#one of the adjacent parks okay

[channelworldbluez]

Okay Disney Adults can be cringe yes and Disney corporation bad yes but if someone told me “Hey wanna go to Disney World my treat!” You bet your ass my goofy ass gonna have on the Disney drip and the Mickey Mouse ears hat on excited as a mf.

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: Welcome to Part 1! You guys have really warmed by heart with all the anticipation for this series, so thank you so much. I think it's going to be a fun ride. 😉

Song Inspo: “Magic” by Olivia Newton-John. And check out the full “Lost on You Playlist” here. There’s going to be lots of ‘80s music in this series!

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: SB being an entitled asshole (strap in for a lot of that), misogyny, bullying, and a ��meet cute” of sorts…

🎙️ Series Masterlist || YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 1: Siren Song

April 3, 1983

“Why the fuck wasn’t I consulted about this?” Soldier Boy groused.

Arthur Cohen, otherwise known as “The Legend,” released a heavy puff of his cigar within the relative privacy of his office. Vought afforded him a great deal of luxuries, at the cost of days like this.

So, he’d offered the supe one of his most coveted Cubans to pacify him. Because true to form, he was edging closer to a temper tantrum by the minute.

“This decision came from on high, my friend,” Arthur said, with a smile that hid his inner anxiousness. He tapped some ash off his cigar with a finger adorned by a gaudy gold ring. “Stan Edgar, Stillwell, even the entire board of directors signed off on this one.”

“I don’t give a fuck who bought into this PR bullshit,” Soldier Boy postured, crossing his arms across his dark green supe suit as he leaned into the plush seat adjacent to Arthur’s desk. He raised a solid boot on the edge of the newly polished mahogany, and then another, crossing them at the ankles. His cigar was balanced between his teeth in the corner of his mouth.

“The last thing we need,” he said, pausing to inhale. Then he took the cigar from his lips to blow out smoke in hot annoyance. “Is another broad on the team.”

Arthur inclined his head. “I understand your concerns.”

“Do you?” Soldier Boy snorted. “Countess is bitch enough to deal with, believe you me.”

Arthur sympathized. He knew Crimson Countess’s attitude well, but he supposed Soldier Boy had license to say so more than anyone else, considering she was his girlfriend.  

“Look, I could give you the numbers: expected profit margins, demographics, etcetera, but you don’t get paid to hear that from me,” Arthur said, with a magnanimous hand gesture and a fair bit of old Jewish charm. “I’m askin’ you to trust me. This girl’s good, okay? Not just a wig and a pair a’ tits. Nah, she’s got talent. Got a set of pipes on her too, my God.”

Soldier Boy gave him a sly look. 

“Not like that,” Arthur said. He shook his head in amusement, but not with the face of a man who hadn’t already thought about the girl’s pretty mouth. He stroked his chin.

“She’s…interesting. Well, you’ll see. If she brings up the ratings the way we hope, we’ll be able to relocate Swatto. Hopefully to Siberia. He’s a fucking PR nightmare waiting to happen.”

“All right, the guy’s a moron, but he’s fucking hilarious,” Soldier Boy said, smirking. “Like one of the three Stooges.”

Yeah. Arthur wondered if that homeless man Swatto almost split open in Central Park after a sneeze thought he was funny. 

“And her powers. Really?” Soldier Boy went on. His brows drew together then, as he frowned. “Sounds like she blew something up someone’s ass to get this far, and it ain’t smoke.”

“Trust me, that’s the real deal too,” Arthur assured.

But he could see that Soldier Boy wasn’t convinced. The supe rolled his eyes and released another puff.

“Anyway. I’m fucking bored. What’s the next project?” he said. Arthur took an unfiltered breath and peeked at the files strewn across his desk.

“Well, Red Thunder is coming out this fall. We’re pretty sure it’s gonna be the blockbuster of the year,” he replied. “After that, we’ll see about writing a sequel.”

If it makes back the millions we spent in production going over budget, thanks to this asshole’s weekly benders, he mentally added.

“I don’t care about a bullshit sequel,” Soldier Boy said dismissively. “I want to do something new.”

“Something new,” Arthur intoned.

The supe raised a brow. Again, the cigar was balanced between his teeth.

“Yeah.”

He really must be bored, Arthur thought, if he actually wants to work.

“All right, let me brainstorm on that for ya,” Arthur said. “Matter of fact, tell you what. Give me ‘til the end of the week. In the meantime, we’ve got the security team monitoring the police scanner for potential saves.”

The supe didn’t look impressed. His brows furrowed, as if he was irritated that he didn’t get an immediate answer, but his slight nod signaled his agreement before he finally got up from his chair. His boots dragged off Arthur’s desk, knocking over a framed picture of his kids with it, and thudded heavily on the ground. He left the office thereafter.

Arthur heaved a breath of exasperation. He didn’t get paid enough for this shit. 

Fucking supes.

But he didn’t dare utter that thought out loud.

It was days before Ben finally crossed paths with the new girl. Not that he’d been giving the idea much thought.

After that day in Arthur’s office, Ben became engrossed in his own devices—namely one of the assistants, Joanna, his stylist, Angela, and Rachel, his maid, after Donna blew him off for dinner for the third night in a row. This time for some tree-hugging conservationist gala of some kind. 

Frigid bitch, he thought, shaking his head. 

On his way to the gym, he passed the T&T Twins gossiping. Just the sight of them irritated him. Tommy was a kiss-ass, and Tessa shared a brain cell with her brother, so she wasn’t saying much for her gender either. 

“Would you pick your tongue off the floor already! You’re so disgusting,” Tessa said, shoving her brother.

“What? She’s fucking hot,” Tommy snapped in defense. When they finally saw Ben coming, Tessa piped down with her attempt at a “demure” greeting.

Tommy came in hot with a too bright voice and a, “Hey, boss!”

Ben gave them a stoic nod, fully intending to blow past them.

“Have you met the new girl yet?” Tommy asked, with an unmistakable pop of his brows and indecent smile.

Ben nearly rolled his eyes. “No.”

And don’t fucking care, his tone conveyed. He continued on his way to the gym. Behind him, the twins gave each other a look, and a shrug.

When he got to the gym, Journey was playing overhead. Ben frowned as he saw Black Noir working out by himself. The young man wasn’t wearing his suit. Instead, he was bare-chested and running on a treadmill with a nearly 90-degree incline, sweat glistening on his skin. 

Fucking show off, Ben thought. 

Then there was Gunpowder, his young sidekick, practicing his archery. Ben went to him and slapped a hand on his back in greeting, none too gently. The teen stumbled, his arrow landing into the wall instead of the target. 

“Spot me at the bench, ey kid,” said Ben. “And grab me a towel while you’re at it.”

“Uh, sure,” Gunpowder replied, ducking his head as he went. Ben got settled at his usual bench press machine, sliding his back down the thin leather cushion. He waited for the kid to add on his fifty-pound weights on either side, until it reached two hundred pounds. That was just the warm-up. 

“You met the new girl yet?” Ben asked, after he began lifting his first rep. Gunpowder stood behind his head.  

“No, sir,” he said. “Haven’t seen her yet.”

“I haven’t either,” said Noir. He’d come over on his way to the showers, regaining his breath all the while. Ben gave him a sharp side-eye.

“Did I fucking ask you?” he said. 

Noir paused. He hid his frown behind a stoic front, since he didn’t have his mask to do it for him. He toweled off his face and chest as he left the gym. 

Ben shook his head, but he never broke stride on the bench press. 

You seemed to be mysterious. 

Barely anyone had seen you, and you hadn’t gone out of your way to ingratiate yourself with every member of the team, like Ben would’ve expected. Donna had set him in her sights on her very first day.

With fake demure in her hazel eyes, a flick of her long red hair over her shoulder, and a sultry smile, she’d let him take her hand and bring it up to his lips for a gentlemanly kiss. 

That same night, she’d accepted his invitation up to his suite and let him do some very ungentlemanly things. Ben smirked at the memory as he made his way down Vought Tower’s infinite hallways. She sure knew her way around some kinky shit.  

And she still did, the little minx. She’d just been putting the freeze on his balls lately, for whatever her reasons were this time. He didn’t pretend to care or keep track at this point. 

If people only knew what a royal pain Crimson Countess was.

Ben was only taken out of his thoughts when he heard someone singing in the breakroom, gently, but beautifully. He couldn’t make out the words though. He stopped and leaned inside the doorway, just to see who it was. It was early enough in the morning that he was surprised anyone but him was awake.

You were standing there at the counter, making some coffee from the percolator. Soft and dulcet notes fell from your lips in some kind of lullaby. Quirking a brow, the oddness of it managed to draw Ben’s steps into the kitchen. You were wearing a leather supe suit that molded to your every curve, not unlike Donna’s, except yours was black with violet trim lines.

You eventually noticed him with a smile.

“Good morning, sir.”

Ben gave you a charming grin, blatantly eying you from breast to toe before he noted that the coffee had finished percolating. 

"Hey there, sweetheart,” he said. “Pour me a cup, would ya?" 

You did so, and he admired the graceful movements of your hands, and the sweet sound of your voice as you continue to hum to yourself. 

"You're a little crooner, aren't you?" he asked, taking the plain white coffee mug from you. 

When your hand brushed his, he felt it.

Your power.

It threatened to overtake him, drawing you into him like the crash and current of a tidal wave, where he couldn’t help but be pulled undertow. There in that darkness, he craved your warmth as well as your body. The thought, the need gripped him at his core… 

He wanted you to devour him, body and soul.

And he finally registered that your eyes were glowing violet, along with your knowing smile. 

Then you blinked. The violet haze was gone, along with your hold on his mind. 

You went back to sipping your coffee as if nothing had just happened. Ben faltered, mentally and physically as he was forced to grip the counter. He even had to catch his breath as his mind reeled from the loss of connection. 

He covered his unbalance with a steely, angry frown. What the fuck just fucking happened?

He looked at you harder than before, drawing himself to his full height and towering over you. Still, you didn’t seem all that intimidated.

“What the hell did you just do?” he growled.

Your knowing, easy smile remained. 

“Nothing,” you replied. “Just a little smoke.”

Ben’s eyes widened.

“Sounds like she blew something up someone’s ass to get this far, and it ain’t smoke.”

How the hell had you heard about that?

He quirked a brow, but you just sipped your coffee with a gentle slurp. Your gaze moved away from him as you went to the fridge to take out a carton of eggs.

“Want some breakfast? I’m thinking of making some eggs, sunny side up,” you said.

Ben’s hand clenched at his side, but then, he forced himself to relax. Or at least, to look relaxed. You had some fucking audacity to try toying with him…but he had to admit, you were something new.

Interesting.

“What’s your name?” he asked, in a tone that demanded.

“Sirena,” you answered. Your superhero name, which he’d already known when Stan Edgar told him about you a week ago.

Ben’s frown deepened, but he reminded himself to retain some charm. He took your chin between his fingers. His grip was light, but his green eyes were intense, and focused on you. 

“No. Your real name, sweetheart,” he said, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

You blinked, but you obliged him with your name, and a smile that edged at flirtation.

“What’s yours?” you returned.

He had to smirk. He knew you knew full well who he was.

“Call me Ben,” he said.

Three Days Ago…

You tried not to be completely overwhelmed by the sight of this huge tower as you pulled your suitcase behind you. Vought-American was an institution of superhero production, and Payback was the face of it all. The absolute pinnacle.

I still can’t believe they chose me, you thought, but you tried not to let that show. You needed to make it seem like you knew what you were doing. You belonged here, and you were seizing this chance.

Madelyn Stillwell, the head of Superhero Public Relations, personally greeted you at the gate and showed you up to your room. However, you’d barely gotten a chance to step inside and look around before her pager went off. She wore a certain smile when she saw the number on the screen. She tossed a strand of strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder and glanced up at you.

“Sorry, sweetie. I have an appointment to get to, but the directory is there on your desk if you need anything. Feel free to get comfortable,” she said, gesturing at you with her pager in hand. “I’ll be back in an hour or so to give you a tour of the building.”

“Okay, thank you so—”

The door closed behind her before you could even finish your sentence. That deflated you a little, but you tried not to let that small exchange bring you down. Your apartment was huge. Or at least, it was much bigger than the shoebox you left in the Village, let alone the Brooklyn brownstone you grew up in, sharing with two other families on each floor.

You hefted your suitcase onto the bed and began to unpack your clothes, makeup, and toiletries. 

You also took out the only framed picture you had—one that housed your parents and your older brother Chris. You were both grown already, but in this picture, you were barely twelve years old. That little girl didn’t know that her entire world was about to change, when her powers manifested for the first time. 

That thought did succeed in dimming your mood for a moment, but you sighed and set the frame down on your new dresser. You’d have to remember to call Chris. His son was turning four years old in a few weeks. 

Though your attention shifted to a black shape in the corner of your eye. It was a garment bag hanging on the closet door. You went over and unzipped it, revealing your new super suit. It was all black leather and violet accent lines down the sides, along the collar, and down between the breasts in a V-shape. It was strategic to accentuate curves and bust. 

You whistled lowly. It was beautiful, but Jesus did it look tight. 

“Wow,” you remarked, trying out the zipper up and down. “They really like their leather, huh?”

Still, you itched to try it on. After a few minutes of struggling and wiggling, you managed to get into the suit. They’d taken exact measurements, so it did look good. You felt like a new person…a superhero.

You smiled at yourself in the bathroom mirror. But then, you forced the smile off your face and shook your head, schooling your expression into something less doe-eyed and pathetic. More in control.

There you are, Sirena, you thought. You had long ago trained yourself with that enigmatic look. You knew how it felt on your face. The easiest way for you to get what you wanted in this world, the way you’d gotten this far, was with this exact face.

Only show them what you want them to see.   

Almost two hours later, you’d finished unpacking your belongings and explored every corner of your new beautiful apartment, but still, Miss Stillwell wasn’t back yet.

You checked your watch and hummed to yourself. Your curiosity getting the best of you, you decided to leave your apartment and explore the tower by yourself. You took off the suit as well, so you could make your way around more anonymously. You were sure no one really knew who you were yet. 

Your theory was proven true when you walked through the halls, passing Vought employees without even a blink in your direction. That was okay though. Soon enough, all these people would know your face, as well as your name. 

You reached one of the top floors, where you thought you remembered The Legend’s office was supposed to be (according to the directory). Maybe you could meet him and get a jump start on your schedule.

You stopped short, however, when an office door slid open. Out came a slightly disheveled Miss Stillwell. Her blouse was hastily tucked into her gray pencil skirt, and strands of her blonde hair were a bit frizzy as they brushed her shoulders, as if she’d combed them down with her fingers. You plastered yourself to a wall around the corner, only peeking around after she passed by.

Your brows popped up incredulously when you read the name plate beside the door she just came out of.

Stan Edgar…holy shit. His signature was on my contract!

Along with Arthur Cohen, or The Legend, as Stillwell had told you when she welcomed you in. He was the Senior Vice President of Hero Management, so who the hell was Stan?

Well, whoever he was, he was giving it to the head of PR.

Okay then. You shook your head and continued on your way. At the end of the hall, you finally found the right office. You were about to open the door, when you heard male voices coming from inside—one older and dry, and the other deep and strong.

You reached out with your awareness and allowed your powers to engage, likely making your eyes glow with a violet hue.

Sure enough, you sensed two men in the room. And as the voices raised, you recognized one of them. It was unmistakable; you’d been taking the time to binge all of his movies for the past month, ever since you auditioned to get into Payback.

Soldier Boy. 

A smile spread across your face. For a moment, you were incredibly excited…until you actually heard what he was saying.

“The last thing we need is another broad on the team.”

Your mouth fell open in shock as your brows drew together. You carefully pressed yourself to the door and kept listening.

“And her powers. Really?” he said. “Sounds like she blew something up someone’s ass to get this far, and it ain’t smoke.”

“Trust me, that’s the real deal too,” Arthur assured.

You glared at the door furiously, as if you could burn lasers out of your eyes. You crossed your arms, but you breathed evenly as you strived to keep your emotions contained. 

Control, you reminded yourself. With another deep breath, you managed to let go of your ire, but the more you listened to the conversation, the more impossible that became. You turned away from the door and made clipped strides down the hall.

You knew you had to tread carefully here. You’d heard some of the real stories about Payback, because you’d taken the time to listen. You weren’t about to enter Vought Tower without having some idea of what you were getting into, and you knew you’d have to prove yourself as the rookie on the team. You just hadn’t expected their leader to be such a chauvinistic asshole. 

Though inwardly, you snorted. Well, the guy is from the ‘40s. Best generation, indeed.

You rolled your shoulders and shook it away, like water off your proverbial feathers. Your mouth set in a firm line as you held your head high.

The game begins, you thought.

For the next few days, you watched. You studied each member of your new “team” as you encountered them, and you quickly realized that this team wasn’t much of one. 

They looked out for themselves, and bickered amongst themselves, in the case of the TNT Twins. Crimson Countess had given you a lovely, polite face that still somehow mocked you when she walked away, along with the bounce of her red hair. 

Your powers didn’t allow you to sense or read women, but you recognized a diva when you saw one.

Clearly, she was used to being the woman on top, especially as Soldier Boy’s girlfriend. You wanted to roll your eyes at the thought. From what you’d heard (and the masculine cologne you smelled on Arthur’s assistant Joanna yesterday), Soldier Boy got around. His relationship with Countess was either very open, or it was well-crafted PR.

You had another growing, unsettling thought. The more information you gathered just by observing the team, the more you had a hard time believing that you were ever going to fit in around here. 

It was only your third day in the Tower though, you reminded yourself, as you got dressed for the day in your suit. That kind of negativity wouldn’t serve you here. 

So you left your apartment in search of coffee and breakfast at the breakroom and lounge area, exclusive to the team. You supposed these guys were either late sleepers, or they got their food brought to them. You were relieved to find the room empty, and you let out a deep breath.

Remember why you’re here, you thought. It’s not about you. 

It had never been about you. 

You rummaged through the cupboards in search of the one thing that would perk you up—good coffee. You found it near the top shelf and began to prep the coffee maker. You hummed to yourself while your hands moved on autopilot. The tune strengthened, deepening and then sweetening on higher trills. 

Suddenly, your spine prickled. Your mind buzzed faintly with awareness as you sensed a presence.

It was familiar and overwhelmingly male, with heavy, confident steps coming down the hall. You tilted your head and frowned. 

Soldier Boy, that asshole. 

But then, your lips curved upwards. This could be fun. 

When Soldier Boy walked into the breakroom, he noticed you. You pretended not to realize he was there, but you felt the heat of his gaze roaming over your body. You wanted to sigh. Predictable.

Right then, you made a quiet, firm decision. Today, this man was going to learn your name. And he wasn’t going to forget it. 

You turned to him with a smile when he approached—the most pleasant one you could manage.

“Good morning, sir.”

AN: Game, set, match. 😘💚 As many of you know, this story is expanding on this Soldier Boy imagine, which I wrote almost a year ago now. In the back of my mind though, I always thought this idea could be more someday.

So please let me know what you thought of Part 1! I'm so excited for you guys to see what's coming up next...

Next Time:

“Countess, I’m not trying to replace you. I’m not trying to take anything from you.”

“Except my boyfriend,” she shot back. Finally she turned her head towards you with cool disdain. “You think I didn’t see you flirting with him last night at the afterparty?”   

You rolled your eyes, though you hid a sliver of embarrassment. You should’ve known she’d spot that.

“He approached me, okay?” you said. Maybe you were about to let your pettiness to get the best of you, but you couldn’t help it. You smiled slyly. “And from what I hear, I’m the least of your worries. Looks like Ben has quite the appetite.”

The cracks of Countess’s cool façade finally broke through to anger.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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[landogalore]

PUPPY LOVE

charles leclerc x wife fem! reader

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY, SMUT and fluff: unprotected sex (PLS WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT GUYS), oral sex (female), creampie, hickeys, charles has a breeding kink

word count: 1.4k

—————————————————————————

‘I’m back, Charles!’ The girl yelled as she entered their apartment, arriving back home to rest after an exhausting shift at work.

‘Charles!’ She repeated once again, not hearing the usual kind welcoming she normally receives, leaving her confused.

‘Charles?’ The voice that originally sounded cheerful shifted towards a more worried tone, his cars were still parked downstairs and he hadn’t previously mentioned leaving their home, which made her wonder what had happened. Was he okay? Was he just asleep? Thousands of thoughts and ideas about his whereabouts overwhelmed her mind, her behaviour becoming more frantic, just hoping her lover was somewhere safe.

Beginning her search, she wandered into the living room, but there was no snoring Charles sleeping on the sofa, but mere dereliction, nobody in sight, except the slight sound emitting from the television. Tilting her head towards the screen, there was a group of dogs skipping freely in the fields, the sweetening video sending a heartwarming smile on her face. The girl wished she could frolic in the peaceful nature, with no cares in the world.

There was still no sight of her husband as she moved towards the hallway, containing the staircase to the higher floor. However, small patches of mud trailed upwards, shaped almost similarly to a smudged footprint, leaving the girl perplexed.

‘Huh.’ Her eyebrows furrowed, staring at the patches on the floor, what had Charles been up to this time?

Now climbing to the second floor, she continued to follow the prints, leading her towards the main bedroom, the door left just an inch open. Cautiously, the girl twisted the doorknob and peered her head to scan the room, greeted with her boyfriend, snoring loud enough the street below could possibly hear. Although that wasn’t the only thing she noticed. He was also fatherly caressing something, his head tilted downwards to cover it and keep it warm.

Stepping closer towards the bed and her husband, the girl gently placed her body onto the bed, shuffling up to closer to the sleeping monegasque, his originally siren-like snoring softening to a cute murmur.

‘Mon amour, is that you?’ Charles whispered, awakening from his slumber, his voice raspy from exhaustion but still somehow caring and affectionate, hearing him speak sending flutters to the girl’s heart.

‘It’s me, Charlie.’ She giggled, her hands tenderly wrapped against his waist, still able to feel his toned muscles underneath his shirt. ‘And who’s this with you, my replacement?’ The girl signalled towards the mystery he was cuddling.

‘He’s a present, for you.’ His hands uncovered it to reveal an adorable bundle of golden fur, flopping ears and two sleeping eyes. ‘I knew how much you would talk about getting one.’ Her husband turned to face his wife, a heartwarming smile prominent on her face.

‘Oh Cha, you didn’t have to!’ She gasped, her fingertips moving to caress his cheek, tears of joy almost starting to form.

‘No I did have to chérie, because i love you.’ Charles replied, planting a loving kiss on her forehead, her cheeks flustering a scarlet shade.‘You’ve got to give him a name now.’ He pointed to the dog now safely resting in his bed adjacent to their own.

‘Give me some time to think.’ She asked, unsure on what to call the new addition to their family.

‘How about I give you some time to think, ma femme.’ Her husband suggested, the once gentle grin transforming into a troublesome smirk.

‘And how are you going to help, mon mari?’ The girl wondered, worried about the antics he was about to create, but desperately desiring the answer.

‘By doing this.’ He winked before shuffling downwards, towards her skirt. ‘We don’t need to keep this on now you’re home do we?’ He chuckled, slipping the clothing down her legs and onto the floor. ‘Putain, you are stunning’ The man complimented, sending swarms of butterflies to the girl. ‘May I?’ He slightly tugged at her panties, which she simply nodded in response.

‘Please, Charlie’ She insisted, watching as he pulled down her underwear, leaving the bottom half of her body now fully bare.

‘Merde, tu es délicieuse, mon coeur’ He serenaded, mesmerised by his wife’s sheer beauty, believing she was sculpted perfectly by God himself. Eagerly, he began to glide his tongue through her walls, the sudden sensation sending shivers down her spine, her back slightly lifting upwards from the mattress.

‘Fuck..’ She cursed, sparks of electricity travelling straight to her pussy, the designated target Charles was attacking, making sure to taste every aspect of her. ‘Please, Charlie’ she pleaded, knots in her stomach forming, desperate to be released.

‘Tsk, tsk mon amour.’ He scolded, ‘Not just yet.’ She could feel his warm breath tickling her hole, not helping her current situation in any way. ‘I haven’t even fucked you yet.’ He smirked, although unable to see the expression, she could easily imagine the movement of his lips curling. ‘Do you want me to?’

‘Yes!’ The wife whined, her body craving to feel his dick buried inside her, sending lustful sensations travelling through all of her muscles.

‘Yes to what, chérie?’ The husband teased, noticing the shifting of her body, the way her thighs were practically shaking, begging to close together to relieve some sort of tension, but unable to due to Charles’ strong grip.

‘Please, fuck me Cha.’ she cried, as Charles began to move his head away from her soaked area, his hands moving towards his boxers, swiftly removing them to reveal his already hard cock.

‘Got to get this bra off first though, then I’m all yours, belle’ He began to unclip the fabric, gently swiping the material off of her breasts, joining the rest of their clothes on a messy pile on the floor. ‘I am one lucky man.’ His eyes widened as she was now presented fully naked.

‘And I’m one lucky woman too.’ The girl giggled, watching as Charles began to shuffle on top of her, his hands gripping the bedsheets and his dick lining up with her aching hole.

‘Get ready chérie’ He warned, before connecting himself to her, carefully slipping his cock inside, the pleasantly full feeling causing the girl to escape a high-pitched moan. ‘Gonna make you feel so good, you deserve it.’ The man praised, beginning to thrust his hips at a reasonable pace.

‘Fuck, Charlie!’ She shrieked, her thighs trembling as his penis slipped in and out of her in a repeated motion. ‘You’re so big!’

‘You fit me so perfectly, princesse.’ He continued to increase the speed, his mouth now closing onto her exposed neck, leaving trails of kisses, sucking at the skin in a caring manner, but with enough force to leave marks that will stay for a period of time.

‘Charles.’ The girl groans, the same knots once again forming in the pit of her stomach, screaming to be released from the anticipation. ‘I can’t hold on much longer.’

‘Neither, mon coeur.’ He agreed, struggling to not let his body relax into her ‘You gonna let me fill you up?’ He chuckled, ‘So eager to have another addition to the family?’

‘Fuck, yes Charlie please.’ She wailed, noticeably out of breath and he pushes her hips forward, allowing the knots to release, her fluids flowing out onto her husband’s dick, himself following quickly after, spilling out into her, filling his wife up just like how she requested.

Exhaustion consumed the couple, desperate to grasp for air after the heated session, Charles rolling from on top of her to flopping onto the mattress. ‘You’d look tres impressionant with a bump, a little version of us inside.’ He imagined, the goddess labelled his wife becoming even more gorgeous pregnant.

‘I’d love to start a family with you, Cha.’ She laughed, peering over the bed to see the puppy’s eyes begin to creep open, a lovable chesnut shade. ‘I think someone’s woken up.’ The girl pointed towards the lively dog, wagging his tail joyfully as he beamed upon the cuddling couple.

Energetically, the golden ball of fur jumped upwards onto the bed where the two lay, crawling up to position himself between the two, curling up once again onto the space on the pillow, the action sending both of them gleaming, a heartwarming smile spread across their faces as they realised the start of their family had just begun.

‘Leo. His name is Leo.’

—————————————————————————

HOPE YOU ENJOYED! <3

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 ✮⋆˙

synopsis: Your secretary Alhaitham and you have a tension full relationship, but he finally snaps after some miscommunication- or lack thereof!

tags: angst for like 1 second, explicit, cunnalingus, office setting, penetration, vulgar

wrd cnt: 1.9k

a/n: repost/rewrite from first acc!

As the CEO of a thriving business, you were known for your sharp wit and unmatched determination. Alhaitham, your steadfast secretary, had always admired you from a distance, his heart secretly harboring a deep affection for you. The dynamic between you two was a blend of professionalism and underlying emotion, a sentiment you both tried your best to hide. It was more than him getting you coffee each morning, more than the soft shoulder massages he’d give you at the end of the day, more than the glances you’d exchange at each meeting.

One evening, you find yourself mindless scrolling down a dating site. Half of you bored, half a little curious. You leave your computer on and exit your office on a lunch break.

Unfortunately for you...your secretary came in to deliver your papers and set them on your desk, glancing at the screen.

You hear the door open to the break room, Alhaitham entering.

"Ms. Y/n, would you like me to schedule anything for you this evening? Or are you doing something personal..." He asks, catching you off guard as it's not usual for him to pry like this.

"No it's fine, I do have something later tonight. Thank you though!" You reply. Watching Alhaithams eyes dim.

The night of the blind date arrived, you got ready with a mix of excitement and apprehension. You chose a stunning outfit and hoped the evening would be a pleasant distraction from all your stressors at work. However, as the night progressed, you realized your heart wasn't in it.

You find yourself subconsciously comparing your date to Alhaitham, his genuine care, and the way he always seemed to know what you always needed. He's always there, fixing things up, making your life so easy and balanced. He knew how to make you happy.

During a lull in the conversation, your date asked if everything was okay. You hesitated before admitting that your mind was elsewhere.

Unbeknownst to you, Alhaitham had decided to swing by the same restaurant after his work hours. It was one of his favorites and one he made you familiar with too, hence why you even decided to pick it for your date.

He had been feeling restless all evening, and a strange intuition led him there. And of course he saw you and your date, talking and spending an evening dinner together.

His heart raced, and he couldn't ignore the surge of emotion. He sat at the other end of the room for about 10 minutes; before getting up and leaving.

You stood up, your body reacting without your minds permission. You followed after him for 20 minutes. Your poor date left in confusion, but it didn't matter.

After not much longer you find Alhaitham back at the office.

You park your car adjacent to his and enter the building, feeling your knees shake as you felt like you did something wrong. You two had always had a sort of...tension. Unspoken, undelved, and more complicated than you could explain.

You're going up the elevator, you know exactly where he could be. Your intuition speaks true.

"Alhaitham!...there you are." You say in a sigh, catching him in your office, organizing the filing cabinet as his light green eyes cut through the air separating you two in the room.

You walk closer to him, the night sky illuminated by the lights of the city, the moon shining through the big glass walls of your corner office.

"Is something the matter? There's no work left on your agenda for tomorrow....l checked." He remarks, pretending like nothing had happened.

"Meaning you have none either...why are you here Alhaitham? You just- left? You didn't even say Hi..." You mention.

His head quickly turns as if you’ve offended him.

"You...wanted me to come talk to you while you were on a date with your partner?"

"My partner? I just met that guy tonight...why would that be a problem anyways?" You say.

Alhaithams scoffs, visibly trying to articulate himself in the professional manner he’s tried so hard to maintain with you.

"It's just-it's not appropriate, is all, we have a professional relationship, right?"

"Well, I mean I consider you a friend, you don't think the same?"

Alhaitham slams the filing cabinet shut, truthfully startling you.

"Your friend? I am your secretary. I plan your meetings, I make your spreadsheets, I bring you coffee, I make sure you finish your agenda, and I take care of all your needs."

"Then why are you acting like this...?" You say in a lighthearted tone, laughing smally. "What do you not approve of my date or something?" You laugh as you get closer to him, a little too close to call friendly.

You let that comment slip out of your mouth, and quickly it's replaced with Alhaithams tongue.

Pinning you to the wall you once leaned on as you spoke, now moaning into his mouth.

He pulls away, his lips touching you as he speaks. "I take care of you. I should be the one you spend your evening with. Right here. In this officer." He mutters, before you pull him back into the kiss.

You can't help but melt right into him, his grip now released from wrists as your hands wrap around his head, his hands holding your waist and the side of your face.

"I didn't know you felt that way...should have said something sooner."

"Well I'm saying it now. You're my boss. Mine to take care of. Mine."

The kiss doesn't last long before things get heated, your secretary now kissing down your neck...unbuttoning your top as his lips trial down your body. He throws your clothes nicely on top the chair nearby, as he works his way down your waist, leaving a trial of evidence down your body.

His jade green eyes glisten in the moonlight, as he drags your panties down with his teeth.

"You can't know how long l've wanted to do this... y/n. How long l've admired you, watched you, I serve you completely." He says, as you feel his warm breathe around out cunt.

"Alhaitham... what are y-" You're cut off, feeling Alhaithams mouth split your lips open, his tongue grazing up your folds and circling your clit. You try to stay standing, holding yourself up with a hand on the cabinet, your other on top of his head. He looks up at you frequently, as he kneels below of you: licking your hole and pumping his fingers inside it. He sucks on every part of your cunt, tasting every inch like his salary depends on it.

The feeling of his hands running up your thighs, and his mouth sucking on your swollen clit, push you over the edge in no time. The vibrations of Alhaithams moans send themselves into your cunt, forcing you to cum; all, over, his face.

You writher and squirm while your knees shake.

Feeling his large tongue lick every drop of cum that spills out of you. Wiping the corners of his mouth with his fingers and sucking it off, savoring you.

He comes back up and kisses you, making you taste yourself.

You kiss him deeply, wanting his tongue. You're both pulling at each other, pushing your bodies closer as you moan into each others mouths against the wall.

"Alhaitham...give me more." You say softly into his ear, as your hands rub his erecting through this pants. Your hand reacted faster than your mind, you couldn't believe this is what you and your secretary were doing right now, but you don't want to stop now.

"Y/n...let me, this is about you." He says, quickly lifting you up with his hands under your thighs, turning you around and dropping you softy on the wooden desk behind you two. Your desk.

He slowly undressed you, leaving you bare infront of him. You lift up your leg and prop it on the corner of the desk, you make him watch as you spread open your lips with two fingers, playing with your pussy while he undressed. "This is what you wanted huh? What a naught secretary."

His face got even more red, before he kissed you again. "You're what I want." He quickly says, before his mouth is latched onto your hard nipple, as the other gets rubbed and pinched by his hand.

"Keep playing with yourself, it's so fucking hot." He snared, biting and sucking your chest, softy enough to make it painless but feel so fucking good.

As Alhaitham works on your tits, his cock springs out of his last piece of clothing.

Leaving so much saliva and hickies on and around your puffy nipples, you're eyes meet with his cock. A slightly dark tan, with the prettiest shaft and a throbbing red tip; just waiting to fuck you.

"Please boss...tell me you'll have me. Let me take care of you."

"Then do it, it's your job, right?" You smirk, before you softy hiss at how good his cock felt gliding all over your folds, he slapped his tip on your clit and rubbed them together.

"God I can't wait..." He says, he grabs onto your hips, as you sit on the desk.

You look down at his cock while it starts to disappear into your sopping wet pussy. Each inch making you gasp and squirm.

"Fuck...Alhaitham, it's not going to all fit..." You hear him grunt, before slamming it all into you. "It has to...it all has to fit y/n, I need you to feel it." He says, as your mouth can't keep in any of the sounds it's making.

His thrusts are slow and calculated, his thumb rubs your sore, engorged clit, while his cock is feeling your walls.

You can't help but fall back as his thrusts get more desperate, shaking you along with the table; which you now lay on, your tits bouncing up and down with it.

"Tell me y/n, will you remember me every time you sit here? Will you remember my cock fucking your tight little hole, like this?" He says harshly, needing you to need him.

You can't even reply, as the only thing coming out of your mouth is his name as you clench around his thick cock.

His body drops down towards you, his arms holding himself up which now lay on both sides of your face, feeling his hair on your forehead.

He's grunting and moaning right into your hear, turning you on even more while his hard cock doesn't stop rutting into you.

"Y/n...fuck, please forgive me...I can't stop boss."

You continue to gasp at the feeling of his cock even more close to you now, as his lips find your neck once again and create more areas for you to hide the next morning.

"Y-Y/n... i'm so fucking close...l don't think I can-"

Alhaithams words find no finish, but he does; you can feel warm ropes of thick cum coat your walls.

You've already came on his cock so many times, but you finish again from the feeling of his release inside you. His breathe is heavy on your neck, his knees buck a few times while his cock still stuffs you, cum oozing out onto the table and the floor all the while.

The night ends with him licking all the cum off you, gently and so lovingly. Dressing you, kissing you softly as he fixes up your desk. Telling you how he's always yours, always there, always the one who will take care of you. Only him.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[roostersbby69]

I’ll be here for you

Summary: the one where you and Bradley cross the boundary of being friends.

warnings: teen pregnancy, Bradley’s mom is still alive currently

Pairing: teen Bradley x teen Mitchel!reader

Full masterlist

Currently, you were at the Bradshaws household with a bundle of paper laid out on the kitchen table. Each of you had a coke in front of you as you quizzed Bradley on the vocab words for this week.

“Adjacent.” You flipped the card and looked up to him who was pacing through the kitchen. You were sitting on the table and whenever he paced behind you you make sure to turn the answer away from him, Bradley liked to sneak a glance at the answer sometimes.

“The fuck?” He muttered as he thought for a second, “Uhm, something that is open.”

“Partially open.” You corrected him.

“Same thing.” He rolled his eyes and sat down in the chair in front of you. He grabbed your ankles and set your feet on his thighs and rubbed your calves softly.

“Cognitive.” You flipped another flash card and watched as his face scrunched with confusion.

“I don’t know.”

“Just try, that’s why we’re practicing.” You encouraged him.

He sighed and thought for a second, he admired your face and your smooth legs as his fingers delicately traced patterns on them, “I like you.” He blurted out.

“That’s not what that means.” You muttered as you flipped the card over and read the definition out loud to him. But he wasn’t listening. He was staring at you, admiring your lips, the way his old shirt still looked big on your body.

“No, I like you.” He repeated and watched a you looked up to him with a raised brow.

“I like you too Bradley.” You laughed and grabbed another sheet of paper. He shook his head and placed his hand on yours, stopping you from picking the paper up.

“I like you, Y/n.” He said slowly, emphasizing the word like.

You blinked and stared into his soft brown eyes for a second before comprehending it, “What? Me?”

“Yes, you.” He nodded, Bradley knew this long ago and had tried not to accept it as you were best friends since diapers. And he was pretty scared of your dad.

“But, we’re best friends.” You blinked.

He groaned and shoved his face in his hands and apologized, “Just forget I said that.”

Before you knew it, you grabbed his face and leaned in to place your lips on his.

Holy shit, you were kissing your best friend. The one who you took bubble baths with when you had sleepovers, the one where you shared ice cream cones with at the park, and the one who you had a crush on your entire life.

He stood up and wrapped his hands around your thighs and placed one on your ass to scoot you closer to him until your crotches met. You gasped into his lips and looked into his eyes as he barely pulled away from your lips and whispered, “My room?” And you nodded quickly.

Bradley recalled the “talk” his mom gave him when he turned 16 and how embarrassing it was. He knew his dad would’ve given it to him but he wasn’t here to do so.

“You need to be very careful.” She said and forced him to listen to her.

“Yes, mom.” He groaned and wished he were anywhere but here right now.

“Do you know what a condom is?”

“Yes, mother.” He rolled his eyes and rubbed his face.

“I would wait until later.” She recommended.

“Okay.” He mumbled and cringed.

“I just don’t want you to knock some girl up.”

“Mom!”

-

Four weeks later you were sitting on the toilet seat waiting for three minutes to be up, your legs were bouncing up and down and you were praying that it would come back negative.

All of a sudden, a fist was banging on the locked door. “Y/n? Y/n?” The voice chanted as it continued to beat on the door.

You sighed and got up to unlock the door and perch yourself right back on the seat.

Bradley barged in, chest heaving, and his phone in his hand, “You said code red.”

You nodded and wiped the tears from your face and sniffled.

“What’s wrong, honey?” He softly shut the door behind him and made his way to you, he crouched down and rubbed your knees.

“I think,” you tried to breathe as you tried to talk.

“Hey, hey, breathe.” He moved your hands from your face and replaced them with his, he rubbed your cheeks and wiped the tears away, “Breathe.”

You took a deep breath and collected your thoughts as the timer on your phone went off, “I think I’m pregnant.”

You met his eyes and the look on his face made you sob even more.

“What?” He asked as his face went pale.

You grabbed the test off of the counter and showed it to him, “Shit.” He muttered as he read the lines.

“I thought you were on birth control?” He asked as he took it from your hands and held it up to the light, examining it. He read the lines “Pregnant” over and over again.

“I am.” You cried and pulled your knees to your chest, “Bradley I think the test is pretty damn clear.” You rolled your eyes and snatched the test from his hands.

“I just…” he couldn’t believe it, “Fuck, your dad’s going to kill me.” He rubbed his forehead as he started to sweat.

“Are you serious? That’s what you’re worried about right now?” You looked at him as he paced through your bathroom. When he didn’t reply you sighed, “If you don’t want to be apart of this you don’t have to.” You rubbed your eyes.

He crouched down in front of you and shook his head, “I’m not doing that, this is both of us and I’m not leaving you.”

Bradley watched as your lip quivered, “Hey,” he leaned down and tried to look at your face, “look at me, please.” He watched as you slowly looked into his eyes, “I’ll be here for you, it’ll be okay.”

He pulled you into him and held you to his chest as you let out the rest of the tears as he rubbed your back and cradled your head.

Even though this wasn’t what he had planned, he knew that he didn’t plan on leaving you.

—————————————————————

Part 2.

Authors note: just a little what if story. I love teen Bradley. I might make a pt 2 idk yet.

[jawllines]

But how could she voice this? Nobody else had made her request it explicitly, so she really wasn’t sure what to request. Any version of her saying it just sounds more and more pathetic, to speak the words aloud would be embarrassing. 

“You want me to stay?” Harry offered, after some time, and she was grateful for it as she nodded, “Just in the room?” 

Her face feels warm as her eyes glance over to the other side of her bed, “It’s. . .it’s a big bed,” she told him, swallowing thickly, “You can lay down if you're tired.” 

Harry’s lips quirk into a tiny, halfway smile, and Y/N had seen that look enough to know some form of a taunt typically follows it, “Oh I see,” he began, lifting himself up onto her bed and crawling over her body to get to the side she offered, “Was this a ploy to get me into your bed? You could have just asked, Sweetheart, but I would have asked for dinner first.” 

or

Y/N finds out a secret and Harry finds a rat 

part 1

part 2

iii.

Y/N has never been so embarrassed.

The hike was her idea; granted, she’s not a big hiker to begin with, and she hardly believes the sneakers she wore were meant for more than casual ambling in a park — but she thought it could be fun. After being cooped up in her flat for a little over a week, she was desperate just to breathe in the fresh air and feel the sun on her skin. It was one thing to be locked away when the weather was bitter and uninhabitable, but it was finally getting warmer, and whispers of Spring were carried in the wind. An open window could only preclude her feelings of claustrophobia for so long before she needed to go outside.  

Since Harry could typically get Thomas to agree to things she’d never thought he might agree to before, he was the one she asked. However, due to the recent attempted kidnapping, even he seemed reluctant to the proposal and Y/N had imagined her plans had fallen through before they’d even truly been constructed. At least she did until Harry sent her a message a little past midnight the following night, with a link that directed her to a trail’s website. Would this be okay? His message read, and Y/N grinned so hard her cheeks were sore as she replied with “Yes!” ten times. 

Y/N is not one who would find joy in exerting herself but she was filled to the brim and gushing with an eagerness she hasn’t felt since being a child, the night before visiting a zoo. She did not for a second consider how sore she’d probably be, especially from the number of hills this trail included along the side of what wasn’t big enough to be a mountain but was certainly large enough to give the illusion. All she could focus on was the thought of the wind kissing her face and the sound of morning birds singing. Aching muscles be damned, she could just take a hot bath when they got back, and maybe she could persuade Harry to massage her feet if it was that bad. 

By the time Y/N woke up Friday morning, Harry was already in her kitchen preparing breakfast but that was hardly shocking. It was her second time witnessing him outside of a pressed suit and she couldn’t say that she was disappointed; Harry looked awfully cute in his hiking clothes. A hoodie that swallowed him up, athletic shorts pulled over black leggings, and a pair of bright red shoes that she could not imagine him plucking out of a store. A beanie was nestled over his head, but he had a hair clip locked around the edge of it, almost like he had it on standby in case he got too warm. 

He turned to face her, smiling warmly as he flipped a pancake, “I didn’t know if you had a water bottle, so I brought an extra one,” he greeted her, “And I bought some of those warm packs you activate by shaking in case it’s chillier than we anticipated.” 

“We need to get a stroller for your kitties so they can come too,” Y/N told him, as she hiked herself up on the barstool beside the counter, Harry working on the side adjacent to her. She rested her face against her fist, watching him putter around putting together the meal. There was something imminently gratifying about putting a man to work in her kitchen while she swung her legs and waited patiently to be fed, so she reveled in that feeling while he answered. 

“I actually do have a stroller,” he told her, “But since this is our first time, I thought it would be better to see the trail before bringing them.” 

With a sigh, Y/N agreed. Harry has brought them over three times since the first and Y/N enjoyed every second of it – he’d explained to her that as long as she doesn’t mind, he’ll bring them over often. This way he gets to spend extra time with them while he’s working and Y/N gets her animal fill as they meander throughout her flat, making it their second home. He’s even left them there overnight once, when he would be returning the following morning but wasn’t necessarily going home (their schedules make no sense to her, not even a little, and she wondered when the hell they ever slept), and Y/N really liked that. She woke up to Gremlin at her feet and Goose nestled against her breast beneath the blankets (and if she hadn’t been so sure that moving would stir them both, she would have taken a picture to send to him). 

They ate breakfast and Y/N pulled on an outfit she hoped would be multifunctional no matter what weather they would face or how much exerting herself would make her sweat. Even the walk to the parking garage lifts her with excitement, happy to finally be leaving the flat. 

“You’re awful chipper,” Harry remarked, following close behind her, his fingers looped around his keys, “Normally for this early in the morning, you’ve grumbled about something by now.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Of course I’m chipper,” she walked around to the passenger seat of the car, “I’m free for a little while! You forget that I’m fucking stuck in there until someone breaks me out, while you can come and go as you see fit, really.” She smiled at the thought of the sun hitting her face, “It’s going to be so nice today too – I can’t wait.” 

“Mm, it is going to be nice,” he agreed mildly, “I’ll keep you out for as long as I can, yeah? But I’m sure Thomas will be blowing my phone up.” He smiled gently, “Things are still. . .fresh.” 

Y/N buckled herself in, brows dipped, “Hm? Did you guys not catch the guy? I thought you did and that’s the only reason I’m being uncaged.” 

“We did,” Harry’s lips straightened out, a dubious glint flickered past his gaze before he snuffs it out, “For the most part.” 

“For the most part?” She repeated with a small sigh – she wasn’t in the mood for twenty questions, she just wanted him to be straightforward.

Harry hummed, “Yes, they found the “mugger” –  it was his son,” Y/N’s brows raised, “Both have been dealt with appropriately for now but of course, everyone is still concerned that this wasn’t just an isolated incident. Things are going to be. . .a little tighter lately, so I was surprised Thomas agreed to this in the first place, but I did push pretty hard.” 

She smiled and nudged his shoulder, “That’s why I like you,” she told him, “Dunno’ what you’re doing to bewitch him but keep doing it, I like doing things.” 

The day had started out so well; Y/N isn’t sure how Harry had found this trail but it was pretty. It started out as a gravel patch of parking lot with a big wooden sign that read Green Haven Trail in big, bold letters, and to the left of it, a small brick building housing a restroom. It had rained last night, so the air smelled of moist earth and morning dew, and it’s a scent that she believes she normally takes for granted. Right now she isn’t though – right now she feels it slip through her nares, down to her lungs. She was more than pleased that it isn’t humid or else each breath would feel wet, and her skin would feel sticky, and she thinks that would have made her sad. Her first time out of the flat in how long, only to be accosted by unpleasant weather? Surely, she’d just lock herself in her room at that point. 

Most of the trail was paved but there were clear sections deeper in, where people had broken off from the designated path and wore down the grass and foliage to create a new route. If she couldn’t see where this off-path trail led, then she wouldn’t have suggested they go near it, but she could make out that it guided them to a mini waterfall from a creak. And after the rain, she knew it would be overflowing and beautiful, so she suggested they go toward it with the best pleading gaze she could give him (though it certainly wasn’t necessary – she believes Harry is a man of strong will typically, but if she asks him for something he typically gives in pretty easy). 

For a moment he seemed hesitant but eventually agreed, so they went toward it, and Y/N marveled at the rocks, the surfaces altering from smooth to rough and jagged, how the water toppled over them dropping down into the large well of the creek. If the weather was just a little warmer she would suggest sticking her feet in but it was still a little too brisk for it. So she made a mental note of this place for mid-June when the hike would undoubtedly be miserable in the summer heat, but the best part of it would be sinking their feet into this well of cold water and kicking them as they cooled down and ate a snack. Y/N assumed she would be with Harry again because. . .well, she usually is with him, isn’t she? 

They stayed there for a while for a short break, since they’d been walking for about thirty minutes uphill at that point. Y/N’s legs were already tired and she was in the middle of trying to find an excuse for them to turn around and start making their way back before she was really tired – but there was no need. No, why would she need a reason for them to turn around when she unwittingly gives them one? 

They had to trek down a small hill to get within closer visual distance of the waterfall and search the creek with their gazes for any potential fish or tadpoles swimming around in the greenish water. Going downhill to get there, meant going uphill to return, and while it wasn’t steep there was a decent-sized slope. Several jutted pieces of stone and rock and root should have made it a relatively easy way back up. Yet somehow, when Y/N tries to balance the sole of her shoe against the curve of a rock, she loses her footing. Her body rocks face first into the dirt, and she knocks her knee against a stone and cuts up her palm from the tree root she’d been gripping onto. Before she could tumble all the way down to the creek, Harry placed his hands on her to keep her steady, one at her hip and the other between her shoulder blades, “Holy shit!” He cried out, his voice echoing in the empty woods, “Are you alright?” 

So now, they definitely had to turn back, because Y/N had dirt smudged on her face, a few leaves in her hair (though Harry did pluck those out for her while they walked), her knee was sore, and her palm was cut up. Y/N doesn’t cry but she wants to, not just because her knee aches, or her hand throbs, or the dirt makes her face feel gross and grimy. All of that she could deal with well enough. 

What she couldn’t deal with, was the fact that she fell in the first place, in front of Harry of all people. How embarrassing – god, she couldn’t stop thinking about it but she wanted to wipe it from her brain entirely and pretend it never happened. But Harry is Harry, there is no way that he would ever let this go without making a sly comment about it every now and then. Especially once she’s all patched up and he knew for sure she was okay. 

She kept replaying the moment in her head: the squawky sound that left her mouth, how dumb she must have looked as she scrambled to stop herself only for Harry to be the one to halt her movement. He probably thought she looked like an idiot – no, she knows he did because why wouldn’t he? If it had happened to anyone but her, Y/N would have found some humor in it, and maybe she was just a bad person but there were compilations of people falling on the internet for a reason. 

Under different circumstances, Y/N would avoid the bathroom at all costs because it seemed like a staff infection waiting to happen but she tried to get into this one, only to find it locked. So not only did she embarrass herself in front of Harry, she had to sit in the car for forty minutes, uncomfortable, her knee aching and her face dirty. At the realization, she felt like she really could cry then, but the only thing that stopped her was the potential for further embarrassment.

“It could have been worse,” Harry tried to soothe her once they were back in the car, “Had I not been there to save your life, you could be in the creek right now.” 

“Shut up, or I’ll shove you in a creek,” she grumbled, brows furrowed at him, “Didn’t you promise to return me unscathed? This is coming out of your paycheck.” He only chuckles at her. 

The drive home was uneventful, and so was the walk up to her flat. As soon as they get through the doors, Harry directs her to the bathroom and says he’d be in there in a moment with a first aid kit, and Y/N has no fight left to argue. She went in, avoided looking at her face, and plopped down right on the toilet seat, waiting patiently for him. Harry appeared, looking a little too cute out of his leggings, now only in shorts that rode up pretty high on his thigh. He’s got nice legs – Y/N’s been thinking about them often lately. 

First, he tends to her palm, flipping it over and pouting at the sight of it, “Your poor hand,” he muttered sympathetically, caressing the flesh just below her thumb, “Does it hurt?” 

Y/N is unsure if he’s mocking her with how sweet his voice was, but she doesn’t fuss over it – honestly, she kind of likes it, “Yeah, a little.” She replied and he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 

“Poor thing,” he reached inside the kit, “We’ll get you sorted.” 

After he cleaned it, then slathered it in the antibiotic ointment, and wrapped it up with gauze and a bandage, he got a washcloth wet. It took her a second to realize what he was about to do, until he was suddenly closer to her face than she expected, tenderly swiping away at the dirt smudged over her face. Y/N has trouble keeping her breathing even then. 

This is the closest she and Harry had been since the night they kissed, and she couldn’t keep her brain from conjuring memories of it. Especially when his lips were looking particularly soft today, and slick from whatever chapstick he was using, almost like they were begging for another mouth to press against them. The gentle curve of his cupid’s bow and the pout of his mouth supplicates for her lips to trap it between them. To relive last week, how eagerly he’d kissed her, how his hands had slid to her waist, how he squeezed her –

Honestly, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was skilled at acting indifferent to things like this and she’s certain Harry didn’t notice it was dawdling within her thoughts because he would have brought it up – but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. Every day, a few times a day, Y/N is suddenly accosted with a slew of images, all of which involve Harry's puckered mouth. 

Because she’d like to do it again – she wanted to do it again, but there was no way to just ask for it, was there? Not without being weird about it. At least that night they had been drinking, and if they really wanted to they could blame it on liquid loosening prior inhibitions. If Y/N was asking for it completely sober, then there was no turning back from that – then it was something they had to talk about and that’s difficult. Not to mention, she shouldn’t be canoodling with her bodyguards anyway. The time with Niall was a one-off, and she’d never had the urge or desire to do it again (well, maybe once or twice, but that was neither here nor there) – but she wanted it again with Harry. Honestly, she thinks she wants more than just the kiss with Harry. 

And they hadn’t even really discussed the first one yet! Why would they tack on a second kiss? 

With Niall, it was much easier; she sucked him off, and he came in her mouth, they laughed about it and then tried to finish the movie they were watching before both of them promptly fell asleep. When they woke up there was no awkward tension lingering in the air, she swatted him with a pillow so that he would get off the couch and go with her to a new cookie place as he’d promised. Life settled back in as normal, Y/N barely remembered what his cum tasted like after eating an iced sugar cookie, and that was that. 

But with Harry, the whole night persists in her memories. How he admitted to being jealous thinking about her with Niall, and how he wants to be her favorite guard. The taste of his tongue and the impression of his mouth pushed against hers. How he pressed his thumb into her chin and pulled her lips open wider for himself, how heady the feeling was, the caress of his fingers on her hips, her wrists, her jaw. Her cheeks warm when she thinks about crawling into his lap, how she felt him hard beneath her before he pulled away – before he stopped it from going any further. 

Y/N couldn’t help but wonder just how far it would have gone had he not withdrawn from her. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Harry murmured, and only then does Y/N realize that she’d been staring directly at him as he still carefully wiped away the dirt, “I’m getting shy.” 

Brows pinching toward each other, Y/N frowns at him, “You’re like three centimeters from my face, where the hell else am I supposed to look?” She praises herself for willing the words so quickly from her mouth, instead of floundering how she wanted to when she’d been caught gawking (Harry always teased her that she reverted to her extreme “brat-ish tendencies” once cornered and she continuously proved him right). 

Harry has a knowing smile that Y/N wants to flick off his face like he could read her mind through each of her pores. He always kind of had that look on him though, that would suggest he knew what Y/N was thinking and feeling before maybe even she did. It annoyed her more than anything. 

“You’re being rather rude to someone who saved a clumsy little thing like you from drowning in a creek.” He murmured, standing up from the spot he’d been kneeling before her and tossing the wet cloth into the sink with a wet slap. He holds one finger out to her, a silent command to stay put, and Y/N finds herself listening to him until he returns with a bottle of water. With that in one hand, he pulled open her medicine cabinet and retrieved the paracetamol, popping the cap open and shaking two into his palm, “You need to take these or your knee is going to be sore. Say ahhh,” he held them in his fingers, hovering them over her mouth. 

She scoffed, “My knee is already sore. Give me that, you dick,” she clasps her hands around his, swiping the pills and pushing them past her lips before grabbing for the bottle of water. 

“There you go,” he ignored her insult, “That’s a good girl – y’know, you’re a brat, but you listen well when you want to. Kind of like a fussy cat.” 

A flush of warmth ran from her face, down her throat, and across her chest – the praise, no matter how backhanded, was still praise and Y/N felt her veins twinkle with it. Harry doesn’t seem to notice how it affects her, and if he does, then he is kind enough not to be a pest for once and keep it to himself. He held out his hand for her to take, helping her lift off the seat, “You aren’t limping, which is good, but we’ll still ice it. If you show up to your parent’s house with a bruised knee and scratched-up hand, I’m sure it wouldn’t be appreciated.” 

The reminder makes her grimace – she’d almost forgotten about that. Adam was the first to tell her about it weeks and weeks ago, and then her father reminded her just last week, yet she let it slip her mind again. Willfully she lets it slip from her mind, neglecting the thought – it was always a little awkward meeting with everyone. When she was little, they would coo over her and how cute she was which she had enjoyed at the time, but she had long since passed the age of being cooed at because she was in a pretty dress. And when she was little, she could fuck off and play pretend somewhere with her cousins or by herself and nobody questioned anything because she was like 7 years old and barely knew how to divide numbers. 

Y/N longs for the solace of being little and not needing to be socially present during family events; life was much easier when she could check out and nobody cared. 

“Are you going with me?” Y/N inquired as she followed him out of the bathroom, tugging down the zipper of her jacket and wiggling it off her arms. 

“Hm?” 

“To the family thing,” she dropped the jacket in her hamper, leaving her in a sports bra but she thinks nothing of it while she waits for his response, “Were you the one going with me?” 

Harry pauses, if only for a brief second, and Y/N sees a look she’s never seen before flicker through his face before he’s smiling again, “Aw, cute! You want me to be there with you?” 

She did, for some reason, she felt like it would be better with him there. Adam and Niall always get pulled off at things like this, but Y/N felt like Harry might stay by her side for it. She had nothing to base this feeling on beyond just knowing it in her gut. 

And when she doesn’t grumble or call him an asshole for teasing her, Harry must realize she’s serious, because the gleam in his eyes softens to one that is gentle and pitying, “It won’t be me accompanying you, though I would love to,” he told her, “I’m wanted elsewhere that day.” 

She frowned at him, already feeling the whine bubble in her chest before he could finish his sentence, “Just tell them that you don’t want to do that and you want to do this instead.” 

“As much as the princess’s word is considered –” 

“Eat shit.” 

“ – I believe that request would be denied. Thomas wants me for a more delicate and potentially violent matter, so that’s where I’ll be.” He sighed, thumbing over his eyebrow, “Though you do manage to be delicate and violent as well, maybe I could ask for a trade.” 

Y/N flipped him off before plopping down on the couch, watching as he began to kick off his shoes at the doorway now that they were settling inside. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if the reason Harry wasn’t going was more than him being needed elsewhere but she couldn’t come up with good enough logic to back the claim. Unless he was the Harry from her childhood, and he was desperately trying to avoid a situation where that fact may be found out, but even that doesn’t seem like his speed. He was much too casual and unconcerned for her to think he’d go to that level just to keep up some weird little secret. 

That doesn’t mean she’s a hundred percent convinced, but she just dwells on it a little less. 

“It’ll be okay, you know,” Harry says after a while, as he’s opening up her windows, pulling the curtains open to let sunlight pour into her room; it glitters off her coffee table and places a glare over her tv, and the sweet chirp of birds still singing early in the morning fills her flat (along with the sound of cars driving below them but the morning traffic had slowed considerably by that point), “Just a few hours of family shit, and then you’ll be done. Can come home and take a shower and relax afterward.” Y/N follows him around the room as he goes to her other window, “It won’t be so bad. Maybe you’ll even have a little fun.” 

She doesn’t have it in her to fight him, “Yeah, maybe,” she offered quietly in return, leaning her head back and letting her eyes flutter closed, trying to ignore the throbbing in her knee, “It just feels weird to see them is all, and having nothing to show for the years that have passed since I’ve seen them last. Like. . .I dunno, I have to sit and listen to everyone else and their successes and I’m happy for them but I can’t help but. . .wish that I had something too. But all I’ve got is attempted kidnappings and a hobby that I haven’t perfected when I’ve got nothing but time to perfect it.” Y/N puffs a mirthless laugh. 

“Self-depreciation doesn’t look good on you,” he clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth and he sounds closer than he was before but she keeps her eyes shut, “Why don’t you start selling your art?” 

That does make her peek an eye at him, “Listen, I know I’m having a little pity party, but I don’t need you being mean and adding to it.” 

“I’m not being mean,” he retrieved a package of frozen vegetables from her freezer before he made his way to sit down beside her, body turned so he faced her directly, “I’m giving you an idea. Your art is good, and all the comments people have made on it in class tell you how cute the things you draw are. So yeah, maybe they wouldn’t sell in some smarmy art gallery, but they would definitely make a cute sticker on a water bottle or a laptop case. And what’d you get your degree in, wasn’t it business related? Marketing?” Y/N’s face pinches up. 

“So?” 

“So put two and two together, Darling, you’re smart,” he told her, “You make cute stickers and you have some understanding of marketing – start selling them online!” 

It. . .wasn’t the worst idea she’s ever heard. The people in the class had called her drawings cute, even the instructor had told her they were charming in a cutesy way. If other people liked them – if Harry really thought that other people would like them enough to stick them somewhere they had to look often – that would give her something to do, wouldn’t it? Something to focus on. . .something that could entirely be her own, and didn’t have to be a question of her safety, with no worry about getting her from point A to point B, and her name wouldn’t be out there. She could do it all under a different name! Loads of Etsy shops and the like don’t have the artist’s real name at all. 

It could just be her own little thing, and if it didn’t work, she could scrap the idea and pretend it never happened. But it was something. . .it could be hers. 

“Hm.” That is all she replied, despite the cogs clicking and turning in her brain. 

Harry sighed, plopping down in the space beside her, “I reckon you just like being difficult,” he told her, stretching one long leg out so it was sitting beneath the table, “Hm? I think you like trying to rile me up.” 

“Maybe.” 

                                                           .                                .                            .

Y/N has been having nightmares. 

As a child, she used to get them a lot. Sometimes they could be vivid; feel as real as a memory and Y/N would have trouble separating what was real and what was a dream. It was an unfortunate byproduct of a burdened subconscious, or at least that’s what the child psychologist told Thomas. And he then took a far more strict and tender approach to isolate her from the world of her parent’s work, which Y/N never really understood. Why wait until a child begins to show emotional distress before keeping them from something potentially emotionally distressing? 

They come and go, depending on the current state and status of her life. Times of stress brought them prolonged and heavy, bogging down her brain like waterlogged branches in a typically dry terrain. A monsoon of shadowy figures, hushed low voices, and crimson puddles. Trying to close her eyes but they’re being held open, trying to move through dense air with gelatinous limbs, trying to scream but her voice just barely leaves her throat. It’s nothing but frustration bubbling to her boil through her veins in the worst way, and when she finally does wake up, it lingers for a few minutes as she acclimates to being conscious.  

Once she has one, she’ll have them almost nightly until the problem is addressed or they eventually wither away. She doesn’t bring them up much – Niall and Adam know about them, but Thomas isn’t aware, though she doesn’t think he’d actually care. And she isn’t sure if her parents were even aware of her first round of them when they had concerned the nannies and guards enough to report them to Thomas. If they did know, they never brought it up. 

So she guesses it made sense that nobody alerted Harry to their existence if they were to ever occur while he was there.

They had started happening two weeks ago, shortly after the attempted kidnapping. It was scary, though it didn’t get very far, knowing that someone could find her location so easily was worrisome for future endeavors. And had this guy been more tactful and maybe a touch more forceful, then the situation could have gone horrendously bad – she could have been in a lot of trouble, and when her mind starts wandering to what could have been waiting for her. . .it’s awful. 

For the most part, they had been pretty tame. Y/N wakes up disoriented and groggy around 4 AM, she wanders out to the living room to find whoever was there that night, and if they were awake she’d make them both tea and stay up for a while. Niall was there the first night, and when she suddenly appeared in front of him with her hand stretched out, holding a mug to him, he gave her a knowing look, “Hm? Nightmare?” She nodded, and he made room for her on the couch, moving his computer, his iPad, or whatever he had brought over to keep himself busy for the night, “Do you want to talk about it?” She shook her head, “Fine, then you’re g’na have to listen to me rant about this fucking series I’m watching because. . . .” 

Adam asks fewer questions and most of the time is asleep when she wanders out but when her door clicks open he’s pulled from his sleep with a snort, “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Mm,” he would hum, “Go back to bed then, I’m not ready to socialize.” 

“I’ll just be up for a little, you can stay asleep,” she’d assure him, but she didn’t want to be alone, so she would make her tea and then sit on her feather blue recliner (that she was surprised he isn’t inhabiting) with her phone. Adam would say he’d stay up with her but make no move to change his position, so he always ended up back to sleep anyway. 

Bill and Martha were usually asleep too when she wandered out, but they were never ones for much conversation anyway. They would open their eyes, see she is in no imminent danger, then go right back to bed and that was that (nothing and nobody could make her feel more like a little kid than those two, and Thomas when she does see him). She would putter around her kitchen quietly, but take her tea into her room, wrapped up in her blankets and clicking through Youtube videos on her telly, comforted by the knowledge she isn’t alone in the flat. 

Some days there is nobody there with her at night, maybe an extra guard lingering outside the building, but no one inhabits her living room. Those nights Y/N is suddenly confronted with the harsh reminder that she lives in a constant state of fear, gnawing at her lip, jumping at every creak or click that echoed against the walls. It makes her feel like an idiot so she doesn’t bring it up to anybody, that on a regular night being alone can be weird, but on a night she’s had a bad dream it could be weird and long. It was stupid and made her feel like a child.

Tonight, for whatever reason, the dream was a lot rougher than it had been. While the prior nightmares were more nondescript things and hazy situations that she could just tell were bad but did not have comprehensible images of – this was much more lucid. Every touch felt like a burn against her skin, the hand cupped over her mouth and squeezed her nose shut stealing her breath away, the heart racing panic struck her fast, and her fingertips felt numb. She was thrashing, her throat sore from screaming, she needed help – she needed it right then, but there was nobody there. She was alone, she’s always been alone, she’s never safe, never, never, never –

“Y/N!” 

Her eyes split open, the beat of her heart pounding through her chest and ringing through her ears, and her trembling hands stay still at her sides. It took her a few silent, panicked moments before she realized she’d been woken up from a dream, staring at the figure who slowly, but surely, becomes Harry through her bleary gaze. Almost instantaneously relief floods through her, and icy spikes that dotted her vessels are now replaced with warmth, melting them. Y/N isn’t sure if the comfort is brought by the fact that she knows she’s awake so much as it is brought by seeing Harry – he usually showed up in her dream, and dream her was always reassured by his presence. His face usually meant whatever was plaguing her was finished – whatever shadowy, dark figure digging their nails into her arm dissipated. 

It was not until Harry spoke her name again that Y/N finally realized she’d been dreaming but she was awake now. Her eyes burn and her cheeks are wet – she’d been crying? Her bones feel stiff and creaky as she pushes herself from the mattress, pressing her knuckles against her eyes to try and rub the sleep from them. “You were having a bad dream?” Harry’s voice is low, his tone gentle, like he was creeping up on a resting bear and was worried to startle it. 

Y/N nodded wordlessly. The most he gets from her is a small hum as she tries to organize herself and her thoughts; she isn’t used to someone being here as she wakes up, staring at her warily, so she tries to force herself to speed it up. She didn’t want to worry him. And now that she thinks about it, when was the last time he’d spent the night here? He probably didn’t even know she had dreams like this to begin with. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry pressed carefully, and there was a small thud of four feet landing on the bed. She looked over to see Goose pad over to her, rubbing up against her torso and finding a spot in her lap before a low rumble of purrs overcame her. 

“What time is it?” Y/N inquired. 

Harry looks at his watch, “2 AM.” 

“Too late to talk about it,” she murmured, though she still felt shaken up. Her hands tremble as she smoothes them down Goose’s back, searching for more comfort in the soft fur, a wobbly rise and fall of each breath from her chest, “Was I being loud?” 

Harry gave her a small, empathetic smile, “Just a little,” he told her, “We could hear you,” it took her a second to realize we meant him and the cats, “And Goose was sitting outside of your door. At first I thought maybe you were awake, talking on the phone or something but you started yelling for help.” 

Grimacing, she frowns, at the image of Harry clambering to get up and burst through her door, overwrought with worry and his adrenalin spiking. His job – the whole reason he is here – is to keep her safe. So how horrifying is it to hear that one objective may be compromised in the middle of the night, on a floor way too high for someone to have snuck through a window?  “I’m sorry, that was – that’s probably scary.” 

“Yeah, it definitely wasn’t my favorite experience,” he agreed, “But I’m glad I could wake you up from it.” She scratched between Goose’s ears, feeling warm that the cat was concerned enough to sit outside her door once she heard her. She’s sure Gremlin is still blissfully sleeping wherever he was originally. “Well, I’ll let you go back to sleep. Call me if you need anything.” 

Y/N had thought that she was feeling better – she was awake, and she knew she was awake, so there was no reason for the same rimy panic that had been suffocating her to return at the mention of Harry leaving. Nor was there a reason for her to reach out and grab his wrist before he could get too far, a pitiful refusal pulled from her lips that feel sore and dry, she’s sure from her own teeth. Harry was safe – he couldn’t leave this soon after she’d woken up, she still needed a little bit – still wanted to be near him, and to hear him talk or even just sit silently at his side. 

But how could she voice this? Nobody else had made her request it explicitly, so she really wasn’t sure what to request. Any version of her saying it just sounds more and more pathetic, to speak the words aloud would be embarrassing. 

“You want me to stay?” Harry offered, after some time, and she was grateful for it as she nodded, “Just in the room?” 

Her face feels warm as her eyes glance over to the other side of her bed, “It’s. . .it’s a big bed,” she told him, swallowing thickly, “You can lay down if you're tired.” 

Harry’s lips quirk into a tiny, halfway smile, and Y/N had seen that look enough to know some form of a taunt typically follows it, “Oh I see,” he began, lifting himself up onto her bed and crawling over her body to get to the side she offered, “Was this a ploy to get me into your bed? You could have just asked, Sweetheart, but I would have asked for dinner first.” 

“Fuck off,” she grumbled, but it held little spite to it. Y/N wiggles back down beneath her covers, and Goose – disturbed but never grouchy – walks to the side, waits for Y/N to find a position she’s content in, and then returns. Y/N lays on her side so Goose tucks herself along her belly as she likes to, curling her face into her paws. Gremlin, who must have finally roused from his own blissful slumber, appeared on the bed at Harry’s feet before taking a seat, his tail undulating behind himself, waiting patiently for Harry to snuggle beneath the blankets. 

“Had I known you slept on a cloud every night, I would have asked for this sooner,” Harry said quietly, breaking through the silence of the room, only previously broken by the whirring of her fan above them, “It smells good in here too.”

Y/N watches him closely, as his head is against her pillow. Nobody else has ever laid in her bed before, and Y/N only ever sleeps on the left side of it, so she’s sure the right feels just as it did when she bought it. It’s weird to see someone there – but it only feels natural that it would be Harry, for whatever reason. Among the cotton, rosy pink duvet cover, in a long sleeve undershirt, his body having disappeared up to his shoulders snuggled beneath the comforter. He looks cute, especially when he turns to face her, and gives her a big closed-mouth smile that she told him in the past made him look like a pleased frog.

“You’re comfortable?” Y/N inquired and once Harry nodded, she finally closed her eyes again, “That’s good.” 

Some time passes. Y/N is unsure how long, but she’s almost certain that she’s fallen asleep until Harry's voice, syrupy and smooth as it always is, slithers into her ear, “I know you don’t want to talk about it and that’s fine,” he murmured, “But I just want you to know, I would never let anything or anyone hurt you. Never.” . 

She falls asleep easily then. 

                                                               .                           .                       .

Y/N used to have nightmares when she was younger, Harry had vague memories of that.

“I had a nightmare that a bad guy tried to kill me again,” she told him casually one day when they were on the swings, like it was the most normal conversation in the world, “It really sucked. They were super mean.” 

“Did you get away?” Harry remembered being concerned, even as a child. Y/N was younger than him, not by much, but enough that he’d felt a sense of responsibility for her. Harry hated his bad dreams, so he empathized with her plight. Whenever he had a bad dream, his mum usually came into his room and comforted him, but Y/N told him once that her mum didn’t like being woken up in the middle of the night for something not urgent. If she had a bad dream and woke up scared but the sun wasn’t out, she would hug her teddy tight and will herself back to sleep – that’s what she had told him, at least. 

With a shrug of her small shoulders, she kicked her legs back and forth in smooth glides, “Dunno’, I woke up before he could.” 

He was concerned then and he was concerned now. 

When Y/N offered him the spot next to her, Harry didn’t hesitate for even a moment. If she was scared enough to stuff away that prideful, bratty side of her to request it, then Harry wouldn’t make her second guess herself. Instead, he tried to make it as normal as possible, with a small tease as he crawled in beside her. He’d resigned himself to the idea of staying awake until he knew for sure she was fast asleep. It took ten minutes or so, but eventually, her measured, even breaths and sleepy sighs lull him into his own slumber. 

Harry wakes two or three hours later, warm. Warmer than he had been when he fell asleep, which he wouldn’t have questioned if not for how icy cold Y/N typically kept her room. For a brief moment, he thinks that maybe her fan shut off and he made the conscious decision to get up and turn it back on for her, but when he moves, he feels a weight on his arm that stopped him. A weight that is different from that of Goose or Gremlin. 

Once he opened his eyes, Harry found that Y/N was snuggled up against him. 

It wasn’t in a sweet, movie-like way as things like this typically went in stories and movies. It was in a very Y/N-like way though – her left leg thrown across his hip, her body flush against him, her face halfway jammed in his chest and her arm stretched over his neck; she’s about one sleepy shuffle away from smothering him with her bicep if she moved just right. Harry thinks it’s very telling that she does not sleep with someone often because she had somehow rolled herself all the way over to his side when there had been a good distance between them to start. 

Carefully, he began to reshape her, moving her arm from over his throat. Harry had been making a conscious effort to be gentle so she stayed asleep, but a small grumble lifted into the air around them that sounds close to “Stop it.” but when Harry says her name, there is no response. Instead, she wiggles her shoulders, her arm finding a place around his waist instead, and scooted closer.

Tch, he rolled his eyes but he could feel a fond smile pulling at his cheeks, She’s even a brat in her sleep. 

Harry lets himself enjoy it for a little while. The warmth of Y/N pressed to his side, the peach-scented lotion still permeating from her skin, the feel of each rise and fall from her chest as she took a breath. His insides feel cotton-soft and melty, he traces circles in the center of her back and waits patiently for her to fall deeper into her head. Once she does, he tries again to carefully remove her from the glued position she’d been in, because while he likes being cuddled close to her, he knew she would be mortified if she woke up. 

This time she goes easily, letting him lie her arm at her side before sliding his hand beneath her thigh, attentively guiding it off of his hip. Y/N stretches, and turned away from him, her arms sliding around a pillow and hugging her face against it. What a cuddly little thing, Harry thinks, she’s probably searching for something (or someone) to put her arms around the whole night. It makes his heart twist in his chest, a weird mix between an ache and a yearning for her. He wondered if these bad dreams would disappear if she always had someone there to cuddle to her body, like an oversized stuffy. 

The idea of it has a pout forming on his lips. Y/N, in the time he’s known her, is driven heavily by physical affection that she is not receiving often. She may grouse when Adam touches her shoulder when he reaches over her head to get in the cabinet, but she leans into his hand. If Niall is around, chances are Y/N is touching him in some way, either with her legs across his lap, or their hips side by side (which. . .Harry has no right to feel an ugly twinge in his chest any time he sees it but that doesn’t stop it from happening). Martha wasn’t the soft type, but Harry had walked in on Y/N leaning against the pillow Martha held to her body while they watched the telly. When Harry had come to her room in a panic, just to see for himself that she was okay (after Otto’s botched kidnapping attempt), she melted against his knuckles that he couldn’t help but stroke against her cheeks. 

Harry had met her parents several times – they were. . .kind as they could be, with what they do, but they were not the nurturing type. They were cool and distant, and even though Harry knows they love their daughter, and talk sweetly, they just didn’t seem like the type to cuddle and coddle. And instead of growing an aversion to touch, she grew too long for it, even in small doses, even from her bodyguards. Where else could she get it? Harry is certain if she went out with her friends she would be touchy and clingy, flopped over them in some way, shape, or form. 

Gremlin moves relatively little with the change in positions, and Goose lets out an annoyed huff before following Y/N’s body, snuggling up against her back. It was almost disgustingly cute how much Goose enjoyed her girl time with Y/N; even though she was the less fickle of the two, she really didn’t warm up that easily to people but with Y/N, it only took a couple of days before she was sleeping in her lap. Harry thinks that not only are cats a good judge of character, but they seek out people who need healing, like little furry psychotherapists that say nothing but do plenty. Where he would normally be a bit jealous, he was glad that Goose had chosen Y/N to snuggle with and love on her. 

Harry sighs to himself. It’s only a matter of time before Y/N realizes that she’s been right all along about knowing him, he was just holding his breath and waiting for it. In his head, when he’d started this, the idea of keeping it all a secret from her seemed easier. There would be no need to go into the details of why he left, to relive any of it, to divulge what he had done, or to break his promise to Thomas, to his father, to her father. He could go on with her like they were two strangers and his past didn’t matter. And Harry doesn’t know why it is so important to him that she didn’t think the sweet boy he was turned into the man he is today; it felt as though it broke the mirage of normalcy his childhood had there for a little while. If the image Y/N held in her head of him was altered, it would pull at his stomach and tug around his heart. The boy she knew was good, not a drop of blood on his hands – the man she knew now had hands covered in the murk and filth of gang politics, rivalries and wars, drugs and guns. 

To keep the two mutually exclusive brought him more comfort. 

But Y/N is perceptive and she recognized him almost immediately. As smart as she was, and as sneaky as she could be, he had a feeling deep in his gut that she would be seeking answers at her parent’s house. It would be easier if Harry wasn’t there too, so she wouldn’t have to sneak around him to do it. And if she finds out. . .well, Harry has accepted that it might happen and he could only hope that she isn’t too angry with him. In the grand scheme, it has changed very little of their dynamic. Harry is a completely different person than he was when he left this place – when he left her. 

His biggest regret, looking back at it, was leaving her alone. Even before this title, when they were just kids playing, he always kind of felt like her unofficial bodyguard. Or even just a companion for her – she didn’t have many other friends, and for whatever reason, both of their parents (or more so his parents and Thomas) thought it was a fine idea to just have them play with one another. Harry thinks it would have been a one-time thing when his father was first getting heavily involved with them, however from what he had heard at the time, Y/N had requested him. 

Or maybe requested was a strong word. He supposes the better way of phrasing it was when Harry's father told him that the little friend he made the week prior asked, “Where is Harry? Is he coming to play?” Which was a request enough for Thomas to invite him to a park that day. They saw each other pretty much weekly after that, depending on what was happening or the state of affairs the organization was in. Actually, Harry doesn’t even think Y/N remembers that much – he had a slightly bigger involvement in her life than he thinks she realizes. But when he speaks to Y/N about her childhood (or more, when she brings up a random anecdote), he finds that she doesn’t recall quite a few things about it. Like her brain had packed it away in storage boxes and stuffed it up in the attic – he’d once read that memory loss was an intrinsic, almost instinctual survival skill. Anything she deemed emotionally traumatic, she may have just conveniently booted from her head, and that. . .well, that might have been most of her years as a kid. 

If he knows anything about her, he knew that she would be upset with him initially but he could only hope she moved past it. Harry would have loved to go with her to her family event, even if she found out with him there, then they could at least discuss it immediately or on the car ride home instead of her stewing over it. But Thomas and Garrison had pulled him aside for different matters – the ones he had described as much more violent than a dinner with a ton of members in a gang, surprisingly. 

There might be a mole. That’s what Garrison had told him privately, that he didn’t trust Otto was in this alone; that nobody just knows where Y/N’s location is, barely anyone knows where she lives and this was an outlet mall 40-ish minutes away. It was just too convenient that Otto would know where she was without there being someone to tell him or some way of knowing. So everyone was under a microscope: Adam, Niall, Martha, Bill, and even some of the new people – Kai, Charlie, Betty, Rebecca. Harry understood why all of these people were on the list, but – 

“Why not me?” He inquired, brows dipped, “I appreciate that I’m not, but I don’t understand why exactly.” 

“You’ve been around since she was a kid,” he’d reminded Harry like he didn’t know, “There will always be a little more trust between us with you than the others. We know you wouldn’t let anything happen to her and you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your family.” 

So while Y/N was with her family, he would be preoccupied snooping in places he probably doesn’t belong. It feels wrong to spy on the other bodyguards like this, and even the newbies; he feels guilt trickle through his chest when he is flicking through files of them. But he knew it had to be done. . .that Y/N’s safety was the top priority, even if it meant potentially betraying the trust of his colleagues. 

He’s worried about what he might find. He’s worried about how Y/N would react if it was anyone close to her. 

Worry soaks his brain, weighs it heavy, and drags his eyelids closed so he would stop watching the back of her sleeping head. He needed to sleep – maybe he should have kept her tucked against his side, cozy and warm because he’s sure he could have fallen right back to sleep then. He already knew he would spend at least ten more minutes contemplating what the next few weeks could bring them. The last time he’d had a little bit of trouble falling back asleep in her flat was after they kissed. 

That kiss. . .Harry’s cheeks feel hot thinking about it. He could still feel her against his mouth if he focused hard enough; the taste of her tongue, how soft her lips were, the way she felt in his lap. He could also remember how embarrassing he’d been coming into her room saying he was jealous, which is the only part of the night he wants to forget. They probably needed to talk about it – when he’s speaking, and Y/N’s staring at his mouth, he feels like he should bring it up, but the words always stick to the back of his throat like honey. 

It was inappropriate, Harry shouldn’t have agreed to do it but Y/N was so cute asking him and he’s human, after all. She wanted to kiss and Harry loved kisses and how could he deny her of such a simple pleasure in life? Especially when she said she didn’t get to do it often? It would have been criminal for him to refuse her! And Harry may participate heavily in unlawful, corrupt things, but he was no bloody monster – his job (in part) was to make Y/N happy, and if a kiss was what did that then so be it. 

(At least this is what he convinces himself.) 

Thinking about it either does two things for him: makes him hard, or gives him soft, twinkling feelings in his stomach. Thankfully, tonight it was the latter, so he revels in the sentiment and finds himself drowsy once again (he’d worked himself up enough that he felt wide awake which would not do – they still had a few hours to sleep and he wanted to make use of it). There is comfort in knowing that if Y/N starts to have her nightmares again, he’s right beside her – he wondered if he’d ever be able to be at her flat without wanting to be next to her.

What he said before she fell asleep, he meant – he wouldn’t let anyone or anything hurt her, and that includes a shitty dream. 

                                                              .                          .                          .

The gathering comes quicker than Y/N would have liked, but she figured it was better than the worry of it lingering like a gloomy cloud over her. Y/N had woken up that morning with a sort of weird relief tied into her anxiety; a premature peace was brought on by the fact the day was here and she was one step closer to getting it over with. No matter how unpleasant she would find it, most of these people were family, and if not family, then held a deep-seated, often fear-induced respect for her parents. It wasn’t like anyone would be blatantly mean to her or quiz her too hard on what she was doing, why she was doing it, where she was doing it, because. . .well, wouldn’t that make them look a touch suspicious? These sorts of questions would only be acceptable from her grandparents and that’s if they could talk about something other than how hard it is to use the bathroom the older they get. 

Y/N kept reminding herself of this in the hours leading up to the party and it made her feel much better. They were doing this because her grandparents were coming in from Dublin, where they had settled after passing the torch to her parents (neither was from Ireland, but both were drawn to the lush green hills and a seemingly endless supply of Guinness which is all they could wish for in their old age). Everyone would be much more intrigued by them than they would be by her – she felt silly for getting so worked up over going. Was it not a little self-absorbed to think everyone would want to know what she was doing?  Who gave a shit about what was going on with her besides a handful of other people? 

She had told this line of thinking to Niall who would be accompanying her to the party. “That’s awfully pessimistic but if that’s what makes you feel better then yeah, they’ll probably be focused on what your grandparents are chatting about. They’ve got some brutal fucking stories, but your Nan is so cute, you don’t expect her to be telling them.” 

It’s true; her Nan wears bright-colored cardigans and keeps her hair styled neatly in feather white curls. She knits, sews, and bakes cookies. When she was in town while Y/N was a child, she would take her (bodyguard-less, because “If something goes wrong, I’ll take care of it,”) to feed ducks in the park, or to pick out yarn for a blanket. Very normal, Nan-like things, so you really wouldn’t have guessed that she used to shoot people’s feet if they betrayed the family. 

The weather was much warmer today so Y/N wore a dress – her mum and Nan liked her in dresses, and though Y/N had a love-hate relationship with the garment, she’d like to make them both happy. A light blue, patchwork material that came just above her knees, with loose puffy short sleeves and a square neckline. Niall gave her a mocking gasp when she walked out in it, “I was half expecting to see you in sweats and a tank top, I never see you all dressed up.” 

“Because I’ve been on house arrest, dick,” she retorted, pulling her socks over her feet. 

With a snort, he pulled his phone out, “Harry’s g’na be so fucking jealous he didn’t see you in a dress.” 

“Huh?” Y/N slid her left foot into her shoe (the mary jane like shoe but was lacking the buckle that really made it a mary jane), “Why would he care?” 

“Because you look cute and he’s a sucker for you looking cute,” Niall says it like it’s obvious, confusion reworking his face into a confused frown, “He coos over like every cute thing you do.” 

“He’s just teasing.” 

A scoff leaves him, “Whatever you say – now smile for the camera.”  

Y/N smiled nice, big, and pretty, her head tilted dramatically and her middle finger stuck out toward him. It is the opposite of a deterrent for the blonde, who chortles as he takes rapid-fire pictures from varying angles, muttering something about, “See how you like it when this one goes to your Nan.” After the pictures are taken, she stands and smacks his arm lightheartedly. She wondered if Niall had actually sent it to Harry and her suspicions were confirmed just as soon as they got in the car to leave.

I can’t believe you’ve had such a cute dress and never told me or Goose, you know how much she loves dresses. She’s going to be so hurt.

The memory of Goose rolling around in a few of her dresses (and other various items of clothing but mostly her dresses) when Y/N was going through her closet (in a fit of pure boredom), plants itself into her brain. It makes her smile, even though she knew she’d be removing remnants of tortoiseshell fur off the fabric; she just wanted to scent her and all of her things. Harry told her Goose was in the midst of trying to adopt her but the paperwork is hard for a cat so it’d been taking some time. 

Rolling her eyes, she let her thumbs dart around the keyboard. 

Don’t use the cat as an excuse, pervert

The drive isn’t as awful and damning as she thought it might feel; it’s about 30 or so minutes out from where she stays depending on what traffic is like and Niall is on some soapbox about a drama he’s currently watching. She watches as the cityscape changes to suburbia, and from suburbia closer to the countryside. Not the house on stilts beside a river and a boat beside the car countryside, but the smarmy, affluent kind – where it wasn’t really countryside, but there were acres upon acres of land to own. The trees they pass are a blur of brown branches speckling with green as they shift to Spring, and bushes that never lost their green, to begin with.  

Anxiety still bubbles in her belly but more from the prospect of seeing people she hasn’t seen in a while, than it was from being worried they’d ask how she was doing. Because she realized she could A. Always lie, and B. Harry did give her a good idea the other week about opening some form of online shop. She’d started laying the groundwork for it down, so she could at the very least talk out of her ass about what she was doing. That was if anybody asked – she wouldn’t just bring it up on her own. 

Y/N finds that she just needs to tap into that part of herself she uses with her friends when she is able to go out with them. The part of her that completely erases any possibility that she has a life outside of what they were doing at that moment; narrowly avoiding questions that probe too deeply into her day-to-day, steering the conversations toward the person she was talking to and their life. Everyone likes to talk about themselves if you show you’re willing to listen, Y/N found that out relatively quickly. 

Her parents’ house, much like them, is gaudy and extravagant and too big. It’s a pretty place, but she just doesn’t necessarily see the need for columns lining the stairs leading up to the house, or the large brass lion knocker on the front door. The chandelier in the foyer when you first enter is about a thousand crystals that cast glittering shadows along the slate grey walls. From the foyer, directly in front of the door is a bifurcated staircase, and beneath either set of stairs splitting off from the main row, there was an entryway to the kitchen and a sitting area, both just on the side of too big. She could already see people moving around in the kitchen and could tell that most people were in the backyard where the majority of this would be taking place. 

This wasn’t the house she grew up in so there was no personal attachment to the walls, the floors, or the doorways. She doesn’t stop to linger around a spot on the wall she remembered being measured against when she was little, nor does she see little mirages of a small her running around the halls in a moment of nostalgia. Y/N walks through the foyer, her shoes clicking against the hardwood as she makes her way to the backyard. 

There were a lot of people to greet and she was feeling overwhelmed, but nobody noticed (nor seemed to care) about her arrival. It made it easy to slink around, seeking out her grandma who she knew would be sitting beneath one of the tarps they had set up shielding away the blinding son. She was in the middle of speaking to a group of people, so Y/N was going to stand and wait patiently off to the side, but her eyes flickered over, a smile broke out over her face, and she waved her closer, “Is that who I think it is?” Y/N lowered to hug her, “God, you’re looking like an adult! Where the hell is your grandfather, someone call the lazy sod over.” 

It was easy with her like it always was. Y/N spoke to her for a while, and hugged her granddad when he made his way over, (“Is your hair longer? Looks longer – you know, your mother had long hair when she first met your dad, like down to her bum, it was ridiculous! We used to beg her to get it cut, we thought it’d get trapped in a door.”). She spoke to them both briefly, and they told her they wanted to plan a trip where she came to Ireland for a visit, and she agreed immediately. Her Nan cooed and doted over her for a moment, pinching her cheek and murmuring something about her needing to sleep more, “I can tell you’re tired, you get that same look your dad gets. Why aren’t you sleeping? Is your mattress comfortable?” 

Y/N thinks, if her life was slightly different, these questions might annoy her but she revels in them. No matter how old you get, it’s nice to have someone worry over you a bit; to not see Y/N often but to know when she looks tired, to want to know why she isn’t sleeping, to wonder if it is her mattress. This is the kind of normal worry, about her sleeping habits, or how she’s eating, or if she’s happy – not about rivals and strangers to her that feel contempt for her parents but somehow translate that to hurting her. 

“We’ll talk later,” her Nan promised her, swatting her bum and giving her a small push, “Go mingle with your family, they’re missing you. And find your parents, tell them to stop working and come pamper me, I haven’t seen either of them for more than ten minutes.” 

She listens (her grandma is not someone you ignore orders from) and mingles. Y/N feels increasingly stupider for being so worried because really, nobody cares what she’s doing now, they mostly want to chat and reminisce over memories from years ago. She’s happy to listen, to laugh, to avoid any segues that might lead to delving into her life or opening a door where that might be a topic. Even if it was, she wondered if everyone just knew not to interrogate her – everyone is too worried about upsetting her parents to dig too deep into her shit. For all they know she could be doing under-the-cuff shit for them that nobody but she knew about (she isn’t but she could definitely could be – they aren’t above doing shifty things like that). 

Eventually, she did find her parents and it was. . .as it always was. They almost seemed like they were mid-meeting, which she hadn’t known, but all talked among themselves and the several people sitting beneath the stone gazebo (besides the pond they had built, with fish swimming around in it and a small waterfall because of course they had that) once she appeared, “Hi,” she greets unceremoniously, “Nan says stop working and go dote over her.” 

“Of course she did,” her mom smiled brightly, “Come here and hug me – where’d you get this dress? I love it, I’d be wearing that if I was just a few years younger.” 

“Try a decade,” her father teased, reaching over to squeeze her arm, “How’s my girl, huh? You all,” he turned to the others, “Go ahead and socialize, we’ll spend some time with our daughter.” 

They talk for a while, they’re the only ones inquiring about her life, and what she’s doing, and as she speaks it only then settles in her brain that they’ve got no clue. Y/N always imagines Thomas being puppeteer’d by her parents, doing as they say, but she forgets that for the most part, they do give him a fair amount of autonomy. Only relatively big notions (like her going to university) are discussed as a group. They do know that she’s being confined to her flat and they at least have the decency to  appear like they feel bad. 

“Once things settle,” her mum had patted her knee, “Things will be better, and you’ll be able to go out more. There’s. . .something going on right now, it’s better to air on the side of caution. Especially after what happened.” 

“Yeah, I get it,” she doesn’t. . .she tries her best to though, from their perspective, “Figure it out quick though, I want to go loiter at a mall or something soon.” 

She did end up telling them about her plan with art – after she told them about the art classes, which they seemed only vaguely aware of. Y/N went into it, about the cutesy drawings, about an online store, and they nod and say things like, “That sounds nice, Honey,” which is precisely what she expected. Something gentle, slightly dismissive, like they’re listening to a 12-year-old get overly enthused about her hobby. It was nice to talk about it with someone other than Harry though, even if she was certain they were only half listening. 

Her mother is the one to bring Harry up, sipping from her glass of wine, “Hm? He’s your newest guard is he not? How’s it going?” 

“It’s good,” she shrugged her shoulders, “He’s nice,” I kissed him the other week, “And he’s got two really cute cats that he brings over,” he slept in my bed the other night because I’m having horrible nightmares – do I look tired to you? Nan says I look tired, that’s probably why, “Yeah, it’s fine. Has he said anything?” 

Her father cleared his throat, “From what Thomas has said, he does well at all aspects of his job,” he gave a tight-lipped smile, and there’s. . .a look there, in his face, that caught Y/N’s attention, “Which is always good to hear, when we’re trusting someone with you.” 

“He does kind of remind me of someone,” her lips move before she can really think it through, bringing it up, but her dad’s disposition had changed ever so slightly – something that Y/N wouldn’t have noticed had she not been trying to read them the entire conversation, “I used to spend time with someone when I was little, who was named Harry. He just disappeared one day though.” 

As soon as her mother opened her mouth to respond, her father cut her off, with a smooth, almost immediate precision, “Hm, I think I remember him,” he reached for his drink from the table, “But he and his family moved quite a while ago, I believe. There was a company in Australia I believe, that wanted to hire him. That is if I’m remembering correctly.” 

Y/N thinks if her father had answered any other way, or even just slightly differently, she wouldn’t have questioned it. Maybe she would have finally given up, and let it go because even if she did know Harry from when she was younger he clearly didn’t want her to remember him for a reason. If she had anything else to do with her time, she probably wouldn’t have even cared that much to bring it up past asking Harry if she knew him from somewhere. 

But it was weird how he’d answered her. It was too fast – and how do you think you remember somebody, but go on to explain they moved to Australia? Plus, from what Y/N has gathered through bits and pieces she hears from her guards and from what she remembered when she was little, people don’t just stop working for her parents. They don’t just go on their merry way unless they are exiled, and even then, the offense would have to be pretty minor to come out unscathed. 

Once you’re in this world, you’re in it. There’s no dipping a toe in and deciding it’s too cold; the only option is to sink into it, down to the shoulders, and embrace it when the water lapping at your neck is finally warmer than the air blowing around above it. 

“Ohh, okay,” she plays nice and dumb, smiling gently, “Well that settles that then. I was just wondering.” 

The tension that had risen in his shoulders loosened, and he relaxed back in his chair, “Tell us more about this business you’d like to start – I know someone who specializes in marketing for start-ups and. . .” 

It’s brushed under the rug because of course it is, and Y/N keeps chatting with them a healthy amount before excusing herself to the restroom. This is when her parents make their move to visit with her Nan (“What a joy it is to dote on your mother-in-law,” her mother sighed, grabbing her wine), so they split ways. Y/N does have to piss, that much is true, but she’ll also be taking a detour to the library, where the photo albums were kept. Nobody questions where she’s going or why she’s going there, but she does manage to narrowly avoid Thomas who would have definitely not trusted her when she told him she wasn’t doing anything to rouse suspicion. 

The library, in comparison to the rest of the house, is actually one of the smaller rooms. She wondered if it was actually small or if the towering bookcases made it appear more compact than it was. On either side of the room, the walls were bookshelf-beside-bookshelf, filled to the brim with different novels, titles, hardbacks, and paperbacks (she doesn’t even think her parents are that into reading). Adjacent to the door, the wall is a window that reminded her of Edward’s room in Twilight, only this one was composed of bulletproof, thick glass and had large curtains that could be drawn if it was night. In the center of the room was a small couch, a coffee table, and a lamp (which has a very limited purpose when there’s a huge light fixture hanging from the ceiling that lights up the entire room as soon as it’s flicked on). 

It takes her a moment to skim over different bindings until she finds the odd, large bindings of the photobooks. They aren’t labeled but she remembered that her mother, in all her perfectionist glory, had them color coded by years. Y/N knew that vibrant purples, blues, and greens were from a period starting with her birth so that’s where she starts. She pulled out all of them, bundled them in her arms, and went to the couch. Vaguely does Y/N remember a time when she was always posing for pictures whether she wanted to or not, and while it wasn’t necessarily either of her parents taking the picture – someone was. Thomas, any bodyguard, her Nan, uncles, aunts, and cousins if they were all together. So there are plenty of pictures to sift through, almost an annoying amount. She thinks she’ll be in here for hours. 

Three photo albums in, she begins to lose hope. What was she even looking for? Some proof that Harry existed when she was little? Who was to say anyone had even taken a picture of them together in the first place? And for her parents to keep it, when one of them at the very least, was not interested in her knowing that he had existed in her life before a few months ago when he’d entered her flat, following close behind Niall? It was unlikely. 

She nibbles at her thumbnail, heaving a sigh and almost irately flipping through pages now when she sees it. 

When she sees him. 

If Y/N had looked through it any quicker she would have missed it. A picture at the park, two children stood beside the obnoxiously bright blue tunnel slides: one of them was her, in a frilly pink sundress that had large yellow flowers printed all over the front, and jelly shoes she has a vague memory of regretting because the mulch from the ground kept scratching her. She had a big, front toothless grin, her head over-exaggerated in its tilt and one of her hands were held up like she was waving. Her arm was wrapped around a boy, just a little taller than her, who had awful cargo shorts you could only get away with wearing at 9 and a green shirt with a FIFA logo. His hair was brown, cut short, his eyes were light, she could tell, and he had two dimples just as she remembered. Looking at this photo, she knew for sure. 

It was him. 

That fucking liar. 

She carefully slides the delicate paper from the plastic sheet and presses it off to the side, before continuing to flip through. One picture would be enough, she knew, but she wanted to build an arsenal of proof. He could try to explain away one picture, but not several. Not when she could tell the structure of his face, the way one side of his mouth has always pulled up higher when he smiled, the crinkles beside his eye when he grins. 

Y/N is conflicted, about whether to be happy or upset or whatever she was feeling. She was happy that she had been right this whole time. She was irritated because he’d been lying to her and her dad just lied straight to her face, but she wondered for what reason it was important that she didn’t know. And she was confused, because. . .well, where the fuck had he gone? From at least four of the photo albums, she finds around five photos from each of them, up until she was around 10. 

She’d worried a sore into the inside of her bottom lip biting at it with fretted teeth, and her forehead ached from the deep furrow she’d had the entire time she flicked through the albums. Y/N was ready to go home, but she knew she’d have to stay for a while longer. 

Just as she was sliding the pictures into her purse, zipping it closed, the door of the library opened. She tenses until she realizes it’s Niall, who squints his eyes, “What are you doing in here?” 

“Hiding and going down memory lane.” She dismisses him quickly, collecting the albums and walking them back to where she’d found them, “Have they started serving food yet? I’m fucking starving.” 

“Watch your mouth, your Nan could be around any corner. She’s quiet on her feet,” he playfully scolded her, not probing any further into her reasonings for being in here, “That’s why I came to get you, the caterers finally have everything set up and I knew you’d fuss if I ate without you.” 

She scoffed, “Thanks, and for the record, I don’t fuss, I hit.” 

He pouted his mouth, rubbing his arm where she’d swatted him earlier, “Don’t I know it.” 

                                                                    .                     .                   .

Y/N loses her nerve. 

For a while, she was riled up and ready for an argument (though she doubts Harry would actually argue with her); Harry was supposed to come to see her that night, so she had very little time to mentally prepare. But from that little time she did get, she’d prepared to let him walk in, sit down, then slam the pictures down on the table in front of him and demand answers. Like why he lied before, why her father lied today, and why he left in the first place. Does it matter? No, not necessarily, and she doesn’t think it would change how anything is right now, but at the end of the day, Y/N is nosy and confused and wants to know why everyone else is in on this and not her. Just like everything else in her life, she is kept in the dark, and she’d just been praising Harry for being the only one who ever kept her in the know, telling her more than anyone else. 

And she thinks if it had been anyone else, she probably would have. If she had looked through those albums and seen a photo of Niall with her, she would have immediately thrown it at him and asked him what the fuck it was about. 

Yet as soon as she saw Harry, who smiled brightly at her as he walked in, holding two strawberry shakes with a big grin on his face. . .she just couldn’t. 

“I brought you a treat,” he told her, kicking the door shut with his foot, “It’s a celebration shake. Do you feel relieved having done it and gotten it over with?” 

It almost felt silly, to think about doing it how she had planned. To show him the photos, like an I told you so! I’m right, you’re wrong, I did know you – it felt like a petulant way to approach the subject. And if there was a good reason that they didn’t want her to know. . .if there was any reason at all, really, why should she have to force his hand in telling her? To shove proof in his face, catch him off guard, guilt him into telling her. . .it just didn’t feel right. She wanted to know, and part of her felt she deserved to know, but maybe not like this. 

She cleared her throat, and smiled gently, “Yeah,” she told him, “It wasn’t too bad.” 

“See! I told you it’d be just fine,” he handed her the shake, “I’ll admit, I am jealous Niall got to go with you in that dress. It was adorable – you look so pretty when you’re all dressed up. Well, you’re pretty always, actually, but I do love dresses.” 

Y/N feels her face warm, mouth pulled into a frown, “Don’t tease me,” she grumbled, pulling the straw of the shake between her lips, but she moves her legs out of the way for him to sit with her on the couch. 

“I’m not teasing,” he defended himself, “Really, I think you’re pretty in whatever you feel comfortable in.” 

Y/N nudged him with her foot, and let the words, I knew you when I was little, I have pictures – fizzle out in her throat. She wants to know – so badly does she want to know, but she just can’t give a reason why she would need to know. And she guesses part of her is a little scared that it might change things between them. There were a lot of things Y/N wanted but that wasn’t one of them; she’d like to keep getting closer to him, to keep looking at him and feeling safe, for that bubble of warmth and comfort to arise in her belly every time he stepped through the door. 

She liked how things were now, so maybe she was okay not knowing. Not yet, at least. . .for a little while. 

“Where’s your head at, hm?” Harry hums low, sweet, and soft; he’s in the usual attire, though the white button-up was loosened by a few buttons and the cuff links were undone. His suit pants were navy blue today, and he treated them with little care, his foot pulled up onto the couch, rolling the leg of the trousers up. He is turned to face her, the hand on his phone lowering so she had his full attention, “You seem far away.” 

“Nowhere,” she lies easily, “I’m just sleepy.” 

Harry gives her a smile – it’s gentle but still big, and she’s suddenly acutely aware of how her heart races when she witnesses it, dimples and all, “Liarrr,” he sing-songs, but uses his free hand to squeeze her calf over the pajama pants she’s wearing, “You can tell me when you’re ready if you want to talk about it,” his voice sinks into her muscles, melts them, “I’ll wait for you. Until then, I reckon we should watch that show. . .the new one with the zombies everyone is talking about?” He would have a good reason, right? Harry wouldn’t just lie to her. . .Harry doesn’t just lie. 

Y/N nodded, her lips twitching up, “So you finally admit you want to see it,” she puffed a laugh from her chest, “After so vehemently denying that you’re interested in zombie shows at all!” 

“To be fair, a lot of them can be shit!” He whined, “But I’ve seen a lot of good reviews, and I heard it’s about some mind-controlling fungus which is a slight deviation from other versions of the story. And legally, you can’t be mean to me because I’m so sweet and brought you a shake.”  

She grabbed the remote, “You’re whiny.” 

“I reckon I deserve to be the whiny one sometimes, you get to be 24/7.” He retorted and Y/N gasped, mouth falling open. 

“I am not whiny!” 

“Oh? Was that a whine I just heard?” When she huffs at him and starts turning her body away from him, he chuckles low, stopping her from twisting her body completely by laying a hand on her bicep, “C’mon, c’mon, I’m kidding.” He scoots to the other end of the couch, “Here, do you want to stretch out? I’m sure your feet must hurt after being in those shoes all day.” 

Her response is to kick her feet up without hesitation, but she wiggles down so that they lay in his lap, “Will you rub them?” Because if he’s going to lie to her about knowing her and then suddenly return to her life as her bodyguard, she thinks she deserves a foot rub out of it at the very, absolute least. 

“Ah,” he places one of her throw pillows in his lap, before delicately laying her foot on top of it, “You just want me here to dote on you.” 

She nodded her head, “Correct.” 

“Brat,” he digs his thumb into the sole of her foot anyway, just above her heel, “Get the show started or I’ll start tickling.” 

Because it’s easy with Harry – it’s always been easy with Harry and that’s what she liked. 

Why make it difficult? 

Why bring it up? 

                                                                 .                             .                           .

The days go on as normal; eventually, they lessen their stringent rules on where she can and cannot go. It’s only a little bit, but she and Harry can finally return to their art classes, where Y/N found the excuse for their absence was they had taken a trip to Spain (she lies about how amazing the rooftop tour of Santiago de Compostela Cathedral is beautiful knowing full well she didn’t even know you could get tours on the rooftop).  They returned just in time for a color theory lesson that goes from a fun grade school color wheel to something that melted her brain. By the end of it, it had turned into something so complex, even Harry seemed genuinely astonished by how deep into it they went. 

“We’ll have to practice later,” he promised, “‘cos I’m going to forget everything she said after the first hour.” 

Y/N goes to a brunch with her Nan, who – albeit reluctantly – lets Harry attend. Thomas was still hyper-aware of any possible danger (as he always is) and thought it would be dangerous for not only Y/N but her Nan (who has made plenty of enemies in her day) to be alone out and about together. Harry offered to sit at a separate table once he noticed her Nan’s displeasure but she waved the idea away, “Why should you be punished because I disagree with how they’re doing things? You’ll sit with us.” 

If Y/N looked back on it, she thinks that Grandma always had a problem with how they raised Y/N. Very, very, very vaguely she has an indistinct and fuzzy memory of her scolding Y/N’s father, “This is no life to live,” she told him, “To force her in this house! To not even let her attend school? She needs friends outside of her cousins and a life. I didn’t raise you to be so stupid.” And Y/N thinks, relatively close to that, she’d been enrolled in a private school (though she moved around quite a bit following that). 

It was nice to spend time with her, and she thinks – even without trying – Harry had managed to woo her Nan in about five minutes. If she let herself indulge, even just for a second, it was like having her boyfriend meet her family but she wipes the thought away as soon as it arises. 

Because she’s been having a lot of thoughts like that; she’d begun labeling them her “senseless, delusional” moments where she even for a second considered having feelings for Harry. They started out infrequently, only every so often (especially when he did something particularly sweet) but with time they grew more recurrent. It seemed, like some sort of sick twist, that they came on stronger once she realized that she knew him from when they were little. 

Which, Y/N thinks if she were more emotionally sound, the opposite would have occurred. She should be put off and repelled, but instead, she finds herself feeling more and more fond. 

Now she notices things that she hadn’t before. All the little idiosyncrasies of hers that he remembered from childhood: how she liked jelly candies and her favorite flavors, the board games she used to play, the stuffies she always liked, the way she hated the sound of nails on a holographic picture, how she thinks the sandwich just tastes better when it’s cut diagonally. They were things that, for whatever reason, she never questioned why he knew before but now that she thought about it, it would be incredibly odd had he known them without knowing her. 

And over time she just realizes that he brings the kind of comfort that only a childhood friend could bring. Familiarity, a tender warmth, the idea that someone still likes you even as you’ve grown and changed into the person you are today. Fundamentally, their relationship was always somewhat forced she guesses – their parents (or his parents and Thomas) probably arranged the first play date. And Thomas definitely arranged for him to be her bodyguard. They were compelled to be in the same space together, but enjoying their time with each other. . .that was them. Harry laughing at her jokes, the feeling that fizzles in her veins when his cheeks get pink, how excited she is to see him when it’s his night with her, the borderline domestic relationship she’s developed with his cats – all of that wasn’t arranged. 

They were friends, Y/N truly believed that. They had been forever now, she guesses, if the decade-long gap in between was dissolved. 

Y/N thumbs through the photos when she’s in her room at night, gnawing at her bottom lip, a zoetrope of memories flickering through her brain. Some things she recalls, some things she doesn’t, and she recalls feelings more than she does conversations or scenarios. She was always happy, she knew that, and she always felt like a normal kid with him. She could tell him things and they could play and things were good and normal.

She found herself wanting to kiss him more every day, which is a bit of a problem. They still hadn’t spoken about the first, logically they should do that before having a second, but the want for it itches beneath her skin. Y/N’s certain he had caught her staring at his mouth several times, probably more than she would like to admit, but he had never really brought it up before. 

Until a random Thursday, at least, when she’d spent most of the day drawing and perfecting different sketches for the first round of stickers (she does a lot of random original cutesy drawings, then some that involve different tv shows and movies – people like to buy cute versions of characters they like, Y/N knows that because she does it all the time). Harry started talking about. . .something, Y/N couldn’t remember, but what she did remember was how his mouth went from forming around the word “apples” to smirking. 

“You stare at my mouth an awful lot,” he taunted her, and Y/N. . .she was feeling more sensitive that day; less fiery than she usually was, so she tilted her head down and murmured an apology, “No, wait,” he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, “I was only kidding, Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize for anything.” 

When she hummed and made no move to look back at him, she felt careful fingers on her chin, guiding her face toward him, “C’mon, Darling, don’t hide. It’s okay! You can look at my mouth all you want, lord knows I’m always looking at yours.” 

Her face feels hot and she swallows thickly, “You’re looking at mine?” 

“Mhm,” he hesitated for a moment, before the pad of his thumb grazed over her bottom lip, “More than I’d like to admit.” 

“We could always,” she spoke against his petting thumb, “We could kiss again then if you want.” 

He leaned in, moments from smearing his mouth against hers, but there was a knock at the door. 

The pizza they ordered had come. 

That was the closest they’d been to kissing again, but once Harry went to answer the door and sign for the food the moment had left them. Y/N is flustered, warm in her face, and has zero nerve to return where they had left off so she nudges him with her foot when he sits back beside her and calls him a wimp when he fusses over it. Things go back to normal – the same as they usually were.

(It was only later that night when she was alone in her bed when she felt inconceivably horny, did she remember that her period was coming. The weeks leading up to it always left her insatiable, sensitive in both her feelings and touch, and if she snuck her hand between her thighs to the thought of kissing him again, well that’s her own problem.) 

The nightmares start to fade too, which is nice, though that means Harry spends less time in her room. He’d made a habit of sleeping beside her, or at least laying down near her until she fell asleep, and she’d always wake up the next morning alone. Though without fail, as soon as a dream seemed to sour, Harry was there at her side to wake her from it, always attentive, squeezing the shoulder he’d just been shaking, “S’just a dream, baby, you’re okay.” He’d calm her down, “Go back to bed.” 

“Thank you, nightmare killer,” she would murmur, tongue feeling heavy in her mouth, and Harry would laugh, and she’d fall back asleep. 

Things were nice, starting to feel a little normal again with the additive closeness she felt with Harry despite knowing what she did. She was starting to feel comfortable again, and not stuck inside all of the time, and she felt like she was getting somewhere with her drawings, growing closer and closer to being able to open her shop. 

And then, one night, Harry is waking her up frantically. 

Harry is not a frantic person – he is usually calm, collected, and measured. Y/N has never truly seen him in action but she’s sure he makes decisions with precision and tact that typically comes from years of experience, though she doesn’t think he’s been at this that long. He’s levelheaded and respectful and acts well under pressure – that makes him deadly. 

So to see him urging her awake, moving quickly, telling her to, “Get up, we need to leave.” Makes her adrenalin spike and panic drip from her ears. 

“What?” She was still foggy, disoriented – what time was it? Her clock says it’s three in the morning. 

“We need to go,” he is reaching beneath her bed, dragging out a bag – her “Go” bag, is what she always called it, something Thomas had instructed her to make even when she was little. It was a duffel of clothes, toiletries, and things that would take too long to grab in the event she needed to leave an area quickly. She’d only ever had to grab it once before when she was younger, but she couldn’t remember why. Though now that she thinks about it, it seemed like it might have been close to the time that Harry had disappeared.

She doesn’t check her go bag often, beyond replacing the toiletries that may have lived past their shelf date, so she was also surprised to see Harry pull a gun from it. A gasp leaves her mouth, she’s still moving too slowly, trying to catch up with what’s happening as he’s fitting it into the holster, “Wait, what? What’s wrong? What’s happening?” 

He’s zipping the bag up, “Bill was fired –” 

“What?” 

“- and it got ugly, he shot at Martha. There’s reason to believe he’s on his way here.” 

“But why –” 

“There’s no time to explain everything,” he threw the duffle over his shoulder, “We need to leave.” 

Her head is spinning, she knows she’s probably annoying him, but she can’t help but search for something to say, for a question to ask, to try and understand what was happening, if she was dreaming or not, if this was another nightmare, “What –” 

This time Harry cuts her off by taking her face in his hands – he was still gentle, but she could sense the urgency, “I will explain as soon as we’re safe, I promise you, baby, but right now we need to leave okay? Get your phone but turn off the location. We’ll go down the back stairwell to the parking garage.” She still seems hesitant, confused, but Harry runs a thumb over her cheek, “Do you trust me?” 

And she does. . .she trusts him implicity, more than she should, probably.   

“Yes.” 

“Good,” he replied quickly, “Come on.” 

[leclsrc]

a charles drabble with love language/s pls.... its all i want its all i have ever wanted

real love baby – cl16

You express love differently, but it’s love all the same.

genre: fluff

auds here... i hope you enjoy it! this is a scheduled post – my brain is so wonky and i absolutely needed to get back into writing before my hands atrophied and i wasted away into dust …. so i worked on a months-old req that i previously scrapped. am i happy w this? well i’ll answer that honestly and say

It happens first when you’re still friends.

Charles gets off a late meeting that’s wormed its way into the late hours of night, costing him hours of rest or training, and the paddock is empty save for staff members setting up for Sunday. He’s still got Sauber merch slung over his arm when he clicks on his car keys—when the lights flash, he notices a shadow by an adjacent car. “Hello?” He calls out, apprehensive. They let anyone into the area these days.

“It’s me,” says your voice, amused at the clear nerves his voice exhibits. “Why’re you leaving so late?”

“I couldn’t leave without making sure everything was set for tomorrow.” There are circles under your eyes, obscured by the lens of your glasses, the ones you wear when you’ve been staring at text or a screen for hours too long. You work a lot in the crux of a season, coordinating investors for Mercedes and making sure money is where it’s supposed to be every single day. “We’re getting budget breach accusations.”

“I planted them,” he jokes half-heartedly, leaning his side against the trunk of your car. You laugh, rolling your eyes. It’s not the funniest joke in the world—it wouldn’t pass at all if he did that at an open mic—but something makes it easy to do so, to throw your head back and affirm his attempt at comedy. 

Charles is so tired—from driving in the morning and results in the afternoon to a meeting that lasted hours and discussed basically his entire fucking future—but he enjoys having you laugh at something he’s said. He doesn’t really know why, just savors the way your necklace glints in the dim light of the parking lot and the leftover lighting from the paddock several metres away. 

“Funniest joke I’ve heard in a while,” you say mutely, sarcastic. Your car is on but you’re not getting in.

“Does Henry not entertain you with jokes of his own?” He asks lightly, smiling. “Henry? Harry? Or is he busy with… what was it, an online rap career?”

“Harvey.” You’re not laughing, and in fact displaying some expression that’s half amusement/disappointment, but he can spot the beginnings of a smile on your lips. “You knew that. And he’s not an online rapper.” Anymore, you leave out.

“Oh, that’s good. Was worried he was out to get Drake’s career.” You raise a hand to threaten him playfully, a genuine laugh escaping your lips. Your teeth flash and your eyes crinkle and his head doesn’t hurt so much anymore. “Appreciate the jokes while you still can,” he says anyway. “My migraines lately have made me very sluggish.”

You blink, reaching into your patterned handbag and producing a tiny bottle of Advil. “Take it,” you tell him, lips pursed. “Can’t have this year’s best rookie having chronic headaches.” You push it into his hand and smile tightly.

“Thanks,” he stutters, his throat dry. “I’ll see you around. With Harvey, maybe. You could introduce us.”

“Hah. Not sure that’s something I’d… I’d really want,” you dismiss quietly, watching him round the space to open his car. Louder, you add, “Let me know when you’re okay.”

He looks at you then downward. Then at you again, smile on his face. “I will.” He raises the Advil and gives it a shake. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” you say, grinning. 

—

The next time it happens (the next time you can both remember well, at least) you’re in the sweet little in-between of being friends and something else. He calls it his courting stage; you, your begrudgingly allowing it stage. At that point things had gone awry with Harvey, since he’d decided to jump back into his pursuit of Soundcloud fame.

“Hey.” You duck into the gym room, your head just in between the door and the frame. Seb sees you, bumps his teammate to catch his attention further; Charles jogs to you and leans against the wall, crossing his arms to hear you continue. “I’m leaving early today. No money issues.” You nod squarely. “Parce que I stole the funds.”

“I warned you. If you keep talking about embezzlement I’m going to have to kiss you,” he whisper-jokes, smiling.

He watches you hide a laugh, visibly flustered and stuttery, and he swears his chest hurts from how much it affects him, how strong his attraction is to you. He’s almost terrified of it, comforted only when you open your mouth to respond: “Are you gonna be in early tonight?”

“I, uh—” He turns to Seb. “We’ll be done in an hour, but I’m driving so I’ll wait around ’til later. Just… I’ve been too sore to properly get these moving for long so I need to rest for a bit.” He wiggles his arms and fingers. “It’s, well. The price you pay for being very muscular.”

“Jokes write themselves with you,” you scoff, cocking your head. “Okay, then. Um—I’ll see you.”

An hour later he leaves to take a piss and dick around while waiting for the dull ache at the nape of his neck to relax, and instead finds you in the Ferrari motorhome, close to sleeping. Your eyes snap open when they hear the pad of his sneakers against the floor. “Oh.” 

“Oh?” He smiles, his heartstrings tugging. “What’s… what are you doing here?”

“Waiting.” You mirror his expression with quiet grace. “I can drive you back, Charles. It’s—you shouldn’t be driving yourself in this condition. I got Andrea to drive your car to your hotel.” 

Despite his protests, he does end up becoming the passenger, and by extension the navigator and deejay, queuing up songs for you both to sing along to. In the unfamiliarity of the city and the dull exhaustion seeping into his bones, though, he’s asleep to a Police song before long. His hand rests softly on the centre console.

At the red light right before the hotel, you interlock your pinkies to wake him up. “Mmmff?”

“We’re near,” you notify, smiling at his sleepy expression.

“Thank you,” he yawns. Then for good measure, “Didn’t know I was in such good hands.”

“You ever gonna stop with the jokes?” You ask amusedly, turning right.

“Not if they make you laugh.”

“They do,” you murmur, fond. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” he says quietly, holding your hand fully.

—

Life became a blur of little moments like those after that night.

Sure touches, words of assurance from Charles; little deeds from you. Whispered in French or Italian or English while he wrapped you in an embrace on bad days. A spout of cheers on the better ones. A water bottle with a Post-it: Finish before noon!!! when he’d gone to bed mouthing off about being thirsty. A cup of coffee on the counter the way he liked it on days you both had the time.

Sometimes it would switch: that time you were sick and he showed up to the Mercedes motorhome, Evian and meds in hand every six hours to make sure you were up to sched with your cold medication. That time you wrote him a letter for your third anniversary and watched him wipe tears off his face before he even made it halfway. Another time he organised your flat’s entire bookshelf according to all your standards (only to ask you to move in a week later and redoing the organisation at his place). And another time you gave a speech on Charles at a gala and he accepted the award, again, tearily.

But every action, every word, every joke, every hug, has always been motivated by love. The kind of tender love, that was unfamiliar in the same way it felt so much like home. The kind of love you read about or your parents would send you off to sleep talking about. Love so foolish, but so sure—neither of you have ever needed to doubt for a second. The kind of love so big it should be confusing, but you’ve both come to find it’s anything but, that you always seem to be on the same page, or at least capable of getting there. Closeness, intimacy, friendship—that’s all it’s ever been.

And everything, punctuated with the same sentiment, the same words, ever since the first time:

“Thank you,” he says in one breath, his voice heavy with love, with overwhelm. “Thank you, thank you.” He finds your ring finger and slides the diamond atop it. 

“Anything,” you say, smiling in-between kisses, “anything for you.”

[marveling-cg]

Okay, I just turned on MHA like six weeks ago, and just finished the manga yesterday. And while I have.....thoughts -.- about that ending, I also can't help think about:

Deku's Accidental Charm Offensive & Unintentional Rehabilitation of Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight's Image

Like:

On one of Deku's first patrols with Dynamight, they wrap up a villain with no injuries, no collateral, no casualties, and Dynamight lets rip his signature shout: "FLAWLESS VICTORY!"

The PR folks at his agency (and the internet) have told him that it's off-putting and unnerving

But Deku breaks out laughing behind him, Bakugo turns for the fist bump, aggressive, still pumped up from the adrenaline

Deku returns it automatically, smile bright, cheeks flushed, eyes nearly shut

The internet thinks it's adorable

And when:

They've responded to a request to back up heroes in an adjacent zone

Bakugo's been picking up more requests for backup now that Deku's in the field -- he knows the nerd gets a kick out of working in teams, and sometimes they run into their classmates, it makes Deku smile, whatever

There's a group of villains working in a team, and the biggest of them has a quirk it takes the the BakuBros way too long to figure out, but Deku, Chargebolt, and Red Riot manage to clear the extras from the field long enough for Bakugo to finally put the big bad down

It was a messy and exhausting fight, Bakugo's barely staying on his feet in the aftermath, but then he hears a shout from a nearby roof -- Deku:

"Great Explosion Murder God --"

"DYNAMIGHT" Kaminari and Kirishima join Deku's dumbass shout, and Bakugo is tossed up on the idiot's shoulders like an American frat boy.

They're so embarrassing.

The nearby newscaster filming from the police line laughs with the rest of the nearby civilians, says something about the atmosphere of joy as the villains have finally been subdued

But especially that time:

Some overexcitable brat almost got themselves killed on Deku and Bakugo's watch

There'd been some two-bit criminal, hardly enough of a threat to be called a villain, but Endeavor'd taught them to respond quickly, and they'd never been able to kick the muscle memory

The kid, no more than 8 or 9 had seen them passing by from her window and climbed out onto her fire escape, climbing up on the rails to try and record the interaction

Thank fuck the sensors on Deku's suit had picked up the anomaly of her sudden descent

Though they'd both rushed into action, Bakugo made the save snatching the kid from the air before she'd injured herself

When he got them both on solid ground, he'd been ready to light into her -- "Listen here, you --"

But Deku had been there, hand firm on Bakugo's elbow, "Kacchan, no!" Before hip-checking Bakugo out of the way and crouching down to get at eye level with the girl

"Hey, what my buddy, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight" (Deku always says it like Bakugo had dreamed it, like it's the name of someone trustworthy) "is trying to say is that your safety is way more important than a picture or video of us. Right?"

Here Deku had turned to look up at Bakugo. His midnight green eyes stern and expectant. Reminding Bakugo:

He'd made a promise to himself. If Deku gave becoming a hero a chance -- not just doing test work with the suit, not just moonlighting between class and grading papers, but really gave partnering with Bakugo his best effort -- Bakugo wouldn't let himself do anything to get in the way of Deku becoming the #1 hero. Anything.

"Yeah kid, it's not a flawless victory if you get hurt."

Deku beamed at him as if Bakugo just plucked the moon from the sky and personally gifted to him. Bakugo's cheeks had burned. But it didn't matter (he'd thought it wouldn't matter -- smartphones are the worst) Deku had already turned back to the girl.

"And if you want to come chat with us, we'll be at the Fall Festival at _____ Park around the corner in just a couple weeks! We'll be at the ______ Agency booth!"

Business kids had gotten the bright idea that heroes ought to be more accessible, feel more a part of the communities they helped protect.

A week later, Ashido sent a tweet to the Forever 1A group chat. A video of he and Deku with the kid. The caption: "Turns out Great Explosion Murder God just needed an anger interpreter."

The first comment under the tweet: "Anger interpreter? Do you mean husband?? Look at the blush!"

Bakugo is going to kill them!

But like, after 3 months of he and Deku partnering, they're neck and neck with Todoroki - the Big 3 back in competition.

[inkluvs]

dancing in a snowglobe - s.h.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

a/n: originally posted on april 11th || (original a/n) i'm posting this before i can start overthinking it sooo yeah <3 also @forevermoreharrington , @sweetbabygirlsworld , @mothymunson , @livingintheupsidedown , and @crappymixtape all proof read parts of it <3 || (1.9k)

warnings: eventual smut. kissing. petnames(baby ; honey ; etc).

summary: you're snowed in with steve. friends to lovers (1.9k)

A pale stream of sunlight poured in through the window leaving you disoriented as you stirred awake. Last time you checked you didn’t have a window adjacent to your bed, nor was it usually this warm in the morning. You thought back to the previous night and the only thing you could recollect was an all-consuming ringing in your ears. Unable to recall anything of substance, you pushed the covers down and sat up slowly, swinging your legs over the side when you were sure you wouldn’t get dizzy. Your eyes focused on the walls painted a mint green color, and what had happened last night seemed to finally click in your mind. You’d fallen asleep at Steve’s last night, the alcohol you’d consumed leaving you unable to drive home, though you didn’t remember falling asleep in that bedroom.

The walls in the hallway were gray with white trimming along the top. The house seemed oddly unlike him, the only signs that he’d even lived there being the scratches on the wall that he’d undoubtedly made as a child. There were windows on either side of the hallway with beige curtains pulled to the side. You looked out the window to see your car parked in the driveway and the road covered in snow.

It’s snowing. How did you fail to notice that before? Was that on the forecast? You pushed that thought away for a few minutes, opting to worry about that later.

Steve was already downstairs, the smell of his cooking making its way up the stairs along with the soft crackle of the fireplace. He turned down the stove at the sound of your footsteps, turning around to face you a moment later. 

“D’you sleep okay?” 

Somehow, Steve seemed softer in the mornings, his old t-shirt not quite covering his tummy as he reached over to grab a plate.

“Yeah,” you paused, “I don't remember falling asleep there though.” Steve stayed quiet for a minute, like a child who’d done something wrong and had been caught in the process. You’d assumed that you’d fallen asleep there and forgotten but something about the way Steve was looking at you, his honey-brown eyes twinkling with fondness, made you change your mind.

“I carried you there,” he said softly, “is that okay? thought you wouldn’t want to sleep on the couch and I didn’t wanna wake you up…” You nodded with a smile and he seemed to deflate with relief.

“d’you wanna eat anything?” You nodded again and he smiled, flipping the pancake on the stove before putting it on the plate. He handed you the plate and you sat down, watching Steve move around the kitchen with a smile. For a second you let yourself indulge in the domesticity of that moment, let yourself believe that this was more than what it was, your friend doing a nice thing for you.

Do friends do this for one another?

You ignored the thought, grabbing syrup and pouring it on the pancakes before grabbing your silverware. Steve joined you a few minutes later, setting down his plate and a plate of sliced fruit before he sat down. His eyebrows puckered once he noticed you hadn’t started yet.

“You didn’t have to wait for me babe,” he frowned. You didn’t know why, but your heart swelled at the nickname. Maybe it was the ease with which it fell from his tongue. The way it came so easily to him to treat you like something delicate and fragile. It was the way you felt yourself melting at the word.

“I wanted to,” you paused, “it felt wrong to start without you.”

In complete honesty, you’d gotten distracted watching him. Trying to memorize every little habit of his in the morning to make the moment last longer. Something about him had you completely and utterly bewitched. The way he would hum softly to the record he had playing in the background soothing you.

You ate in silence for a few minutes, both of you looking up every so often only to see the other doing the same. The only thing you could hear was the scraping of cutlery against ceramic plates. Steve was the one who penetrated the silence, the scrape of his chair legs against the ground making him wince as he stood up. You followed suit a few minutes after, setting your plate and utensils in the sink before washing your hands.

“it’s snowing” He regretted the words as soon as they fell from his lips. You didn’t give him much time to mull it over though, relieved that he’d been the one to start a conversation as you nodded.

“It’s pretty,”

He smiled. 

“You think?”

“Almost distracts you from the fact that you’re snowed in.” 

It was true. Somehow he’d gotten through breakfast and the majority of this conversation without thinking about that. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to spend time with you, he did. In fact, he’d dreamed about having a morning similar to this one with you for a while. But all Steve could think about was how right it felt to see you in his kitchen. To see you leaning against the counter as you messed with the hem of your shirt. He tore his eyes away from yours and you did the same, somehow able to sense the nature of his thoughts. Unable to continue the conversation, Steve excused himself to clean, which. in his mind, wasn’t a lie. The kitchen was a mess from last night. So much so that you couldn’t believe you didn’t notice it earlier. You stood there for a few moments before following, deciding that he would need your help considering the state of his house.

By the time you were finished, the both of you were exhausted. The dust that was stirred up made Steve sneeze, and still, he insisted on taking the vacuum cleaner from you, insisting that you’d already done enough. You know he didn't have any ill intentions in doing so, in fact, you couldn’t help but daydream about that moment.

Your back is pressed against his torso, and the warmth from his skin was seeping into yours through your shirt as he whispered to you, “Honey, you know you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you said simply. You could feel the vibrations in his chest as he spoke softly. 

“You've done lots already, let me help,” It was a sort of back and forth, a dance with one hand tied behind your back as the both of you refused to acknowledge what was obviously there. At some point you let him have it, turning around to face him only to realize you’d overestimated the distance between the both of you. Your breath hitched and for a moment, so short that you thought you imagined it, you could see a flicker of want in his eyes. He stood there, his gaze lingering just a second too long on your lips before he swallowed and he stepped back to give you space.

He’d wanted to kiss you and you knew it. You could see it in the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed. Could feel it in the way his heartbeat had quickened when your chest was pressed against his. And all you could think was why? Why didn’t he kiss you? Why did he ask if you wanted to share his bed? Why had you agreed? Granted he could see you shivering and this is something that you’d wanted forever but it didn't stop you from wondering.

“what’s on your mind?” His voice was soft, so soft, sweet even. His palm was flat against your back, leaving little room between the two of you as his scent, the faint smell of hairspray, consumed your senses. You couldn’t help but wonder how. How he could lay next to you and pretend nothing had happened. Have the warmth of his body seeping into your skin and be okay.

“Can I ask you something?”

“you just did babe,” a childlike smile made its way onto his lips. You fought the urge to mirror it.

“Steve you know what I meant,”

“You can ask me whatever you want, sweet.”

“Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?” you wondered, “we both wanted to so why didn’t you?”

“oh honey, I—” Your chest ached at the endearment.

“And why do you keep calling me that if you don’t want me?”

“What made you think I don’t want you?” 

“Steve–”

“I want you babe, I’ve been wanting you, so much it hurts. As for your other question, I got scared.”  

His voice got quiet, as if he were ashamed to admit it. Years later he’d explain to you that it all felt more real as he said the last word. Like the entire conversation had been a dream and he’d only now come to realize that the rise and fall of your chest underneath his palm was real. Nonetheless, you went quiet at his words, rewriting the situation in your mind according to the new piece of information you’d gotten.

“You got scared?”

“Mhm”

“you scared now?” he shook his head and you smiled, “then what's stopping you”

His lips were featherlight against yours, one hand holding your jaw like you were something delicate and fragile. Like you would shatter in his hands. It was all-consuming and barely there at the same time and you couldn’t help wanting more.

“Steve,” you pulled away for a second and he pouted at the loss of you, “More, please.”

“You sure?” 

You nodded.

“Words baby I need words.”

“Please, I need you,” That seemed to be good enough for him as his thumb dipped under the waistband of your shorts. The sound that you let out was soft and high-pitched, something between a gasp and a moan when his thumb met your clit.

“That’s cute,” he paused, “do that again for me ‘kay?”

He slotted one of his legs between yours before slipping one of his fingers into you. Your breath hitched in your throat and Steve smiled. It was all a haze, the feel of his skin against yours making you dizzy

“This okay?” He pushed another inside you, the slight stretch making you whimper as it toed the line between pain and pleasure.

“mhm,” He pumped his fingers into you lazily, your slick leaking on his hands and wrist. He had his fingers curled to hit that spot inside you that had you seeing stars. 

“Steve” you cried. His mouth fell open at your words, and he swore he’d died and gone to heaven. He quickened the pace of his fingers, and you clenched around him, becoming increasingly desperate for your release.

“God you have no idea how much I’ve been wanting this,” It was lewd really, the way Steve talked to you. The way you could feel his smile against your neck at every little sound you made. The way you could feel his hard cock twitch against your back. The knot in your tummy seemed to tighten as your walls did the same around his fingers.

“That’s it,” his voice was low, the words whispered against the column of your throat, “cum for me honey I know you can.” A mixture of whimpers and whines and his name tumbled past your lips as Steve coaxed you through your orgasm.

“You’re so pretty baby” he mumbled, “you think you can do that again?”

[jeankluv]

The forgotten boy - Geto Suguru | Chapter 04

words: 3,3k

summary: He made a deal with the devil, over 1,000 years ago. Just for the sake of his loved ones but the deal came with a condition. Everyone he met from that moment on, would forget about his existence within minutes, and will be like that for the rest of the eternity

Like that Geto Suguru lived for 1,000 years, being forgotten by everyone he met, not being remembered by anyone and being alone.

“You remember me?”

You nodded. “Of course I do.” You smiled. “You have been coming here for a few days now. Always at the same hour and always asking for the same coffee.”

ac: _3aem

tags: angst, fluff, fantasy au, different lifetimes, dual pov, use of y/n, fem!character, modern settings but also past settings, eventual smut, destiny, characters death (in the flashbacks), blood [more tags in the future]

materialist | previous chapter | next chapter

Suguru walked calmly through the streets that were already practically empty, and only illuminated by the streetlights. With light steps and a new warmth in his chest, he approached the building where he spent his nights. But he had to stop short when he saw the figure that was currently entering the portal. Nanami had returned earlier than he had anticipated, which meant that he would have to stop going to that place for a while. 

Suguru bite his inner cheek trying to think where he would spend the night, he didn't need to sleep and the cold barely affected him, but doing those simple things made him feel human.

Turning abruptly, he strode through the now nearly deserted streets, encountering only occasional revelers making their way home. Veering left, he found himself at a park entrance. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he settled onto a bench near the entrance, affording him a view of the adjacent road. 

Minutes ticked by with scarce passing cars and pedestrians. The moon cast a bright glow overhead, the temperature hovering around 10 degrees, yet he felt no chill. After about forty-five minutes, a car pulled up nearby. Watching as someone emerged and bid farewell to the vehicle, his eyes widened recognizing you. 

You carried a sizable painting, your gaze fixed downward. Suguru wrestled with the impulse to approach; appearing suddenly might seem odd, especially at that late hour. However, witnessing you stumble and fall compelled him to rise and hurry across the street towards you.

As Suguru approached, his heart pounded with worry and his steps quickened as he reached your side. With gentle hands, he helped you sit up, his concern evident in his eyes as he looked at you, lying on the floor with the painting next to you.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his voice filled with genuine concern as he reached out to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

“Suguru?” You looked at him confused by his presence on that place and that hour.

“I know it’s odd but I was walking around and saw you getting out of the car.” He tried to explain himself. “I didn’t want to approach because you would have thought I was some stalker or something like that, but then I saw you falling and… I couldn’t not help you.”

You looked at him and then whipped out the tears of your face. “Don’t worry Suguru.” 

Suguru's heart clenched at the sound of your voice, his concern deepening as he took in your disheveled appearance. Without hesitation, he reached out to help you to your feet, his touch gentle yet firm as he steadied you.

“Are you okay?” He whispered.

“Not really…” You admitted. “The only good thing that happened to me today was having that date with you.” A faint smile appeared on your lips as you looked at him. “How come you are here at this hour?” You said, still confused. 

“Oh… that.” Suguru needed to think of a good excuse before becoming too suspicious. “I lost my keys and getting someone to open my door at this hour it’s quite expensive.” 

You widened your eyes. “So you were going to spend the night at the park?” Suguru shrugged his shoulders. “With this temperature?” You shook your head. “You can stay at my home.”

“Wait y/n.” Suguru stopped you. “You hardly know me, what if I’m a bad person? What if I try to do something to you? You would let anyone you hardly know into your house?” 

Suguru's words stopped you in your tracks, his concern evident in his voice. Her words struck a chord within you, causing a feeling of uncertainty and vulnerability.

But when you looked into Suguru's eyes, you saw something there: something genuine and sincere, a flash of kindness and compassion that said it all. On the other hand, you felt a genuine connection with Suguru, as if an invisible string was uniting you somehow. As if destiny were knocking on your doors and telling you to get together.

You took a step closer to him, your gaze steady as you looked into his eyes. "Suguru." You began, your voice firm. “I might not know you well, but there is something about you that makes me feel safe. Something in your eyes tells me I can trust you."

Suguru's expression softened at your words, a flash of emotion crossing his features. "But what if I'm not who you think I am?" He responded, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You reached out to gently touch his arm, your touch light and reassuring. "Then I will deal with it when the time comes." You responded, your voice filled with determination. “But for now, I choose to trust you, Suguru.”

Suguru's gaze held yours for a long moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation. And then, with a nod of acceptance, he reached out to take your hand, the touch warm and comforting of his against your skin.

“Thank you, y/n.” He murmured. “Let me help you with that.” He said as he grabbed the painting from your hands.

“Thank you.” You made a small bow.

With a nod you began walking towards your apartment. Suguru wanted to know how you could have so much trust in a person you barely knew and who had also lied on his behalf. You said that something about him made you feel safe and he wondered if it was that same feeling that had coursed through his body when you told him you remembered him. It had been strange and instantaneous, but he had been there. 

At first Suguru didn't notice it, due to the overwhelming moment, but remembering it he had felt something strange about him. It was like feeling deja vu or something like that. But he couldn't say for sure. 

The only thing he knew for sure was that you were different from everyone he had ever encountered during his very long life. There was something strange connecting you that Suguru wanted to find out.

What Suguru didn't know was that you had also felt something when you saw him for the first time. And that the mere presence of him near you made everything make a little more sense. And that being next to him gave you a feeling of security that you had rarely felt before. 

That was why you didn't feel afraid inviting him to your apartment, since something inside you told you that everything would be okay.

Followed by Suguru, you entered your building and got into the elevator. None of you talked but it wasn’t needed. Exiting the elevator you walked straight to your apartment.

“Don’t get scared if something black goes from one place to another.”

“It’s your cat, Blue, right?” Suguru asked.

“Yeah. Wow I’m surprised you remember her name.” You smiled.

“I guess my memory is good.” He shrugged.

“She is a bit shy, so don’t be surprised if she hides from you.” You opened the door.

To your surprise Blue was in front of the door, waiting for you to enter. 

“Blue?” You whispered in surprise. “Well that’s new.” You slightly laugh looking at Suguru. “She normally hides, even from my friends who usually come here to spend the day.” 

Suguru smiled and looked at you. “I guess she liked me.”

“I guess so.” You smiled at him back. “Oh please give me that. I let you carry the painting all the time.” You said taking the painting from his hands.

Walking towards the living room, Suguru followed you, observing the warmth of your home and the different paintings you had on your walls. Your house gave him a feeling of peace and tranquility, which he had achieved in few places. Or maybe it wasn't the place, but your presence.

“You painted all of them?” Suguru pointed to the different paintings on the walls.

“Most of them…” You looked at them. “They are not really good.” You tried to joke.

“I think they are good, really good.” He smiled.

“You are just being nice to me.”

“I’m not.” He stepped closer to one of the paintings. “I think you are really good, anyone who doesn’t see it would be blind not to see it.” 

“Well apparently most of the art galleries on this city are blind.” You shrugged as you pursed your lips. 

“Is that why you were like this today?” I ask you. “I mean, now when we saw each other. An art gallery rejected your work?” 

You felt extremely small at that moment, remembering how they had rejected you again. “Yes…” You mumbled towards the ground. 

“Well, they are complete idiots.”

You laughed at his words and looked back up. “Thank you Suguru…” You looked at him, meeting his eyes and feeling that strange connection once again.

Suguru also felt it and he wondered why? Why did it keep happening? Was there something else that neither of you knew?

“You wanna eat pizza?” You walked to the kitchen. “I would offer you something else, but my fridge is pretty empty.” You said as you opened the fridge, finding it practically empty.

“Pizza is fine for me.” You nodded and prepared the things to get the pizza ready. “You want me to help you?”

“No it’s okay, you are my guest so relax.” 

"I'm more of an intruder." Suguru joked. 

“Well… maybe a little.” You played along, putting the pizza in the oven. “But now that you're here, we can continue with the date from before.” You tilted your head with a smile.

 “You invite me to lunch and now to dinner and to spend the night here, after having hidden my name?” He crossed his arms. “I'm really setting expectations very low.” 

You shook your head. "On the contrary." You smiled. “You are extremely interesting.” You rested your arms on the kitchen counter looking at him.

“You think I’m interesting?” You nodded. “Well I’m not, my life is pretty boring.” 

And it was, his life was totally gray and monotonous, without any kind of life or color. Every day he followed the same routine, every day he did the same things. But it was true, that since you had spoken to him in the cafeteria, his life had begun to have a different meaning and color.

“Suguru?” You looked at him.

“Huh?” He shook his head. “Oh I’m so sorry. I was thinking about something else.”

“It’s alright. I was asking you if you are from here.”

“Oh yeah, yeah. I was born here.” Like over 1,000 years ago but whatever.

“Oh nice.” You shook your head. “And do you have siblings?”

“I don’t. I actually don’t have a family.” You looked at him with a concerned look on your face, thinking you brought a delicate theme into the table. “Oh please don’t worry, my family passed away a long time ago.” Very long time ago, but he couldn’t tell you that. 

He couldn’t even tell you he didn’t remember the faces of his parents or anything related to them. The only things he could remember were distant and foggy memories of his moments with them, but besides that everything seemed so distant for him.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up.” 

“Don’t be.” He tried to calm you down. “Do you have siblings?”

“Yeah, you little sisters.” You smiled fondly at the thought of them. “They are actually twins but they live far away with my parents, so I don’t get to see them very often.”

“You seem to care for them a lot.” 

You shrugged your shoulders with a smile. “I guess I do.” 

“Y/n?” You moved your eyes to look at his. “I would like to see the painting.” 

“The painting?” Suguru slowly nodded. “I don’t… I don’t think it’s worthy.” You clenched your fists remembering the hurtful words you had heard that afternoon. 

“I will decide if it is worthy or not." Whisper. “But now I would like to see him, and I know he will be worthy.”

You believed in his words and walking back to the living room you took the painting. You carefully unwrapped it, Suguru looking at you impatiently for you to show him your painting. But you, although his words had been comforting and had given you security, those you had heard that afternoon sounded louder in your head.

“You think our studio is worthy of exposing something like this?” That person had said, and as on so many occasions you had once again felt small and trampled. “Don't waste our time.”

“Y/n…” Suguru whispered your name, in such a sweet tone that you could have cried in that right moment. Looking up at him, you saw his concerned eyes looking at you. “Please…”

The question of what it was about that boy that made you trust him so much was constantly on your mind. It wasn't just trust that was established in you when you looked at him, it was security, protection and things that you couldn't describe. 

With great care and with trembling hands, you turned the painting around to show it to Suguru. When he was completely turned around, you closed your eyes tightly and waited for the comment, something that would come straight to you.

The painting was of a female figure, with what looked like a ghost or an invisible figure. It had come to mind one night after a dream, which now seemed distant and unclear. But in it, you were looking for something or rather someone, as if a piece of you was missing and as if your heart was not beating as it should because that love was not with you.

“It’s really beautiful y/n…” You felt Suguru’s warm touching your cheek. 

You had been so absorbed in your thoughts that you hadn't noticed how he had approached you. "You really believe it?" You said, feeling the corners of your eyes fill with tears. 

“I really do.” He gently caress your cheek. 

In that small act you felt so much affection and love that for a second you doubted that you and Suguru only knew each other that day.

“Those people don’t know what real art looks like.” He spoke. “I can assure you this is amazing.” 

You looked down with a small blush painting your cheeks. “Thank you.” You whispered. “The pizza must be ready.” Looking back up you meet Suguru’s eyes and a sensation of nervousness went through your body. “I think… we should eat.”

“Yeah…” Suguru took his hand away from your cheek and stepped away from you.

He watched you as you walked towards your kitchen and finally he was able to breathe out. That he had come into his mind to approach you so intimately, you barely knew each other and you might think he was a crazy person looking to take advantage of you. 

But something in him had prompted him to walk towards you when he saw how you lowered your head, as if you were expecting a reprimand or the most hurtful comment. The soft touch of your cheek under his hand had caused Suguru to feel nervous and a shiver ran through his body from head to toe. 

He had wanted to separate his hand, but at the same time he had wanted to stay attached to the warmth of your body for much longer.

Suguru turned his head and looked at the painting again, feeling a pang in his heart, as if his body knew something he didn't know. He pursed his lips and walked towards the kitchen where you were waiting for them with the slices of pizza already ready.

He smiled at you and grabbed his plate. “Thank you again for inviting me over.” 

“Oh please Suguru.” You shook your head with a smile on your face. “You don’t have to worry about it.” 

“Where…” He swallowed. “Where can I sleep?” 

“Oh…” You look around. “I only have one room…”

“I will take the sofa then.” Suguru said firmly. 

“But…”

“Y/n, I’m not taking your bed and we are not sharing the bed.” You blushed at the last part.

Trying to wash the embarrassment away from you, you started to cough. “Yeah sure… I don’t have any clothes you could use.” 

“I usually sleep with only my boxers on.” Suguru shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh… yeah sure, fine.” You once again laughed. 

Suguru sighed. “Y/n if I make you uncomfortable I can leave. I was already going to stay the night out, so there…”

“No!” You exclaimed. “I mean… I don’t feel uncomfortable, Suguru, it’s okay.” You tried to convince him.

“Okay…” He said unsure.

The conversation continued to flow, jumping from one topic to another, almost as if you had known each other all your lives and that moment was just one of the many you had shared. But the reality was different, you and Suguru did not know each other before but the connection that existed between the two of you was undeniable. And you had both noticed it.

You yawned, feeling the weight of sleep begin to settle on you. You felt a little embarrassed when you realized that you had done it in front of Suguru.

“You want to go to sleep?” He murmured with a smile drawn on his face.

“Yeah… I’m a bit tired.” You nodded. “Let me get you a pillow and some blankets so you can sleep.” You said turning to go to your room and get what you needed so Suguru could spend the night on the couch. 

When you left your room you saw Suguru in your small kitchen doing the dishes and with Blue watching him from the counter. When you saw that scene something inside you moved, it felt natural, pleasant and part of you wanted to continue watching it. You blushed as you realized the thoughts that were forming in your head and shaking them away you walked quickly towards the living room where you prepared the couch.

“Blue is a really good cat.” You turned around at his voice, meeting him holding Blue in his arms.

“She really is.” You smiled. “I’m surprised she is letting you touch her, she normally is afraid of new people.” 

“What can I say? I’m good with animals.” He smirked. “Thank you once again for letting me stay.”

“Suguru.” You stopped him. “Enough, you don’t have to thank me more.” Suguru smiled and nodded. “Well…” You moved your arms. “I will see you tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah… good night y/n.” He smiled and you felt your heart beating faster.

“Good night Suguru.” 

You walked towards your room and closed the door behind you. Leaning against the door, you placed your hand on your chest and felt it quicken, all caused by a single person. With a smile you lay down on the bed and sleep soon enveloped you in it’s arms.

˖✧˖°.✶₊ ⊹ ⋆˖✧˖°.✶₊ ⊹ ⋆

The smoke invaded your lungs, almost leaving you unable to breathe. Your body moved from one side to the other not really knowing where to go, you were looking for a way out, you were looking for a breath. 

An explosion was heard again causing you to cover your ears. You were exhausted, you just wanted it all to be over and back home, with your parents and… with him. You had promised him in the countless letters you had shared during that time that you would return and live together. But you feared that the promise could not be kept.

“Nurse y/n!” Someone called you. “Nurse y/n please we need you to stay with us let’s go!” You felt your body being dragged by one of the soldiers you had attended to not long ago.

You were 20 when the war started that summer of 1914, 22 when you met on the outskirts of London while drawing the landscape, and 24 when you couldn't finish writing that last letter to him.

— comment if you want to be tagged

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[janeyseymour]

La Costa Nostra- pt 21

Cowritten w @schemmentis

Summary: You find yourselves falling into this new life. Meanwhile, things back at home change.

WC: ~2.05k

The girls love their new school- something you’re eternally grateful for. You manage to find a new business to manage the accounts of, free of any secondhand business on the side while your wife falls back into teaching like she used to before she left to open her restaurant.

This life is different, but it isn’t unwelcome. You easily blend in to the always lit and alive city. You spend much of your time out exploring, finding new special spots and diners to take your girls. You even join a new perish- one that you know will never quite feel like the one back in Philly. The people there are nice enough, but no one will ever be Barbara and Gerald Howard.

Meanwhile, back in Philadelphia, Gerald Howard brings the ledger into his place of work. He calls up the two who handled your case to begin with and brings them in while his wife is there.

Together, the four of them promise to take down the mafia. Neither agent lets it slip that the four of you are still alive; Danik almost does though at Barbara’s shed tears for your twins.

Instead, Danik puts herself into the work at the end of your case. The dismantling of the mafia in the city. A workaholic already, she pushes herself even further. It's only Shaw that reminds her to sleep, at least for an hour or two. To eat, even just a few bites. Danik might know the truth of you and your family being alive. It doesn't negate that there are people out there who would stoop to order the hit. To include two very young children in that hit.

They start back at the very beginning. Working through your old salon and Melissa's cherished restaurant. Neither look the same now, a few months since your ‘deaths’. It's far more obvious now that both locations are fronts. Whoever is running things is getting sloppy. Danik guesses because they've run out of people they can use to hide behind; like you and Melissa were. The members of Cosa Nostra are front and center now. Running in and out of both the salon and restaurant at all hours.

“That definitely wasn't as good as the last time we were here.” Shaw mutters as he follows Danik out of Twelve Tables.

“I'll give her this much;” Danik starts as she gets into their unmarked car. “Melissa was much better with the food than whoever is back there now.”

Shaw sighs as Danik begins driving back down the street. “Back to the salon? Again?”

“Yes. We're closer there than we are with the restaurant. Besides, I called Andretti. He's still undercover and is with the Italians. He's going to try to nab Luca tonight. I need to be there.”

“Grace, you need a break.” Shaw says quietly from the passenger seat. It's rare for them to use their first names, but in the last few months it's grown in frequency. He silently blames a former Melissa Schemmenti and her teasing him from her hospital bed.

He hasn't asked his work partner out. He won't until the case is done. Still, he's been driven to show his affection for her in trying to make sure she takes care of herself at least while they work. Because if people around here are okay killing kids; there's a good chance they're more than okay with killing a federal agent or two in the right circumstances. Circumstances they're pushing their luck on every day and have been for a long time now.

“Ben.” Agent Danik says, almost sounding through her teeth. She's grown from looking at him with a glare for pulling out first names to returning the use of them. At least sometimes. It's progress. “Not tonight, alright? Just…tonight could be the break we need. Leave me be about the rest shit. Just for tonight.”

Agent Shaw sighs. “Just for tonight.” He reluctantly agrees as his partner parks their car adjacent to the salon. “But tomorrow, you’re sleeping. I’ll drag you to bed myself if it means you’ll get sleep.”

He doesn’t miss the blush that creeps into his colleague’s cheeks.

From here, they can see the front through the large glass windows. The very few clients and hair stylists moving about the front. They can also see down the side alleyway. The door you told them any side business went in and out of. The occasional meeting was held in the alley, too.

Tonight, there's a figure leant against the brick next to that door. The dim glow of a cigarette seen each time a draw is taken from it. In the light of dusk, it isn't easy to make features from where the figure stands. Though the height and build matches Luca Bellino.

“There's Andretti.” Grace says with a nod to a man walking down the sidewalk, from the direction of Twelve Tables.

Andretti turns down the smaller path of the alley way. It's then that the figure near the back door of the salon drops the cigarette, stomped out beneath a shoe. The figure steps closer to the street to meet the undercover officer halfway. Just enough distance for the street lamp to illuminate features. It's without any doubt Luca Bellino.

Shaw and Danik watch silently over the next few minutes. The conversation can't be well heard from their car, though they're certain Andretti has some recording device hidden. It looks like a normal conversation between friends. Like two men chatting and catching up over newly lit cigarettes. Until finally, Andretti pulls a thick, nearly over-filled, envelope from beneath his jacket and passes it to Luca.

Danik is already throwing open her car door and tugging her holstered weapon out as she crosses the street.

Shaw scrambles to follow after her, not bothering to even close his car door. He jogs to catch up to her, pulling out his own weapon in case.

“Freeze!” Danik calls once she's on the sidewalk. “Put your hands where I can see them.”

Both Luca and Andretti raise their hands in compliance. Danik nods for Shaw to cuff Andretti to maintain his cover as much as they possibly can. “You're under arrest.” Danik says as she tugs Lucas's hands behind his back to cuff him herself.

“The fuck?” Luca spits, turning to Andretti in a look of panic. He tries to look over his shoulder at Agent Danik. “What for?”

“Money laundering.”

“Money laundering?!” the nephew of Melissa shouts. “This isn’t money laundering! He owes me money for buying my car!”

“From a fat manilla envelope in a dark alleyway?” Danik shoots out. “Sure. We’ll believe it when we see it.”

The two men are taken into the station, and Andretti is a great actor it turns out. He huffs about the entire time that he knows Luca can hear him. And then they’re separated, and the undercover cop breathes a sigh of relief.

“Jesus, Shaw,” Andretti sighs as he rubs at his wrists. “Did you have to cuff me that aggressively?”

“Maintaining the story,” Shaw chuckles. “Sorry man.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Danik rolls her eyes at the two. “Shaw, get in there and get him to say something- anything. About the Schemmentis, about the hit on Bobby, about Cosa Nostra. Anything.”

Benjamin Shaw would be lying to himself if he said that Grace Danik ordering him around like that wasn’t hot. He obliged her orders, storming into the interrogation room.

As soon as he’s in there, Luca spills everything aside from the fact that he’s the one who was contracted to kill you and your family. Of course, he only offers up the information at a deal of not being put into jail and only paying a small fine in comparison to what he would have actually had to pay if not for the information.

Danik’s eyes raise at all of this information coming so freely. He tells who is in charge, the way that the Schemmenti family found their way into the mob- the fact that you were tied into the Irish side of it all. He takes down Tony and Uncle Dominic, and everyone else who was involved. Luca tells where they’re all planning on meeting tonight.

The police hold Luca until they can round up everybody within the family. Danik and Shaw are able to come out of the raid without a scratch on them, although other members of the family aren’t so lucky. They manage to keep both Tony and Uncle Dominic alive- if only for the information that they hold. Others are slain as they all turn on each other and try to find out who the rat is, pulling guns out of their coat pockets and firing without hesitation.

The next day, Mickey is set free from prison. He knows that originally, you, Melissa, and the girls were supposed to be the ones to come retrieve him and bring him out into the world for the first time in years. Instead, it’s Kristen Marie. He’s thrilled to see his blonde sister, but what he really wants is to see the four of you.

When he cries, Kristen can only pat his arm in an awkward fashion. She thinks his tears are being shed because he’s finally on the outside- only until he chokes out Melissa’s name and your own does she understand why he breaks down on the sidewalk of the prison building. He drops to his knees as ugly sobs wrack through his body. He was looking forward to the day that he would be able to hug your girls for the first time as a free man- to be able to pick you up and spin you in a circle without the guards looking at him as if he were clinically insane. All he wants is to be able to punch his oldest sister in the arm with a shit eating grin without having to worry about being chastised by security.

That Sunday, he finds himself slipping into the church that he knew the four of you attended. He recognizes Barbara Howard right away. As he makes the sign of the cross over his chest, he looks up at the ceiling- as if he could see that the four of you were looking down on him. He goes to slide into the pew, but a quick hand stops him.

“This seat is taken.”

“Barbara,” Mickey whispers softly through the sermon. Only then does the woman look at Melissa’s brother and see eyes that resemble your wife’s so clearly.

“Mickey?” she gasps softly as she pulls her hand away from the spot and invites him in.

The three, Mickey and the two Howards, end up at your diner in the booth that you always sit in. For the first time in months, breakfast isn’t a silent affair. Mickey trades stories about his sister and you from your past while the Howards tell him about what the four of you were up to for all the time he was behind bars. It’s therapeutic in a way for all three of them. He promises to meet them again for the next sermon.

That's the start of a new tradition. One similar to the one you, Melissa and your girls had with the Howards. Sunday morning services, Sunday brunch. Mickey fills the pew for you. They don't let anyone else sit in that last pew. After a few weeks, they don't even have to tell anyone the seats are taken. Your old parish knows not to even try.

@thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

[onbearfeet]

So tonight something kind of hilarious happened.

My bff (blonde, cishet, married with 2 little kids, pillar of her church) and I (brunette, queer, raised in an evangelical cult but definitely something else now) were supposed to go on a spooky flashlight tour of a local historic cemetery tonight. But thanks to a series of incredibly shitty events, we didn't make our tour time, and bff ended up needing help to take her kids to a trunk or treat event instead.

Thing is, I had dressed for a hike among the headstones and a rare girls' night with the bestie. I was wearing mostly black (skater dress/leggings/boots) with the most spooky-adjacent accessories I had on hand (silver rings, rough amethyst pendant on a black cord, purple shimmer nail polish, purple hooded cape). I had done elaborate-for-me makeup, including pretty dark lipstick and smoky shimmery eyeshadow. My aesthetic for the evening was "witchy and queer, but comfortable to walk a long way in".

Trunk or treat was in the parking lot of bff's church.

So I got to stroll from SUV to SUV, past signs saying things like "Let's Taco Bout Jesus", herding a little girl dressed as Elsa from Frozen and a little boy dressed as a Ghostbuster, while bff pushed the stroller containing her baby (dressed as Charlie Brown) behind us. All while every adult we saw visibly recognized the kids, blinked at the sight of me, refocused on bff and her baby, then came back to me with a distinct air of "What the fudgesicles is going on here?"

I was more or less the walking embodiment of the Satanic Panic's boogeyman, shepherding two adorable children around the church festival while dressed like I sacrificed cats. I fully expected someone to suggest an exorcism. I was constantly teetering on the brink of a flashback to that time in college when someone tried to burn me for heresy.

And every time someone overcame their church manners to ask bff if everything was okay and whether she'd adopted a demon recently, she breezily replied, "Oh, this is my best friend Kat, we've known each other more than half our lives. She's dressed as Agatha Harkness, you know, from that new show on Disney Plus?"

(Aside from color palette and hair color, I didn't look ANYTHING like Agatha.)

And to a ONE, these people started singing "Agatha All Along" at me. The song from WandaVision.

They very obviously hadn't seen Agatha All Along, but were totally willing to accept me if I came with a catchy musical number.

Anyway, uh, thank you, Agatha All Along, for being mainstream enough that the religious-taco-pun crowd have heard of you and therefore decided I'm harmless by association.

[schlatt-love-bot]

The Babysitters Club

Babysitter Schlatt x Babysitter Reader Headcanon

Had a quite a bit of fun writing this one, paternal Schlatt really gets my heart going LMAO

Enjoy!

You and Schlatt were best friends in high school, and being best friends with a future entrepreneur only meant one thing–you were in for a LOT of money making schemes

“Well, we tried the lemonade stand, got told we’re too old…got fired from our bodega jobs for goofing off too much…what is there left for us to do?”

You could see the gears in Schlatt’s brain begin to turn, as all of a sudden he perked up. He came up with something

“Hmm…you like kids, right (Y/N)?” 

“Uhh…I guess you could say that? Why?” 

“I know the perfect business for us.”

Lo and behold, Schlatt and Co.’s Babysitting Service was created 

Schlatt would arrange a babysitting schedule for you, and most of the time you would go out on your own, babysit the kids, and split profits with him for managing your schedule

Sometimes, though, depending on how many kids were in one home, or how many sessions you had in a day, Schlatt would step up and give you a hand

Today was one of those days, as he scheduled you to solo-babysit one toddler from 12 to 3, but at 5:00? You had 5 children to keep an eye on, one who was only a few months old and the eldest being 9-almost-10 years old

Knowing you’d have your work cut out for you in the beginning of the day, chasing a toddler around a park while Mom and Dad were at a meeting, Schlatt decided he would be a kind best friend and boss and help you out

Not to mention, this was an overnight babysitting venture, and Schlatt was looking for any opportunity to spend a little extra time with you 

“So, how was the kid this afternoon?” 

“Good! He just wouldn’t stop running around, I felt like I was chasing a dog all afternoon.” 

Schlatt knocked on the door to your next house, the parents frantically opening the door, rushing you in to give you the basic breakdown before rushing out

“If you need anything, there’s our emergency contact numbers posted on the fridge, there’s a binder of basic information on our little monsters on the wet bar in the kitchen, next to that is some money to buy a pizza for dinner tonight. Need anything, call Grandma, she lives up the street. Thanks, see you both in the morning!” 

They practically ran out of the house, as you heard the 5 month old let out a whining cry, and the two eldest children began running laps around the two of you

You looked at Schlatt, your eyes wide, this was definitely going to be your biggest challenge yet

“You take the youngin’s, I’ll take the older shits?” 

“Yes, please!”

You made your way over to the crib, which housed the 5 month old, and sitting next to the 5 month old inside an adjacent playpen were a 2 year old and a 5 year old, playing with various toys

You picked up the 5 month old and instinctively began to rock the baby, making small talk with the other two kids about what toys they were playing, and other things they generally seemed interested 

“Is screen time okay for these two, or are we going the organic, touch grass way with these rugrats?” 

“Hmmm, check the binder. Mom and Dad probably have rules about screen time, maybe after dinner?” 

You heard the two kids, and Schlatt, let out a sigh of disappointment, as you watched Schlatt convince the two boys it was perfect baseball weather, and out they went

“Say, girls, do you want to go and play with some of your patio toys? It’s such a gorgeous day out, we shouldn’t waste daylight!” 

You were met with many tiny “yes”s, walking with the baby still wrapped tightly in your arms

You and the girls began to play with some of the chalk they had laying out on the patio pavement, teaching the girls how to draw out squares for hopscotch, telling them how to play

You couldn’t help yourself from sneaking glances every once in a while to Schlatt and the other two kiddos out on the lawn, Schlatt tossing low balls to the boys, acting like they knocked them out of the ballpark and insisting they “ran the bases” around him 

A smile crept up on your face, you began to grow a little jealous of whoever would be spending their lives parenting with him

“Man, you like him don’t you!” 

You whipped your head around, seeing the 5 year old staring at you, as her 2 year old sister stood behind her, snickering

“W-what? Absolutely not, we’re good friends. What do you know about liking someone, hmm?” 

“That’s the same look my mommy gives my daddy every single day!” 

You felt your cheeks begin to heat, needing to figure out a way to avoid these two little children from grilling you any further 

“Girls, why don’t we go in and get you cleaned up, you’re covered in chalk. Maybe we can see what’s in your cupboards and make ourselves a little treat, huh?”

The girls were eager to do so, running past you and into the house

The little one in your arms wound up a bit fussy, so you placed her into 

All washed up and ready to go, the girls drug you over to a box of cake mix, insisting that you help them make cupcakes 

You didn’t want to use anything without permission, though, so you sent a quick text over to mom and dad to make sure they were okay with you using the box mix with the kids

They were ecstatic you weren’t just shoving their tablets in their faces, so they absolutely allowed you to bake with them

The girls were excited, donning their little aprons they had stored in the pantry

Baby started to get interested in what was going on, peering over the edge of the playpen, so you picked her up and carried her (and a toy, just in case) over to a high chair in the kitchen

The girls excitedly showed you were everything was that you would need, and you let them have total control over adding things to the mixing bowl (fishing out egg shells, when necessary)

By the time the cupcakes went into the oven, the boys came walking into the house, dirty and sweaty, and their pants definitely stained from sliding in the dirt outside

“Schlatt!”

“What? He needed to slide into home plate, otherwise he would’ve gotten out! You wouldn’t understand!” 

Despite the unexpected bath times, the rest of the night went rather smoothly

Schlatt and yourself wrangled the kids together for some pizza dinner, allowing them to decorate their own cupcakes for dessert afterwards, and once their bellies were all full, it was time to wind things down for the night 

You tucked the baby into her crib, heading to the girl’s room to tuck them in and read a little story to them

On your way there, you glanced into the boy’s room, seeing Schlatt making sure that both the 7 and 9 year olds were set and ready for bed, telling them tales from his baseball experiences (he was the best first baseman in your school, after all) 

You didn’t want to get caught staring, so you continued forward and to the girl’s room

You helped the two put on their pajamas, tucking them in their beds before sitting in the rocking chair by both of their beds, having “Goodnight Moon” picked from the shelf to read tonight 

“Goodnight stars, goodnight air…Goodnight noises everywhere!” 

By the time you finished, both girls had their eyes closed tight, peacefully asleep

You smiled to yourself, content with how the evening has gone, looking up to see Schlatt leaned against the doorframe, the same smile painted on his lips

Heat crept up your cheeks as you placed the book back on their bookshelf, heading out of the room and downstairs to the living room with him

“So…that wasn’t so bad after all, huh?”

“Well, toots, we sure do make a pretty good team…” 

He slung his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer 

“Y’know…I think I saw a new side of you today. You playing ball with those two…I never seen you so…soft before.” 

“What can I say, baby, kids have a special way of makin’ a person soft...” 

He hesitated continuing, but your raised brow made him go on

“And…seeing you with that baby on your hip, the girls in the kitchen…you’re gonna be a perfect mom some day, (Y/N).” 

You began to blush, looking up at him, wondering if he was feeling the same way you were 

Before you could ask, Schlatt excused himself to the kitchen, coming back with two cupcakes in his hands, handing you one before sitting back down on the couch 

“You worked hard on these with the girls, you deserve a little treat too, princess.” 

He smirked, before swiping his cupcake against your nose, making your jaw drop

“Hey! What was that for?” 

“Whoops, here, let me get that…” 

He leaned forward, kissing the icing off your nose, his eyes plotting 

“Hmm, hold on…I think you’ve got a little something here…” 

You took this opportunity to smoosh your cupcake against his mouth, and before he had the chance to speak, you quickly leaned in, kissing him on the lips

He didn’t back off, answering your question from earlier as to if he felt the same

In fact, he swiftly put his cupcake down on the coffee table in front of you, grabbing your cheeks to deepen the kiss

“Ewww!”

“I told you so! Mommy and Daddy do the same thing after we bake together!” 

You quickly backed up, looking up the stairs to see all 4 of the kids out of bed, peering over the banister 

“Little shits, I swear to God…” 

You laughed, wiping the icing from your face before heading upstairs to put all the kids back into bed, making sure they stayed asleep this time, before heading back downstairs to see Schlatt fast asleep on the couch 

Sighing contently, you crawled onto the couch next to him, placing your head nearby his chest before slowly falling asleep yourself, feeling an arm wrap around you to pull you closer

[bambamramfan]

Community Building Secrets

A couple weeks ago the SSC reddit had a discussion "If people want a community so much why aren't we creating it?" I found it really odd since it comes from a place of "here is why community building doesn't happen" and you can tell that in the tone of the comments.

But obviously communities are being made, every day. (There is a secondary problem which is that all communities have some problems - drama, eventual collapse, inequitable burdens, exclusivity, cults of personality, problematic members, etc - but they do EXIST, and presumably people want them despite knowing that problems of some form are likely if not inevitable.) It would be like a reddit thread on "why does no one date" despite, you know, a lot of people dating out there.

So a more legit question would be "why are our community efforts not succeeding? What is the difference between our efforts and the communities that are made."

I don't have nearly all the answers to all their questions, but reading it and thinking on the topic let me crystalize some thoughts I've had for a long time. Thoughts that are very important about how communities start, and how they go forward. I'll put them below the fold.

The Golden and Iron Laws of Communities

The Golden Law of Communities is that you need something shiny to start the kernel of any community. It is nominally the thing the community is "about", but even when it's not explicitly that, it's still the hook that gets people interested.

It could be "we have the word of God and this is how to avoid Hell." It could be "we are all descended from this sacred bloodline." It could be "Sharon hosts dinners and her husband is an executive chef so they are amazing." It could be "this famous blogger is part of the community and you'll get to meet them." It could be "we talk about and run alternative theater." It could be "there are lots of sexy young people and who knows what might happen." It could be drugs, going to water parks, arguing about charities, talking about politics, a favorite scifi author, watching black and white movies, speedrunning videogames, a particularly charismatic founder of the group, or any damn thing.

But you can't just say "hey everyone, let's have weekly dinners and help each other babysit or play boardgames, because community is nice." You have to advertise (even if just by word of mouth) a short idea that motivates people to want to get in on that.

Got that? Can you admit that dark truth? Okay we can move onto the second law.

The Iron Law of Communities is that the thing the community is about doesn't matter.

Two seconds after you have enough people in your group to begin enjoying themselves, someone will ask if they can invite their friend "who is totally cool but aren't really into X" where X is the thing in the Golden Law. Or someone will invite the people in the community to a completely generic event that has nothing to do with X - because they're cool people and you're enjoying hanging out.

And that's... fine? Like you might say yes or no to the request, but either way it will start happening, and your group will do the same things and have the same type of people and same discussions as every other group. Your identity that separates you from other people will dissolve away slowly. (In very official institutions, this will take the form of adjacent informal activities.) Congratulations, you have now made a Community with the potlucks and babysitting share-schedules and networking and incestuous dating drama.

There are of course, communities that fight against the Iron Law harder than others, but it just doesn't really matter. They're just as likely to wither and die as any community eventually, and if they had admitted those adjacent people that wouldn't hasten that day. Most of the communities you see have plenty of "members who don't care about X, are just here for the people/stuff."

If everyone was coming to the events just to see some famous blogger or sparkling charismatic leader, they would soon find out they get very little face time with that person, but there are other people around, and they're fun, and they'll start coming back for those other people and the group activities.

There's a running joke that no matter WHAT your Discord server is about, eventually they'll make a #politics channel, then an #nsfw channel, then a #nsfw-hardcore channel, etc etc. And that's where most of the chatter will take place in, eventually.

[writeforfandoms]

Waking Lions 14

Find the series masterlist

We learn more about Ace's past and her connection to Kate. Also, she finally gets a meal.

Warnings: swearing, past violence, mention of past murder, Ace is still morally gray, Price still needs his own warning.

Word count: 1.7k

Captain went out first, making sure the way was clear for you as you locked up. You hiked your bag a little higher up on your shoulder and followed him down and out to the street, where an SUV was waiting for you. 

“Ma’am.” Garrick nodded to you from the driver’s seat, and you settled in the back. 

You looked out the window, tired and a little detached after everything. A quick look showed that you’d been working for nearly twelve hours straight. That was… less than ideal. 

“Here.” 

You blinked and refocused your gaze on Captain, who’d twisted enough to hand a water bottle back to you. 

“Thanks.” You took the water, twisting the cap off slowly and taking a drink. You were definitely dehydrated, but you drank slowly, sips at a time, gaze unfocused. 

It had been a hell of a couple days. 

Honestly, now that you were thinking about it, you were surprised Laswell had noticed so fast. Was it just timing? Or had she gotten word of Gray poking around? 

“Nearly there.” 

Captain’s voice made you blink rapidly, lifting your head. Both men were facing forward, which was a bit of a relief. 

You still weren’t sure how you were going to deal with Captain yet. 

Garrick parked and a moment later Captain was opening your door for you. You almost made a teasing remark about him being a gentleman, but… Well, that was too much effort, and you were tired. You just shuffled after him, watching for Kate. 

Kate spotted you first, your eyes locking across the distance. You sighed, long and slow. Oh, this was not going to be fun.

But you still let yourself be herded to a seat across from her, plopping down ungracefully. That didn’t matter. You didn’t need to be graceful right then. 

“What happened?” She looked between all three of you. 

You picked up the menu and held it in front of your face. Captain could start this one. 

“Found her working,” Captain said after a few moments of thick silence. “No evidence of anyone else watching. I doubt anyone knows she’s here.” 

“And why are you here?” Laswell pulled the menu down to stare at you. Damn. She was too good at making you admit things. 

“Gray found me.” It was not any easier to admit aloud, even after all the work you’d put in burning three aliases. “Got a call from one of my clients, she informed me that he was asking around after me.” You let the menu fall to the table, exhausted all over again. Your hands were shaking. Just a little. 

Laswell frowned, leaning back a little in her chair. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure I’m not willing to risk it,” you shot back, tucking your hands under your thighs. Not that you really thought they had missed your shakiness. 

“Which contact?” Laswell tapped her fingers on the table. “Who told you?” 

You frowned at her. “No.” 

“I need to know where to start looking.” 

You sighed, tipping your head back. Valeria had called you, but she’d said he had been asking around. Okay. Gray wasn’t the type who went to underlings, so he hadn’t been asking Las Almas in particular. He’d been asking around that layer of criminal organization. Valeria knew some Russians and some AQ, which was how she’d gotten mixed up in the missile business. 

It was possible that White was just a coincidence… But now you weren’t so sure. Especially given that the last place you’d heard about Gray was in the Middle East. And the Russians had ties to AQ. 

In retrospect, you were amazed you hadn’t put the pieces together sooner. 

“He’s probably working with AQ, or adjacent to them.” You spoke quietly, without looking at any of them. 

“He wasn’t that eager to watch the world burn,” Laswell pointed out.

“Last conversation either of us had with him was years ago,” you pointed out, dull, flat. “It’s likely his morals have further skewed. Or he’s decided the ends justify the means. Or he thinks he’s using them for his own ends.” You shrugged, just a little movement. 

Captain nudged you, and then again when you didn’t straighten up fast enough for him. “You need to eat.”

You thought about arguing, you really did. But he wasn’t wrong. You flapped a hand at him, letting the others order first as you scanned the menu until you found something vaguely appetizing. Good enough. 

“So who is this guy?” Garrick asked, glancing between you and Laswell. 

“Crazy asshole,” you muttered, leaning back in your seat again. Your eyes burned a little from too many hours spent staring at a screen. 

“Bad news,” Lazwell added. “He’s got ties to weapons smuggling, but he hadn’t previously been a terrorist.” 

You grimaced but shrugged. Eh. Close enough. 

“And why does he want to kill you?” Captain spoke quietly. You could feel his gaze on you. 

“He’s wanted to kill me for years.” Your voice was too flat. This was a tone you hadn’t heard from yourself in years. You didn’t like hearing it now. “He decided to take over my father’s business a long time ago, had him killed, tried to have me killed. Didn’t work, obviously.” 

“The fact that you turned witness against him didn’t help his opinion any,” Kate pointed out. 

You huffed softly. “And you still couldn’t keep him locked up.” But there was no vitriol in your voice. This had happened a long time ago, you’d come to terms with it already. 

“You’re staying with someone until we get this sorted.”

That got you to lift your head and glower at her. “No.”

“If he knows you’re alive and he’s searching for you, you’re in danger. Until we can deal with him, you shouldn’t be alone.” 

You grimaced. She wasn’t wrong, exactly, but you hated it. “Don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“You can stay with us.”

You blinked at the unexpected offer from Captain. “I dunno,” you drawled. “Sure you won’t try to kill me?” 

He huffed out a soft laugh. “Not on my to-do list,” he agreed glibly. 

“Good.” Laswell looked between the two of you with something very much like satisfaction, which was setting off all kinds of little alarms in your brain. Kate trying to meddle in your life was very much not a good thing. “We can discuss what you still need to do.”

You narrowed your eyes a little at her. “In terms of…?” 

“Your research.”

You blew out a soft breath. Right. Research. The thing you were supposed to be doing before you heard about Gray. “Dunno what more I can get,” you admitted, rubbing your forehead briefly. Now that you were actually paying attention to your body, you definitely had a dehydration headache. “Especially not without getting any closer to Gray.”

“You think he’s involved?”

“I think I’d be a fool to assume otherwise at this point.” You rolled your shoulders, drinking half your water in one go. 

Laswell was silent for a few long moments, just watching you. It didn’t make you nervous, not after all this time. Sure, you didn’t want her meddling, but you trusted her. 

“We’ll discuss this more after you’ve slept on it,” she decided. 

You scoffed but didn’t argue. You didn’t have the energy for that. Food arrived and you all ate, though Captain and Garrick talked quietly. You just focused on your food, working through it with a sort of exhausted determination. 

“I’ll do some looking on my side,” Laswell said, looking at Captain. You forced yourself to pay attention, though you were fading fast now that some of the frantic desperation of the situation had faded. 

Captain nodded. “Tomorrow, then?” 

“Tomorrow,” Laswell agreed. 

Captain stood, as did Garrick. It took Captain nudging your chair for you to stand as well, holding back a groan. Yup. You’d definitely spent too many hours hunched over your computer. The three of you were silent as you walked back to the car, Captain opening the door for you again. 

“Do you have everything from that apartment?” Captain asked you. 

You blinked, slow and sleepy. You needed to not be, but you’d hit your limit. The food had really cemented your fate - rather than invigorating you, the food was sending you on the fast lane to snooze land. So it took you longer than normal to answer him. “Yeah.” 

He nodded once, glancing back at you as Garrick started to drive. “You’ll stay with one of us.” 

“Bossy.” You made a face but couldn’t muster the energy to truly fight him. Not on this. Not now. 

He huffed softly. But he didn’t say anything else. Something you were rather grateful for. 

You weren’t up to your normal verbal jousting just at the moment. 

The drive to their hotel was silent, and you slowly tipped sideways into the door. Your blinks got longer and slower as you struggled to stay awake, the quiet climate controlled air too soothing. 

The car stopped and your door opened. You probably would have slid right out except for Captain bracing you, chest firm under your shoulder and temple. 

“C’mon,” he rumbled softly. “Just get upstairs and you can sleep.”

“Not sleepy,” you grumbled, just to be contrary. But you could barely peel your eyes open, instead listing harder into him until he reached across you to unbuckle your seatbelt. 

You did make sure you had your bag, though. You needed that. And you refused to give it up. 

“Up we go,” Captain murmured, soft and amused and rumbly and entirely too pleasant. You stumbled a little, but Captain held you upright and kept his arm around your waist, guiding you inside. 

You didn’t pay much attention to anything, too tired and out of it to bother to try. Captain wouldn’t let you get killed. Or grabbed. Not while he was right next to you, anyway. 

A door opened and Captain pulled you through. A moment later he was gently tipping you into a bed, and you sighed as you went entirely limp. He huffed and pulled your shoes off for you. 

“Sleep well, love,” he murmured, one finger gently touching your temple. 

And you were out.

[darkscorpiox]

Okay, let’s have a look on all the cases Yashiki and Mashita worked on together… 

Hanahiko: investigating a haunted abandoned school where resided the spirit of a gender-nonconforming child (whether Hanahiko was a crossdresser or trans/non-binary, the child was still queer-coded) 

Shimi-O: Mashita left (something Yashiki wasn’t happy with), but not without promising to buy Yashiki a drink if the latter survives

(I also want to point out that both cases were heavily tied to Mashita: he got fired for trying to dig deeper into the first one and the second was the last case his senpai handled at the cost of his life.) 

Red Riding Hood: investigating a love hotel 

Mister Kokkuri: investigating a forest where resided a spirit like with Shimi-O; the similarity was mentioned by Mashita to Yashiki 

The Departed: walking on the same path as the bridal procession to Mushikabi Shrine where the wedding took place and the Departed came to be 

(The forest where Yashiki and Mashita confronted together the last two is adjacent to a school, and the spirits haunting said school are obsessed with the ideal of a man who was their teacher. Basically, Death Mark II is the setting of Hanahiko and Shimi-O with the plot of Red Riding Hood! Is it a coincidence? 😫😫😫) 

Kaerazu no Yuenchi (カエラズの遊園地) / The Amusement Park of No Return: amusement parks are one of the most popular locations for dates (the classic Ferris Wheel Date Moment trope) 

Either the writing team knows how Yashiki and Mashita’s cases look to the audience and is messing with them, or it doesn’t.