his shoulder. “Mhm,” they simply mumbled, drifting off to sleep.

By the time morning came around Thomas had already gotten up, leaving his partner alone in the bed before abandoning the room heading for the dinning area for breakfast. When he got to it his bandmates were already there, sitting at a table and eating, only giving him a disappointed look.

“You didn’t tell them. Again.” Victoria glared at her friend while poking her eggs with her fork maybe a little to violently

“There is nothing to say Vic. We are together again, what happened when we were not does not concern them.”

“Thomas! This has already happened so many times. You break up, you go with someone else, you get back together and act like nothing happened!” He was their friend, that is for sure, but Thomas’ bandmates pride themselves in their honesty and in their effort to be respectful. It did not seem to be the case for the younger man.

He wasn’t a bad person, no, but his mind was clouded by the options, the excitement of the moment, that rush. He loved Y/N - not that he knew that - but he had a terribly difficult time being consistent. He was young, spontaneous, had not had much time to explore his options, and while it was entirely wrong, he did so now at the expense of his lover. The words he heard put him in deep thought, and at this time deep thought ment deep drinking for him.

As the night rolled around Thomas found himself occupying the hotel bar. Considering emotions, problems and choices is a hard thing and though he had to do so he was not even remotely ready for that. The comfort of the drink and the existence of beautiful women was enough for a journey of the mind and a mistake of the body. By the time he was done he found himself sitting outside of his hotel room, where Y/N was just inside.

His back was on the wall and his eyes were closed, almost falling asleep right there, so he failed to hear them open the door. “Thomas, dio mio, I was just coming to look for you! Are you okay?” They were concerned to say the least, an obvious observation really. Their eyebrows were furrowed, lips separated and hand on their chest, holding the little pendant Thomas had given them - it was a thing they tended to do whenever they were nervous, hold the charm of the pendant, take a deep breath and it helped calm them down.

“No need, amore, as you can see I’m right here,” he slurred, stumbling across words, missing letters… He was very far gone and anyone could see that.

Y/N simply took a deep breath, bracing themselves for the upcoming night and morning. It was always the same cycle. He did something he should not, he would drink, do more things he should not and come back to Y/N. It was never fun but they did not have the heart to just leave him there.

“Come on, Thom, help me a little bit! You need to get up.” The man groaned but did as told before getting inside the room with his… partner.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as Y/N sat him in the bathtub, trying to rid him of his drunken state even a little bit.

“I know you are.”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand! I really am sorry. I want to change…”

How many times? Just how many times has he said the same things, same excuses and same empty promises. It never changed and it had certainly gotten tiring. That was precisely the reason they could not believe that Thomas this time would be different, he had given them a million reasons to hesitate.

Maybe it was the on and off that became tiring, both parties figuring out different excuses that simply did not make sense, but always being enough to cause the temporary break ups. A lot of the time, especially if on tour, Thomas would find someone to ‘comfort’ him for a few nights, wasting his time with people that simply were not his. They never were Y/N, no matter how hard he tried to not think about that, he’d wake up the next morning with an unfamiliar person but a familiar discomfort in his stomach.

“It will not be the same, amore, I promise,” he said this time, “you’ll see! I’m willing to try.”

To be completely honest, Y/N did not seem to believe much of the man’s words. They had heard them time and time again, it had become difficult to put trust in them again. “I am not sure, Thomas,” they said, leaning behind them on the counter, “how can I possibly say that it’s ok, how can we be together, again?” The exasperation was obvious, not being able to be contained, after all the pain and the strain in their heart.

“I know, I know. I’ve been terrible… But I really am willing to change. Make it up for all the times I screwed up. I’ll make up for all of your tears.”

Y/N stayed quiet. They did not want to continue this conversation, especially while Thomas was drunk, this state making it even harder to believe him.

“I did not do it,” he breathed out after the silence had gotten too much, “I didn’t do it this time…”

“What didn’t you do?” asked Y/N, curiosity lacing their voice, puzzled at his words.

“I didn’t go with anyone. Not when we were apart this time, not while I got drunk. Everyone thinks I did so I let them believe it, but I didn’t,” he explained looking down, “I couldn’t.”

“Why?” They knew it was not the question they should be asking but before thinking the word had already come out.

“Because I realized something,” he responded, putting his palm on Y/N’s face after they came back to the side of the tub.

The only hummed back at him, prompting him to continue. “I want to be with you, for good. No more fighting, no more drinking, no more tears, baby. Nothing. I want to be full on this, please. I’ll give you the best years and nothing else will matter anymore.”

tag list: @bieberhoodforever @tabi-toast @ginny-lily @moriro-da-regina @the-killer-queenie @makapaka11

playlist tag list: @cheese-toastie-11

[wrenhyperfixates]

A Kiss at Midnight

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: At Tony’s New Year’s Party, you notice Loki is upset. He’s hesitant to tell you what’s wrong, but when he finally confesses, the coming year suddenly seems so much brighter. Warnings: mainly fluff with just a tiny bit of angst A/N: Happy New Year everyone! May it be filled with nothing but love and joy. Thank you all for supporting me. I’m looking forward to producing even more content in the coming year! Enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs @gaitwae​ @whatafuckingdumbass​

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Yet another party was raging on around you. There had been far too many this past year, in your opinion. At least this one wasn’t just because Tony was throwing it on a whim. No, tonight was New Year’s Eve. Even so, you would argue that the music was blasting just a little too loud, and everyone was shouting just a little too much. Maybe those were directly affecting each other, you thought with a small laugh.

You glanced over to where the God of Mischief, your best friend, was standing, looking rather glum. After having made the rounds, you were on your way to the corner he had sequestered himself in. If there was anyone who disliked these parties more than you, it was Loki. Too many people, too many glares, he would tell you. It made your heart break a little more every time. Despite your best efforts, you’d only found one reporter willing to write an article on Loki in a positive light, and they only ran a small, though considerably popular, blog. Everyone else just seemed to think it too much of a risk. All these depressing thoughts brought a frown to your face as you approached the god.

“Darling, is everything alright?” he questioned once you reached him. “Are you feeling ill? Or perhaps it is just this blasted party?”

“The second one, I suppose,” you chuckled. “I’m more worried about you, though. How are you doing?”

It still always took Loki aback for a second when you asked him something like that. He smiled at you and took your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. It made your heart skip a few beats. Yes, he was your best friend, but you wished he was even more than that. But he needed this friendship, you knew, and you wouldn’t take that from him if the feelings weren’t reciprocated. And let’s face it, it was unfathomable that he did return them. After all, you were just you, and he was a literal god. You pushed the thought out of your mind as he replied.

“Oh, same issue as you, really. You know these parties are not really my speed,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “I must say, however, that they are far more bearable when you are by my side. Dare I say, even enjoyable.”

You giggled a little as that beautiful glint you loved returned to his eyes. “Then perhaps you’ll indulge me and join me for a dance?”

“I suppose I will,” he sighed in mock exasperation. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

Still holding your hand, he led you to the dance floor. Of course, as soon as you made it there, a slow song began to play. Just your luck, you thought, though you weren’t sure if it was good or bad. On the one hand, you were getting to dance with your crush. On the other, it was a painful reminder that was all this was; you weren’t actually dating the beautiful god.

You shyly smiled up at Loki, afraid you were about to make a fool of yourself. Knowing he was far more graceful than you, you let him take the lead. Your right hand stayed clasped in his left, as his other hand guided your left one to his shoulder before settling on your waist. He gently tugged you closer so that your chests were pressed together, your head naturally dropping to rest on his shoulder. It seemed to surprise him that you didn’t mind being so close, but once he got accustomed to the idea, he placed his head atop yours. It was a perfect moment, and you pushed all your anxious thoughts out of the way so you could just enjoy it.

“Thank you, Loki. For dancing with me, I mean,” you said as the music stopped, lifting your head but standing just as close. “That was amazing.”

“Thank you, too, darling. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I do not suppose you would want to stay and dance again?” he asked, uncertainty obvious in his voice.

Before you could answer, Peter came pushing through the crowd, calling your name over the constant noise. You gave Loki an apologetic look and pulled away to greet the boy as he reached you.

“The foosball table is finally open!” Peter exclaimed. “Mr. Bucky is just finishing his game with Mr. Rogers, and then it’s all ours. Oh, and hi Mr. Loki. Do you want to come too? You can play the winner.”

“That is alright, spiderling. I will skip, but thank you for the generous offer. You two have fun.”

“Ok. If you’re sure,” you said. You squeezed Loki’s hand one more time before leaving. “I’ll see you later, ok?”

He nodded his head and walked in the opposite direction Peter led you. You sighed, assuming that he went back to his corner. Was it bad you already missed being held against him? Probably, but you couldn’t help it. Maybe if you were lucky, he’d still be in the mood to dance again later. Even if it wasn’t another slow dance, maybe he would hold your hand as he spun you round the floor.

After three games of foosball with Peter, two of which you lost, you got a couple Shirley Temples: one for you and one for Loki. Unfortunately, he wasn’t where you expected him to be, and your eyes scoured the room to find him. It was like he had disappeared. Then you spotted the door to the roof and were struck with the gut feeling that you’d find him out there. Still holding the drinks, you pushed the door open with your back. Your eyes immediately landed on Loki, his arms leaning on the railing as he stared off to some unknown point in the distance.

“Hey,” you said, offering him a glass, which he accepted with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You leaned back against the railing, too. “I was looking for you. What are you doing our here?”

“Just taking a break from the crowd, I guess,” he replied with an unconvincing shrug. “How did your game go?”

“I lost, but it was fun.”

“That is good.”

“Yeah.”

You lapsed into silence, some unspoken issue in the air between you. The last thing you wanted to do was pressure Loki into telling you what was going on, but you could see something was wrong. It upset you that he didn’t trust you enough to let you in, but even more than that, you were upset that he was going through anything in the first place. Instead, you decided to focus on something positive.

“Here’s to another year of friendship,” you said, raising your glass in a toast. “I look forward to it, Loki.”

“Yes. Another year of...friendship,” he echoed, halfheartedly lifting his drink, too, though you could tell he was doing his best to be more enthusiastic.

“Ok, that’s it. Tell me what’s up. You know you can trust me with anything, right?” you asked, laying a hand on his arm.

“Yes. After all, it is like you said; we are friends.” He practically spat the last word, and you involuntarily flinched away from him a little, feeling bad when a look of hurt danced across his features. “I am sorry, darling. I should not have lost my temper. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Maybe so, but something’s wrong. I know you didn’t mean it, but I also know that something is bothering you.”

“Oh, darling.” He set your drinks down on a nearby table and cupped your cheeks. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“You were just yourself, Loki,” you replied, putting your hands on top of his. “That’s what you did.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he reopened them, his blue-green irises bore deep into your soul. “If I confess something to you now, do you promise to tell no one else?”

“Loki, of course. Your secret’s safe with me.”

His eyes searched yours for another minute before he backed away from you. Your hands dropped to your side as he paced a little. You already missed the contact. He was still obviously on the fence of whether or not he should tell you whatever was on his mind. You nervously rocked back and forth on your heels as you felt his own palpable anxiety in the click click click of his shoes on the floor. Suddenly, he stopped in front of you and stared at you for another moment more.

“I am in love with you,” he blurted out, visibly cringing at his lack of eloquence. He took a deep breath and tried again. “What I mean to say is, well, what I said. I am in love with you. And while I value your friendship more than anything else in this world, I have come to desire more.”

“What?” you gasped in utter disbelief. “Loki. I don’t believe this.”

“It is ok if you do not feel the same,” he said, taking a step back. “Nothing has to change if you do not want it to. But, please, I do not want to lose you completely.”

“No, Loki,” you hurried to fix the misunderstanding. You took a step forward so that the distance he’d put between you was gone. “I don’t believe it because I do feel the same. I just never imagined that you did.”

“You truly do?”

“With all my heart.”

At the same time, you both moved to close the gap between you, kissing each other with a passion too long hidden. As you stood there, two hearts becoming one, you could hear the people inside begin the countdown. You pulled away, eyes shining and lips red.

“I propose a new toast,” you began. “To our new relationship in a new year. To our love.”

“To our love,” he echoed again, much happier this time. “Forever and always.”

“Forever and always.”

As the countdown reached its end, you and Loki kissed again, sealing the promise you’d made. Here with Loki, you knew one thing for sure: This was going to be a good year.

[bxebxee]

What I have to say: This is really not what I typically write, but please allow me my self-indulgence. Also, I am rusty and unpracticed, but this made me happy to write. 

What this is: Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school. 

What this wants to be: Romance

What this warrants: Rated R for Rotten Relationships (and other things) 

You hold your sister’s new baby reverently. The baby is so small, and you’re scared that your bad morals would somehow seep into the skin through contact diffusion. 

“I feel like I’m already the irresponsible aunt,” you whisper, shooting your sister a terrified look. The baby isn’t even sleeping, but what if your bellowing voice would upset him. “Are you sure-” 

“Yes,” she says firmly, “You’ll be a good godparent. There’s literally nothing to do except spoil your nephew every now and again.” She pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Unless we die. Then I guess you’d have to be more of a parental figure...” 

You and your brother-in-law interject at the same time in a cacophony of protest. 

“Okay, we are not dying,” he sighs as your octave increases by a half-step, “Please do not say that as I hold your offspring in my arms. I can’t feel them by the way. Seokjin, can you take him? I don’t want to drop him.” 

Seokjin takes the baby, and you feel bereft of warmth. It’s a weird feeling to note that considering your firm No Babies Policy. You miss the baby already. This is witchcraft. 

“It’s just a fucking hypothetical, relax,” your sister laughs, her eyes softening considerably as she sees Seokjin coo over his son. 

“If our baby’s first word is ‘fuck’ I am not taking responsibility,” Seokjin says mildly, eyes never leaving his baby. You don’t really blame him. 

“And you’re not blaming me either. I’ve been good,” you say. 

“Oh please, everyone curses younger these days anyway. I’d rather my son know than not know, you know?”  

“You’re pushing it,” Seokjin warns. 

“You’re such a dad,” she scoffs. 

“And you like it,” he counters. 

“Yeah,” she admits. “Yeah, I do.” 

You check your phone for the time, and it’s thirty minutes before the official start of the baby gathering. Time for you to leave. 

“Hey, it was good to see you guys. And the baby,” you tell them, hugging both lightly so as not to disturb the tenderness of the moment. Bear hugs were for a different day. “I have to head out, but I’ll come visit a lot, okay? I’ll even babysit. For free.” 

“Not staying for lunch?” your sister asks, looking very sad and disappointed, but you steel your heart. The two of you have inherited your mother’s knack of guilt-inducing looks, and you’re not about to fall for it. 

“Not today, no.” 

Seokjin nods, bidding you to take care. He knows why you want to leave before the crowd gets too heavy. 

Unfortunately for you, cosmic luck was not on your side because as soon as the front door shuts behind you, the elevator dings and Yoongi steps out, clad head to toe in celebrity black and holding five Burberry shopping bags. There’s no one around, so you don’t particularly feel the need to stand on the niceties of greetings and choose instead to brush past him in favor of the elevator. 

“And hello to you too.” he remarks sarcastically. 

“Go to hell,” you reply, wishing that you didn’t have to be in a close fucking hallway because you could smell his cologne. 

“Oh come on-” 

You press on the close door button rapidly, and the doors shut out Yoongi with a soft, muted click. 

Twelve hours later, you get a text from an unknown number. Coward is all it said. You stare at your phone screen in bed, seeing typing bubbles start and stop and start and stop. Mister Unknown Number finally settles on silence because nothing follows after the one-word epithet. 

It feels like a dare. 

--

Yoongi finally puts his phone down. You were too smart and too self-respecting to try this all over again with him, and he wants to kick himself for ever thinking that goading you would work when you were clearly over him-

His phone vibrates intensely and consistently. You’re calling him. 

“Hello,” Yoongi says, picking up the phone after just a single ring. Desperate, to be sure, but he wasn’t positive you’d wait for five rings anyway. 

“You changed your number again,” you say without preamble. 

“I’ve actually had this number for two years now,” Yoongi says. “Been getting hacked less and less. Guess you never saved the number.” 

“Why would I?” you ask, petulance peppering every syllable of your words. 

“Why didn’t you stay for the luncheon?” he asks instead of answering your question. 

“And sit in a room with you for a couple of hours pretending everything’s normal? No thanks,” you scoff. “And luncheon? Really?”

“You missed out on the shrimp toast.” 

“I think I’ll live.” 

“So why’d you call?” 

You could take the easy way out. Save your pride and your face, and pretend that you still don’t carry a torch for Yoongi. You could lie and say you just wanted to call and make sure it really was him. But you were always a glutton for pain, and he was all too happy to oblige to your needs. 

“You wanna come over?” you offer, not feeling an ounce of trepidation that he’d reject you. Yoongi always came when you asked. 

“Where do you live?” 

“It’s the same place as last time.” It’s a test. Let’s see if he even remembers my address-

“Be there in thirty.” 

--

He’s late by a few minutes, but Yoongi explains through interrupted kisses and hasty undressing that there was traffic, and he showered- 

“You could have showered here, you know,” you mutter, pawing at his dick and biting down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Yoongi always like a little pain.

“I’ll shower here after.” (After he fucked you at least twice, minimum. After he got to see you naked and temporarily his. After he was somewhat satisfied but much too sweaty for sleep.) 

And then it’s No Talking Time for a short while because he has your face occupied with inhaling scant oxygen against the mattress while his own head was buried between your asscheeks and legs, lapping and sucking at you like he had something to prove. Could this count as some form of asphyxiation? Probably. You don’t expect his mouth to make you feel close to losing control. The act had always unnerved you, but you found yourself uncaring of past discomforts and losing yourself into the feeling of soft, insistent lips. 

Yoongi eats you out with soft grunts, hands holding your thighs apart and firm. Don’t move, his hands say. His tongue up your cunt isn’t any sort of giving on Yoongi’s part; this was all selfish. He wants you to cum and feel starstruck and ruined, wants you to get it through your head that your flesh craved his flesh in the same animalistic way he needed you. 

You turn your head around just enough to be able to get out, “You can sto-” 

But he silences you with a warning slap on the ass. You are not to be deterred. 

“Stop with the tongue,” you order. 

“You’re insane,” he hisses, pulling away and shamelessly licking his lips. “You can’t ever just let me-” 

“Put it in now,” you demand. 

Yoongi lets out a terse sigh. “I should just leave right now,” he grumbles, getting up on his knees to rub his dick against you and nudges the head on your opening. “I shouldn’t be here.” He presses inside at “here” and wrenches a moan from your lips. 

“Then leave,” you sigh, pressing your ass back against him, relishing in the feeling of being filled again by Yoongi. “Just go home and jerk off instead. That’s what you’re good at, right? Leaving me?” 

“You’re a bitch for bringing that up during sex,” Yoongi says, fucking into you steadily and slowly, resisting the urge to pound into you like his baser instincts demanded. He was going to enjoy you for as long as he wanted. He knew you wanted it rough and bordering on violent, but he wasn’t going to add more ammo to your already large arsenal of Reasons To Hate Min Yoongi. 

Yoongi leans over completely, letting his torso lay flush against your back, unbothered by your sweat as it mixed with his own. You were going to feel every last inch of him inside and out. He pumps in and out slowly, sucking on your neck and breathing into your hair with audible moans of enjoyment. 

“I’m not leaving,” he groans, reaching over to rub your lower stomach gently, as if comforting you. The intimacy of this wasn’t lost on you, but you can’t find the words to tell him off. You missed his heat and the familiar weight. You are only human, after all. 

Yoongi threads his fingers through your unkempt hair, stroking gently before balling his fists into a pronounced grip. He turns your head to the side and kisses you, your neck straining from the awkward, uncomfortable position. But it reminds you of the beginning - of the before times when things were easier in the shadows of his success and unavailability. 

It’s impossible not to feel things when he fucks you this way, and kisses you, and moans soft nothings into your ear like you’re the only woman he’s ever done this with. You are atrocious at protecting your heart, and even after two years of icing him out, Yoongi barges into you like it’s nothing. 

“Don’t stop,” you moan, heart thumping against your chest. You really, really can’t stand to want him so much. 

“I won’t,” Yoongi reassures, kissing the corner of your eye. He doesn’t speed up, and instead chooses to test the limits of your patience with languorous but firm strokes. “Not until you tell me to.” 

There was nothing that compared to this - not heated fucks with attractive strangers, or money, or getting crossfaded by the Han River. When Yoongi did this to you, you almost felt like he loved you. 

--

Yoongi sleeps silently besides you in the sunlight, completely worn out after an emotionally exhausting round of sex that made him cry when he came inside you. He’s usually sensitive to the light, but he’s out cold and completely drained. You hadn’t expected that part - the crying. You thought it was just sweat until you heard rattling breaths and a hiccup. 

You watch him breathe silently from your place in his arms, unwilling to leave the small cocoon of warmth. You’re the opposite of him, and right now, you’re wired. You’ll probably end up crashing sometime later in the day, but for right now, you’re content to just watch him sleep in your bed, on your pillows, smelling like your body wash. 

You’re too old to be scared, and yet this moment fills you with dread; that once the spell of sex and yearning was broken, everything would tilt back to its regular axis, and you’d be all alone again. If you were younger, you might have up and left already. Leave him before he leaves you. And it’s not like you haven’t done that before. Your entire relationship with Yoongi is always filled with one person leaving behind the other one because nothing about the two of you ever lined up properly. 

But this time, you’re too tired to run away. So you close your eyes and pretend to sleep until it finally comes to claim you. 

[enchantedblackrose]

All the Pieces Pt 2

Sirius Black/Fem Reader

Warnings: light swearing, kinda long, unedited. I broke canon and will probably continue to do so in other parts now?

Part 1|| Part 3|| Part 4|| Part 5

Part 2 of ?

No more secrets from you I would lose to love you And I have never felt so Like a man that's been set free I can spread my arms now - Pieces, Dan Powell

Your questions wait longer still as you watch Sirius step hesitantly into your living room. It's not completely conscious, but you can't stop looking at him. He's so skinny and looks defeated, but then that fresh morning sunlight dances across his face. For a second you see glimpses of the boy you knew years ago.

Sirius clears his throat. The sudden noise startles you and you nearly jump.

"Shower!" You yell, though you're not sure why it comes out as a shouted demand.

"'m sorry, what?"

"I mean, you must want a hot shower?" 

Disbelief creeps onto his face. "I would love a hot shower so don't take this wrong, but you must have a hundred questions for me?"

"A thousand actually," you smile, "but they can wait."

Your compassion causes a warmth to fill Sirius that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your presence. He nods his gratitude, not trusting himself to speak. 

You direct him to the top of the stairs and inform him of the fresh towels in the linen closet and the second bedroom he may use. Before he closes the bathroom door, you tell him you'll see if you can scrounge up any other clothes for him.

"And then if you want," you say, "we can set those damned robes on fire." Sirius laughs as you walk away.

Never being one able to throw anything away, you know for certain you have some old clothing belonging to Sirius. Not trusting the old rickety steps of the pull down ladder, you apparate to the attic. 

"Lumos." The tip of your wand illuminates enough of the storage space that you easily find the light fixture and gently pull on the chain. You put out your wand.

Immediately you spot the desired trunk and the sight of it causes you to draw a sharp breath. Your habit of saving everything while at times like this is beneficial, it often brings you some pain. You sit in front of the trunk, opening it slowly.

Photos and a small midnight blue velvet jewelry box sit on the very top. You pick them up and hesitate before setting them aside. 

Next you pull out a large leather jacket, followed by men's pants, several shirts, including tees with the face of David Bowie, another with the Stones, and even one with ABBA. You throw your head back in laughter; you really do keep anything and everything, but this is why. Even these mundane items hold precious memories.

You set the clothes beside you and thumb through the photos: Sirius kissing you on the cheek, Sirius kissing James on the cheek, you and a very pregnant Lily at her baby shower, you and Remus laughing with a pink haired, confused Sirius in the background, Peter attempting to rollerblade, Sirius in his dog form, the marauders near the Whomping Willow at school, you and Sirius slow dancing at James and Lily's wedding. You sigh before gently placing them back in the trunk. You pick up the little box, the delicate fabric still plush and smooth in your hand. But you decide to return it to the trunk without opening  it. 

Sirius should be getting out of the shower soon and you want the clothes ready for him when he is. You turn off the light before disapparating to the guest bedroom. The clothes were well preserved and a few incantations later they are freshly laundered. You leave them at the end of the bed.

You retreat to the kitchen to prepare brunch. The food is mostly done when from above you hear the water stop, squeaks of doors opening and shutting, the creaking of floorboards and then Sirius barking a hearty laugh. You smile to yourself.

"You always were a pack rat," he says, appearing after a minute. You see he opted not to wear any of the muggle musician shirts, but instead he's in a solid black t-shirt and dark jeans. Both hang loosely on his thin frame. You say nothing about his playful quip, mostly because it's true. You indicate for him to sit in one of the wooden kitchen chairs. "That said where's your engagement ring?"

Your heart sinks as you think to that blue box upstairs.

"Sirius," you warn, your voice low.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. Though you not wearing it was the second thing I noticed about you." He offers a smile, but you don't relent, refusing to dive into this conversation when there's still so many answers he owes. Seeing your hardened expression, he holds his hands up signaling he still means no offense.

You sigh. "What was the first thing?"

His grin widens into a full smile. "Your eyes of course. They're just as I remember. Beautiful,  full of goodness and emotions. I could always tell what you were feeling."

Despite yourself, you feel heat rise to your cheeks, blushing over Sirius Black's words like you were still a schoolgirl. It's mortifying to adult you and you take a large sip of orange juice to avoid eye contact.

Sirius smirks slightly, but begins to eat. The array of food mimics a small buffet: chocolate chip muffins, pancakes, bacon, toast, oatmeal and scrambled eggs. A glass pitcher with orange juice sits beside jams and butter.

Sirius takes more than a bit of everything. A mostly comfortable silence falls over the table as two of you eat. Even when you have finished, you refuse to bombard Sirius with questions, allowing him to enjoy the meal.

Finally, getting his fill, he peers at you across the table. It's finally time for you to learn the truth.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," you reply without missing a beat. And so Sirius starts with Peter's betrayal ("literal filthy rat! How could he?" you cry) and ends with knocking at your door.

Your eyebrows furrow. Sirius told you his story and you're still left with questions.

"What's on your mind?" He asks knowingly.

"How did you know where I was? Remus stays here once in a while, did you know that? What's Harry like? Merlin, Peter escaped? He's out there free and you're...do you think he knows where You Know Who is?" You rapid fire questions without thought or pause, but Sirius chuckles.

"I can only answer one at a time, darling. Slow down. Breathe, maybe. I'll answer them all." He shifts in his chair, leaning back slightly. "Dumbledore came to that tower where I was held and told me, in his way, that I may have a friend here. That he would send an owl to that friend explaining my innocence. Remus and I had little chance to chat dealing with that treacherous rat, and Snape," he sneers "and the full moon, of course. But I am glad to know you and Remus maintained your friendship," he pauses as if wanting to say more, but thinks better of it. 

Both a sad and happy smile plays on his lips as he answers your next question. "Harry is a carbon copy of James, with the same knack for trouble, though he has Lily's eyes. I'm hoping he has her common sense, too. He's got a good head on his shoulders and the right sorts of friends surround him." Sirius's expression goes dark. "Peter will go wherever he thinks he'll be protected. Voldemort is out there, and I'm willing to bet Peter will do anything to get to him."

Another silence falls over the two of you and you shudder at the prospect of Voldemort returning.

"I'm sorry if I asked too many questions," you finally say after a long moment.

"You didn't."

"You're welcome to stay here. For as long as you need."

"I'd like to. I'm not sure how long, but a couple nights at least if it's no trouble."

"It's no trouble. Er, does your hippogriff need anything?"

"Buckbeak? Nah. There's plenty for him to hunt and he's free to roam a bit, right? I'll introduce you two later."

You laugh. "I'll show you to your room. You must be exhausted."

He catches your wrist before you walk away. His touch makes you feel as though you're on fire. You ignore the sensation and look Sirius in the eye as he speaks. "Thank you. Your kindness is truly unmatched, y/n. Always has been." You don't know how to respond. As if on cue, he yawns and then frowns. "I haven't asked anything about you."

"There will be time for that later. C'mon." You smile reassuringly but mentally you're thankful to prolong any more heavy conversations.

Sirius follows you up the stairs into the bedroom. Your eyes scan the room and you frown. The pale green wallpaper accented with tiny pink rosebuds and the bed donned with oversized blankets and half a dozen throw pillows is a stark contrast to Sirius. You mumble something about not being able to redecorate this room just yet. But Sirius just smiles. You draw the curtains shut in an attempt to block the midday sunlight.

"I think you should have everything you need? Of course help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I'll head to town to get some things."

His face is solemn. "Y/n, stay with me?" He clears his throat. "I mean...will you. Please?"

Wordlessly you nod. You let him climb into the queen sized bed first. Once he's settled, you get in, laying next to him. He moves you closer. Your head rests on his shoulder. He breathes in your scent as his arms wrap loosely around you. You drape an arm across his chest, assuring him his touch is welcomed. His grip tightens slightly as his breathing slows. You watch the rising and fall of his chest until your eyelids flutter shut.

Light tapping on your front door pulls you out of your dreams. Confusion hits first as you're heavy with the weight of a man's arms around you. Sirius. You smile as you become more awake, remembering the moments just hours ago. The knocking grows louder. Urgent, even. Panic sets in.

You shake Sirius awake. He bolts upright in bed, his breathing labored. You place a hand on his chest to calm him. For the moment at least. "Someone's at the door." You tell him in a harsh whisper . Sirius's eyes widen. "Transform," you urge. "And for Merlin's sake stay here." He wants to argue, but knows you're right. You wait until he becomes a large black furry mass of a dog. You close the bedroom door behind you, earning a low whine from Sirius in the process. You hurry down the stairs, clutching your wand in your dominant hand. Fear courses through your veins. You feel your heartbeat quicken with each step.

Drawing a deep breath, you swing the front door open.  The sight nearly stops your heart.

"Finally y/n. Is he here?"

Taglist: @oingo233

[timothyjimothy74]

Smirk Part 2 - Matthew Tkachuk ft. Brady Tkachuk

Part One

A/N: Thank you all for the love on part one!! It was my first fic so I was blown away so many of you seemed to like it. I decided to turn it into a series because I couldn’t help myself. I hope you love it!

Summary: It’s time for Y/N’s first chirp-filled family dinner with the Tkachuks where she gets to meet Taryn and Chantal.

Word Count: ~3,000

A few hours later, Y/N sat at home with her brother watching an NHL Network special with highlights from the season, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind kept wandering to Matthew. That infamous smirk was still stuck in Y/N’s mind. Then suddenly, as if the NHL Network could read her mind, a clip from a Battle of Alberta game played and she was watching him trade punches with Ethan Bear.

Y/N’s brother smiled at her from across the room knowingly. She blushed and silently wished she wouldn’t have told him who she met that day.

“When are you going to post that photo?” He asked for at least the 10th time that day.

“I think enough time has passed now that I can post it,” Y/N said.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t post it right away. That’s what I would have done,” he said.

“I told you I didn’t want to come off creepy or too interested,” Y/N replied.

“Girls make no sense,” he replied and rolled his eyes.

Y/N went to her room so she could freak out in private, opened up Twitter and wrote, “Just a casual day out in St. Louis” and tagged Matthew and Brady. They liked it almost instantly, as if they were waiting for the notification. It only took a few minutes for the chirps to start in the comments.

Matthew Tkachuk @TKACHUKycheese_

Replying to @Y/T/H

Walt is STILL talking about how much cooler you are than me

brady tkachuk @BradyTkachuk71

Replying to @TKACHUKycheese and @Y/T/H

           Oh whatever, we all know it’s you who won’t stop talking about her

Y/N liked both comments as she laughed to herself, thinking Brady was just joking as all the Tkachuks seemed to do. When she checked the rest of her notifications, she noticed that Brady had followed her just like he said he would. But another notification caught her off guard.

Matthew Tkachuk followed you

Y/N caught herself smiling for what seemed like the millionth time that day. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help it.

Her jaw dropped a few seconds later when she got another notification.

Brady Tkachuk

Matt really won’t shut up about you and my mom and sister really want to meet the girl that can out-chirp Matt ASAP. Wanna replace Matt at our family dinner Saturday night?

Y/N

Duh! Send me the details and I’ll be there.

Y/N’s thoughts started spiraling. He was really talking about her to his whole family? What did this mean? She didn’t have much time to freak out, though, because soon enough she received a message from another Tkachuk.

Matthew Tkachuk

Brady’s tweet was wrong, you know. I swear it’s my dad that’s been talking about you

Y/N

Oh, really? Because Brady just told me your mom and sister have heard all about me from you and are dying to meet me. I’m replacing you at dinner Saturday night

Matthew Tkachuk

…No one told me we were having family dinner Saturday night

Y/N

Exactly. Have fun stuck at home!

Matthew Tkachuk

We’ll see about that

While Y/N was getting a lot of enjoyment out of her childhood hero saying he liked her more than his own son, she did wish Matthew would be there Saturday too so she could see that smirk again in person, but she kept that part to herself.

_________

When Brady told Y/N they were going to Charlie Gitto’s, she swore her stomach growled in that moment. Two things filled her mind as she was getting ready Saturday: the toasted raviolis she would demolish and the small hope that Matthew would weasel his way into dinner anyway.

Either way, she was going to look good. Charlie Gitto’s wasn’t very fancy, but she still wasn’t sure what she should wear out to eat with the Tkachuks so she texted Brady, who had given her his number to discuss the details of family dinner easier. They fell into an easy friendly conversation and hadn’t stopped talking since.

Y/N

Can you ask Taryn what she’s wearing? I don’t want to overdress or underdress

Brady Tkachuk

Giving the phone to her as we speak

Hi, Y/N! I’m just wearing a yellow sundress and sandals. You can wear whatever you want though, I’m sure you’ll look great. I can’t wait to meet you!

Y/N

Thanks, Taryn!! I can’t wait to meet you too, sis!

Brady Tkachuk

Sista, sista!

This conversation definitely eased some of Y/N’s nervousness for the evening and she was able to enjoy getting ready. She danced around her room to her favorite Lady Gaga song as she curled her hair, put on some light makeup and put on a light blue sundress with multi-colored flowers and sandals.

As she drove to the restaurant, she started to get nervous again. Before when she was debating whether she should talk to the boys or not at Ted Drewes, she had nothing to lose if they said no. Now, she felt like she was becoming friends with Brady and she was nervous that Chantal wouldn’t like her. She was also nervous Matthew didn’t like her like she wanted him to, but she still didn’t want to admit that.

Y/N’s thoughts were interrupted as she heard her phone go off. She made sure she was parked safely before she even looked at it.

Brady Tkachuk

Hey, we just got here. You close?

Y/N

Just pulled in

Y/N scanned the parking lot for a second before she saw Brady running over to her car. He was opening her car door and pulling her in for a hug before she could even step out.

“Whoa, someone’s excited. What’s up with you?” Y/N asked cautiously.

“My mom felt bad for making Matthew stay home so she let him come to dinner. He has been getting on my nerves all day laughing because my plan failed so I have really been looking forward to you roasting him,” Brady explained.

Y/N tried to hide her excitement that Matthew was there by sharing a laugh with Brady. But she still had her concerns.

“Not that I don’t enjoy roasting Matthew, but I feel like me and you have become friends in the last few days and I’m afraid to do something that will make your mom not like me,” Y/N said quietly.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Brady to laugh, but he did.

“Y/N/N, first of all, we are most definitely friends. Second, my mom can be protective over us, but Matthew gets on her nerves too. Literally no one we’ve ever met can roast him as hard as you do. He’s finally getting back what he dishes out and we live for it. Mom already loves you, you have nothing to worry about,” he replied, knowing just what to say to comfort her.

“Thanks, Brades. I needed to hear that,” Y/N said and sighed in relief, finally feeling better.

“Anytime. Now, let’s go. I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he said as he put his arm around her and almost ran towards the rest of the Tkachuks on the other side of the parking lot.

“Y/N!” Walt shouted as he saw you both approaching. Brady dropped his arm so Walt could hug her. “It’s nice to see you again,” he said with a huge smile on his face.

Y/N smiled back at him after the hug, but before she could even respond, Taryn was squealing and pulling her in for a hug. “HI, sis!” Y/N and Taryn shared a laugh.

“I’m happy to finally meet you, sis,” Y/N replied before it was Chantal’s turn for a hug.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said as she looked over at a slightly pink Matthew. Y/N looked at him briefly, but tried not to let her gaze linger. “I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she said with a genuine smile. “It’s nice to meet you too. Thank you for letting me intrude on your family dinner,” Y/N said with a smile.

“You’re not intruding, honey. We’re all happy to have you here,” she said with another pointed look at Matthew.

Y/N smiled. She felt herself become more relaxed for a second before she realized that everyone was glancing between her and Matthew.

“Y/N,” Matthew said her name formally as a way of greeting her and looked into her eyes.

“What, cat finally got your tongue after talking about me all week?” Y/N smirked at him, turned on her heel and headed for the restaurant. She could hear all the Tkachuks laughing at Matthew behind her. Damn, that felt good. The only thing Y/N enjoyed more than Matthew’s smirk was his pink cheeks after she teased him.

Dinner was better than what Y/N expected. The Tkachuks asked Y/N a lot of questions about her life, Matthew would try to chirp her, she would chirp him back even harder without even trying, everyone else would laugh and that would shut him up for about 10 minutes before he got the nerve to try to chirp her again. She never wanted it to end.

“Can we have a family game night tonight?” Taryn asked just as they were finishing up dessert, seemingly reading Y/N’s mind.

“Absolutely, we haven’t had one in forever,” Walt answered.

“Can Y/N/N come?” Brady asked.

Walt nodded, but Matthew spoke before he got the chance to respond outloud.

“If she wants to lose, she’s more than welcome to come,” Matthew said with his signature smirk.

But Y/N’s comeback rolled right off her tongue. “What, like you’re going to be able to concentrate enough to win anything with all the beer you’ve had?”

Matthew was about to argue with her, but Taryn could feel like he was going to say something mean and interrupted. “We always play Skip-Bo. Have you ever played?”

“Once or twice,” Y/N replied. Matthew laughed at this. So did Y/N, but for a different reason.

Brady, who was completely oblivious, said, “I’ll teach you. You can be on my team.”

“Thanks, Brades. It can’t be that hard if Matthew can do it,” Y/N chirped and gave Matthew a smirk. He looked back at Y/N and smiled just like he had the day they met at Ted Drewes. Y/N was so lost in his eyes that she missed the rest of the Tkachuk family laughing and patting her on the back for her latest chirp at Matthew.

Y/N looked back down at the piece of gooey butter cake sitting in front of her and tried to keep her thoughts from spinning.

Thankfully, Chantal piped up, “You’re more than welcome to spend the night after, Y/N. Our game nights usually last all night.”

“Yeah, you can stay in my room!” Taryn said excitedly.

“That would be great, thank you guys!” Y/N responded. “If someone wants to give me your address, I can take my car and meet you there.”

“Taryn and I will go with you and give you directions,” Brady said as Taryn’s face lit up.

“Well, they both have a terrible taste in music so you’ll need a good DJ on the way there. I can help you there” Matthew said. There was that smirk again. Although she liked it more than she wanted to admit, it was getting a little annoying. She had the sudden urge to wipe it off his face.

“You can come, but I’m giving the aux to Taryn,” Y/N replied, which earned a cheer from Taryn and an eye roll from Matthew.

After dinner was over, Y/N thanked Walt for paying for it and led the Tkachuk siblings to her car. Y/N got in first and expected Taryn to get in the passenger seat since she told everyone she was getting the aux, but Matthew appeared smiling next to her and Taryn got in the back seat, clearly annoyed. Y/N looked between the two of them, clearly confused.

“He pushed me out of the way. I fell and scraped my knee,” Taryn explained.

That’s all Y/N needed to know before she hit Matthew across the chest. “What is your damage, dude?”

Matthew put his hand over where she hit him and sighed dramatically. “She’s just being dramatic because she lost the race here and-” he tried to explain before Y/N cut him off.

“Apologize and switch seats with your sister or I swear to god, I will leave you at this restaurant and you can Uber home,” Y/N said as Brady and Taryn cheered.

Matthew turned around and glared at them both before switching seats with Taryn. “Listen, I’m really sorry, Taryn. I just wanted to play one song.”

“You’re so dramatic. Play your stupid song and then let Taryn have the aux. Now, someone please lead me to your house so we don’t stay in this parking lot all night,” Y/N sighed. Taryn started leading her to their house while Matthew tried to find the song he wanted to play.

When it started playing, Y/N thought her heart stopped beating. It was the very same Lady Gaga song she had listened to while she was dancing around her room earlier in the day. This felt like a sign. She tried to even her breathing so she could sing along quietly.

After the song ended, Brady said, “Out of all the songs in the world you could have picked, you pick You and I? That’s so lame, dude.”

He must have been oblivious to the fact that Y/N was singing along too, but something told her Matthew knew. She looked up at him in her rearview mirror and he looked back at her when he said, “It’s my favorite song.”

Nothing could hold back Y/N’s thoughts now. The way he had been looking at her all night, the way it took almost nothing for her to get his cheeks to turn pink, the way he played that freaking song. Did he like her?

Taryn played the Jonas Brothers and U sang along, trying to act like she was playing her favorite song in the world and that Matthew hadn’t just played it minutes ago.

As soon as she took two steps into the Tkachuk house, Walt was insisting on giving her the grand tour. Brady and Matthew followed when Walt took her downstairs to show her all the hockey memorabilia in the basement.

They hadn’t talked about hockey much yet, but Walt could tell she loved the game and was trying to hold back on the fangirling. He was proven correctly when he showed her his game-worn jersey from his last NHL game in 2010 and started to talk about how he played that day, but Y/N remembered.

“I actually went to that game with my family. We wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I remember you had two assists and the Blues won that day. I thought it was so cool that Brady, Taryn and Matthew went on the ice with you. I think it’s even cooler now that Brady and Matthew are in the NHL themselves.”

Even Walt didn’t remember that he had two assists that day. He, Brady and Matthew exchanged glances. They were all impressed at her knowledge.

Just then, Chantal called downstairs. “You guys will be down there all night if I don’t stop you. Come upstairs, let’s play Skip-Bo!”

“Clearly we need to talk about hockey more often, Y/N,” Walt said. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

“I’d love that. I didn’t want to come across as a fangirl, but hockey is a huge part of my life,” Y/N replied.

“You fit right in, Y/N/N,” Brady said and everyone laughed. Well, everyone but Matthew laughed. Matthew was oddly silent. Y/N braced herself for a reaction that didn’t come.

As soon as they got upstairs, the boys went to change and Brady motioned for Y/N to follow him. “Here, let me get you sweats and a t-shirt. We’ve gotta be comfy if we want to beat dad and Matthew,” Brady said seriously.

Y/N decided now was a good time to let him in on her plan. “Brades, I play Skip-Bo with my family all the time. I’m kind of an expert,” Y/N whispered. “But don’t tell anyone, I want to wipe that stupid smirk off Matthew’s face and kick his ass. He’s been so annoying tonight. ”

Brady’s eyes got bigger than his head. “You are my favorite person ever. This is about to be a very fun night,” he said and you both laughed.

“I’m gonna go change and I’ll meet you there, partner,” Y/N said.

What Y/N didn’t expect was that Y/N was going to wipe the smirk off Matthew’s face before the game even started. When Y/N met Brady in the living room, both of them wearing Senators shirts, she felt like someone was staring at her. She turned around to see Matthew giving her a death glare. She didn’t understand so she looked at Brady, who was trying to contain his laugh as he pointedly said, “Looking good in Senators gear, Y/N/N!” just loudly enough that Matthew would be able to hear him. Matthew stormed into the dining room where they would be playing.

“What was that?” Y/N asked Brady.

“I was just testing a theory,” he said casually as if that was supposed to explain it all. It did, but she still wanted to hear Brady say it.

“Do you think he-“ Y/N started to ask before Brady cut her off.

“Obviously. Do you-“ he started to ask, but it was Y/N’s turn to cut him off.

“Obviously,” Y/N replied.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” Brady exclaimed before dragging Y/N into the dining room.

Part 3

[theseshipsshallsail]

Oliver has developed a particular fondness for dinner drudgery over the past decade. At thirty-four, he felt a greater appreciation for the twinkle in Samuel’s eyes as he lured some unsuspecting academic into a debate he was destined to lose. The all-too-familiar smirk hidden behind a wine glass as Annella caught his gaze mid-rebuttal, the same mischief written over her features as that of her son’s. He even welcomed Mafalda’s regular fretting about his diminuito waistline as she cleared away what little remained of a feast fit for a king.

And then there was the man to his right. The man who held a cigarette in one hand, and his heart in the other. The man who slanted his head on Oliver’s shoulder as the evening wore on, allowing him to drop a kiss to the riotous curls that drew his fingers like a siren’s call. There were no more secrets between the four of them - though according to Annella there had never been any to begin with - and when Elio yawned twice in as many minutes Oliver found his own jaw cracking in sympathy. 

International flights never got any easier, and although they’d managed a short nap on the train in from Milan, they were both flagging fast.

The after-dinner conversation had revolved around his latest manuscript for the past half an hour, and slipping an arm around Elio’s side, Oliver tapped his ankle beneath the table. “You still with me?” he murmured softly, and Elio scoffed as he nestled closer.

“Seulement. One more limoncello and you’ll have to carry me to bed.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Or the last,” Elio said, as Samuel raised a toast in their direction.

“Happiness resides not in possessions or gold, but in the soul. Wouldn’t you agree, our wayward Americano?” he asked, prompting Oliver to back up his argument as he stole the last arancini from Elio’s plate. 

“Big results require big ambitions, Sami.”

“And nothing endures but change.”

“Always with the Heraclitus...” Elio grumbled good-naturedly, leaning over to kiss Annella on the cheek. “Bonne nuit, maman. Remind me to show you that biography in the morning.” 

“The Piaf?” she asked, and Elio nodded as he rose to his feet. 

“There’s a new bookstore just opened in the Village.”

“Che magnifico!” Annella said, stubbing out her cigarette. “Tell me all about it when you’re not falling asleep in your tortelli.” Smiling, she took Elio’s face between her palms. “Dormi bene, piccino. Et toi, Cauboi.”

Oliver laughed as he finished shaking hands with the other two guests - stalwarts of the Bocconi Languages department he vaguely remembered from his brief stint at the university. “I doubt that’ll be a problem. The moment my head hits the pillow I’ll be dead to the world.” 

Elio raised an eyebrow. “The dead don’t snore like Anchise’s old generator,” he said with a wink as Samuel rounded the table to join them. “Papà, siamo stanchi. It’s been a long day.”

“It certainly has,” Samuel said, hugging him tightly. “Go! Go! Don’t make me sprain anything by rolling you out of here.” Stepping back, he clasped Elio by the forearms. “I’ll ask Mafalda to save you something if you sleep through breakfast.”

“Molte grazie.”

“Anytime, figli miei,” Samuel said, embracing Oliver in turn. “Goodnight, the pair of you.” 

“Thanks, Pro.”

Enfolding Elio’s hand in his, Oliver led him towards the villa, taking the time to appreciate the sounds of nature after six months of city living. One day, he’d love to move here permanently - spend his golden years in the country that spurred his reinvention - but there was no rush. Not when the best part of Italy was a permanent fixture in his life, already.

The house was in shadows when they stepped over the threshold, but they each navigated the lofty hallways with ease as they headed upstairs. It was a journey they could do with their eyes closed, and avoiding the creaky top step out of habit they shut the door to Elio’s room behind them with a quiet click. Their room, technically, but in Oliver’s mind it would always be his. He may have usurped it for six weeks in the summer of ‘83, but the overstuffed bookcase and outdated cassette tapes were like a portal to the past, and it never failed to make him feel twenty-four again. 

Conflicting though those feelings might be.

The only obvious difference was the double bed now taking up space along the back wall - though Oliver quite missed the creaky single frames of yesteryear. The shutters were latched apart, letting out the stifling afternoon air, and the bathroom doors were pinned open, turning the space into the large suite that originally befitted Elio’s grandfather.

Toeing off his espadrilles, Oliver watched as Elio fell face first onto the bed. Dramatic as always, he groaned into the crisp, blue sheets, so Oliver hung his shirt up in the wardrobe then walked over to tug off his sneakers, placing them beneath the writing desk where he was unlikely to trip over them come morning. 

“I haven’t been this exhausted since I finished that three week stretch with the Philharmonic,” Elio said, words muffled, and Oliver chuckled as he sat down beside him.

“Fifteen hours by plane, and a ninety minute schlep on the Regionale? I think that’s to be expected.” Reaching over, he stroked a palm up Elio’s spine, bunching his t-shirt in its wake. “You can’t stay young and restless forever.”

“Speak for yourself, old man.” Elio shot him a sideways glance. “Why are you all the way over there?”

Over there, meaning beyond kissing range.

“I thought you were too tired?” Oliver asked, and Elio rolled his eyes like the precocious teenager he’d fallen so hopelessly in love with.

“Too tired for Democritus and his atomic theory,” he said, shifting onto his side. “Never too tired for you, tesoro.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Cradling Elio’s cheek in one hand, Oliver felt a hot lick of satisfaction as he brushed his thumb over the smooth skin, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, then nibbling gently. A soft whine fell between them, and Elio slung his arms around Oliver’s shoulders, legs banding around his waist like a tether.

“That’s better,” he said, half-hard in his jeans. “Just like old times.”

Oliver sniggered. “Someone better warn the peaches.”

“Connard.”

“And a fine one it is, too,” he teased, swatting Elio’s ass through the stiff denim. 

The resultant yelp was a thing of beauty as Oliver ran his nose along Elio’s collarbone, savouring his scent. Beneath the sour musk of travel were the sweet notes of juniper and cherry laurel, and sucking briefly at his pulse point, Oliver actually felt the yawn building before Elio was forced to pull away, sighing in frustration.

“This isn’t happening, is it?”

“Define this,” Oliver said, licking away his pout. 

They might not be about to set any records for horizontal gymnastics, but the needy whimper Elio pressed to Oliver’s throat was enough to spur him onwards as they quickly rid each other of their clothing. Silver light streamed in through the windows, casting shadows over their naked bodies, and finesse fell by the wayside when Oliver brought their erections together, stroking them both in tandem. Transfixed, he watched the pleasure flick across Elio’s features, treasuring the way his lashes fluttered if he twisted just so - the glazed expression as he kissed him like they had all the time in the world. Leisurely and indulgent.

“I’m going to come,” Elio whispered scant minutes later.

Like it was a secret. 

Like it was something precious. 

And it was, Oliver knew, as the other man rutted into his palm, shuddering against him. It was there in every touch. Every tender endearment. Elio might wear his heart on his sleeve, but none of his previous lovers had been privy to the true depths of his emotions, and as he threw his head back in release Oliver couldn’t help but chase him over the edge, inarticulate and inelegant in his abandon.

Pearly white covered his fist as liquid fire rushed through his veins, each movement growing slower and slower until they eventually ground to a stop, swallowing each other’s gasps between needy pulls of their mouths. Groggy with sensation, his lungs felt constricted by the memory of how to breathe, yet sweaty, sated - and in dire need of a shower - they lay there in the aftermath, neither of them willing to give in as their eyelids started to droop. 

He loved Elio like this. Loved him always of course, but especially like this. With his hair mussed - his face relaxed - his lips swollen as a result of his kisses, and Oliver sighed fondly as he brushed the curls from his forehead, only to receive an incoherent grumble for his efforts. It was his mind he’d fallen in love with first, though. The way he challenged him constantly. Pushed his boundaries day-by-day. Always striving for more. 

He’d been a fool to consider walking away. To give Elio up, however begrudgingly. He was a part of him - perfect in his imperfections - and as Elio drifted off between one blink and the next, Oliver banished such dismal thoughts to the shadows of the past, refusing to give them life when his future lay literally in his arms.

“Goodnight, amore mio,” he whispered, and grinning, hooked his toes in the underwear hanging from the bedpost - his, Elio’s, he couldn’t quite tell - wiped the worst of the mess from their painted stomachs, then followed him into a dreamless stupor.

 Something was tickling Oliver’s nose as he floated in the trance-like state between sleep and reality. It was a familiar experience, and forcing one eye open he smiled down at Elio’s crown where it rested upon his chest. Their legs were entangled beneath the sheets, the toes of Elio’s left foot twitching beside his calf, and Oliver tapped an idle rhythm along his spine as he squinted at the blessedly silent alarm clock. 

It was almost seven a.m, and with zero intentions of moving anytime soon, Oliver watched the dust motes dance in the pink strokes of dawn. He was still foggy, but with his recent promotion and the increased demands of Elio’s tour schedule, moments like these were few and far between in New York, so Oliver indulged himself by listening to Elio’s steady breaths, unwilling to disturb him prematurely. 

The villa was quiet and still as the sun climbed higher in the sky, and when Elio burrowed into his neck, Oliver felt the same dizzy thrill he always had, thanking his lucky stars for the man who’d turned his life upside down in the very best of ways. 

Sappho once wrote what cannot be said will be wept, and this room had seen it’s fair share of tears at the start of their relationship. Even now, it was hard to believe how close he’d come to losing it all. But like Odysseus, Oliver had returned to his love, and he had every intention of seeing this journey through to completion.

“In the crooks of your body, I find my religion,” he whispered, continuing to smooth random patterns over Elio’s trapezius, and it was all he could do not to moan in response as an arm wrapped around his waist, skimming his burgeoning erection.

“Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear...”

Verbal and cognizant was more than Oliver would usually expect before Elio’s first cup of coffee, but taking a chance, he tilted his face up to see him properly. “Morning, sunshine. I thought you were asleep.” 

Elio yawned into the hand at his jaw. “Not with you scribbling Ancient Greek on my ribcage.”

“You caught that?”

“Ovviamente.” Humming, he dug his chin into Oliver’s sternum. “It felt like you were writing your name at first, but then you drew the symbol for pi, and I figured you were just hungry.”

Oliver snickered. “Did you not notice Mafalda’s continued attempts to fatten me up? Maybe I should tell her it’s your hip bones that leave bruises, instead.”

“You love it.”

“More than she’ll ever know,” he conceded, mourning the loss of skin on skin as he eased out from underneath him. “Alright, genius. Since you’re so good at this...” Pushing the covers out of the way, Oliver traced a treble clef from the middle of Elio’s back to his sacrum, finishing it off with a flourish. “What was that?”

Elio smacked his lips. “Too easy,” he murmured into his folded arms. “And a bit crooked. My old music tutor would plotz.”

“Brat.” Oliver smirked as he knelt between his thighs. “Are you challenging my artistry?”

“Might be.”

“Might be, he says.” Chuckling, he ran his thumb up from Elio’s tailbone, sure and certain. “How about my penmanship, then? What letter?”

A pink flush spread over Elio’s cheek. “D,” he decided, squirming slightly as Oliver’s huff stirred the loose curls beside his ear.

“How on earth do you confuse a P with a D?”

“Have you seen the state of your handwriting?” Elio protested, constantly offended by his messy scrawl. “Aren’t you professor types meant to set an example?” 

Oliver scoffed. ”Perish the thought,” he said, dropping a lingering kiss to his nape. Elio’s cock lay flushed with need, and though he had no intention of bringing him off quite yet, Oliver couldn’t resist brushing his palm over the underside. “Indulge me,” he continued, stroking from root to tip. “Let’s play a game.”

“What sort of game?”

“An easy one, apparently.” Fighting his own arousal, Oliver followed the thick vein up then back, tugging gently on Elio’s balls. “But guess right, and I promise I’ll take care of this for you when I’m done. How’s that for an example?”

“Your generosity knows no bounds...”

“Ready?”

“Che diavolo!” Elio turned towards him, and Oliver felt breathless as he looked him square in the eye. “Tell me you’re joking?”

“Just a little longer,” he promised, propping himself on one arm to walk his fingers over Elio’s scapula, leaving a thin trail of slickness when he curved it round to his lower back. “Letter?”

Elio settled down with a put-upon sigh. “An S?” 

“Correct.” Oliver pressed a fingertip to the freckle on his hip. “Next one,” he said, drawing a diagonal line up to his top vertebrae, then sweeping down to its twin. 

“A?” Elio asked, then went rigid as Oliver poked him between his ribs. “Smetilla! That tickles!”

“It’s supposed to.”

“Why?” Laughing, he batted him away. “Did I get it wrong?”

“Not at all,” Oliver said, splaying a proprietary hand over his right buttock. “But next time, let me finish first, yeah?”

“Never heard you say that before.”

“Don’t be jealous of my stamina, Perlman.”

“Stronzo.” Elio arched into his touch. “Another.”

“Eager, are we?”

Elio snorted into his forearm. “Eager. Horny. Non vedo differenza.”

“Fair enough.” Oliver angled his thumb and forefinger towards Elio’s spine, fluid and precise. “This one’s harder,” he said, pinching them together.

“V?” Elio asked before he could go any further, and Oliver tutted as he began a downwards line towards his tailbone.

“Au contraire, mon chéri,” he said with a playful growl. “Not till I’m finished, remember?”

It was the work of a moment to complete the action, and Elio shivered as he glanced back at him through heavy lashes. “Y,” he muttered, shoulders hitching with a snigger. “A few inches can make all the difference, sì?”

Oliver smiled. “So I’ve been told,” he said, the slight breeze from the window lifting the hair from his forehead. “And what can we derive from that?” 

Elio had a specific weakness for his public speaking voice. One which Oliver wasn’t above exploiting at every opportunity. 

“Fuck…”

“Nope.”

Slender fingers circled his wrist as Elio cursed him out in several languages. 

“Spell it for me,” Oliver encouraged, turning his lips to the salt-gleam dimple above his ass, before remembering to narrow it down. “In English, per favore.”

“S-A-Y,” Elio answered obediently, already sounding flustered. “Say.”

“And you thought you’d never complete your Masters…”

“Attaccati a sto cazzo.”

“Rude.” Oliver licked a stripe across his earlobe. “Be a good boy, and I’ll cling to yours, though.”

“Santo Cielo…” Elio huffed in annoyance. “I really hate you right now.”

“No you don’t.” Oliver snuck an apologetic kiss to his temple. “Not even a little bit,” he told him, copying the exact same pattern from earlier. “Second word, if you please.”

“Another Y?”

“Another Y,” he confirmed, watching as Elio clutched the pillow in a white-knuckled grip. 

He remained perfectly still, however, so Oliver drew a deliberate line along his left flank before placing the pad of his thumb back at the beginning, then dragging it to the right. Once more, from the middle, then again from the bottom, and Elio was almost panting when he finally stopped.

“E,” he whispered, causing Oliver’s heart to skip a beat.

Because this was it. 

No turning back.

There was an urgent pressure in his throat, and when he tried to swallow it down, the emotions damn near choked him. “Last one,” he muttered, snaking his index finger in another winding curve, and Elio waited until he lifted it away completely before answering.

“That’s an S,” he said, then paused to string all three letters together. “Yes?” Freeing his wrist, Elio rolled over to face him. “Say yes?” he asked, sleep-rumpled and adorably confused, so Oliver hummed something vaguely agreeable as he mouthed at his jawline, needing the rough scratch of stubble to ground him. “I don’t understand.” Brows knit, Elio pushed up on his elbows. “Say yes to what? What is it that you want?”

Oliver had spent weeks trying to find the right words, but ultimately, only three would suffice. 

“To marry you,” he said, light-headed - and slightly concerned he was about to vomit. He hadn’t felt this terrified since he’d knocked on the adjoining door nine years ago, nothing but a broken heart and the vain hope of forgiveness to his name. “A piece of paper won’t change anything. I know that. But I told you once - out on that very balcony - that I loved you. All of you. Body, mind, and everything in between. You make me happier than I ever thought possible, Elio. This… you… you’re it for me.”

“Cuore mio…” Elio released a plaintive sigh. “I love you, too,” he whispered, taking Oliver’s cheeks in his hands as he sat up against the headboard. “But the courts... you know they won’t recognise -”

“Legally, no,” Oliver agreed, shifting to his knees. “Not yet. But we can do this our own way. Have a ceremony for us alone.”

“Not alone,” Elio corrected absently, hooking his heels behind him. “Together.” His lips pressed into a firm line, and the seconds in which he blinked back at him were the longest of Oliver’s existence. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked, and instead of answering, Oliver reached for the small box he’d hidden in the bedside cabinet upon their arrival. 

“Open it?” he asked nervously, and Elio made a sound that was almost a laugh, high-pitched and fluttering.

“Only you...” he said, and if it weren’t for the tell-tale crack in his voice, Oliver might be worried. “Only you would wait until I’m jet-lagged and sporting a semi to ask me the second most important question of my life.”

“Just a semi?” Oliver slid a palm to the crease of his thigh. “Hang on. Second? What was the first?” he asked, and Elio smiled as he gently butted against him. 

“Does this make you happy?”

“Oh...” 

Elio held his gaze. “So important you asked me twice, in fact.”

“I did, didn’t I?” No doubt there would be a third time, too. He’d always admired the sight of Elio in a tux - slightly more so than the sight of him out of one - and Oliver resolved there and then to fit it into his vows. “Still, that was before your rejection of all things cliché. How’s a man supposed to plan a proposal around that?”

“Quelle question!”

“Such high maintenance,” Oliver murmured, tipping his chin. “But I wouldn’t change you for the world.”

It was a struggle to kiss whilst grinning inanely, but they gave it a good try nonetheless.

“Are you going to open this or what?” Oliver asked, bracing himself as Elio cracked upon the box to reveal the antique gold and onyx band.

“That’s my grandfather’s ring,” he whispered softly.

“It is.” Giddy, Oliver watched the sunlight glint off the heirloom’s polished surface. “Sami wanted you to have it. He’s had it cleaned and resized for the occasion.”

“My father?” Elio raised an eyebrow. “Plotting again, were you?”

“Not as such,” Oliver said, remembering the two word inscription on the inside. “I couldn’t care less about government approval, but I needed to know we have it from those whose opinion I actually value.” His heart tripped over itself as he chuckled apprehensively. “I think your mother’s already chosen a hat,” he confessed, and Elio groaned. 

“She’s going to invite everyone we’ve ever met.”

“She’ll not be inviting anyone if you don’t say yes,” Oliver teased, and the look he received could cut glass. 

“Idiota.” 

“Charming.”

“In what possible scenario would I ever say no to you?” Elio asked, reeling him in by the Star of David around his neck. “You’re a part of me. You are me.” Leaning in, he nuzzled into his hairline. “Oliver… you’re the best person I’ve ever met. Credimi. You’ve always been my forever.”

“Cor cordium.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t even -” Oliver froze. “Wait. Did you just -”

“Yes,” Elio repeated, eyes bright. “Yes, Oliver!”

It didn’t matter that his own vision was blurred. That the full extent of his vulnerabilities were on display. That Elio saw just how lost in him he truly was. Relief purged his body, sparks detonated across his skin, and Oliver made a chorus of his name as he freed the ring from its velvet cushion. It was cool to the touch when he picked it up - the weight of it heavy with promise - yet with unsteady fingers he slid it onto Elio’s left hand, sealing his declaration with a heartfelt kiss to his knuckles. 

“Please tell me these are happy tears,” Oliver whispered, pulling him into his arms.

“Why? Afraid I’ll get a nosebleed?” 

“Way to spoil the mood, Casanova…”

“The sweetest pleasures are those which are hardest to be won,” Elio quoted, studying the black inlay almost reverentially. 

Oliver studied him instead. “You like it?”

“È perfetto.” Elio sniffed as he ducked his head. “I want to get you one, too. If you’ll wear it.”

“Wear it?” Oliver’s lungs were far too tight, but at least that meant he wasn’t dreaming. “Why would I ever take it off?”

“And change my name. Officially, this time.”

His smile was so wide it hurt his cheeks. “Anything you want, sweetheart,” Oliver said, clutching Elio close, pressing his face into the hollow of his shoulder. This was their life, chosen and built together. Theirs to have, now and for always. “As long as I can call you mine… anything at all.” 

[heavenlyhaechan]

Cafune

Pairing: Lee Donghyuck x Reader

Genre: A little bit of angst and a little more fluff, mentions of a long distance relationship, 

Word Count: 1.1k  

Warnings: Kissing? Intense clinginess? 

Note: This was literally all inspired by this picture of him lol.

Hyuck spent the night in your bed, holding you like you were his lifeline. Soft kisses and words were exchanged all night long until finally he surrendered to the weight pulling his eyelids closed. 

His alarm woke you both at 7:00. He groaned, begging you to turn it off which you did willingly. You laid there in silence for a few more minutes but you both knew you had to get up soon. He had a flight to New York at 11:00 that he couldn’t miss, and no matter how much you wanted him to stay in this bed with you forever, you knew how selfish that was. This was his job after all. Eventually you murmured to him that you needed to get up or you would both regret it. He grumbled reluctantly but complied. 

After a shower filled with loving caresses and tired smiles, you sat on the couch with him between your legs, toweling his hair dry. He almost fell asleep against your thigh at the feeling, but you quickly shook him awake, gesturing for him to take your place. Once your hair was dry (or at least damp), you went to start breakfast while he packed any last belongings he thought he might need. When he was done, he snuck up behind you and attacked you with kisses and a tight back hug, causing you to squeal and hit him playfully. 

You drank your coffee and ate your toast by the window, watching as the world woke up. Every now and then he’d nuzzle his face into your neck or arm as if he was making sure you were really there. 

Once you were both done eating you piled your dishes in the sink to be dealt with later while he went to collect his bags. Before you could leave to get in the car however, he thrust his favorite green hoodie at you. You looked at him questioningly and, blushing slightly, he answered your query. 

“I want you to take this while I’m gone. So you’ll have a piece of me to cuddle with.” You smiled at him, your heart filled with so much love it could burst. You took the hoodie from him and he enveloped you in his arms, his breathing unsteady. 

“Don’t cry,” You pleaded. “If you cry I’ll cry.” He laughed softly and pulled away to look at you. Brushing his thumb over your cheek, he reached forward and left a kiss on your forehead. Suddenly you were pulling him forward and attacking his lips with yours. His shock from your sudden movement wore off in seconds and then he was kissing you back. He pulled you impossibly closer and you ran your fingers through his still damp hair. You had a need to hold him as close as physically possible. 

The kiss was desperate and filled with passion, so different from the ones you’d shared earlier today. He bit down on your lip a bit before drawing away to catch his breath. His lips were bruised and beautiful. His eyes were hazy with love and glossy with unshed tears. He left one more kiss on your lips before pulling you out the door. 

At the airport you went with him as far as you could. When it was time for him to go you pulled him into a hug that neither of you wanted to end. “Don’t forget me,” he whispered in your ear. You knew he meant it as a joke, but the lilt in his voice said otherwise. You managed to summon a weak laugh anyway. “I could never.” 

Finally you pulled apart and he gave you a small smile, squeezing your hand in his. “I love you,” he murmured. He had a habit of saying it every time you parted, insisting that you say it too. “What if something happens and this is the last time I ever see you?” he had said when you’d asked him why. You’d given up arguing with him a long time ago, deciding to humour his paranoia. 

“I love you too,” you whispered, before letting go of his hand and watching him walk away. You stood there bravely, refusing to let him see how much your heart hurt. Only when he was out of view did the tears come streaming down your cheeks like rivers. You hated goodbyes, especially when you were saying goodbye to him. The problem was you didn’t know when you’d see him again. 

You stood leaning against a pole, sunglasses on, arms folded, eyes roaming. He’d texted earlier saying that his flight landed at 4:00. It was now 4:25 and you were getting impatient. You looked down at your phone to check the time for what felt like the thousandth time, and when you looked up he was there. 

He was more beautiful than you remembered. His silver grey hair was messy, falling into his eyes in waves. His shoulders were slightly slumped with fatigue, his necklace uneven against his neck, his eyes distracted and roaming, just like yours had been moments before. 

Already smiling wide, you began moving through the crowd towards him, catching Johnny’s eye as you did. You held your finger against your lips, letting him know of your plan. When you reached Hyuck, you wrapped your arms around him tightly and whispered “Surprise!” in his ear. He jumped, yelping at your touch before turning to look at you. His face broke into a bright smile when he saw you and he pulled you into his arms immediately, squeezing you so tightly your feet almost left the ground and you could barely breathe. Not that you minded. 

When he finally loosened his grip you moved your hands to his neck and pulled his lips to yours, much to the dismay of the other boys. His fingers caressed your face gently, a stark contrast to the ferocity of his lips as he kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him alive. It was all a bit overwhelming after only seeing him over a screen for the last couple months, but you embraced it as best you could. When you finally came up for air you started laughing breathlessly, barely believing he was really standing here in your arms. He joined you a moment later, looking at you with a tender fondness that made your heart warm. 

You walked to the car hand in hand, blissful smiles on both of your faces. When you got settled inside he automatically wrapped his arms around you and rested his head on your shoulder. He didn’t let go of you the whole ride home, despite Mark’s complaining. He needed to be close to you after all this time apart. At some point he murmured in your ear “I remember this feeling. It feels like home.” You knew exactly what he meant.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

two years too late, chapter s i x

There wasn’t an easy way to tell Carly you were lying to her. There wasn’t a simple explanation to the photo of you looking awfully cozy in Harry’s mum’s living room with a glass of cabernet in your hand like a sceptre. So after a panicked call to Alyssa in the dark of your bedroom, you decided to just wait it out. 

You’d be back at work in 48 hours--and this conversation felt like it’d be more appropriate for a New York sidewalk than thousands of miles apart, separated by an ocean and telephone wires. 

When you woke the next morning and rolled up your clothes, stuffing them into your suitcase before zipping it shut and bringing it down the stairs, you realized this was likely the best trip home you’d had in a long time. Despite the whole Jessie blabbing about seeing Harry and an awkward midnight countdown. 

So while there was still information to gather about just how much contact had been occuring between the rest of them, you decided that today was not the day to do it, especially when Harry put a hand on your thigh under the table at brunch.

“You’re literally so avoidant, Y/N,” Jessie teased from across the booth--the big one in the back at Annie’s, the setting for hungover brunches or painful goodbyes. “Saying you’ll never move back here is--”

Bryn cut her off, a forkful of food into her mouth, “avoidant?”

“Exactly,” Jessie laughed.

Harry’s hand seemed to creep it’s way closer to you, resting right above your knee, his fingers tracing a circle in the blue denim. You jumped at the contact, a smirk on his lips as he reached for a sip of tea as cover. He’d never touched you like that. Just high-fives--how you doin’ pal? 

“What’s wrong?” Jake asked when your eyes went wide, leaning forward on the table, concerned by the jolt of your shoulders. 

“Cold, s’all, sorry,” you lied, a forced smile as you took a sip of your own cuppa.

You slipped your free hand under the table to push his away--he resisted at first, anchoring his hold on your leg, then eventually letting his hand slide down onto his own lap. You certainly couldn’t do all of that right here. You’d barely had a minute to process it all on your own, the words pulled right out of you last night after his lips touched yours. If you hadn’t even had a conversation with him about what it all meant, there was no way Jessie Alby was about to find out that after seven years, it had finally happened. 

You knew what she’d say: you’ll get your heart broken. He’ll leave again, he’s so busy, he’ll never, he won’t, you’ll get hurt. And while future Jessie might have a point, you decided to bask in the warmth of the big booth, Harry’s thigh against your own while you nursed a cup of tea. 

Luckily, Adam--who sat on the other side of you--was too busy diving into the waffles he’d ordered to notice any type of movement underneath the table top. 

“M’not saying I’d never come back here at all,” you explained, back to the original topic of conversation. “Just not Holmes Chapel or Manchester or anything. Maybe London. But that would be it. And besides--why do you care? You’re so uptight about me being far away but I don’t see any of you jumping on the British Airways sales emails that I forward to you lot.”

Adam laughed, his mouth full. “When I make more than fifteen quid an hour I’ll consider it, Smalls.”

You sighed. “All you need is flights, y’know. I’ve got a couch and a bathroom and a floor--enough space for all of you, especially if you’re game to sleep like we did the other night.”

Jessie let out a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, well, maybe one day if flights aren’t like eight-hundred euros I’ll consider a trip to the Big Apple.”

“Don’t call it that,” you laughed. “No one says that.”

“Just in the movies?” She asked, scrunching her nose at the cliche she’d used.

“Only in movies.”

“Y’know--if it’s really an issue, I could always look at tickets, too.”

Bryn stopped chewing, Jessie set her mug of tea down. Jake looked between you and Harry, waiting for the silence to be broken. You turned to look at him, eyes as wide as silver dollars. “Wh--you mean--so they can see me? I just--I can fly here, s’not that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, no, s’really fine, we don’t miss her that much,” Jessie laughed awkwardly, as if there wasn’t now an elephant in the room, one that looked a lot like Harry’s bank account. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so weird if he’d been better at keeping in touch. Maybe those  were perks that a lot of his new friends were used to--flights and gifts and expensive things. Based on the look on everyone’s face, though, there was still a lot of shock around the fact that he’d paid for your ticket in first class with him--saving you from the cramped legroom in economy for the six hour flight.

“Well, we could think about it--I mean, m’there too, now, at least for a while.”

You felt weird. The conversation of Harry’s money had come up plenty of times, but never with him in the room. Jessie guessed that his mum’s house cost over two million, add that on top of a New York City apartment with three bedrooms, at least five or six cars, definitely a house in California--you guessed that he had enough money to buy the entire menu at Annie’s a thousand times over. 

“So what’s the rest of the year look like for you, speaking of,” Jake changed the subject, nervous air leaving your lungs like a popped balloon. 

Harry hummed, his mouth twitching to one side in thought. “Tour in March for a bit, through the summer. Mainly in the writing stage for the next album, whenever that is.”

“So you’ll be in New York until then?”

He shrugged, eyes twitching to you quickly before settling back on the toast on his plate. “Yeah, Los Angeles a bit as well, but, I’ll be around for sure.”

It felt like his comment was more directed at you than at Jake, his words lingering in the air, another sip of his tea. He handed his card over before anyone could protest, a sweet smile to the teenager who’d waited on your table, a posed picture with her while everyone headed for the car park. A murmuring of thanks, you didn’t have to, we could have, we would have. 

“What’s up with him?” Jessie asked quietly, her arm linked in yours as Jake held the door open to the car park. 

Bryn popped a piece of gum in her mouth and chewed, squinting in the sunlight. “Seems like things are going well.”

“With us?” You asked, zipping up your jacket to shield you from the wind. You shrugged, slipping your hands into your pockets as Harry jogged to catch up. “Nothing--just, being friends.”

“What changed?” Jessie laughed, her words more challenging than you would have liked. 

You would have answered--your mouth parted to tell her that you didn’t really know what changed, even though you could name the exact time on the clock when things clicked into place. The moment in the driveway when he kissed you like he should have two or three or seven years ago entirely. 

But then Harry caught up. 

“Sorry--ready?”

“You came together?” Bryn looked from Harry to you, then over to the black car in the lot. 

“He passes mine to get here,” you said quietly, eyes on the ground. 

Quiet for a second, wind blew and a family spilled out of the restaurant, kids laughing as they raced to the car. 

Jake wrapped his arms around your shoulders, a kiss to your forehead. “See you soon?”

“Springtime, or summer, for sure.”

“Not too long, okay?” Bryn bumped her hip into yours, immediately pulling you into a hug when Jake let go. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed. 

Harry--with sunglasses on--watched as Jessie kissed you on both cheeks. You wondered how it felt to watch the goodbye, Harry like an outsider, despite his previous inside status. They took their turns wrapping their arms around you, moving on to him when they were finished, a noticeable decline in emotion. 

But that wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t help the fact that they missed you more--after all, you’d been around much longer. A mainstay. But he wrapped his arms around them as well, fewer words, promises to not be a stranger. 

You didn’t tell him, but when you climbed in the car to head back to yours--a quick goodbye to  your family before heading for Heathrow--you hoped that he meant it. 

**

Tongue-tied. Maybe by the flowing of the fountain on the wall or the leather couches, separated by partitions. Or maybe by the nervousness in your stomach, the uncertain and shaky footing. 

He scrolled on his phone, his eyebrows twitched as he read. The lounge was silent. 

You cleared your throat. “This is nice.”

“Mmm,” he nodded. “Sorry--reading an email from Jeff.”

“Sorry,” you said quietly, a whisper into the big room. There were other people--a family, business men, maybe 9 others aside from you and Harry. One couch, your carry ons by your feet. 

This would have been the perk of leaving work early before you came. A warm cookie brought to you by a woman in uniform, a silver name tag on her dress informed you of her name, Denise. “Thanks,” you smiled up at her. 

He clicked his phone shut when she approached, smiling at her before he took one, his eyes on you as she walked away. “Sorry--I just, had to read that.”

“S’fine,” you said, suddenly suffocated by the smooth music and beige carpet that matched the beige walls, beige, beige, beige. Sure, it was more relaxing than the crowded terminal with crying babies or fighting for phone chargers, but it felt cold and disconnected. 

Or maybe that was just you.

“What’s up? You seem--weird.”

You rolled your eyes at his word choice, leaning back against the couch. It felt like the night you got Thai food. Unspoken thoughts and feelings floated in the air, only this time, the leather beneath your bum wasn’t ripped and stained from years of sliding in beside a friend.

So how did you tell him that you felt weird? Going from friends to strangers, back to friends and then kissing on the front step of your parents house felt like crossing into an unnamed territory that you didn’t know a thing about. 

He put the last bite of his cookie into his mouth. “Y’okay?”

A nod, though you weren’t sure if it was believable. 

“Smalls,” he laughed a bit, his eyes telling you that it wasn’t. “What’s up?”

You licked your lips, where did you start? Back in New York, here in Holmes Chapel or Heathrow? How did you tell him that all of this felt terrific and terrifying in exactly the same moment?

You were trying to avoid doing the same thing as before: saying too much and thinking too little. So instead of letting the words tumble out of your mouth before passing through any type of filter, you locked them up. Instead, you found a more appropriate way to express concern.

“My co-worker, Carly--y’know, the one who really likes to write about you?

A nod. 

“She uh--she saw your sister’s instagram story last night, I guess. Of us.”

His lips puckered, eyebrows dipped as he realized the gravity of the situation. “Do you--should she delete it? I can ask her to take it down.”

“That’d be good,” you said, an immediate wave of relief washing over when he picked up his phone and composed a message. Sure, texting Gemma and getting the story taken down was a start, but it didn’t undo the damage with Carly--it only assured that no one else would see it. And it didn’t begin to voice the concern about the fact that he kissed you and he was still famous, and just because you’d finally spoken about some of the things that were harbored didn’t mean that either of you were the sixteen-year-olds you used to be. 

“Is she upset?”

“Carly?”

“Yeah.”

“I think,” you sighed. “I didn’t text her back. Figured it’d be best to just handle it in person.”

“Do you think it’ll affect your job?”

“Don’t know,” you shrugged, your eyes glued to the carpet in front of your waiting feet. “If I can get to her before she gets to Whitney and explain it in a way that she feels is adequate, then hopefully not.”

“And if you don’t,” he prompted, leaning forward so his hand grazed the top of your leg. 

You deflected, too afraid to think about that scenario. “I don’t know--I’ll start a podcast, write a blog, share all the secrets of kissing you. People will pay big bucks for that, I think.”

He laughed, his posture relaxed when you looked back up at him. “I just need to talk to her.”

He nodded, a beat of silence passing between you before he asked if that was all. 

You told him you were tired, ready to be home, hoping to not be too jet lagged for work the next morning. You were ushered to your seats before anyone else was on the plane, your carry ons stored above by another uniformed woman. You figured it wasn’t the time to label what had happened or label the steps moving forward. You didn’t even know if he’d want to.

He fell asleep only twenty minutes after take-off, you watched the way his chest rose and fell, his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. You wondered how tired he was--how the touring and the performing and the traveling all added up. You felt guilty for some reason, like you’d been dishonest about more than just the nerves in your belly. 

He adjusted in his seat, only partially reclined due to the fact that the sun still shone through the windows of the plane. His eyes didn’t open, but his hips twisted to face you and his hand reached out, resting on your thigh as he let out a sleepy breath. 

This was what Jessie meant. This was what she warned against when she said to be careful. The knot of nerves and the coursing of adrenaline in your veins--red flags for heartbreak much more weighted than last time. 

So when he adjusted again, eyes closed and desperate to find a comfortable upright position, you hoped that Jessie was wrong. Wrong about him, wrong about you, wrong about the way it would feel. 

But what if she wasn’t?

**

Walking in to work the next morning was worse than the first day. The nervous beating of your heart pounded in your ears as the lift climbed, depositing you before The Scoop’s front desk. The big logo was affixed to the wall--and Kayla, the girl with a headset and a clipboard, was seated in her usual seat. She offered a smile when you walked in. 

You didn’t have time, though. Usually you’d ask how she’d been--did she have a nice Christmas? A Happy Hanukkah? You’d pause and make small-talk, a momentary reprieve from the screen you’d stare at for eight hours. 

You blew by her, weaving through desks and cubicles and coworkers catching up, murmurs of Happy New Year followed you all the way up to Carly’s desk. 

She was seated, headphones in and her computer frozen on the startup screen. A picture of her two sisters was thumbtacked to her cube in front of her. 

“Hey,” you said quickly, she turned at the sound of your voice, her eyes scanned over you quickly. 

She laughed. A short, sarcastic, angry laugh danced up from her lips and wrapped around your heart. Fuck. 

“Um, I was hoping we could--maybe--talk?”

She licked her lips, pulling out the earbuds before letting them fall to her lap. Gabrielle walked by, coat and scarf still on, offering a wave to both of you. 

“You couldn’t text me back?”

“Carly,” you sighed. “Can we please get a coffee or something?”

She watched you for a second, silently deciding whether or not she’d show some mercy. After a a momentary stare-down, she stood from her seat and grabbed her coat, following behind you as you made your way for the Starbucks on the corner of East 19th and Park. 

The ride down to the ground floor was quiet, four other people crammed inside to head back into the cold morning. You wrapped your scarf around your neck when Carly pushed the door open, turning to her once you were off of office property. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you back, okay? I wanted to just wait until I could see you and explain.”

“Knock yourself out,” she said, motioning for you to get to it. A man with a briefcase cut her off, eliciting an eye roll from her as you slowed on the sidewalk for her to catch up. 

“I--”

“Know Harry Styles?” She widened her eyes at you, dodging another commuter in a suit. “That’s probably a good place to start.”

You got stuck in a swarm of people trying to cross Park Ave, the orange hand flashed, condemning restless legs to their street corners for a thirty second pause of the intersection mad dash. “We grew up together,” you said after a sigh. “I’ve known him since I was, like, ten.”

“And you just didn’t think that was worth mentioning?” She crossed her arms, eyes scanning your face as people shoved by you to get closer to the cross walk. Her cheeks were cold from the morning air--her lips in a thin line. 

“I didn’t know what it would do to my job or to us and--” you lifted your palms towards the sky, “then it was too late and I knew this would happen.”

The light turned red--the orange hand was traded for a flashing human figure--Carly headed into the intersection with hundreds of people sandwiched around, her blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail that swayed in the hustle. 

“This happened because I literally saw a picture of you in his house,” she offered a sarcastic smirk, the hope in your gut sinking below street level. “I mean, what the fuck, Y/N--you literally lied to me for nine months and you just expect to talk your way out of it?”

“No,” you said, trailing behind her when she stepped back up to the sidewalk. “I know you’re mad and I know it was shitty and I can’t take that back. But if you’re going to tell Whitney and get me fired I would rather just tell her myself and resign or something--I don’t want it to be a big scene.”

She grabbed at the door--a gust of wind pulled you inside, suddenly safe behind the glass. A scent of caramel and morning rush seemed to lace the air, Carly unzipped her coat and let out a huff. “Well--I mean, I thought about, I’m not going to lie.”

“I know--I would too.”

Even for five past nine, the line was long and the atmosphere relaxed. “You’re really not going to defend yourself?”

You watched her for a second. You’d thought about all of the excuses on the subway. 

It never came up. False. 

It slipped your mind. False. 

You didn’t think it mattered. False. 

“I--,” you paused, stepping up in line when the people in front of you shifted. “I wouldn’t know where to start. I fucked up.”

She made a face at that--one that read no shit--another sarcastic laugh as she reached for her phone to check a message. “I can’t decide if I’m too mad to ask for more details.”

You looked over at her, pulling your eyes from the menu. You’d hoped she’d show some interest--if anything, that meant there was hope. 

You offered her a hesitant smile, another step up in line. “I mean, I’m happy to tell you about him.”

She didn’t have the chance to ask--the barista behind the till asked for her order and then pushed her aside. You spit out the same order as always. Vanilla latte--extra hot. 

“So--you’re seriously just friends with Harry Styles?”

“Don’t say it so loud,” you said quickly, looking around when his name spilled into the room.

You couldn’t tell what she was asking. You’re seriously just friends with Harry Styles? Or you’re seriously just friends with Harry Styles?

Was she asking if you were more than that? Or was she asking if you were casually acquainted with the love of her life as if he weren’t a wildly successful musician?

You went with the latter. 

“Yeah--I mean, he’s a good guy. Grew up down the street.”

“So when you said you grew up ‘in the country’ you literally meant Holmes Chapel?”

A shrug. “I think I left that part out because I figured you’d put it together.”

“Yeah, I mean--same age as him, same town--I’m not that stupid.”

A pause. The woman standing in front of you fetched her drink from the counter and squeezed by to get out the door. You wondered where Harry was and what he was doing--you hadn’t spoken since you slid into the backseat of Roger’s Suburban somewhere in Long Island last night.

“So you’ve kept in touch and you’re like, close enough to hang out with his family?”

You bit at your lip, wondering how to explain the timeline of your relationship. You were aware that Carly seemed momentarily distracted from the rage you’d seen in her eyes this morning, you took the break in tension as another good sign. 

She watched as you chose your words carefully. “We were friends growing up--basically until he left for the show and then things kind of shifted. Just didn’t see him as much.”

True. That was all true. Sure, maybe you left out the fact that somewhere in there was a teenaged crush gone bad, but it felt good to not be hiding as much from her. 

“He must have been so busy,” she tilted her head to the side, seemingly enchanted by his hard work and grueling schedule. 

“Yeah, something like that,” you nodded. “So we’d see him here and there throughout his time in the band, but, we really actually only reconnected recently.”

“Well he’s here, right?”

“In New York?” 

She nodded, you realized it was naive to think that his fans didn’t know his location and near every move. “Yeah,” you said. “He’s here.”

A green aproned teenager called out Carly’s name, offered a smile as she stepped up to receive her drink. You didn’t know if it would help or hurt to confess about the Spotify concert--maybe it would reinforce the fact that you hadn’t seen Harry in a long time, so it’s not like you’d been actively hanging out with him the entire nine months you’d known your easily excited coworker. 

When she fell back into place next to you as you waited for your latte, you cracked. “Remember, uh, that Spotify concert thing you’d mentioned? That was actually the first time I’d seen him in two years.”

“What?!” She said, a smile creeping over her cheeks. “You were there?”

“Yeah,” you tried not to blush. “It was low key--I just, I guess I probably should have told you then but I just assumed he’d fade back into oblivion like always,” a dismissive blink when your brows lifted. 

“That shitty at keeping in touch, huh?”

You offered her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I was a shitty person and lied--or, neglected to tell the truth, I guess. Honestly,” you paused, taking a breath and hoping the words would come. “I was worried that if people knew I knew him, they’d read my stories because of that--or they’d think he got me a job or think that my success was because of him.”

Something in her softened--probably because if she didn’t work at The Scoop, she’d be one of those people to only read your stories because maybe--just maybe--you’d mention that one time, Harry Styles braided your hair in Year 8. 

She let out a sigh and let her ear fall to her shoulder, a sip of her coffee. “You’re a fucking bitch, honestly,” she laughed. “Can’t believe you’ve kept me from meeting him all this time.”

Oh. You parted your lips to speak, but your name was called and a latte was placed on the counter. Did you let Carly meet him? Did you let him meet Carly? That felt like the colliding of two worlds that weren’t even in the same solar system. 

When you turned on your feet, latte in hand, Carly was already by the door, looking over her shoulder as you wove through commuters, patiently awaiting their caffeine. Once you stepped back into the brisk air, Carly spoke. 

“I mean, meeting him would be helpful in terms of getting over it. You know, how you lied and all that,” she offered a playful smile, her words more threatening than the eager smile on her face. 

How could you deny that? How could you say no when she had the power to tell your boss or someone else and single-handedly ruin your career?

“Carly,” you said, coming to a stop on the sidewalk when the traffic light turned green. 

She turned to look at you, hesitance on her face when she saw how serious you were. 

“Will you promise to not say anything?”

She smiled. “Can I meet him for dinner?”

“Yes,” you laughed, “but you have to, like, not freak out. My roommate won’t handle that well.”

**

Alyssa had her nose in a book after you’d finished the dishes. She was cross-legged on the couch, her eyes glued to the page when you came in from your bedroom.

“How’s your boyfriend?”

“Wouldn’t know,” you said. “Also not my boyfriend.”

“What do you mean wouldn’t know?” She turned to look at you and shut the book on her lap. “I thought everything was perfect and a fairytale and you were riding off into the sunset?”

You let out a short laugh and fell into the couch. “Never said any of that, but--dunno, I haven’t heard from him in four days.”

“Four days?”

You nodded, pulling your legs up to mimic her position. The Christmas tree still stood in the corner--the lights had been unplugged and the few ornaments you’d managed to throw up had been put back in a box--the slow unraveling of a past holiday.

“Have you called him?”

“What am I supposed to say?”

She tucked her legs underneath her, a newfound excitement in her eyes. “Uh--I don’t know--you kissed me the other day so I’m just wondering where we stand and if we’re gonna have sex or not?”

“Not really my biggest concern,” you laughed, rubbing a hand over your face, slightly embarrassed by her forward thinking. 

“Oh please,” she threw the book onto the coffee table--it landed beside a magazine and slid on the smooth surface. “I’m sure he’d wondering the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes. “I just want to know where we stand.”

“You mean, the label?”

“No--I dunno, he just--he said all those things and then kissed me and I thought that was good but then why hasn’t he called me or texted me or anything?”

Alyssa hummed, she pulled at a pillow and held it on her lap, fingers tugging at the tag on the corner. “M’sure he’s just busy, or working or something.”

You let out a breath, tracing over the words he’d said on the plane. 

A few meetings, he’d said. Planning out new tour details. 

That didn’t give you much information, but nothing sounded like it was such an undertaking that texting was out of question. 

“What did he say?” She asked, a knowing look on her face told you she knew exactly where you’d trailed off to in thought. 

“Nothing so outrageous he couldn’t text me to say hi,” you shrugged. “I just--I told Carly she could meet him and she asked me today when it was going to be and I had to lie--again--and say that he was too busy right now. But I don’t fucking know that--he could be planning on never speaking to me because I’m a rubbish kisser or had bad breath or something,” you let your face fall into your hands, turning up the theatrics despite the fact that they were all a possibility. 

“Oh my god just call him,” Alyssa threw her hands to the popcorn ceiling. “Just text him and ask what the fuck he’s been up to and tell him you like him.”

“No,” you looked up quickly, shocked by her words. “Are you kidding? The last time I did that it literally backfired so hard.”

She stood from the couch and rolled her eyes at you. “I’m taking a shower. By the time I get out, I hope you realize how dumb you’re being.”

You sighed, watching as she walked into the bathroom and shut the door, leaving you alone with your anxiety in the living room. Calling Harry felt like it wasn’t an option. So instead, you hoped that Jake was still awake and willing to pick up on FaceTime.

He squinted into the camera after a few rings--it was dark in his bedroom but he didn’t seem angry.

“Are you awake?”

“Yeah--just scrolling on instagram before bed, y’know, typical bedtime routine.”

You let out a laugh, moving forward to sprawl out on the couch. “Can I tell you something?”

“Oh god--is this more Harry drama?”

“Okay--not drama, so fuck off,” you said, watching through the screen as he readjusted. He seemed to sit up, pushing his glasses over his nose before blinking a few times. 

“What’s up, Smalls?”

“He kissed me.”

“He kissed you?”

“Yeah,” you said. “The night before we went to brunch.”

“What?!”

“I already told you the exciting part,” you said, laughing at his reaction. 

His eyes were wide and his attitude was exaggerated. “Wanna start from the beginning, though? I mean--that would be helpful!”

“I went to his mum’s house--we just hung out and had wine and played Candyland. And then he walked me home--”

“You walked?”

“We like walking,” you shrugged, not letting him derail the story. “So he said something about how I’ve been acting so weird, which, like, of course I have. I threw up in front of him after blurting out that I had feelings.”

“That is still hilarious,” he stifled a laugh.

“Anyway,” you waved him off, your voice stern and unimpressed. “He said that he fucked up that night because he didn’t kiss me back and he said he had feelings for me too but when I kissed him that night he was drunk and didn’t want it to happen like that.”

You let out a breath, the adrenaline of reliving it coursing through you. “Why are you not excited?” You asked.

“Smalls--I knew he liked you.”

“What?”

“I mean--I dunno, he’d just always said stuff that kind of hinted at it.”

“You--what do you mean?”

Jake shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Relax, will you? He never outright said it or confessed it, or whatever. He just always would ask about you and seemed to be more interested in hearing about you than anyone else.”

“Oh right--you mean all those fucking times you talked to him without my knowledge?”

“It wasn’t much, honestly.” He looked around the room and narrowed his eyes. “Saw him that one time the Christmas the year after, y’know, you barfed. Texted a bit but nothing much.”

Another sigh from you, pushing a throw pillow under your arms to prop yourself up. “Well--that night was terrible so forgive me for keeping my distance.”

He laughed, “yeah. Jessie really overdid it a bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Wait--does she know you and Harry finally kissed?”

“No--and you can’t tell her, Jake. She’s been obnoxious about it the whole time.”

“Oh.”

“What do you mean she overdid it?” You went back to the original topic, heartbeat picking up, mouth getting dry as you sat up and stared into the phone. “What are you fucking talkaing about?” You asked again, more urgency in your voice. 

“Alright, relax. I just--she knew you were in the bathroom that night.”

“What?”

He sighed. “She saw you guys go in together and came to tell us, and I guess, I dunno, she walked by and realized you were stuck in there and she said we should leave it.”

“Leave it?!” You nearly screamed the words at hi, your face red and hot as you stood up. “Leave me trapped in the bathroom with Harry so drunk that I told him I liked him and then threw up to prove it? Oh she’s fucking dead.” 

“Y/N, wait, hold on,” Jake seemed more nervous now, too, like he’d spilled a secret and was now trying to scoop it back up. “She was trying to help, she thought it would be good for you to finally have to see him and talk to him. I think she was just hoping you’d hook up, to be honest! She wanted it to be good!”

“Well it wasn’t,” you reminded. “It was fucking miserable and caused two years of shit.”

“But it’s fine now, Smalls. It’s all good--he kissed you, he said he liked you!”

“Well that doesn’t undo it. Did you all know about this?”

“Yeah--I mean, that’s why Bryn eventually let you out.”

“Oh my fucking god. I can’t believe her.”

It didn’t make sense. Jessie had always been the one to tell you to not bother. You’ll get hurt, she’d say. It won’t end well. 

“So what, she thought it was funny?”

“I dunno,” Jake said, his voice quiet. “I think she hoped you’d make out and get it out of your system or something.”

You let out a groan, standing in the center of the living room. “Well--what sucks is that I can’t even bring it up to her yet because the last thing I want to do is tell her that we kissed and have her be all fucking annoying about it.”

Jake nodded, his smile fading from his face. “Sorry--I just, she wasn’t trying to be a dick. She loves you.”

“I know,” you said, a roll of your eyes to tell him that you didn’t care. 

“The good news is that he finally kissed you. We’ve all been waiting long enough for that to happen.”

You let a huff of air pass through your nose. “Yeah, well, haven’t heard from him in days.”

“Where is he?”

“I dunno--here, somewhere. On this brilliantly small and yet enormous island.”

“Why can’t you call him?”

“Because I’m--” a sigh. “I don’t want to be annoying or something. I don’t know if he wants to talk. Maybe he regrets kissing me.”

“Oh, Jesus, Smalls, don’t do that. Don’t get in your head and fuck it up.”

“M’not!” You argued, walking back to the couch to sit. You tugged at the pillow you’d previously had. A stain from the time Alyssa got too drunk and spilled wine. “Listen,” you said. “I should go.”

He sighed at that, bidding you goodnight before you exited out of the call. When Alyssa got out of the shower, she noticed the crazed look in your eyes.

“Y’alright? You look a bit neurotic.” Her towel was tied around her chest, wet brown hair framed her face as she padded across the living room and into her bedroom. 

“M’gonna go over to his apartment.”

She wiggled her eyebrows at you. “Bold, sexy, I like it.”

“I just want to talk to him and figure out what we do from here. If he doesn’t think it should go anywhere, fine. But I need to know that.”

“You probably won’t sleep until you do,” Alyssa laughed, pulling a t-shirt over her head quickly. When she turned around, she smiled. “Do you. I won’t wait up.”

So you were out the door, pulling a coat over your shoulders as you called an Uber. Heartbeat in your chest when you pulled up his number in your phone, only two blocks away.

You pressed it quickly, hoping less time to think would equal less anxiety. It didn’t. He picked up on the third ring. 

“Smalls?”

You pulled your head back--thanking the driver with a wave as you climbed out of the car. “Hi--I’m outside your apartment.”

“What?”

“I’m outside,” you said again, voice quieter this time as people passed by the big glass doors. It wasn’t as quiet as it usually was when you were stood eight stories below his flat--people were still out to eat or seeing friends, not asleep in their beds like they tended to be 1am. 

“Oh, I can--I’ll call the front desk to let you in.” 

“Okay,” you hung up, stuffing the phone back into your pocket. 

Twenty-three seconds before someone at desk came to open the door, a polite nod as you headed for the lift. You pressed the button Harry had hit last time, eliciting a ringing sound from the elevator, as if it was making a phone call. 

You stayed like that, the door open and exposing you to the marble of the foyer before another beep--like the tone of a number on a landline. Three beeps. The doors closed, the lift rose, Harry was leaning on the back of the couch when they slid back open. 

He was in a sweatshirt and joggers. “Hi.”

“Hey,” you said, words suddenly gone from your brain. Your jacket was still zipped up to your chin, a puffy protector from the wind outside.  You struggled to reach for the metal of the zipper, pulling it away from your face. “Sorry, I hope you’re not busy.”

He let out a small laugh. “S’okay--are you, is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” you stepped into the flat, he came to take the jacket when you slipped your arms out of it. “I was, uh--I hadn’t heard from you. I wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

“Oh,” he said, hanging the jacket on a hook behind you. “Yeah--sorry I didn’t call, I was busier than I expected just figuring a few things out.”

“For tour?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, turning on socked feet to head towards the granite island. “Wine?”

“Sure.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He reached down below the island and produced a bottle of red. 

“Yeah--I just, was worried, I guess. If you don’t want to hang out, you can say that, y’know.”

He set the wine on the counter, his eyes lifting to find yours when the words left you lips. He abandoned the bottle on the counter, stepping around it to come closer to you. “No, Y/N, I just--I got busy with things and I totally should have called to tell to you that.”

You nodded--it would have been nice. A few steps closer. “I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he said. “I was thinking about it but I didn’t know if you needed space or not. Didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” you said. “So the solution was showing up at yours unannounced, I guess.”

He laughed, one more step before his front  was flush against yours, arms draped over  your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. Your lips pulled into a smile--one that matched his. “I waited, like, seven years to kiss you. One time isn’t going to be enough.”

His lips felt like honey, his hands were warm and soft. It was short, when he pulled away, he smirked over his shoulder. “S’pinot noir.”

“My favorite,” you cooed, walking to sit at the island. “Guess what I found out tonight.”

“What?” He asked, his hand around the neck of the bottle as he twisted the screw in.

“That Jessica Alby is a piece of shit friend.”

He could sense the joking in your voice, but a look of confusion still washed over his face. “She fucking knew we were locked in the bathroom.”

“At Kenny Tilley’s?” He pulled the cork out. 

“Yeah--and she fucking left us in there hoping we’d hook up.”

He let out a quick laugh, careful not to spill on the counter. “Not exactly what happened.”

“Not even close. I’m pissed at her, really.”

He passed you a glass. “How’d you find this out?”

“Jacob.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “He knows a lot.”

You sipped at the wine. “But I can’t tell Jessie that I know yet because she still doesn’t know about us.”

You  wished you could take the words back as soon as they came out. You looked up at him, hesitation on your face. “I mean, just that we kissed.”

“When do you want to tell them?”

“I told Jake tonight, but I don’t know if I want to tell the rest of them.”

He stuck his head forward, a sip of his wine. “You don’t?”

“Jessie would be a tough sell, I guess.”

“How so?”

You sighed. You weren’t about to explain it all to him, at least, not right now. She thinks I’ll get my heart broken because I’ve been in love with you for years.

You settled for something else. “She’s just Jessie, she has a lot of opinions.”

“That’s definitely true.”

“So, we just won’t tell them, yeah?”

“Never?”

His question implied this wasn’t a short phase. You shrugged, hoping the heat wouldn’t rise to your cheeks. “Not yet.”

He nodded, walking around the corner to come stand beside you. “Missed you, y’know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Guess it’s my own fault though.”

“It is,” you nodded. “You know what they say. He who does not call...misses the other person.”

“Is that what they say?” He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowed as a curl fell down over his forehead. 

“Mhm, they do.”

“Hmm,” he said, pressing a kiss to your lips again. “They were right.”

read the other parts here

AN: ahhhhh you guys there is so much more to come for these two, because let’s face it, the work drama is NOT over. And JESSIE. What a little sneak. Buckle the heck up because things are gonna get messy!!!! Also dropped a hint in here of what is to come but it’s seriously so subtle hahahah

tag list:  @clorenafila​ @ainsleesolareclipse @castawaycths @harryspirate @wanderlustiing @ursamajor603 @thurhomish @omgsharry  @stepping-into-the-light @rachkon​ @jdcharliewhiskey @sad-little-asshole  @shawnsblue​  @gendryia​ @g0bl1nqueen​  @laula843​  @flooome​  a-woman-without-a-plan @awomanindeniall​  @shaw-nm​ @staceystoleyourheart @ohprettylittlemind​ @anssu-amry​ @my-fandomful-life​ @stylesfantasy​ @bookingbee​  @mleestiles​  @haute-romance-quotidienne​  @craic-head-horan​ @talk-british-2-me-britbritharry​ @at-least-im-1​ @paigemck00​ @rawmeharry​ @pinkpolaroidgirl​

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch7

You know those 1 minute doodles people do?  Well this is pretty much the digital equivalent.  As soon as I sat down I had a kid perched on each knee and a constant refrain of ‘Can I go on the magic drawing pad?’ which made doing anything just a little tricky.  I would love to have half a day to sit down uninterrupted and get to grips with even the basics of digital drawing but that’s not going to happen any time soon.  Instead you have to make do with what I could manage around two small humans (literally - I had one tucked into each arm).  

More thanks to @willow-salix​ who has put up with my ramblings every step of the way.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Seven

Gordon was awake long before Virgil the following day.  He quietly flicked through the TV channels, the volume down low, until he heard his brother moving around in the bedroom.  Experience had taught him not to disturb Virgil’s slumber unless he fancied being in close proximity to a grumpy bear.  

As Virgil stumbled through his morning routine Gordon made himself useful fixing breakfast.  He searched through cupboards and the fridge and was relieved to see that Virgil kept the apartment well stocked.  Both brothers had a voracious appetite and a fast metabolism.  By the time Virgil had finished his shower the eggs were in the pan and the coffee was brewing.  When he emerged from his bedroom wearing yet another red checked shirt Gordon was just plating up.

“Hey, you can stay more often.”  The appreciation was mumbled around a slice of toast from the large stack in the middle of the table.  The portions were generous and the eggs were light and fluffy with just the right amount of seasoning.  “When did you learn to cook?”

“Right around the time you and John moved out and me and Alan got shipped to the coast.  Dad wasn’t often back in time for dinner.”

Virgil could sense there was a story to tell there but knew better than to press the issue, especially before he had had a second cup of coffee.  During his own visit back home he had taken on the cooking without even thinking about it and hadn’t given a second thought as to who normally kept the household fed.

“I’ll cook tonight if you want” Gordon said, tucking into his own pile of eggs.  “If you want pizza though you’ll have to ask Alan next time you’re back.  That kid has a knack for dough.  Just don’t touch his pasta, I’ve never known someone find simple boiling so hard.”

“Sounds great, you can show me what you can do.  Maybe you’ll end up at catering college.”

Virgil’s joke fell flat as he sensed the shields rising up around Gordon.  It seemed any mention of the future made his brother touchy as hell.  He made a mental note to avoid all talk of future plans for the rest of Gordon’s stay, even if they were only made in jest.  Unfortunately he still had his own work to do, troubled brother or not.

“So Gordon, I’ve got a lab slot today.  I was going to take you in and show you around but perhaps engineering isn’t really your thing.”

Gordon shook his head gently.

“Hey, there’s a pool a couple of blocks over, it should be pretty quiet at the moment.  How about you put yourself through your paces this morning then we can hang out in the afternoon once I’ve got back from campus.”

This sounded infinitely preferable to Gordon.  The routine of swimming was ingrained now and he had thrown his kit into his bag as a matter of habit.  The idea of watching Virgil doing…whatever it was Virgil did was not appealing, especially now knowing of his father’s ulterior motive for suggesting he spend time with one of his college based brothers.

With breakfast over and the dishes carefully washed the brothers departed and headed their separate ways; Gordon heading to the pool while Virgil made his way onto campus.  

Just a few short minutes later Gordon was stood, bag in hand, outside the pool building.  It was shut.  A noticed taped to the door proclaimed the apologies of the management for unscheduled maintenance and the assertion that the facilities should be open again the following day.  

Gordon dug out his phone and tried to call Virgil but the line connected straight through to voicemail.  Virgil had warned him that there was a policy of no phones in the labs and workshops and it looked like he had already missed the opportunity to get hold of his sibling.  He didn’t have a key to the apartment either.  Apparently the spare set was with the letting agent, whoever that was, but even if he could find the right place there is no way they would just hand over the keys to him even if he did have the right surname.  Instead of a morning burning off his frustrations in the water he was faced with the prospect of being stuck in a strange city, alone for the next few hours until Virgil resurfaced from his project.

He wandered back past the apartment and towards campus with the vague hope that he might bump into Virgil but deep down he knew that hope was futile.  Shopping didn’t appeal and galleries and museums had never been his thing.  He was destined for a boring morning.

His footsteps led him to a small square and he flopped down onto one of the hard, metal benches that lined the perimeter.  He may as well wait here as anywhere.  The wind was picking up and the enclosed space gave him some protection from the chill air that felt like it was blowing straight off the surrounding mountains.  The clouds above looked dark and stormy and the day had turned unseasonably cold.  The turbulent sky matched his mood.  It felt like the entire world was conspiring to stop him from swimming.  

The first rain drops soon began to fall.  Heavy, penetrating globules of water that hit the ground with force before bouncing back up again several inches.  Within seconds the drops had turned into a raging downpour; the sort of rain that obscures your vision and soaks everything in an instant.  The drumming sound of rain hitting concrete and roof slates filled Gordon’s ears with white noise as though attempting to drown out his very thoughts.  He sat there as the stinging rain beat against his body, turning the exposed skin of his cheeks a raw pink.  In some perverse way the discomfort was enjoyable.  A penance for being the sole aquatic element in a family that revolved around the sky and the stars.

A hand landed on Gordon’s shoulder and broke through his reverie.  He spun round on the bench to be confronted by a young man in military uniform gesturing to the store front behind him.  He didn’t have much choice but to follow as the man picked up his bag and dashed back to the cover of the building.

As the door slammed shut behind him the noise of the storm became muted.  Two men were in the room, one sat behind a desk while Gordon’s assailant and bag thief was shaking water off his cap.  Both looked to be about 25 and were in contrasting uniforms.

“So, were you aiming on hypothermia or just trying to drown yourself out there?” his attacker come rescuer asked.

Gordon just shook his head mutely.  His hair was slicked down against his head and the action caused trickles of water to drip down his cheeks.  He unzipped his kit bag, pulled out a towel, and scruffed his hair back to some semblance of dryness.

“I was meant to go swimming but the pool was closed.”

“And swimming in that downpour looked like a better idea than going home?”

“I’m just visiting.  I’m locked out until my brother gets back from class.”

“So how long do you need to wait?”

Gordon looked at his watch.  “He’ll probably be another couple of hours.”

“Well you can’t go back out in that, you’re already shivering.”  

This was true.  Stood there with his clothes plastered to his skin Gordon became uncomfortably aware of just how cold and wet his was.  He tensed his core muscles in an attempt to still the shivers that made his body tremble.  

The man behind the desk stood up and headed over to a coffee pot that was set up in the corner of the room.  He called over his shoulder to his companion.  “Kid’s not getting ill on my watch.  I’ll make some coffee and you can take him upstairs and stick his clothes in the dryer.”

Gordon felt like he had little choice but to follow the man through a door at the back of the office and up a narrow set of stairs.  They were right about one thing; he couldn’t sit out in the rain for hours. 

The upstairs of the building was converted into a tiny flat and the two military personnel evidently lived up there, despite their conflicting services.  There was a small living area with kitchenette built along one wall and a couple of extra doors that Gordon assumed led to a bathroom and bedrooms.  Gordon soon found himself kitted out in a pair of dry sweatpants and a hoodie while his own sopping wet clothes were put through a drying cycle.

Back downstairs, with borrowed clothes and a hot coffee warming him through, Gordon began to take more notice of his surroundings and his temporary companions.  Emblems of the World Security Patrol and its four component parts adorned the walls.  Badges of the World Space Patrol, World Navy, World Army Air Force and Universal Secret Service all had their place. 

With nothing else to do until his clothes had finished drying Gordon settled in to make the best of it.  The two staff seemed personable enough.  One wore the uniform of the World Army while the other was clad in the WASP insignia of World Aquanaut Security Patrol, the submarine service of the World Navy.  The pair were good natured with a touch of friendly inter-service rivalry.  Coming from a military family himself Gordon was well versed in the different factions although he was more familiar with the United States Air Force that the various world forces on display.

“What is this place?”

“Joint Services Recruitment Office” came the response.  “The World Security Patrol has offices all over the place.  Good engineers are like gold dust which is why this office is so close to the campus.  The different services staff it on rotation, two at a time.”

“So how did the pair of you end up here?” Gordon asked.

“Random allocation for me” answered the World Army representative, who Gordon soon learned was called Daniels.

“I’d just got back from an extended submarine tour and my C.O. thought I could do with some sunshine.  Not much of that today though; I stayed drier under water” laughed Green, the WASP who had pulled him in from the storm.  “It’s not too bad though, except for the land snails.”

“Hey!”  Daniels launched a promotional stress ball at Green.  “Less of the land snail you jumped up sardine.  Thank goodness I’ve only got to put up with you for another eight weeks.”

The two men evidently got on well together.  The traded insults were laced with laughter.  It was a far cry from the attitude his eldest brother displayed while in uniform.  Maybe it was the lack of officers to keep them in check or maybe Scott just didn’t have a sense of humour any more that accounted for the difference; the pair in front of him certainly weren’t dour or serious.

“I can’t see Scott being happy getting sent to one of these places.”

“Scott?”

“Eldest brother.  He’s Air Force.  He’s not happy unless he breaks mach three at least twice a week.”

This description was greeted by a double eye roll, evidently WASP and World Army were prepared to unite against a common enemy.

“That’s flyboys for you.  I guess this isn’t the brother who locked you out?”

“Nope, Virgil’s here doing his postgrad at the moment.  Some sort of engineering project.  I’m only here for a few days while Dad is out of town.”

“So you like to swim, huh?  Think you can swim 200 meters in under three minutes?”

“Stop trying to recruit the kid, Green.”

“Hey!  It’s my job at the moment, of course I’m going to have a try.”

A competitive glint appeared in Gordon’s eye.

“Think I can do it in under three minutes?” he mused, cocking his head as though seriously considering the question.  “I know I can do it in one, forty-four point two.”

“Like hell you can.  Jeez, that’s gotta be some kind of record.”

Gordon just smirked.  Out of the pool and with clothes on he wasn’t particularly recognisable, his father’s policy of minimal contact with the media had seen to that.  The pair in the recruiting office only knew his first name and had nothing to go on to connect him to the Olympics.  He couldn’t help but feel a little bit boastful at the chance to show off his achievement.

“Yup.  Butterfly.  Set it out at the Games a few weeks back.”

“Wait?  You’re Gordon Tracy?”

Gordon nodded.

“Bloody hell.  The guys back at base aren’t gonna believe I had you in my recruiting office.”

Green was now actively goggling at him and even the more reserved Daniels was looking slightly thunderstruck.

“Told you to stop with the recruitment spiel.  He’s got better things to do than mess about in your tin cans.”

“Those tin cans are highly specialised submarines I’ll have you know.”

The pair were back to the ribbing that seemed to characterise their working relationship.  Gordon looked on enviously at the obvious camaraderie that existed despite their differing career paths.  It showed a team spirit that he yearned for and the idea of locking himself away from his family at the bottom of the ocean was sounding pretty good at the moment.  

Before his brain had fully caught up with his mouth he blurted out “So what would I have to do other than swim to get my hands on one of those subs?”

Gordon left the recruitment office a few hours later with more than just dry clothes.  Stuffed in the bottom of his kit bag was a print out of the scores from the aptitude and reaction tests he had sat there which showed he more than met the standard required for WASP.  On top of these Green had placed an application form which, if submitted alongside the test results, would earn Gordon an invitation to a selection week.  

He had no real plans and sitting the tests had more been something to do to pass the time until Virgil was back.  The military was Scott’s thing, not his, but Green had been animated and engaging in his description of the submarine service giving Gordon much food for thought.  The picture he painted of service life was very different to the stories Scott brought home.  Perhaps it was because WASP was a peacekeeping entity rather the aggressive environment of Scott’s fighter unit or perhaps it was the idea of exploring the oceans that appealed but something made him keep the forms.

Gordon shoved the whole idea to the back of his mind, burying it as deep as the paperwork that was hidden at the bottom of his kit bag.

xoxoxox

By the time Gordon made it back to the apartment Virgil was there to let him in.

“Good swim?”  A mug of the ever-present coffee was placed in front of him before Virgil returned to the kitchen.  Gordon picked up the mug and wandered over, leaning against the door frame to watch as his brother made a start on lunch.

“Pool was shut.  Should be ok tomorrow though.”

“Shut?  You found something else to do, right?”  Virgil looked up from where he was buttering a stack of bread for sandwiches, feeling a gnawing guilt at his little brother being left alone in a strange city.  The concern was clearly evident in his voice.

“It was fine.  Even without a pool I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself for a few hours.”

“I know you are.  Do you want tomatoes in with your ham?  Or I’ve got mustard if you prefer.”

“Tomatoes please.  You got any cheese?”

“Sure just grab the block out the fridge for me and I’ll add some in.”

The pair manoeuvred round each other in the small space, passing ingredients back and forth until a sizeable stack of sandwiches had been created.  They carried them over to the table and settled down to eat.

“I’ve rearranged my lab slots so I don’t have to go back to campus for a few days” Virgil mumbled around a mouthful of bread.  “I’ll still have to fit in some work here but it means you won’t be on your own so much.”

“You didn’t have to do that.  I don’t need babysitting.”

“I didn’t do it because I think you need babysitting,  I did it so we can actually spend some time together.  Maybe watch some movies.  You know, catch up a bit.”

Gordon looked for signs of an ulterior motive but instead saw only genuine honesty in Virgil’s expression.  Now it was his turn to feel guilty for second guessing his brother’s intentions.  Since when had he got so suspicious of everything?  Probably since he found out this trip was yet another attempt by his father to mould him into the narrow ideals of what a good son should look like. 

“Sorry.  I guess I’m still a bit on edge.  Even half a continent away I still feel like Dad is watching and keeping an eye on me.”

Virgil swallowed his mouthful, all too aware that Jeff was rather more than half a continent away.  At that very moment he knew their father was somewhere in the South Pacific making sure the island that had been chosen as the future family home was just right before completing the purchase.

“So, this afternoon?”

“Films sound good, just none of that art house stuff.”  After his soaking he didn’t fancy heading out anywhere again that day but he also wasn’t in the mood for some high-brow foreign language film or any of Virgil’s other niche preferences.  “You sure you don’t need to do any more work today.”

“Maybe just half an hour or so to transfer my notes from the lab but I can always do that later.”

“How about you get that done while I clean up from lunch and fix us some snacks for the film.  I think I spotted some corn kernels when I was looking for the salt earlier.  Can’t have a film without popcorn.”

“If you’re sure?  Kernels are in the top cupboard.  I don’t have a popcorn maker here so you’ll have to use the stove, are you ok with that?”

Gordon’s only response was to roll his eyes; of course he would be fine making popcorn on the stove.  He started to clear the plates.

Virgil, free of chores, headed over to his desk.  He rummaged through his bag and dug out the smart moleskin notebook that he liked to use for rough notes, he found it easier to doodle down sketches on paper than on his tablet.  Soon he was completely engrossed in transposing figures and observations into his main files and cross referencing against the work he had done previously.

He was snapped back to the present by the arrival of Gordon on his elbow with a cup of coffee.  Once he was in the zone he could completely lose track of his surroundings, he had almost forgotten his brother was even there.  

“We can save the films until tomorrow if you want to carry on.”

“No, it’s fine.  Just give me a couple more minutes, I’m nearly done.”

Gordon picked up a file that was half covering a coaster to make space for the mug.  One or two loose pages slipped free and made a bid for freedom.  He carefully put down coffee then dived under the desk to retrieve the pages.

“Oh, sorry”, he took a look at the pages as he straightened up.  “I didn’t realise your project was in aviation.  That thing doesn’t look like it should be able to fly though, it’s like a bumble bee with those stupid stubby wings.” 

Virgil flustered slightly and snatched the pages out of Gordon’s hand with a little more force than was strictly necessary, hurriedly stuffing them back in the folder before shutting the whole bundle away in a drawer.

“Um, it’s not.  I mean, that’s not my project.  That’s just something I’m working on for, um, after.  Please, I’d uh, appreciate it if you didn’t tell Dad what you’ve seen.”

Gordon quirked an eyebrow in surprise.  Whatever Virgil was working on it looked like their dad was unlikely to approve, or at least that’s how it came across from Virgil’s reaction.  The last time he had seen Virgil acting so guilty was when he tried to deny eating Scott’s Easter chocolate while still having the remnants smeared as evidence across his face.

“Chill, Dad and I don’t exactly have a ‘chats over dinner’ type relationship.  So what’s the big deal?  I thought I was the only one not toeing the parental line about future plans.  Is he pressuring you to go into the Air Force like him and Scott?”

“It’s nothing like that.  And anyway, I’m a pacifist, remember?  I think Dad knows me better than to suggest the military of all things”

“Well at least he knows what one of us likes.  So, is this some PhD topic you’re thinking of?  Cos if it’s to do with planes I’m sure Dad will be fine with it.  Unless you’re thinking of setting up solo as a competitor to Tracy Aviation, now that would make him pissed.”

“Look, can you just drop it, please?” 

Gordon was slightly taken aback by the abruptness, it normally took a lot to get their gentle giant riled up.  It was almost impossible to have a fight with Virgil because it just wasn’t in his nature to be argumentative.  That wasn’t to say that Virgil didn’t have strong opinions, it was just that he was normally so uncontroversial that it was hard to disagree with him.  Perhaps he wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure to conform with their father’s ideals.

“I’m sorry.  I promise I won’t tell Dad but, whatever it is you’re working on, don’t let him put you off.  I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk about it but don’t let him dictate your life.  No point both of us being miserable.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Virgil felt guilty leaving Gordon with the wrong impression but it was easier to let him believe that Jeff disapproved of his future plans than try and explain away what was really on the cards.  He made a mental note to take better care of the notes he had made.  Of course it would all be much easier if the whole family knew what was going on but Jeff had been adamant; no sharing anything with anyone he hadn’t personally brought into the scheme, and that included younger brothers.  

By mutual consent the brothers treated the future as a banned topic of conversation and by the time Gordon was due to return to Los Angeles he was in a much calmer frame of mind.  A few days without the burden of responsibilities or parental scrutiny had soothed his soul and left him feeling lighter and more relaxed than he had for a long time.  

Unfortunately all good things had to come to an end; he couldn’t hide out in Denver forever, tempting as it may be.  As the plane headed back west Gordon found his mood sinking like the setting sun he was heading towards.

[sm-entertain-me]

Hit the Lotto (M)

Contains: Kim Jongin x (f) reader, adult language, smut, sexual themes, teasing, public fingering, exhibitionism, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie.

Synopsis: As a celebration of getting the promotion at work, you and your coworkers decide to hit up the hottest casino in town, EXO Planet. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky.

Author's Note: Inspiration comes from the Lotto MV, and I might make this into a series featuring every member depending on how well received this is.

“I’d like to make a toast,” Your best friend/coworker Laura said loud enough to be heard over the chimes and whistles of all of the slot machines being played in the background, everyone around the table raising their glasses of respective alcohol to the sky. A light hue of red fell on your cheeks as all of the people at the table looked at you, knowing who the toast would be about. Once Laura was satisfied with the amount of attention she managed to grab from the crowd, she held her glass up in the air to continue her toast, “To the best damn accountant our firm has ever seen, to the person who kicks ass and takes numbers down like a champ. You deserved it, babe. To Y/N!” “To Y/N!” Everyone chorused, smiling brightly at you as they watched you lift your glass in recognition before you slammed your shot of vodka back. 

When the formalities were done with, everyone was free to explore the casino as they wished since the firm decided to gift everyone with $100 to spend and hopefully land a jackpot or two. Being as though you were the guest of honor tonight, your firm forked out an extra $100 for you to either pocket or bet on miscellaneous games that were being played around the casino. Although you really weren’t much of a gambler, how could you say no to $200 being thrown at you in hopes of you either breaking even or even doubling the amount in your hand? But you didn’t want to waste it all on the slot machines like everyone else in your firm was doing, you wanted to delve into the gambling experience with a classic game of luck and strategy: Craps.

As you made your way over to the Craps table that seemed to have the most life, drink hanging loosely in your hand, you noticed a particularly well dressed man sitting at the head of the table with women on either side of his arm. He had beautifully tanned skin with a mop of dark black hair that seemed like it was styled hours ago only to be ruined by him constantly raking his fingers through it, biceps bulging out as he sat with his arm bent on the table. The man looked like someone of importance by the way he drew the attention of nearly everyone in the casino and how the table worker seemed to fear him if his game didn’t go the way he wanted. Normally a man of this kind of debonair would frighten you, but with the alcohol running through your veins, he seemed that much more enticing.

It took you a hot minute, but you finally mustered up enough liquid courage to walk up to a spot at his table, sliding in whenever he sent one of his females to fetch him a drink. The minute you showed up next to him, his eyes were on your body, examining how your gown accentuated your curves perfectly and gave your ass the most flattering bend. “Staring will get you in trouble,” You murmured into your glass as you reached over and placed a ten dollar poker chip on snake eyes, feeling a little bit risky for playing on a roll that was so specific. You heard the man next to you chuckle as he turned completely around to face you, his eyes wandering from your jawline, down to your slender neck, and then back up to meet your gaze, “What if I’m looking for trouble?” A smirk fell on your face as you took the dice from the table worker, looking over at the man before you rolled blindly, neglecting to answer his question at the moment for you feared it might get you in some trouble with the dapper man.

As time went on and the alcohol flooded your veins, you found yourself becoming more and more susceptible to the man’s advances. His name is Jongin and he has the ability to make your walls clench around nothing just by the way he speaks to you. And he can tell by the way his hand is resting on your ass as you bend forward to collect your earnings, readying yourself to leave. That is, before he stops you. “Oh baby, leaving so soon? I was just getting started with you,” Jongin teased as his hot breath fanned your neck, watching the way your skin formed goosebumps almost immediately. Again, the alcohol found a way to fuel your words as you cocked your head to the side at him, an daring smile on your lips, “And tell me, Jongin. What were you planning to do if I stayed?” Jongin replicated your smirk as he stepped closer to you, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear while his hand slid up your inner thigh, daring to slide inward to your yearning pussy, “Maybe you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

Jongin kept his hand on the inside of your thigh, his eyes remaining on your face as he watched your eyes widen from the new warmth that rested just below your clothed pussy. Pressing your lips tightly together, you gave him a subtle nod as you turned back to the Craps table to place yet another bet to see just what Jongin was capable of doing with his fingers. He let out a comfortable sigh as he too turned towards the Craps table, his face never wavering as his fingers slid past the flimsy material of your panties and pressed firmly against your dripping hole, smirking to himself when he realized how much of your arousal had coated his finger. The adrenaline of having Jongin finger you in front of all of these people had you even more willing to take him, another gush of your arousal spilling onto his fingers as Jongin massaged the tender skin of your folds.

“Your turn to roll miss,” The table worker said as he eyed you questioningly but looked away the minute Jongin glared up at him, silently ordering him to mind his own business or there would be hell to pay. You shifted uncomfortably at your end of the table as you leaned forward for the dice, inadvertently granting Jongin more room to slide up into you. You had to choke back a moan when you felt Jongin’s ringed finger slide into your pussy, feeling the coolness of his band pressing against your screaming clit as Jongin simply hummed, his free hand playing with the massive amount of chips in his hand as he decided where to place his bet. A small whimper could be heard by those closest to you as Jongin rubbed his thumb over your clit, your hands reaching out and gripping the edge of the table to brace yourself properly as Jongin stretched your pussy open with three fingers. He was on a mission to have you cumming all over his fingers in front of all these strangers.

Luckily all of the table attendees were too busy focusing on how the dice rolled down the table to notice how flushed your cheeks were, how white your knuckles were by gripping tightly on your edge of the table, and the fact that you were struggling more and more to keep your whines down as Jongin flicked your clit mercilessly. You felt the pressure inside of your walls subside a little as Jongin leaned forward to whisper in your ear, stilling the movements of his fingers slightly, “Are you going to cum for me princess? In front of all of these people?” At this point, you were no longer able to form sentences as you simply nodded, watching the smirk on Jongin’s face grow deeper as he leaned back, gripping your hip with his free hand and having you take the entire length of his fingers. The constant curling of his fingers mixed with the cold band still pressed to your clit and the unforgiving flicks to your engorged clit had you clamping down around Jongin’s slender fingers, bringing to your edge much faster than you anticipated. 

Jongin knew you were cumming as he leaned forward to catch your mouth on his neck, your teeth sinking down into the slender column of his neck as you whined pathetically against his skin. The harder you bit on his skin to muffle your cries, the harder it was for Jongin to contain his groans from such a pleasurable feeling of your teeth on his neck. “Jongin,” You whispered breathlessly into his neck, your eyes hooded from pure bliss. He chuckled at how out of breath you were as he let you relax and slowly pulled his fingers out of your soaked pussy, but not before he grabbed your panties and ordered you to slip out of them as quickly as possible, creating a diversion for you. Jongin acted like he dropped his chip on the ground and employed you to help him, only to have you bend down underneath the table and slip your panties off to give them to Jongin as he requested. Just as you thought Jongin was done with you, he simply pulled you back up to a standing position and held you close to him, shooting you a hungry look before he spoke, “Get your things and come upstairs. Don’t keep me waiting for long.”

Within minutes, you fond yourself cashing in on your earnings and rushing to the elevators to reach the resort part of the casino, looking diligently at the small piece of paper that lay in between your fingers. It was Jongin’s room number, the numbers written down smoothly and confidently like he knew you were going to show up no matter what. And he wasn’t wrong, he literally had you in his hands. You were a mess at his touch, and that was only his fingers, you couldn’t wait to see how much of a mess you would be whenever his dick would be throbbing inside of you.

When the elevator arrived at your designated floor, your legs acted on their own accord and moved quickly to the hotel room that was on the piece of paper, stopping right before a lavish suite that had a convenient “Do not Disturb” placard in cursive writing. You smirked to yourself as you knocked on the door, met with the sound of footsteps hurrying to your location. Your hands smoothed over the soft material of the dress you were wearing, only taking your hands off when the door swung open to reveal a shirtless Jongin with his signature smirk. “I’m so glad you made it. Come in,” Jongin cooed as he opened the door for you, you not wanting to keep him waiting for very much longer, especially since you were running out of time to run your tongue all over his abs.

“Fuck,” You cursed as you sat on Jongin’s lap, allowing his teeth to sink into the skin of your neck while your fingers tugged at the soft tresses of his hair. You could feel his plump lips form a smile as he pressed them tightly to your neck, dragging his tongue along the slender column to feel you shiver in his grasp. As he worked on your neck, your hands slid down the expanse of his abs and rested on his pants, tugging playfully at the belt. Jongin pulled away from your neck and looked into your eyes with a hardened gaze, wiggling his eyebrows as he looked down at his hardened length that was trapped in his trousers instead of deep inside of your pussy, “Take them off so I can fuck you like you deserve to be.” You physically shuddered at the depth of his voice as you ripped his belt off and dove into his crotch area, pulling his cock out of his boxers and staring down at it with a dry throat. He was huge.

Jongin continued to get you all worked up to get you as wet as possible before he lifted you up and slid you down on his fully erect member, both of you groaning out at the sensation as his head fell backwards against the headboard. “So tight,” Jonging muttered as he looked up to the ceiling, closing his eyes momentarily to feel all of the ridges of your tightening walls encasing his cock. You licked your lips at his compliments as you straddled him, letting your walls get accustomed to his larger than average length. Jongin’s hands gripped the flesh of your ass as he pulled your hips to grind down on him, moving you the way he liked until you decided to take over to blow his fucking mind.

The pace you set on Jongin was nothing short of animalistic as you ground your hips along his pelvis, your pussy sucking in his cock to the deepest he could go as your hands rested on his taut chest, nails raking against his pristine skin as he moaned out from the pain. Jongin’s eyes were hooded as he looked up at you, admiring the sexy look of concentration on your face as you sped up on his length, angling yourself so that his cock would brush against your clit and drove you crazy. Whenever you wanted to rest, Jongin would gladly dig his fingers into your hips and pump into you from below, forcing your eyes to widen and your mouth to drop open as you looked directly at him with blown wide pupils. 

“What is it baby?” Jongin questioned with a smirk from the look of pure ecstasy on your face. “So... fucking good... Fuck Jongin!” You cried out as Jongin had taken one of his hands and pushed his finger onto your clit, edging you to take over fucking him into oblivion while he flicked your clit at a brutal pace, desperate to get you to cum before he did. The harder he pushed on your clit, the harder you rolled your hips on Jongin’s cock, forcing your ass down completely on his pelvis to take all of his length inside of your pulsating walls. “Oh god, baby you’re doing so great. K-Keep going,” Jongin stammered as his lip nested between his porcelain white teeth, his fingernails digging deeply into your hip to create little crescents to remind you of this night. The combination of you slamming down on his cock mixed with his pumping into you from below and the proper stimulation of your clit was dangerous.

“Ohhh fuck! Fuck yes, Jongin! I-I’m cu-,” You cried out as your hips jolted quickly around his waist, walls clenching around Jongin’s cock as you arched your back to the ceiling. Jongin’s eyebrows screwed tightly together as the feeling of your walls encasing his already throbbing cock threw him over his edge, his cum painting your walls white as he released. Your name was constantly on his lips as his head fell backwards against the headboard, slumping against the cold wood as you fell forward onto his chest, completely fucked out. Jongin breathed hard into your ear, holding you close to him as he began to drift to sleep without so much as another word to you. But you can’t blame him, you were already at the point of welcoming sleep with open arms.

When morning came to steal you back from the best sleep you had ever had in your life, you were met with an empty bed and no sign of Jongin anywhere to be found. A small frown appeared on your face as you stretched into the covers, sighing at the fact that you were just another quick fuck. However, as you leaned over to the side of the bed to get your phone and start the process of leaving, you saw a tiny slip of paper lying next to your phone and a business card with Jongin’s name on it, the emblem belonging to the EXO Planet Resort and Casinos emblazoned just below his name. “Good morning princess, I hope you slept well. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see you wake up but just know that I’ll be thinking of you and hope you’ll accept my offer of seeing you again. Oh, and congrats on the promotion, we’ll have to celebrate soon. XO, Jongin,” 

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- part two

Because I have absolutely no self-control (and because you all seemed to love part one so much), here is part two!

Warnings: a tearful conversation with your older brother. I cried while writing it, but I’m a big baby, and it also hit home for me to write. So it’s probably not that emotional. 

Sherlock Holmes doesn’t sleep.

           You come to this conclusion because you slept on the couch – much to John’s annoyance, because he offered you his bed – and Sherlock was up the entire night in the kitchen. Well, mostly. You woke at some hour during the night to find him sitting in his chair, thinking. Eyes closed, hands steepled at his chin, not moving, just thinking. You had rolled over to face the back of the couch, then, finding his stance a little more creepy than amusing at three in the morning.

           “He doesn’t eat when he’s thinking. Says it slows him down,” John explains when he comes out of his room in the morning. He’s already dressed, clearly having somewhere to be, but where exactly you don’t know. “Would you like to go out and get some breakfast?”

           You stare at him in confusion. “Me?”

           He’s still nervous, you notice. He fidgets with his hands. “Yes.”

           “Yeah, okay, let me just go take a shower.” You heave yourself off the couch, ignoring Sherlock’s eyes as they stare you down. You suppose that’s normal for him to do, so you try your best to ignore it. “You wouldn’t happen to have an extra toothbrush, would you?”

           “Uh, there should be one under the cabinet, I think, yeah.”

           “Thanks.”

           Shutting the bathroom door, you take a deep breath. You aren’t sure what dream you had last night, but you could’ve sworn you dreamed meeting these two men – let alone finding out one is your half-brother. The fact never hit you yesterday because, well, family has never been family in your brain, if that can make any sense. You and your mother were friends, at the very least, and you never knew any other family. You have friends here and there that have become like family, sure, but family – a bloodline, that’s not something you’ve ever considered having.

           You try not to think about it too much. Just because you and John share some of the same DNA doesn’t mean you have to be the absolute best of friends. You’ll be friends with him, of course, because he really is kind and genuine, but you don’t know that you can play the role of little sister. You aren’t even sure how exactly to do that.

           But he, obviously, is already playing the role of older brother.

           You know this because when you step out from the bathroom, toweling your hair, he’s there in the doorway of his bedroom, holding a jumper.

           “I didn’t know if you had anything to change into,” he pauses, seeing you’ve put your clothes from yesterday back on. You didn’t have a choice exactly because these are the only clothes you own. “Never mind,” he shakes his head.

           But the shirt you’re wearing does desperately need to be washed, so you stop him, deciding that maybe if you accept his offer, some of his nerves will die down – and that would be beneficial for the both of you. “Actually, John, I do need something.”

           He stops, giving you an expectant look. “Seriously?”

           “Yeah,” you smile, folding your towel over your arm. “I need to wash these anyway.”

           “Okay, yeah, we can do that,” he chuckles. He hands you the jumper. “Do you need anything else?”

           You look him up and down before shaking your head. He’s not a big man by any means, but you’re exceptionally tiny – which he has noticed. “I’m good. Thank you,” you hold up the jumper in thanks, turning to duck back into the bathroom to change.

           The jumper is surprisingly comfortable. It’s been a while since you’ve worn something that is soft and…soothing. It’s been a while since you’ve felt something soothing in general.

           You step back out of the bathroom in the jumper, your shirt in your hand. John is still in his room and looks up when he sees you back in the hall.

           “Here, I’ll put it in to wash while we’re out.”

           Right. Breakfast.

           Something tells you that you’ll be doing more than just grabbing breakfast. You can practically feel the new questions just waiting to spill out of his mouth. He doesn’t even look like he slept very well, and you bet he didn’t. He probably kept himself awake with all the questions.

           You sigh through another smile as he guides you out the front door to hail a taxi on the street. If you had anywhere else to be, you wouldn’t bother entertaining him – brother or not – but since you quite literally have nowhere else to go, you stay and answer his questions. He has more to ask you than you do him, but that’s alright. He’s the naturally curious type, you can tell, and you’re not as much, but there’s nothing wrong with that.

           The taxi drive is short enough that you wonder why the two of you didn’t just walk, but you don’t question it. You find yourself in front of a café and it’s then that you hear your stomach rumble.

           Yeah, you could use some food right about now.

 ~~~

Five minutes into your breakfast with John. That’s how far you get before you break the silence.

           “You don’t have to keep staring at me like that,” you mutter, breaking his gaze to stare out the window. “I’m not going to disappear into thin air or something.”

           He coughs, clearing his throat. “Sorry.” But he doesn’t stop staring.

           “I’m not going to break, either,” you chuckle, imagining that’s probably where his mind is going. “I’ve been through a lot and haven’t broken yet, so I think we’re good.”

           What is supposed to be a light joke doesn’t come across that way as a look of concern and worry crosses John’s face.

           “Okay, why don’t you ask questions?” You chuckle when he blinks blankly at you. “I know you have more, so out with it.”

“Alright, uh,” he shakes his head. “You didn’t seem fazed by Sherlock deducing that we’re siblings…why?”

You had to know this question was coming since you’ve shown hardly any emotion about the matter. But if you’re being honest, Sherlock’s deduction wasn’t a shock because, well, you had the thought first.

“You look like him,” you finally murmur, glad for the little interval of time after that comes because your tea is brought to your table.

But John never lets anything go. “Like who?”

“Like your father,” you reply simply.

“I thought you said you’d never met him.”

“I didn’t,” you confirm. “But I saw pictures. And mom talked about him a lot.”

“She did?”

“She was heartbroken when he left. I still remember her giving me many talks about how I should never trust any man because they never keep their word,” you let out a dark chuckle. “As you can tell, I don’t exactly take her advice. I apply it to everyone, in the general sense, though. Which is why I’m not expecting anything from you, John, I don’t want you to spoil me or anything just because. I’m grateful enough Ms. Hudson is allowing me to stay downstairs, but I’m not asking for anything else.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Does that mean you trust me, then?”

You give him a sad smile, shaking your head. “I don’t trust anyone, John. It’s safer.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well, you didn’t grow up the way I did.”

Your statement sobers him. Like for a moment he had really forgotten you grew up without a father, and barely with a mother. Like for a moment you aren’t his long-lost sister, but instead his little sister he grew up with and feels he needs to protect. But hearing you say that sentence reminded him that you aren’t those things. You are his long-lost half-sister. And you have lived a life that’s very different from his. You can tell it’s going to take him a while to really get used to the fact.

The air settles around you two in the café and as a result, you eat in silence.

“Well, listen, I know you said you aren’t going to ask, but I have some money saved up—No, don’t look at me like that. I have some saved up, and I want to get you some clothes.”

“John.”

He tries to compromise with you. “At least a pair of trainers that are the right bloody size.”

You sigh. “I told you. You don’t need to spoil me just because.”

“It’s not just because— I want to.”

You give him another look.

But he isn’t giving up. “Please.”

“Shoes,” you decide, finishing off your toast. “One pair. That’s it.”

John takes this answer with a smile because he knows this is probably the most he’s going to get. But you can tell he’s determined to convince you to allow him to purchase more than just one pair of shoes.

You ignore the realization, deciding that you’ll wait and see.

 ~~~

One pair of shoes, you said.

           Then you compromised on one outfit after John showed you a jumper that was more your size, and your color – a dark gray, instead of the cream colored one you’re wearing now.

           And then you were walking out with five pairs of pants and more jumpers and t-shirts than you’ll ever need – and he let you stop and get a few undergarments since he wasn’t going to go shopping for those for you, but he wanted you to have them. But you still only got one pair of shoes. You kept that.

           Because you don’t need a lot of shoes. A good pair of trainers is all you really need. Something to grip the ground as you run or a building as you climb. That’s it.

           Except you find out when you reach Baker Street again that John had slipped in a pair of heels, saying something about you never know if you’ll be on a case with him and Sherlock, or when you’ll just want to wear some heels.

           You decide to let it slide. You haven’t worn heels in years. The last time was when you got a pair as a gift from a guy you were seeing, him obviously not aware that you were leaving the next day.

           “You went shopping.”

           “Thank you for stating the obvious, Sherlock Holmes. And you’ve been experimenting.”

           “I played my violin for a few hours,” he replies matter of factly before focusing back on whatever it is he has under the microscope.

           “Shame I missed it. You’ll have to play again soon.”

           He doesn’t look up, but you see the tiniest of smirks tug at his lips before he regains focus. You shake your head as you lay down on the couch. You’re going to enjoy messing with Sherlock, for sure.

           “Ms. Hudson said she had a mattress delivered today,” John announces as he comes up the stairs. “It’s in your room now.”

           “That quick?” You ask, craning your neck to give John a suspicious look.

           But he merely shrugs. “Yeah. I have an extra set of sheets that I can give you. Do you want to look for a—”

           “John.”

           “Yes?”

           “Thank you.”

           He pauses, a nervous but relieved smile settling over his lips. “You’re welcome.”

           “Now,” you swing your legs over to plant your feet on the floor. “I’m good with a mattress. It’s more than I’ve ever had, so I don’t need anything else.”

Just by his face you can tell he doesn’t like the sound of that last statement. “Are you sure? I’m sure I can—”

“John,” you repeat his name, for some reason this being the only way to really get his attention. “You don’t need to do anything else. This is enough.” It’s more than enough, but you’re not about to scold him anymore for this. If it eases his mind to do this, then you’ll let him. It’s hardly bothering you in such a negative way that you can’t leave him be.

“Okay, well, I’ll grab the sheets and we can get you settled in down there.”

“Sounds good,” you smile, watching him disappear down the hallway in search of the sheets.

“You let him buy you clothes.” He pauses. “A grand amount, judging by the size of the bags at your feet.”

You walk forward a little where you can see Sherlock sat at the kitchen table. You raise your eyebrows. “You state the obvious a lot, Sherlock Holmes.”

He pauses from his experiment, this time actually looking up at you. “Why do you insist on using my full name?”

“It rolls off the tongue,” you admit with a little shrug, not at all planning to stop anytime soon.

John returns with the sheets a second later, cutting your conversation with Sherlock short, but you know the latter doesn’t mind this at all. You grab the bags of clothes and head downstairs to 221C. John opens the door to your flat, giving you a guilty smile over his shoulder.

           “Ms. Hudson gave me the keys when I walked up.” He turns to you, holding them out. “But they’re yours now.”

           “Thanks,” you smile, taking them from him.

           You stuff them in the pocket of your jeans for now, knowing you’re going to lose them at some point because that’s almost inevitable. You’ve never had to keep up with keys to your own place. You drop the bags in the living area, smiling at the space around you. It’s nice, really. Nicer than anything you’ve ever stayed in.

           “This is your room,” John says, flicking the light on in the small bedroom where, sure enough, a mattress sits in the middle of the floor.

           “Looks like it,” you tease, trying to lighten this tense air. You aren’t even sure why it feels tense, other than John’s nerves that don’t seem to be leaving anytime soon.

           Deciding to ignore it, John helps you put sheets on your mattress in silence. It doesn’t occur to either of you until the very end that you don’t have a pillow.

           You’re sure the state of your…lack of personal belongings has occurred to John and you’re almost positive he’s been trying to ignore it on the assumption that it’s too personal to ask about. But when he stammers through something about letting you borrow one of his until you can buy one, you plop down on your bed.

           “Sit.” You pat the space next to you.

           Hesitantly, he obeys.

           You take a deep breath. You weren’t planning on giving him a big explanation anytime soon – or at all, for that matter, because you also weren’t planning on moving in here – but it’s obvious he wants one, regardless of whether or not he’ll admit that for himself.

           “I’m going to tell you everything – mostly everything – because I know you want to know,” you hold up your hand to stop him from voicing a protest, “and I know Sherlock knows but he won’t tell you anytime soon. So.

           “I know I don’t have anything. Which, thank you, by the way, for buying me those clothes this morning. I appreciate it – don’t do it again, okay?”

           John chuckles, nodding. “Okay.”

           “I’ll buy a pillow, eventually. Same with blankets, I guess. But I don’t have these things because I never really have. I mean, I did when I was young, but that’s not the point. I’ve been running. Traveling. Before this morning I owned the clothes I met you in yesterday and the phone Sherlock called me on.

           “I’ve never had…stuff. I’ve gone without. I don’t need it, it’s all trivial, anyway. But it doesn’t bother me, John. So I’m just asking you to not let it bother you either.”

           “It doesn’t bother me,” he says, immediately going defensive.

           You give him a skeptical look. “Yes, it does. If it didn’t, you wouldn’t have taken me shopping. You also wouldn’t have asked about my shoes twice in one minute yesterday in the café. It bothers you.”

           He stares down at his hands. “Does it bother you?”

           You furrow your eyebrows. “I told you it doesn’t.”

           “Not that. Does it bother you that we’re just meeting?” He pauses, and when he looks at you, you see a pain flash in his eyes that you weren’t anticipating. “Doesn’t it bother you that we had no idea about each other?”

           “John…” You sigh, shaking your head. You knew he was going into the older brother mode. You had to have known this conversation was coming sooner rather than later.

           “It bothers me,” he admits, turning to face you. “There. It bothers me because I’m your brother and I had no idea you existed.”

           “And that’s not your fault,” you fire back, trying not to sound too harsh, but he can’t blame himself over something this silly. “Don’t be absurd.”

           “I’m not being absurd.”

           “Yes, you are!” You nearly laugh, almost hysterical. How did this happen? “You just met me, barely twenty-four hours ago and you’re already pretending like you can protect me from anything and everything and you’re already blaming yourself because you didn’t protect me!”

           “I’m not pretending.”

           “I know that, John, I didn’t—” You pinch the bridge of your nose. This is not how you wanted this conversation to go. “Listen. What I meant, was that it isn’t your fault for not knowing I existed. I didn’t know you existed either, remember? If you’re going to blame yourself for that, then should I blame myself, too?”

           “Of course not—”

           “Okay. Now do you see what I mean?” You reply, softer. “I know you want to try and catch up on the lost time and be my older brother, but…I’m not used to that. I don’t even know if I want that. I’ve never really had a family. I don’t know what that’s like.” You avert your eyes, not wanting to see his look of sympathy. “I’m okay with the life I’ve lived and the life I’m going to live. But you can’t protect me from everything. So please don’t hurt yourself by trying.”

           He doesn’t move, and you wonder if he even processed all of that. But eventually, he nods, looking up to you with glassy eyes. He smiles gently. “I’m still going to try.”

           You give him a look, and he gives you one in return, one that practically says try and stop me. And you know you can’t.

           “Come here.”

           Your look turns to confusion as he holds out his arms.

           He chuckles. “It’s a hug. Is that okay?”

           “I know it’s a hug,” you reply with a shake of your head. “I just didn’t pin you for the hugging type.”

           “Well, I want to give you a hug, so come here.”

           You know he won’t give up, so you don’t bother trying to argue any further. You scoot closer, wrapping your arms around his torso. John’s arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you into him in what has to be the most comforting hug you’ve had in, well, literal years. You sigh into it, sometimes forgetting how touch-starved you are for the simplest of gestures – like a warm hug.

           You feel him press a kiss to the top of your head before letting you go, wiping at his cheeks. You do the same, completely unaware until you saw his tears that you had let a few slip down your cheeks as well.

           “Well we’re one sorry lot, aren’t we?” He laughs, wiping his hands on his pants.

           “We are,” you agree with a nod, sniffling a little. “Hey John?”

           “Yeah?”

           “Thank you,” you say. “I know I said it earlier. And I know I told you not to do these things anymore…” You fidget with your hands. “But this is more than anyone has done for me. In my entire life. So thank you.”

           “You’re welcome,” he smiles, patting your shoulder, probably in an attempt to offer more comfort without another hug. You’re learning he takes a while to find a happy medium. He was overbearing and now he’s trying his hardest to be anything but. You hope this will settle by tomorrow.

“I’m gonna go see what Sherlock’s up to, let you get settled down here,” he says before standing and heading back to 221B.

You sigh, wondering how in the world your life has changed so much in so little time.

[high5nerd]

The Misadventures of Fanty and Pitch Black---Chap. Three

*cough*

Fanty woke up with a fright, breathing heavily. Yikes…never again capture the Boogeyman. Fanty thought, rubbing her eyes awake. She had a horrible nightmare of a clown with a dagger chasing her down a really long hallway, and she wasn't moving from her spot. The more she ran, the slower she got. The clown laughed like a hyena, which really creeped her out.

I hate clowns. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them. Fanty nibbled on her lip, blinking away the extra sleep sand that lay in her eyes.

Speaking of Boogeyman, where was he? Fanty looked around her, noticing that she was back under the comfortable blankets of her bed, the Nerf gun lay where it once was, under the bed she slept on. The trap was still unraveled on the floor, a few rips in it that Fanty knew she had to fix before giving it back to Mystic. She looked around her room, the sunlight leaking in through the shades like flashes of memories, highlighting Fanty's innocence and interests that never faltered throughout her life that still littered her small bedroom.

Fanty pushed back the blankets and stumbled out of bed, still slightly groggy and currently wanting food, like a good bowl of her favorite cereal.

As she walked down the short hallway into the living room, she was met with the sight of the Boogeyman sitting at her round, white kitchen table, not tearing his gaze away from…

What was Star doing here?

Fanty yawned, not that entirely surprised that Star was there but startled that Pitch Black still was in her very own apartment. Pitch finally heard her slight yawn and look at her boredly, not really caring that she still existed.

"How was your sleep?" He asked with a smirk.

"Shut up." Fanty said, smacking her lips, "And clowns? Really? What am I, five?"

"You certainly dress like one." Star gestured to Fanty's sleepwear, causing Pitch to chuckle meanly.

"Hey, they're my Saturday pajamas!" Fanty pouted, sitting down at the table and grabbing the box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Star continued to sip at her coffee, which smelled a lot like vanilla and mocha cupcakes. She must have been cooking again. Fanty thought, crunching on a spoonful of cereal. Hopefully I'll be able to mooch off a triple chocolate cupcake before she leaves for work.

"I came to check on you since there was a lot of commotion last night, but the Boogeyman here pretty much cleared it up." Star glanced at Pitch, who nodded curtly.

"You know each other?" Fanty looked between them, shocked that they seemed so familiar with each other yet distant at the same time.

"It's all his fault I had the worst Halloween parties," Star mumbled over the rim of her mug of coffee, "he crashed three of them."

"Two, technically. Besides, you and your friends should know better than to play Bloody Mary in a haunted house." Pitch sneered, his upper lip curling handsomely.

Now this, Fanty had to laugh at. She felt somewhat relieved that she wasn't the only one that believed in the Boogeyman, but mostly happy that no one thought she was insane. Besides, Bloody Mary in a haunted house? I wish I was there to play that! Fanty thought as she finished her giggles.

"Anyways, giggle-face," Star winked teasingly, "Drago and I are going out of town to visit her parents. Apparently they're throwing a family reunion and I'm invited. Are you gonna be okay taking care of yourself?"

Fanty nodded, "Yes, Mommy."

"Excellent!" Star smiled brightly, finishing the last drops of her delicious coffee, "Then I'll see you in about three days! Oh, and Pitch…"

The two shared a look at each other, clearly thinking of the other as if they were the superior. It made Fanty want to laugh again. Just when Pitch was about to open his smart mouth, Star cut in, "Play nicely."

"Understood." Pitch stiffly nodded, looking at Fanty's slightly unhealthy choice of breakfast.

Once Star was out the door, leaving a single chocolate cupcake on Fanty's kitchen table as a good-bye treat, Pitch turned to Fanty boredly. He had been thinking over and over as she slept that night, why did it all come to this? Why just jump at the moment she put her meager deal out? Besides, even if she titled him as her hostage, even in a playful manner, he could still leave the premises at will. Nothing could stop him, not even a pubescent witch like herself.

He had to say, she definitely looked mature and acted a bit older after breakfast and getting changed. She changed from her Avengers PJs to comfortable jeans and a checkered top, wearing I-might-not-be-a-hippie sandals. She cleaned her room as well as the bathroom and the kitchen, letting Pitch just watch her do her everyday thing that she's been doing for the past couple of years. Cleaning her apartment was a routine she had to take part in, since she's quite the messy artist and person herself. As Pitch watched her throw out wrappers and empty bags of candy, a question popped into his head. It was a question he should have asked when they first met...if their first meeting went better.

He never really wanted to be seen...At least, not in this weak state.

"Is that your real name? Fanty?" He asked out of the blue, blinking slowly.

Fanty wiped her forehead with her arm and looked at him, surprised he finally spoke after fifteen minutes. Of all questions to ask, that was what was on his mind? She was slightly expecting him to ask her greatest fears or how she believed in him. She had to admit, she liked getting that question better than...her greatest fear.

"No. It's uh...a nickname. No one here knows my real name besides Xion and Mystic." Fanty sighed, looking around the floor of her apartment to see if she missed anything that needed to be picked up or thrown away.

"And this Xion and Mystic...they're your friends?" Pitch questioned, folding his arms and sitting on the back of the couch facing the television set and windows.

"Yep! They're the ones that pressured me to come here and stay. This town is cozy and very nice, so I really owe them for giving me a chance to fit in here-oops," Fanty covered her mouth, her eyes wide with shock, "Uh, I mean...Not that….um."

Pitch felt something prick at his unbeating heart, but the quick feeling flitted away. Was that...a trace of pity? No. It couldn't be. Pitch is unfeeling, at least to a degree. He was commonly acquainted with fear, anger, glee, loneliness, and disappointment. But still, he noticed Fanty's slip. He could just see the memories fly across her brown eyes, like butterflies in the wind. Pitch sighed, shaking his head.

"It's alright, no need to elaborate. I get it. All teenagers go through that...at least, I think."

"How do you know?" Fanty smirked, taking a dishcloth from the kitchen counter and folding it up neatly.

"Hello? Boogeyman." Pitch sneered, flourishing a hand at his own self.

Fanty softly laughed, "Ah yes, fear extraordinaire and the donor of all nightmares. You're one expert in the field of teens."

Pitch furrowed his hairless brows, clearly not amused. "Hey, at least you're the first one I actually talked to for the past thousands of years. Star as well."

"We're all at least nineteen or eighteen here. Maybe you'll finally understand what it's like being a teenager in 2014." Fanty smiled reassuringly, finished with her cleaning.

"I hope not. I already see some of the crazy antics buffoons do, like smoking weed or gossiping or going shopping for pointless stuff. Hell, I've seen some stupid nightmares where they would be shopping and then they found something they really love but it was not in their size."

Fanty laughed, almost making Pitch smirk. He's never made someone laugh before...it felt kind of good. Granted, the feeling of knowing that he was the cause of someone's fear was pleasant, but the mere idea of him making someone else laugh seemed...like a fantasy. Fanty sighed happily, grinning at him in her usual friendly manner.

"Oh, you just haven't met the right ones. After all, there are some in this building. They happen to be my friends."

Pitch raised a brow, "In this small building? For a second I thought this place was a manor for one family.

Fanty smiled softly, "It used to be. The landlord said that the manor originally was owned by a wealthy family. Since they didn't have anyone to inherit it, they sold it to Mr. Joyce, and he turned first from a bed and breakfast to an apartment complex."

"Quite a history," Pitch watched Fanty nod happily, "Besides your immature decor in your bedroom, your place seems quite rustic."

It was true. Fanty didn't do much decorating of her very own besides her own bedroom. There was classic looking furniture like the couch with the throw cushions as well as the leather couches that sandwiched the narrow, mahogany bookshelf. Granted, the T.V and modern electronics and lamps were anachronistic against the dark wood floor and ornate rugs, even the wainscot walls that reminded Pitch of ribbon candy. The see-through white curtains gave the living room a desirable appearance, as if someone would want to relive the moments of the era this apartment lived through. The kitchen was just the same, minus the newly installed yellow tile that looked out of place. Pictures of Fanty's family, friends and certificates hung on the walls, even a random banner of some company called DreamWorks. Pitch didn't know why, but he felt like that DreamWorks banner was trying to grab his attention...probably because of the sudden sky blue against the cream wallpaper with thin red and thick green stripes.

Really, that DreamWorks banner was starting to bug him. It literally screamed 'I'M SO BLEU AND PURTY! Join usssss….'

"Thank you! What's your place like?" Fanty asked, genuinely curious.

Pitch grinned, looking at the floor in slight embarrassment. "Nothing you would want to see...it's quite dark."

"Well duh," Fanty smirked, "But I mean what does it look like? Where is it?"

"Are you planning to stalk me?" Pitch raised a teasing eyebrow at her, a smirk gracing his grey lips.

Fanty blushed, "Ha, no...And if I did, you'd invite me in."

"Granted. Well...before we discuss homes, we might as well start our greeting over. Our meeting last night was a little...informal, if I may say so." Pitch cast a glare at the netting that lay folded on the floor next to the coffee table.

"Ah, yeah...my bad," Fanty laughed nervously, "I tend to get very excited at times. Don't mind the random bouts of energy."

"I shall try to remember that." Pitch grinned, folding his arms over his flat yet strong chest.

"Well, um...my name is Fanty Dreamer." Fanty blushed brightly, holding her hand out for a handshake.

"The honor is mine. My name is Pitch Black, Nightmare King and Boogeyman extraordinaire." He bowed, taking her hand in his and kissing it lightly.

Fanty wasn't used to that unlike Pitch was. From Pitch's past and where he originally came from, that was the same gesture as a fist bump or a handshake, just for the opposite gender. Handshakes were only for men from his time period. Still, that doesn't mean he wasn't acquainted with the modern customs. He knew what Fanty's reaction would be.

She quickly retracted and rubbed her hand, feeling weak and embarrassed at her sudden rash act as well as just being treated like that. No one has ever done that…

"So you know Star and me now. You should meet my other friends! I'm sure Mystic would love to meet you. And Drago and-" Fanty went on, turning back towards the kitchen for a possible snack.

"What if they do not see me?" Pitch frowned, thinking Fanty a buffoon for not remembering that about spirits.

Fanty laughed, turning back towards him with a shiny red apple in her hands. "I'm sure they will! Heck, you'd probably be kissed if you manage to get into Mystic's. She's really into men like you."

Pitch smirked at the bold comment. Unnecessary, but amusing nonetheless. Then again, Fanty may be doing Pitch a favor. Although he still did not like the idea of sticking around for a full year with a crazy girl who had a Nerf gun under her bed, he might just as well see if Fanty was telling the truth. He'd be amazed if they could see him, since they were older than kids.

And if she's saying this girl Mystic would find me attractive, that would be a plus. A snarky voice grinned in his head. Pitch furrowed his brows and whispered, "Shut up."

What? She's doing us a favor, Pitchy. When was the last time you, you know, baked cookies?

"Goddammit." Pitch muttered as he face-palmed himself.

"Go ahead! Explore the place. In the meantime, Angel is going to be coming by to pick up some of the toys here for the day care I work at. I'll be here." Fanty smiled, turned back towards the kitchen and began opening up the fridge to see what she could make for lunch later that day.

She acts like I'm her best friend, allowed to do whatever I please, Pitch thought as he slowly slunked into a shadow, softly smiling to himself, now that I like.

…Maybe he'll actually get used to this place if he really was open-minded enough. After all, he's been alone for so long, and this is the first time anyone has really seen him and did not scream for mommy. Pitch would immediately choose Fanty and her friends over the Guardians any day. So, in a sort of way, Pitch….

Was making friends.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

New Year with the band; Queen x reader

Hello people of Tumblr and HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! I was hoping to have had this done last night but time got away from me so I finished it this morning and so for my first fic of 2019 I present to you another part of my Rock Angel series. This is a pre-Rock Angel fic right here so this is counted before “Set it all free” when you the reader are still the intern to Miami. And after seeing Bohemian Rhapsody for the 2nd time last night, I just had to do this fic and I may have another chapter up soon, hopefully. Anyways I hope 2019 is a great year for everyone and that everyone stayed safe after last night and are taking care of themselves post-New Year celebration.

Warnings: None except for INSANE FLUFFY FEELS.

Taglist *open*:

@phantom-fangirl-stuff

@onebigfangirlworld

@mr-badguymercury

@labessieisallama

@starswin

@naturalswifty89

@isabella-bby

_____________________________________________________

*December 31st, 1980*

This has been a crazy three months and here I am in Freddie Mercury’s house with a whole bunch of strangers plus the rest of the band and their wives to ring in the New Year.  Of course Adam didn’t want to come even though I tried to convince him to come, but he said that he was just too cool to be around a band like Queen.

It was 15 minutes till midnight and 1981 would soon be here.  I was at the food table trying to get a second plate of brownies and basically fill up on sugar to keep myself awake.  Most of the people were already hammered beyond anything else so I had to walk over some of their unconscious bodies till I finally reached the guys.

“Ahh there’s our best girl!” Freddie praised at he held his glass up almost as if he were giving a toast.

“Oh stop it Fred, I literally just saw you five seconds ago.”

“Five very long seconds.” He whined as I playfully shoved his shoulder.

“Isn’t that your second batch of sweets already?” asked Brian.

“Sugar keeps me up, otherwise I’d be asleep in the corner hours ago after all that I’ve been through this semester.” I said.

“But I thought you loved us? Guess we were nothing but a stress factor to you then huh?” Deacy snapped clearly teasing me as I noticed a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“No, no, no, no don’t you guilt me Deacy! You know I love you guys! This has literally been the best semester I’ve had, I just can’t believe in a couple more months I’ll be done and then I won’t see you guys till your next tour before Miami clears my internship credit.”

“I can’t believe you’ll be leaving us after our tour, I feel like you should stay here with us even after the tours done. I’d miss you too much darling.” Freddie said as he leaned over and hugged me close to him before kissing my cheek.

“In all seriousness love, maybe you should cut back on the sweets, you’ll crash faster if you keep eating sugar, take some of these,” he then handed me a couple of his celery sticks and baby carrots. I looked at him with a ‘seriously’ look as I said.

“Really? Veggies Bri?”

“Less you want cavities for the new year I suggest you eat those. Otherwise I’ll have Dr. Taylor here take a look at your mouth since he studied dentistry.”

“Wait for real?” I asked as I turned around and faced him.

“This whole time we’ve known each other and you never once bothered to listen to what I did in school. Really (y/n) what kind of friend are you?” Roger said in a mocked hurt tone.  I threw my baby carrot at him which made all of us laugh and we continued to chat till the midnight hour drew closer.

Time sure does go by when you’re having fun with friends because now as everyone gathered to watch the ball drop live from New York City. We were just 2 minutes away to ring in the New Year and as everyone began the countdown, the anticipation was growing as it got closer and closer.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” Everyone cried out as horns were blown, confetti was thrown in the air and couples kissed each other to ring in the New Year.  Bri, Rog and Deacy kissed their wives to celebrate the new year, Freddie was off god knows where by now meanwhile I just sat there alone.

I sure wish Adam was here to ring in the New Year.  I mean he used to be romantic at first at the start of our relationship, always buying my flowers and leaving little poems every time he’d leave the flat, but now for some reason he thought the romantic gestures were too corny and lame for him all of a sudden, could threaten the new “Rock” image he’s been trying out.

So I secretly knew even if I did bring him, he wouldn’t go for a New Year’s kiss.  Which sucked because the believer of romance that I am, I always thought sharing a kiss with the person you loved, meant you’d have a full successful relationship in the years to come.

At least that’s what I always saw in my parents every New Years.

I sighed solemnly and decided to stop out of the craziness of the party and just have a moment to myself.  I sat along outside in the garden of Freddie’s house along the bench and just stared up into the sky.

“Happy New year mum and dad. I sure wish you could be here to see it.” I said to myself solemnly.

“Something wrong love?” I heard Deacy’s voice say. I turned around and saw the guys standing behind me all looking at me with concern.

“No, not really. At least anything serious.” I said.

“You sure?” They all came and sat around me. Deacy to my left, Brian to my right, Roger sitting in front of me and Freddie standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders every now and then squeezing them assuringly or massaging them.

“Yes, I promise guys nothing’s wrong just….missing my parents is all.”

“While we can see that’s true, there’s something else going on too. You got a little awkward once people started kissing each other, is this because of Arsehole?” Roger said.  I looked at him and said.

“His name’s Adam Rog,”

“Is there a difference?” he questioned. I scoffed at him shaking my head softly.

“I don’t know guys, I thought that maybe I could for the first time get a New Year’s kiss with the first boy whom I’ve ever allowed into my heart ever since my parents died. Oh if only you guys first knew him you’d know he was romantic like you lot are, but lately he’s just called off anything that could damage his ‘badass hard rock exterior’. I don’t know, maybe I’m just a sap.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a romantic. Neither gender should feel shame for being or hoping for a little romantic gesture in their life. Take me for example, the best guitarist of the greatest band. Makes his wife breakfasts in bed even when it’s not Mother’s Day or her birthday. I do it because I love her.” Brian said.

“And me, silent bassist John Deacon. I wrote ‘You’re my best friend’ for Veronica. Because that’s who she is and will always be to me. Not just the love of my life, but also my greatest and most treasured friend.”

“And even though we’ve broken off the engagement, Mary will still always be the love of my life. No matter what, which is why I wrote Love of my life for her, because that is who she is and will always be to me. Even though we’re no longer romantically involved with each other.” Said Freddie.

“And even though I’ve gained the reputation for ‘bad drummer boy of Queen’, for Dominque I’m willing to do anything for her. Whether its treating her to a spa day or even a day off from the kids.”

“And that’s what makes your wives and Mary so lucky to have met guys like you. I….just wish I had that guy now.”

“You will love, one day.” Deacy said as he gently placed his hand on the top of my shoulder and gently stroked it with his thumb.

“Until then you still got us, in fact.” Freddie cupped my face and had me look up at him and he kissed both my cheeks and continued, “Consider that your New Year’s kiss from me to you, darling angel.” I smiled up at him as he released my face from his hands.  I then felt my head turn towards Deacy and he said.

“Happy New Year poppet, here’s my kiss from me to you.” He then kissed my temple before I felt him lean his face against mine giving me an additional butterfly kiss. He backed away as Brian said.

“Don’t forget about me,” I turned towards him and he cupped my face much like Freddie did. He first leaned in and gave me a soft Eskimo kiss as his forehead touched mine which always made me feel safe and loved. He then gingerly kissed the center of my forehead and it was then I turned to Roger.

He grinned up at me and said.

“You know the drill, get into these arms you little imp.” I grinned at him before getting off the bench and hugged Roger. His strong arms wrapped around me instantly giving me a big, warm bear hug as I liked to secretly call them.

I felt him repeatedly kiss the top of my head and felt him rub my back.  But then I felt him starting to poke and lightly pinch around my sides, oh shit not again!

“Rog no!”

“No you’ve ended last year with a frown, when you should’ve been smiling. So that’s my first New Year’s resolution, to get you to smile.” He said with a mischievous grin as he kept tickling me. I squirmed around trying to escape Roger’s grip but it was iron clamped.

“Rog….stohahahp!”

“Nah I don’t think so.” He said as he kept tickling me.

“You know Rog, I think you and I are sharing the exact same resolution.” Deacy say.

“No! Nohohoh Deacy don’t…..NOO!!” Soon I had both Roger and Deacy tickling me.

“For being total opposites, seems they’ve agreed on one thing.” I could hear Brian say.

“Indeed.” Stated Freddie.  

“But who says they get to have all the fun?” suggested Brian.  As I kept trying to escape from both Rog and Deacy, suddenly I felt four more pair of hands start to tickle me.

“Guhahahahys stohahahahhap you’re kihihihihlling me!!!”

“Will you start off the New Year with a smile little angel?” Freddie asked.

“YES!! YEHEHEHESS!! JUST PLEHEHEHEASE STOHAHAHP!!” And with that the tickling ceased.  I panted heavily trying to regain my breathing and I said, “You guys are devils I swear.”

“Well that was rather rude darling.” Freddie said.

“Does that require punishment lads?” Brian asked.

“I say it does.” Stated Roger.

“Agreed.” Said Deacy.  The four of them looked at me ready to start tickling me again when I shouted.

“No! No! No! No! No I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Okay I’m sorry I surrender!” They all smirked at me laughing softly.  I then looked at them and said, “Thanks for cheering me up though guys.”

“No problem love, we’re always here for you when you need us.” Brian said as he gently stroked my hair.

“Happy New Year, my four best boys.”

“Happy New Year, our little rock angel.” Freddie said. I smiled at them and I went up to them and the four of them brought me to the center once more but instead of a tickle attack, it was a Queen group hug.  

1980 was a roller coaster year for me, but the best thing that came out of it was the fact that a girl like me, an ordinary college intern music student got to call the biggest band in all of History, my family.

Hell I can’t even imagine what 1981 was going to bring that could make this year seem just like any ordinary year.

[queerchoicesblog]

Marlinspikes (ILB, Danni x F!MC)

This is my last February prompts fanfic and...I warn you that it’s pretty ANGSTY/SAD (to say the least xD). Just so you know, the inspiration for this one came from Castle of Glass by Linkin Park (quoted below).

Requested by @darley1101, this fanfic takes place two months after the Pine Springs flood. Danni notices that Harper (F!MC) is still hurting badly for the events and the secrets they uncovered and encourages her to open up with her. Warning: this is pro-Josephine even if, as you’ll see yourselves, it’s a tough call for Harper. Also, special thanks to @brightpinkpeppercorn: our ILB conversations were essential for this fic...and I give you full credit for the “sin sentence”!

Prompt: “Let me love you”

Word Count: 1994

Perma tag: @brightpinkpeppercorn @psychopathdreamer21 @abunchofbadchoices @bbaba-yagaa @silverhawkenzie @begging-for-kamilah @melodyofgraves @bhavf 

Tags: @esteladannishreyakamilah 

Warning: occurrences of bad words

________________________

Bring me home in a blinding dream

Through the secrets that I have seen

Wash the sorrow from off my skin

And show me how to be whole again

Harper had been unusually quiet since she was discharged from the hospital after the flood. Sure, she had every reason to be shaken but it'd been almost two months now and she didn't seem to make any progress. She hanged out with the group, celebrated Parker's promotion to Chief of Police, went on dates but every now and then you could still see her gaze sadden and wander into the distance. She was there but at the same time, she was far away. Danni noticed and decided to investigate. So here she was, knocking on Harper's grandpa house with a box of food in her hands. She was concerned: Harper, well they all went through a bunch of traumatic experiences lately but Harper was Josephine's granddaughter and the whole thing really took a toll on her. Understandably, of course. Danni wasn't under no false illusion to see her finally happy but she would have loved to see her a little less haunted than she was -Danni could tell - beneath her tough, jokester appearance. And, on top of that, it was no mystery that she would have come back to Hartfeld in a couple of weeks. The mere thought of it made the girl frown. She didn't have to wait long, When Harper opened the door, the young woman couldn't help but notice the dark circles around her eyes badly hidden with concealer. Danni put on the brightest smile she could manage and raised the box. "Special taquitos delivery for Miss Vance" she beamed.

Harper's tense jaws relaxed visibly. "Well well aren't you the most adorable girl on earth?" the Vance girl said, pulling her in a quick hug and brushing her lips against hers. "Thank you so much, Danni. Please come in and make yourself at home: mi casa es tu casa, that's how you say, right?" Danni walked in and made her way to the kitchen. Harper followed her and lazily leaned on the threshold. "Will you stay for dinner? Elliott is out with Grandpa, they went to pay a visit Tom and I think they won't be back soon...so we have the place for ourselves" The last line was supposed to be flirty but the smile on Harper's smile didn't reach the eyes. Danni put down the box on the table and asked: "Depends, do you want me to stay?" Harper wrapped her arms around herself. "I...I could use some company. Especially your company" Danni's heart tightened seeing the infamous Harper Vance who won't turn down a tumble so vulnerable. She felt that if she had hugged her a bit too tightly at that very moment, she would have crumbled to pieces between her arms. "Then I'll stay. Let me heat them a little, they're tastier that way. Why don't you dress the table in the meantime?" The other girl nodded and mechanically gathered a tablecloth, plates, forks and knives. Then she opened the fridge. "Hey it's your lucky day, beers are on the house" she announced picking up two bottles. "Sounds like I won the lottery" Danni winked, heating the pan. Then, as her girl handed her one the bottles she opened, she spoke again: "It's none of my business but why didn't you go with Elliott and your abuelo? I mean Tom's is a friend of yours too" Harper took a gulp of her drink. "Yeah but Grandpa wants to ask him to repair his boat and frankly, I'm sick and tired of boat talks and of water in general." "Preach to that" Danni toasted. "And...I just needed some alone time. You...you are welcome to stay though, obviously" "Alone time you said...something's troubling you, isn’t it? I mean, more than usual. You have a lot to process..." "No, I just...I just wanted to relax at home" "You sure?" "Yep! Are your legendary taquitos ready? They smell delicious!" When the food was ready, the sat down and Danni filled Harper in on the latest events in town, her new photojournalist work at ClickIt, how she got to have a Skype chat with Leah Myers...anything to keep the other girl’s mind busy. However, she was taking a sip of her beer when it happened again. Harper's slowly diverted her eyes and looked out of the window. Her gaze wandered off into the horizon and she went quiet. She had barely touched any food. "I messed up this time? I mean, my taquitos" Danni asked tentatively, hoping to bring her back. Harper shivered and her blue eyes fell on her again. She looked like someone who woke up from troubled dreams. "Sorry, I spaced out" she said, smiling grimly to herself. "Hey Harper, are you sure you're okay?" "Yes, I'm...I guess I'm less hungry than I thought" "Forget my tacos, talk to me" Danni pronounced it as if it was a prayer. "You know, at least I hope you know that you can come to me for anything. I know that something is troubling you, I can tell even if you're trying to hide it. Talk to me, let me help you" Harper looked her in the eyes for a while as if pondering her words. Then she hung her head in defeat. "I don't know what to do, Danni. And I...I wish my mom was here cause she always knew the right thing to do, unlike me" Her voice cracked and she grabbed her head, covering her face to Danni. The photojournalist immediately dashed towards her and squatted down beside her, gently stroking the girl's back. "Harper, it's okay, I'm here" "Nothing is okay Danni! Nothing" Harper muffled against her own hands. "Hey, move those hands aside, look at me" A sob escaped Harper as she started shivering again underneath Danni's palm. The former barista pulled her a bit closer, always stroking her back reassuringly, and gently removed Harper's hands from her wet cheeks with her free hand. "You have every right to be upset after all that happened, let it all out, I'm not going anywhere"  she said softly, cupping one of her cheeks. "I thought I was strong, Danni but this, this is so much to process, too much" "You're one of the strongest people I've ever met, sweetheart! You always kept your cool and brought us together even when you were scared too: that's strength in my book" Danni gave her a sympathetic smile "You miss your parents, yes?" Harper's eyes welled with new tears. "Yes and the scene, blood everywhere, their bodies laying on the ground...I still replay the scene in my head sometimes, it's brutal" "I'm telling you what to do: next time it happens, you pick up your phone and call me, deal?" Danni squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "I...I have no one to talk about that" Harper admitted "Elliott has nightmares too and I don't want to upset him even more. When we found them it was hard enough" "What about Grandpa?" A flash of anger gleamed in her eyes. "Grandpa got them both killed! I would never talk about that with him: he would give me pathetic puppy dog eyes when he was the one who sold them! He told those fucking pricks and now mom and dad are gone. They literally laid on the ground in their own blood...because of him!" "Okay okay, sorry Harper!" Danni tried to calm her down before speaking again. "You hold a grudge to your abuelo, don't you?" Harper shattered her jaw and nodded, as warm tears streamed down her face. "I can hardly look at him...I try to play along for Scooter's sake but the truth is I think I hate him or something like that. I don't think I will ever forgive him for what he did to my mom, my dad and Josephine" "But Josephine almost killed us all, almost killed even you..." Harper looked fiercely into Danni's eyes. "She was betrayed by the man she loved and who made a vow to protect her and their daughter, Danni! He knew who those assholes of the Society were and yet he told them everything and didn't even try to save Josephine. She did no harm to anyone, she knew the dangers of the Power and carefully avoided them but then Grandpa handed her to those bastards. They threatened him to hurt their daughter instead, mom, because obviously he told them about her too and he helped them torturing grandma. She told me the whole story, Danni...it was awful: he handed Astrid the marlinspike that bitch stabbed into my grandmother's heart. They tortured her and forced to turn into the monster we all saw. But she was right..." "Innocent people died, you could have died...while your grandpa was maybe weak but-" "Weren't Josephine, mom and dad innocent too? But they died because of him! He is a coward and that was his sin" Harper cried "He ruined everything, Danni..we could have been a happy family, we could have been happy and safe if they were all here" Danni sat on Harper's lap and wrapped her in the tightest hug, gently cradling her girl as she cried herself out on her shoulder. After a few minutes, the Vance girl spoke again, her voice rough and tired. "It's so hard to pretend but I want Elliott to heal and be happy. I just...I will never forgive Grandpa and I'm on alert every time they are together, like if there are still cultists out there and they find them will Grandpa protect him or hand him to those pricks only because they yell louder? Elliott is all I have left...”

Danni stroke her cheek, wiping away a tear with her thumb.

“Can I speak now, Harper?” 

The other girl nodded.

“Harper, you don’t have to go through that alone. This pain you feel now-”

“This pain is all I have left of them. Of my family” Harper grimaced “But you’re right Danni...Grandma Josephine killed so many innocents blinded by her wrath. I can’t change that. The people here will always remember her because of that: she will always be the Lake Monster to them, to anyone...maybe I should leave this place after all”

“Stop it, Harper! If...if you leave this godforsaken town” - the mere thought of it made Danni frown- “you will do it because you want to: on your terms, not like a fugitive or something like that! You can’t feel guilty for all those deaths, you have nothing to do with them. You may be Josephine’s granddaughter but you’re not her. She would be proud of the woman you are now, for what it’s worth"

Harper winced, diverting her eyes.

“I know that...I rationally know that, Danni...I just” her voice cracked “I just feel like that marlinspike they pushed into her chest, the one I used to let her go...I just feel it burning in my chest too all the time as if I have no air left to breathe-”

“Then let me help you remove that marlinspike. I cannot assure it won’t hurt, but I will be at your side every step of the way. I will hold your hand and wipe away your tears. I will steal an oxygen mask from the hospital if need be! But please, Harper...let me love you, let me help you heal. We can do this together” 

Danni pronounced the last words, resting her forehead over Harper’s. Seeing the girl she fell for so broken inside was killing her. They both kept quiet for a few minutes, cherishing the moment.

“Will...will you show me how to be whole again, Danni?” Harper asked tentatively as she parted to show the weak smile on her face to the other girl.

“Of course, I will show you how to be whole again, H.” Danni confirmed before placing a tender kiss on Harper’s lips.

Then she added, gesturing at the girl’s plate:

“I believe you can get started taking a bite of those tacos. We will write a full list of survival tips later, okay?”