#outside is no better there is so much traffic I can hear the car horns from indoors

[rynnaissance]

ok so for future reference, if i ever do continue working on my fic, how do we think bell’s hells would be at driving cars in a modern au? i’ve got ideas, but i want to hear other people’s input.

here’s what i’ve got:

chetney: DO NOT GET IN A CAR WITH CHETNEY WHATEVER YOU DO. that senior citizen is batshit insane and he WILL road rage. if someone cuts him off then wherever he was going is forgotten because he has to tailgate that person now while yelling at them to pull over so they can “talk.” i can’t decide if he would have a really nice car or a really shitty one because honestly both fit. maybe a fancy truck for hauling wood?

orym: he’s your safest bet out of the hells if you want to get somewhere on time without fearing for your life. bro is a law abiding citizen of the road. he never loses his cool (unlike chet) and his car is always clean and smells super nice. he mostly listens to meditation style music, but he’ll let the other person have the aux because he’s genuinely curious to hear what they listen to. shout out to orym.

laudna: okay back to the insanity. ALSO DO NOT GET IN A CAR WITH LAUDNA! girlie pop should not be on the road. she’s blasting the weirdest fucking genres of metal imaginable, she can hear nothing else. the music only somewhat drowns out the horrible keening noises her car makes, as if it’s begging to die. that thing hasn’t been to the shop in decades and omits the occasional plume of black smoke that smell like burnt hair and buttered popcorn for some reason? i saw someone else talk about how she’s a crazy driver with everyone except imogen who she drives very well for and never blasts music, and i like that idea a lot.

imogen: it was her dad’s truck before her’s, a farm vehicle meant for rural roads with four wheel drive. it’s pretty beat up, but it’s reliable. imogen hates driving though, as it can be super overwhelming in the city, and prefers to go with laudna. outside of the city, on rural roads where you won’t see another car for miles, she finds it almost as relaxing as horseback riding. she likes to cruise around with her widows down, shamelessly listening to country music. yeehaw.

ashton: should you get in a car with ashton? depends on the day, as they are kind of a wild card. one day, it might be a chill drive with you two causally exchanging stories, like sober “what the fuck is up with that?” other times you better hold onto your seat because you are getting to your location regardless of how traffic is flowing. ashton is the person who cuts chetney off. it may be on purpose, no one knows for certain, but he always seems to manage to find the old man and make his day a little more difficult. if they see someone they know, they’ll lay on horn and yell, “hey asshole!” with a wave and a grin. the car itself is covered in stickers and sharpie graffiti, interior and exterior. you’ll always know it’s him.

fearne: does she have a license? she would say yes. the truth is no. fearne was never taught how to drive, she just kinda figured it out as she went along. because of ashton, she used to think honking is a friendly thing, but had to be informed by fcg that those people are not just saying hi, but are actually mad at her. she didn’t like that very much. she doesn’t seem to be aware that there are any dangers to driving. she’s almost always getting into crashes, which she responds to with a giggle and a “whoops(:” it’s a marvel she hasn’t been arrested yet. there’s also an angry possum that’s sometimes found in the truck of her car, so it’s best not to open it.

fcg: much like orym, fcg is a very safe person to drive with. although maybe a little annoying, as he’ll let everyone go before him at a four way stop regardless of if it’s actually their turn. sometimes though, when they’re under a lot of stress, they resemble chetney more. they won’t tolerate any bullshit from other drivers and yell at pedestrians to get out of the way. he’s been getting better about this though, but still.

[avocado-writing]

hello i wanted to ask if you could do crowley x reader.Reader and Crowley first met in the aziraphale library, at first Crowley didn't really like the reader because he was human but slowly both Crowley and Reader developed feelings for each other but the two dance around their mutual feelings for ThatAziraphale has cornered Crowley in the bookstore,but Crowley, tells the angel he's a demon, is there's no way someone like Y/n could ever love me someone like him, Crowley also says I could never endanger Reader like that heaven and hell could leave us alone, Aziraphale, but don't think for a second they would hesitate to hurt the people we love to punish us. Aziraphale sighed but before he could say any more, Crowley exited the shop and drove off in the Bentley. The reader meanwhile had gone to see Azi but without wanting to hear Azi and Crowley's talk, she was really torn, because she was in love with Crowley, when she sees that he was about to leave, she decides to go and hide in Bentley's hiding place.When Reader hears that Crowley stopped by, he decided to come out of hiding and talk to Crowley, he was very surprised to see you at first.Reader , tells him they need to talk , tells him he listened to the whole conversation with Azi , Crowley denies everything at first , but finally gives up he has feelings for her

crowley x reader (good omens)

put my own spin on this one!

if you like what I do, here’s my ko-fi!

“Now, don’t scream, Cro-”

With something he would vehemently deny was later was, in fact, a very shrill scream, Crowley slams the brakes on the Bentley and spins round to look at you. You wince as a Mazda speeds past, leaning heavily on the horn and missing you by a hair’s breadth. 

“What the hell are you doing back there?!” he snaps, snatching off his glasses to be able to look at you properly. You can see he’s angry at being surprised but more genuinely baffled by your appearance. 

“I just - oh god look, don’t you have hazards to put on?” you ask as another angry road user narrowly avoids the sudden obstacle. 

“This car was made in the twenties, so no. It wasn’t high up the list of priorities a century ago. So you’d better get explaining quickly before we get rear ended, because it doesn’t have air bags either.” 

“Right. I… I heard what you were saying at the bookshop.”

Ah. Crowley’s heart - if he had one, obviously - would be in his stomach. 

“How much did you hear?” he asks, eventually, after several moments of you worriedly looking at the oncoming traffic. 

“Well, erm. All of it. I think. I meant to step out and talk but I sort of ended up just hiding behind one of the bookshelves. I’m quite good at that, it turns out.” You wave around to indicate your current predicament. 

You heard all of it. So the bit where Crowley was lamenting you being around so much. The bit where Aziraphale told him he was so obviously in love with you it was getting ridiculous that he was the only one who couldn’t see it. The bit where Crowley had said he couldn’t possibly allow himself to feel that way because hell would crack down on that instantly, because what better way is there to torture an immortal than by hurting the very breakable human they love? He couldn’t possibly do that to you. 

And you heard it all. You see him piecing this together in his head. 

“I’m sorry, the Bentley was unlocked -” it definitely wasn’t and he’d be having words with it later “- and I was going to wait for you so we could talk but then you got in and started driving and, I just didn’t know when I should say anything but then twenty minutes went by and it was getting really awkward…”

“Alright, alright,” Crowley sighs, rubbing the meat of his palms into his eyes, as if that might make the situation seem a bit clearer. It doesn’t. As cars whizz by outside you scuff the toe of one shoe against the heel of the other. 

“So… was it true? That you have feelings for me?”

Seems pointless to lie now, doesn’t it?

“Yes. Of course,” he sighs, because it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You’re you. How couldn’t he fall in love?

“Oh. Well,” you’re flustered, shy suddenly, “I, erm. I feel those feelings as well. So I just wanted to tell you that. And so I hid in your car.”

Crowley’s head snaps up. 

“What? You do?”

“Yes Crowley, I thought it was a bit hard to miss.”

He considers all the late night talks you’ve had, both of you loath to leave the bookshop and each other’s company. 

“I’m a fool, aren’t I?”

“Maybe,” you agree, that lovely smile creeping onto your face, “but a fool I’d like to take out for coffee.”

His own smile settling now, Crowley finally parks the Bentley. 

[mechasegagenesis-blog]

Freelance Somethings

Hello, here is my first Tumbler post. I tried my hand at a Sam and Max fanfiction. It cuts off mid-sentence at the end not because of a typo, but I thought perhaps that was the funniest place to end it. Perhaps I could be convinced to continue this if there proves to be interest (I doubt it, somehow).

#SamandMax #FreelancePolice #freelancepolice #fanfic #fanfiction #firstpost #itsbeenyearssinceivetriedwritinganything #freelancehusbands

The air was dry and hot, making it stuffy in the cramped office. 

"Can't we open a window or something? The last time that we were cooking this badly was when we visited the literal center of the earth!" Max said, fanning himself with a large brochure for Stinky's Diner, that had been haphazardly folded into a makeshift fan. Sam, the six foot tall Irish Wolfhound anamorphic dog, panted, "We should consider ourselves lucky they let us back into the building at all, little pal." The pair had been stuck living inside their iconic 1960 De Soto Adventurer since their last adventure three months ago, and even their nightly ritual of tongue baths had lost its appeal. The minute they got the notice that the work on the building had finished, or at least enough so they could access their shower, Sam had wept for joy. Out of the pair of them, he was the one who had looked more grungy at that point, with his normally neat noir-style suit wrinkled and stained until it was a whimpering mockery of its former self. Sam himself had not been much better. His fur was matted in several places, and he had a constant itch that he associated with bedbugs. His partner Max had somehow not looked so worn down, even though he had gone through the same experience. Perhaps always going without clothes meant that roughing it was always part of the equation. His white fur still looked just like it always had, and he didn't have large bags under his eyes. That first bath back from what felt like the brink of madness was nothing less than heavenly, for the two of them. 

Max groaned in response to Sam's observation, letting himself fall comically backwards onto the uneven wooden surface of the office floor. His lagamorphic, rabbity like body had many utilities, but cooling off was sadly not part of the repertoire. He and Sam were miserably roasting in their fur as the merciless summer sun beat down on them from the windows of their workspace, which was currently doubling as their sleeping quarters. Outside, they could hear the car horns of exasperated drivers who were stuck in the slog of the traffic below, half suffocated between the smoke exhausts and the interior of their coffins on wheels. 

"No use trying to take the De Soto out today," Sam said, tugging at the collar of his gray suit. He had already given up on wearing his customary oversized striped tie, and it was thrown haphazardly over the desk lamp where it lay limply, as if having given up. 

"But I'm starving, Sam! How's a guy supposed to survive on just frozen pizza and leftover stale Mcguffins?!" Max wailed, tossing an unfortunate Mcguffin into the air, where it made a beautiful arch across the room and landed with a hearty splat somewhere left of the trash can. 

"Take courage, Max. Nothing like braving the storms of wartime derelict to make steely the nerves of vengeance," Sam said, giving up on his skinny detective hat and tossing it aside as well. 

"That was beautiful, Sam. If only our rations were as filling as your poetic lexicon," Max said, sadly. "I can't stand it! I'm cooking in my own skin! Lapin à la crème just standing here!" 

"I prefer a nice hasenpfeffer myself," Sam said, smirking. 

"Very funny," Max said dryly. "As if you wouldn't make a nice taco filling yourself, big boy. With a little marinating, and spices, I bet we could barbeque ourselves a nice berrio enchilada a la perro."

Sam shrugged, casually indifferent to his friend's concerningly specific plan for consuming him as a meal. 

Max hopped up, excited. "Let's order us up some dinner. I hear Jimmy Two Teeth is a FoodFast delivery driver now. We can work his tiny paws to the bone for our amusement!"

Sam shook his head sadly. His snout came just shy of hitting the corner lamp. He pulled his wallet out and opened it, to reveal...mothballs. Max shrugged his thin shoulders. 

"So we're a little short on cash. That's never stopped us before!" Max said confidently. "Let's break into our emergency savings and have a real feast tonight!"

Sam pulled out their piggy bank, which was shaped like little froggies playing as a Mariachi band. (They had only just discovered last week that it could hold coins. For years, they had just thought it was a cool decoration for the top of their file cabinet.) He uncorked the big sombrero of the first frog, and upturned the item. Nothing came out. He repeated the action with the frog on the other side. The same result. 

Max's shark-like grin faltered a tad, before he waved it off. "No biggie," he said. "I still got winnings from this last Poker Night at the Inventory we attended," he said, and dashed away to go get the pillow case that he hid them in. Sam waited nervously at the door for his return. He had used the last of the pillow fund on the latest repairs of the De Soto, and hadn't gotten around to telling Max yet. 

"Uh, little buddy..." he started, awkwardly, only to be interrupted by Max launching himself into his arms. "Sam! We've been robbed! Oh, this is horrible! They've taken everything! There's nothing left! Oh woe is us! Oh woe is me!" 

He flopped dramatically over the side of Sam's arms like a weird ragdoll that Sam had to strain to hold onto. "Max. Max, I don't know how to tell you this." Sam said carefully. "We haven't been robbed."

 Max lifted his head so suddenly that Sam almost dropped him. "What do you mean?!" 

"I mean I didn't have the heart to tell you that the pillow fund is also gone," Sam said in almost a whisper, as if he was ashamed of the words coming out of his mouth. "I used it all up, Max. I'm so-"

"No, you walnut! I mean our bedding! Our blankets! Our pillow fort! Mr. Cuddles, my bear! All GONE!" Max wailed. 

"What?!" Sam cried, and tossed Max behind him so that he could take a look inside their shared bedroom. Now it was Max flying in a beautiful arc across the room landing next to the Mcguffin. It's true, everything they owned had been whisked away, the imprint of them still fresh in Sam's mind. They left a physical imprint too, like a wierd cartoon shadow of "here is where the bed was, here is where the dresser was," etc. In fact, if this was a comic, that's exactly how the panel would depict the event. 

"Holy heaping helpings of leftover Yorkshire pudding handwrapped lovingly in Grandma's tupperware to take home-it's true! Now who on earth...I mean, why on earth...I mean, what on earth...?" 

"When you've finished forming a thought," Max said smirking, "I found something. Is this useful?" He was holding up a sealed envelope. 

Sam grabbed it out of his outstretched little white paw and tore it open. 

"If you can read this, it's already too late. Get out. Now."

Max looked as confused as Sam felt. 

"Whaddya suppose that-"

A horrible smell hit his sensitive dog nostrils like a blast of hot air. At first he thought it was Max, but realized almost immediatly after that it was a thick green gas, that was quickly filling the office with a scent similar to rotten eggs mixed with gutter runoff. Sam coughed and covered his nose with a sweaty sleeve, just in time to see Max pass out next to him. "Max!" he tried to say, reaching towards him in alarm. Before he could take hold of his little buddy, the black spots forming in his eyes overwhelmed him as well and everything turned to darkness. 

Chapter Two-The Sub Basement of Solitude

"So you guys failed that test spectacularly," Sam heard a sarcastic, familiar voice proclaim before he even opened his eyes.  'Geek!" he grinned and sat up, blinking in the semi darkness. 

Darla, also known as "the Geek" stood above the prone pair, her childish hands on flat hips. She shook her orange bangs to see the pair. She looked like she was trying hard not to smile at the two. 

Max sat up with a dramatic gasp. "Where? Who? What? Tell me which way to swing, Sam!"

"Physically, or sexually?"

"I'm a wild CANNON!" Max shouted, leaping into the air. 

"Watch out!" Sam said, plucking Darla up by the back of her shirt just in time to dodge a rampaging lagamorphic missile. 

Max hit the wall with an astounding speed and force, bouncing off like a spring board only to land rump-first on the cobbled basement floor. Undeterred, he gave a wide sideways grin at the pair and said, "so why the sudden death lightning round anyway? Not that I'm complaining, by the way. The last time I got smoked so hard was-"

"There's no way to end that sentence without getting demonetized," Sam said. "Let's move on." (A/N: I'm not getting paid.) 

"You guys are getting rusty," the Geek said with her half closed eyes squinting at them in disapproval. "The last time I timed you at this emergency drill you had me by the throat in 10 seconds, not 10 minutes." 

"Must be the sardonic embrace of old age, our technically proficient friend," Sam said, brushing off his lapels. 

"We age like a fine wine, Sam. Or in my case, like a fine musty Italian cheese," Max said, producing a round of cheese previously unseen on this realm of existence. He took a comically large bite, rind and all, as Sam's sensitive dog nose wrinkled in both disapproval and disappointment at not being offered any.

"Any-way, I need you two lugheads help with something," the Geek said, leading them towards her overly large computer monitor. On screen was an image of an island, with beautiful valleys and scenic waterfalls. She zoomed out to show that a literal ring of fire surrounded it, growing by the minute. 

"Now I'm not one to make assumptions, but that ain't a pile of whipped cream we're looking at here," Max said. His voice had followed camera perspective towards the screen, but then-

"No. It's a Fudgsicle Sundae," Sam said, mouth thick with rich decandant ice cream. He put down the dessert and refocused on the plot that was being introduced since the sundae had only been used as a visual gag to divert audience expectation. 

"I'll pay each of you ten dollars not to make a Ring of Fire joke," the Geek pleaded. 

"Too late," the two idiots said in unison. The song was already playing. 

"God I hate that song," the Geek said. "I always have. But anyway. I have a friend of mine on this island. An old professor buddy of mine who used to have some interesting thoughts on nuclear physics and so on, until he got hit with a Dracon beam and went crazy. Now he lives on this island claiming the island clams are infested with sea slugs, or something like that. I need you guys to bring me his briefcase. The one with a sticker of a rubber duck on it. Got it?"

"Rubber duck. Crazy man. Comprendo." Max listed off as if the audience already needed a recap. "Why?"

The Geek looked a little guilty, like she had been caught in a little white lie. "I might have. Um. Snuck a uranium capsule into his carry on when we were traveling together? It was a while ago, for that Scientists for Humanity convention. I didn't want to pay for shipping." 

Max wagged a furry white finger in her direction and tut-tutted like disciplining a child. "What have we always told you about thieving?"

The Geek crossed her arms and looked away, her ears reddening. "To never leave any evidence," she grumbled. 

"No-o. Never leave your stolen possessions in the hands of a crazy mad scientist. Sheesh! Pay attention for once!" Max said. 

So with that last thought, they pulled a lever and down a trap door, leaving the Geek wondering how she ever got involved with these two. 

Chapter Three-Our Boys Search For the Island, the Plot, and Who Gives A Hoot 

"Well that sure was a hootenanny of a good time, I'd say." Sam said, twirling a toothpick made of a wheat stalk. 

"I was especially impressed by our laxidaisical and entirely unorthodox method of resolving the conflict nicely," Max said. "I'm sure that will satiate the audience, with a dramatic climactic battle drawn in such magnificence and glorious detail that-"

"Sorry to cut you off there, little pal,' Sam said. "Methinks I just remembered that we're not being drawn at all at this particular juncture."

"By golly you're right, Sam! My inability to pretend the fourth wall means anything is acting up!" Max cried dramatically, clutching his throat in mock horror and alarm. 

The truth was, as soon as they zoomed away from the Geek's place, they had already forgotten what their goal might have been. They were standing on an island, sure. Ring of fire. Right. There. Nice, neat conclusion to the story probably waiting with a nice bow and a cocktail in hand, ready to be delivered to hungry online audiences everywhere, at least for the duration that they could keep their attention span focused. But their back was to the island, in fact, to the entire potential storyline. Deliberately. Back to the camera. No consideration for 

[tiktokitssinoclock]

Weight- Marc Spector

... ʰᵉʸ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵒⁿᵉ.

No I'm not dead, and no I really wasn't that busy until the semester started up. I fell off the writing wagon a few months ago and still kind of feel that way. Just recently I've been working on some stuff again so I hope I'll get back into the flow of things soon, but I don't want to risk burn out. I won't be posting as often as I used to, but I'll still post sporadically here and there. Hopefully that changes as inspiration comes back to me! :)

SFW// Minors and ageless blogs, DNI // You will be blocked

Summary:

You have a really important day tomorrow, but can't get to sleep for the life of you. Fortunately, Marc has the perfect suggestion.

Word Count:

1.5K

Warnings/Triggers:

None

One of the things you loved about the boys' place was the sounds of the traffic around the building. The soft 'whoosh' of cars as they passed by, the muted squeaks of tires cruising along on wet pavement when it rained, the surprisingly welcome harmony of whiny breaks and car horns when a light turned red. Steven had his complaints about it, and while you could sympathize with him, you yourself never truly minded. It worked almost like a noise machine in the flat, the London hubbub providing a constant hum in the background.

Tonight, however, as you found yourself laying quite awake, you were starting to better understand what he meant. Every time you closed your eyes, trying in vain to get some sleep, the smallest noises from the street were trying their damnedest to get you to open them again.

The hardly audible road rage between two people might as well have been an argument just outside in the hallway. The chirp of a parked car getting locked seemed to echo throughout the room. Hell, even the slamming of a car door was almost enough to make your ears pop.

You let out a quiet sigh as you continued to catch bits and pieces of the ongoing squabble, pinching your eyes shut before opening them once more in defeat. Of all the nights for the sounds of distant traffic to fail you...

Sweat was beading on your brow but you opted to ignore it, the usually inviting cotton sheets feeling much too warm. You tossed over onto your side, your nails digging into the pillow in your grasp as you tried to focus on the sound of Marc's slow, even breaths.

There wasn't much else to distract your gaze from straying, which wasn't helping, either. Like a moth to a flame, you find yourself stealing glances at the laptop perched on Steven's crammed desk. Again and again, however, you forced yourself to stare at the wall beside you. You were playing a game of cat and mouse, it felt like, and the universe was doing everything in its power to work against you.

Your usual white noise was practically blaring. You'd long since kicked the sheets off your body, the material bunched awkwardly at your feet. The sliver of moonlight peeking through the blinds glinted off the laptop's reflective case, only drawing your attention towards it even more.

You found yourself staring at it again before you could help yourself, eyes squinting in annoyance as you chewed the inside of your cheek.

A few more minutes wouldn't hurt.

As you slowly began to sit up, knuckling the sleep out of your eyes, your mind was already racing with things to do.

I haven't got the numbers from quarter two completely memorized yet, and it wouldn't look good if I have to keep referencing that slide during the meeting. And honestly, I don't know what I was thinking adding all those slide transitions. I'll have to edit them out. Maybe I'll pack a quick lunch for myself, too, that way I can just eat at my desk instead of having to pop over to the cafeteria. Yeah, that'll give me more time to finalize everything.

Your legs swung over the side of the bed as you lazily rolled your shoulders, a few satisfying 'pop's greeting you.

I could probably iron out my outfit, as well. I'll never hear the end of it from Jen if there's a wrinkle in my top when I'm presenting. God forbid clothing does what clothes are known to do-

Before you had the opportunity to stand up, however, you felt the weight of the mattress suddenly shift. A pair of arms wrapped around your waist, lips warm with sleep meeting the back of your neck.

"Where're you going?" Marc mumbled against your skin, his voice sleep logged.

You refrained from leaning back into his touch, fingers lightly circling around Marc's wrists.

"Bathroom," you offered, shooting him a reassuring smile over your shoulder.

When he was barely awake, Marc seemed much... softer than usual. His hair was lightly tussled, bits and piecing sticking out in various directions. The usual bags under his eyes didn't seem so pronounced, the gleam in his gaze ever present. You could stare at him for hours, it felt like. The only things tarnishing the view, however, were how his eyebrows began pulling together and the way his lips were pressed in a thin line. Despite just waking up, he was onto what you were up to in an instance.

"I'll only be up a few minutes."

"No you won't."

You could only look at him for a moment before finally speaking again.

"Don't be silly," you said, gently pulling yourself out of his grasp.

"Honestly Marc, I'll be back. You need the sleep and- hey!"

Marc ignored your protests, pulling you in until your back was pressed against his chest and he could lazily throw his leg over both of yours. His cheek pressed itself against the back of your shoulder, each of his soft exhales fanning across your neck. You ignored the goosebumps his breath left in its wake, the frown on your face deepening.

"Marc."

"Hmm?"

"Please let me go."

"So you can agonize over your keyboard until the sun comes up? Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm stressing out- and rightfully so. There are so many ways I could be productive right now and instead I'm just... I'm laying here."

You sucked in a deep breath.

"I'm not getting to sleep at this rate. I might as well make something of my time."

"That's a horrible idea," Marc replied bluntly, his voice still tired.

"How so?"

"Because-"

Marc interrupted himself with a groan as he gave a stretch, nonchalantly readjusting his position.

"You're gonna tell yourself 'Oh, I'll just review this and I'll be done', right? Then that'll turn into 'I'll rearrange some things real quick' or 'I should make a better version of this table' or whatever else you think up."

You couldn't see his face, but you could practically feel one of his eyebrows arch.

"Am I wrong?"

Too stubborn to confirm or deny his train of thought, even though he was very much correct, you only locked your jaw and sat in continued silence. This hardly phased Marc, however, so he continued.

"You'll just keep changing and adding, changing and adding, until you've got an entirely new presentation you're unfamiliar with. Then by the time you have to present it, you'll get overwhelmed and trip up because its nothing like what you practiced with. You'll be tired, too, which doesn't help. That's what happened last time, from my understanding."

You leaned further into Marc's chest, appreciating the feel of his skin against your own, and let out a heavy sigh.

"Things have to go perfectly to make up for that. I want to prove to them that I can do better."

Another kiss pressed itself against your skin.

"And you will, if you get some rest."

"I... I just can't. I'm all wired up right now and I don't know if I'll be able to get any sleep."

Marc was silent for a beat, only giving you a low 'hmm' in response. Several minutes had passed and you almost thought he had drifted off before he was speaking again.

"What if I laid on you?"

You rolled your eyes with a scoff, earning a chuckle from the man.

"No, not like that. What if I literally laid on you?"

You frowned, turning in your boyfriend's grasp to better face him. his tired eyes and a small smile greeted you.

"I don't see how that would help."

"It would be kind of like using my body as a weighted blanket. I think you mentioned having one in your apartment, right?"

You considered it for a moment, silently appreciating the way his thumb drew small circles on your hip. It was true- you did have a weighted blanket you often made use of back in your flat. And you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn't regret bringing it with you...

"You can say no if you want. It's just a suggestion."

"I know."

You toyed with your bottom lip, pondering the idea. What did you have to loose in trying?

"Let's give it a go, then."

"Fine by me."

Marc briefly released his hold on you only so he could roll himself on top of you, resting his head in the crook of your neck before he let his arms lazily circle you once again. You hummed contently at the shift in pressure Marc's weight provided, an instantaneous calm buzzing through your limbs. After several quiet moments of laying together like that, both your rapid heartbeat and breathing finally slowing, he groggily spoke.

"Better?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Good."

Just a few minutes later and the two of you had peacefully drifted off, the noise from the busy streets below falling on blissfully deaf ears.

[cloudytamaki]

traffic lights • i.hajime

⤷ genre: angst / fluff - hurt / comfort

⤷ warnings: mentions of death, car accidents, arguments

⤷ summary: it’s never good to leave the apartment on a rainy night with hurt feelings.

“you can’t be fucking serious, hajime! this isn’t fair at all, did you ever take my feelings into consideration?”

“i can’t believe you, y/n! you’re making this so goddamn bigger than it needs to be! i’m just needed a few hours later at work, do i need your permission to earn money?”

outside, the rain pours down, loud against the roof. streams of water slide down the windows and create puddles beside the house.

inside, you stand in front of your partner, throat sore from all the yelling you’ve been doing. tears of frustration glisten in your eyes as you snap another venomous remark at him.

“you know what, hajime? think about the house when you get home. there’s food on the table, everything is clean and tidy! who do you think does all that work after they come home from work? me! it’s getting to be too much, damn it! you live here too, you need to start helping me out more.”

“help you out more?” he scoffs in disbelief, “does paying the bills every month help you out enough? all the work i do is the only reason you even have a house to clean up in the afternoon!”

“okay.” you back away from him, keeping your voice calm (although you’re absolutely fuming). “i’m leaving.” you snatch a nearby jacket — not caring who it belongs to — and grab the keys from the hooks.

“if you leave now, you’d better not come back.” he barks out, each word stabbing you in the chest.

“i don’t plan on it.” you snap back, slamming the door behind you. soon, he hears the rumble of the truck’s engine, and then the screech of the tires as you speed away from your apartment.

you mutter every swear word possible, so pissed off you could barely think. once you’re far away enough from home (could you even call it that right now?), you twist the steering wheel so sharply to the right you can hear the tires slide dangerously against the wet pavement.

you’re hunching over the wheel, eyes narrowed as the windshield wipers desperately try to sweep away the rain. it’s getting hard to see through the now foggy glass — you keep going anyway.

slowly pulling out of the street and deciding to head over to the gas station for some snacks, you press on the gas and drive to the left. however, a car is driving out of the street you’re passing — you’re about to be hit.

slamming your palm down on the horn, you twist the steering wheel cruelly to avoid any impact; the truck hurtles down the street, left side of the truck bed smashing into the street post as one of the tires slips up onto the curb — and the car flies up into the air — for a second you think you see jesus.

but the second you process what’s happening and how your legs could be fatally crushed, the car slams down onto its right. pieces of crystal windshield glass drop down into the passenger seat beside you. all you can feel and remember is the way the truck flipped up into the air.

“oh my god!” you hear a male voice from your left and a head peaks through the shattered window, “call 911!”

back at the apartment, hajime’s still fuming — but now, most of his anger is towards himself. how could he allow his temper to get the best of him? why would he say such shitty things to you when all you wanted was some help at home?

he buries his head in his hands, combing his fingers through his spikes when his phone vibrates against his leg, a cheesy ringtone filling the silence — the ringtone you picked for him.

“hello?”

“hi, is this iwaizumi hajime?” he furrows his brows at the voice. it sounds like another guy.

“yes.” he answers gruffly, eyebrows furrowing deeply. questions run through his head before he speaks up again. “may i ask who’s calling?”

“i’m a paramedic.” he freezes at the words. “i’m calling to inform you that — is it—” the voice stops to think for a second, “l/n y/n? she’s been in a car crash, sir. she told us to call you—”

“shit.” he mutters under his breath, blood running cold as his right hand comes up to angrily tug at his hair, “where is it? where are you?”

“would you like to speak to l/n y/n?”

“yes,” he says tightly, heart pounding in his chest.

“hajime?” he’s so relieved to hear your voice, but he can sense the way you’re almost wincing. “the truck’s fucking totaled, i’m sorry.”

“where the hell are you?” iwaizumi isn’t angry, but panicked.

“uh...” you pause for a second, “carlson boulevard, near the food store.”

“i – i’m on my way.”

you hang up on the other end and the line’s immediately dead. iwaizumi jumps up, throwing open the closet and grabbing a jacket. he dashes into the garage, almost saying a fucking prayer; thank god he got the car checked and fixed up yesterday.

he opens the garage door and gets into the smaller blue car, squeezing the wheel and taking a deep breath before closing the door and taking off down the street.

when he gets to the scene, hajime’s eyes widen in disbelief. the truck’s on its side, windshield glass everywhere, bystanders peeking out through their curtains, police officers talking to you while you hold an ice pack to your head.

he parks the car and jumps out. the street sign is in someone’s front lawn and different coins are sparkling on the pavement. the pennies and quarters he’d saved for drive through’s, the little flower crown you’d hung on the rear view mirror ripped up — destroyed.

his lips part in a silent gasp. “sir?” an officer calls him over; he can hardly look at you. you’re all wet from the rain, clothes absolutely soaked.

words are exchanged back and forth but he barely processes them; you’ll be fine, the officer says, you’ll just need some rest. as for the truck, it’s totaled beyond repair. you’ll have to buy a new one or just get around with the tiny blue car.

the officer says goodbye to the both of you and walks away to assist with the cleanup of the wreck. he walks in silence beside you to the blue car, but before the both of you can get into the car, he emits a strangled sob; your head twists up in surprise.

it’s fucking raining and— shit. is he crying?

he aggressively wipes at his face, but the tears keep coming. you step over to him, removing his arms away from his reddened cheeks. “y-y/n—” he can’t get out your name without even breaking down.

“it’s my fault. i made you get into that accident... i – i’m so sorry—” he stiffens at first when you embrace him, but relaxes a little bit once you rub your hand over his back.

“hajime. it – it’s not your fault, please don’t think that, okay?” you lift his chin so his head can face yours. he looks so vulnerable, clearly suffering from the guilt and self deprecation. “okay?” you repeat, your eyes piercing his.

he nods wordlessly, hugging you tighter before he eventually pulls away, opening the door to the car. “i love you.”

you press a kiss to his trembling lips, ignoring the throbbing in your head.

“i love you too.”

[let-me-write-shit]

Hey! Idk if u r taking requests hint if you are, can u do one where harry+y/n+bby paxton are out and about but all the sudden get swarmed by paps and then one of the cameras accidentally hit the baby and the clip goes viral and celebs and ex-1D members and stans all start coming to the defense and share stories about how awful the paps are? U don’t have to haha

A/N: Thank you so much, @gwen-and-harry, for this request! I’m sorry it took so long! Hope this is alright!

Word Count: 5,227

Requests are OPEN! If you have a request for a blurb, oneshot, imagine, whatever, Send me a message HERE!!!

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Friendly reminder to please like and/or reblog. It helps more than you think :)

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Paparazzi

The outpour of love and well-wishes after the announcement of the birth of their firstborn son was touching and comforting. Harry and Y/N were lucky to be surrounded by so many wonderful people. Still, the eagerness of the public to get the first glimpse of the newborn and the new parents began to grow. No one had seen the couple out since before their son was born and Paxton was nearly three months old, now. People were becoming desperate.

There were more and more fans outside of their house as the days passed. Y/N and Harry had people running errands for them and luckily had the help of friends and family, as well, who would stick around for a few days at a time to give them little breaks and were more than happy to get some time with the happy baby. But as the sun stayed out longer and the temperature began to rise, the new family felt the yearning for a nice summer holiday.

They’d planned it for weeks, excited to take pictures and videos of Paxton’s first time at the beach. Harry had found a perfect house with a private beach off the coast of Italy and even decided to bring along security. And even though he didn’t do it often, he thought the circumstances warranted renting a private plane to take them to the beautiful country.

Harry and Y/N were very cautious in showing any images of their baby. No one, aside from close friends and family, even knew of his name. Having been the victims of stalking, they didn’t want their son to be subjected to that and tried everything in their power to protect their child. There were brief moments when it was typical for it to be vacant outside their home, so they planned their escape down to the minute; bags loaded in the car from the night before, and two security guards standing by to rush them to the car.

Paxton was already buckled into his infant car seat and kicking along, happily, as Y/N cooed at him, dangling toys and pinching his chubby legs while Harry peered out of the window, waiting until the coast was clear. She noticed her husband straighten up more just before the security guard said, “Let’s go.”

Harry hoisted the brown leather diaper bag further up his shoulders and tossed a muslin blanket over the top of the car seat to cover Paxton, just in case anyone happened to see them. He took hold of the car seat and carried his baby out to the car as swiftly as he could while Y/N followed closely behind him. It took two minutes for everyone to get settled in and pull out of the driveway before they felt like they could breathe a sigh of relief.

Y/N and Harry shared a look of burden. The lengths they had to take just to keep a bit of privacy and normalcy was insane. And still, they weren’t out of the woods yet. Although they were flying privately, they still needed to drive to the main airport where their plane would depart from a strip off to the side. Everything seemed to be alright, so far. Usually, Harry could tell if it were going to be crazy if there were cars of fans chasing them, and that was not the case, so he let his guard down.

But, as they approached the backup in the car queue through the airport terminals, they slowly came to realize that this wasn’t going to be as easy as they anticipated. They were at a standstill for over ten minutes, unmoving, with cars honking loudly around them. It seemed that there was roadwork on a few of the lanes ahead that caused a jam. Quickly, they had to make a decision that they didn’t miss check-in with their pilot.

After much deliberation, they decided that the only solution would be that Harry, Y/N, and their baby would have to walk down the strip accompanied by one of the security guards while the other security guard continued with the car and would eventually meet them at the plane with all of their luggage. Y/N couldn’t stay stuck in traffic, her claustrophobia was already starting to make her panic. The fresh air would do them all some good, and besides, there weren’t an overwhelming amount of people walking along outside. Most people were in a rush to get in. They thought they’d be able to handle it.

Poor Paxton was fast asleep, but it was a pretty far distance to be lugging a heavy car seat while trying to walk as quickly and discreetly as possible down the sidewalk to reach the end where their terminal would be. At least by carrying him, if someone did recognize them, they’d be able to shield their son better.

Gently, Harry unfastened the buckles from Paxton’s car seat and slipped him out, passing him over to Y/N without waking him. It was warm out, but Y/N made sure to wrap Paxton loosely in the thin muslin cloth and cover his face enough so that he could breathe well against her chest, but his face couldn’t be seen. The couple made sure to wear their sunglasses and Harry took hold of the leather diaper bag before the security guard jumped out and opened the door for them.

Quickly, they started making their way down the sidewalk, heads down to not call attention to themselves, and following their security guard’s strides who was barely a step ahead of them. Horns blared and echoed around them, stuffy fumes from car engines congested the area. For a moment, Harry thought they might actually get through unrecognized. But that quickly came to prove wrong.

It always started as just a feeling of being watched before turning into a slightly louder buzzing as people, wondering if it was really him, began to mutter. This then turned into a few shouts and calls. He ignored the first few calls until he realized that too many people started to notice. He turned, smiled, and waved at them as he continued. This usually satisfied fans enough to not follow him. But then he saw it. The cluster of cameras. Paparazzi.

They looked shocked to see him, at first. He guessed they were likely here for someone else at first and he was just a bonus. Just his luck. The security guard tightened his gap and Y/N felt a hand on the middle of her back as Harry protectively pushed her along so they could keep moving faster. Still, they were already halfway there and it wasn’t more than they were used to.

However, more people became increasingly aware that not only was Harry Styles there, but also his wife and newborn baby. Harry always had a good relationship with the paparazzi, but the incitement to get the first look at their son was causing them to swarm the new parents.

“Harry, how does it feel to be a dad?”

“What’s your son’s name?”

“Where are you headed?”

“Harry, does he look just like you?”

“Can we see?”

The questions were never-ending and almost too hard to hear as everyone talked at once. Surrounded by not only paparazzi but also curious fans, it became harder to move. Their security guard did his best to keep everyone at bay and to keep moving forward, but it soon became too crowded to move. Y/N held her baby closer to her chest as he began to wriggle and squirm from all the noise, sharing a brief look of concern with Harry who tried his best to remain calm and friendly while also trying to make way for his family out of the ring of paps that surrounded them who became more aggressive with their questions, closing in on them.

Cameras started bumping together, voices became louder, and the paparazzi began to shove each other, fighting to get closer to the celeb. Some fans began to notice how reckless they were becoming and started to yell at paparazzi along with the security guard who was still trying to push through to make room for them, only inching their way forward now.

“Back up, they have a baby!” a few girls screams were muffled behind the shouts of the paps.

Paxton was wiggling more now and started to whimper as Y/N and her husband were being yelled at in all directions. Y/N could feel paps nudging her back, getting too close for comfort. When the security guard noticed, he’d yell at them, but there wasn’t much he could do. He was only one person against dozens of others. Her claustrophobia was in full swing and her heart began racing, breath becoming more of a pant. She felt a tug on her shirt followed by a deep voice beckoning, “Come on, let us get a look at the happy family.” They had gotten bolder in touching her purposefully.

Y/N spun around, “Please don’t touch me,” she yelped.

Lights started to flash in her face and she felt a hand tug at the muslin cloth that was protecting her son. Instinctively she swatted at the hand and pulled her son in tighter, shouting, “Don’t touch him!”

Harry turned, protectively shielding his wife and son, urging her in front of him, fans still yelling as another pap shoved his camera in between them so hard that he managed to whack the top of Paxton’s head with his flash attachment, causing the baby to flail and burst into wails, sobbing into Y/N’s chest at an ear-piercing level.

Before Y/N of the security guard could even react, Harry leaped at the pap, shoving him backward, and began screaming at him so ferociously that it created a momentary standstill. No one had ever seen Harry so angry before.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, eh?! That’s my baby, you fuckin’ dickhead!” Harry’s accent became thick with rage, shoving the startled man’s chest which made him back away.

“I didn’t do anything! I didn’t do anything!” the pap could be heard saying, shrinking away.

A few other paparazzi were taking the side of the pap and snapping pictures and videos of the incident while most yelled along with Harry as well as fans. Harry kept at him, screaming even louder and angrier, “You smashed my sons head with your fuckin’ piece of shit camera,” he yanked the camera out of the pap’s hands and chucked it to the ground, a few pieces breaking off and sliding every which way, continuing to shove the pap back while the security guard tried his hardest to contain the situation and get people to back off.

“Harry! Please!” Y/N cried, her heart pounding in panic and on the verge of tears.

Harry was seething, glaring at the pap who had backed away, nervously, before the awareness that Harry was surrounded by people, most with their phones out, started to sink in. The crowd had given them some more space now, and he looked back to see the concern on his wife’s face as she bounced and patted the back of their crying son in her arms in an attempt to console him.

With one last scowl at the offender, Harry hissed, “Don’t come near my family again.”

He picked up the brown leather diaper bag off of the ground; he must have dropped it during his fit. Hiking it back up his shoulders, he wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist as the security guard led them away from the crowd, fans calling their support after them and continuing to yell at the paparazzi.

The rest of the walk was silent, still too rattled by the situation to find the words to say. By the time they reached and boarded the plane, Paxton had fallen back asleep and it didn’t take long for their other security guard to reach them.Should have just stayed in the car, Y/N thought, getting settled in a seat with her son, She loosened the muslin blanket around his face, but not too much to disturb his sleep. Harry stayed towards the front of the plane, barely out of earshot, to talk to the security after their belongings were loaded.

A few minutes in, Harry could be heard raising his voice at them, angry about how the situation was handled. Y/N winced, trying not to listen in as she kept her attention down at her son who was suckling on the inside of his cheeks as he slept. It was almost time to feed him, but Harry still had the diaper bag. She felt bad for the security, there wasn’t much they could do, and she knew Harry was only yelling because he was upset that his son was in danger. It wasn’t like Harry to take things out on other people, but he had become increasingly protective since becoming a dad.

Moments later, Harry and the two security guards made their way back, and although Harry still looked tense, Y/N could tell that they had talked things out and was willing to bet that Harry apologized to them, too. It still didn’t make her husband any less angry. He plopped in the seat beside his wife with an exaggerated sigh and leaned over to get a good look at his sin, gently pushing the muslin cloth away as he ran his hand over the baby’s soft, fuzzy head. A splotch of raised red skin could be seen forming from where the camera had hit him.

Y/N snapped her attention to her husband and saw the distress stretch across his face and with an overwhelmed frown he said, “I better take a picture of this. Just in case,” and he pulled his phone out from his pocket.

She knew what he meant. Just in case that pap wanted to press charges for destruction of property or assault. If he did decide to press charges, there’s no way he would win. There’s more than enough photographic and video evidence of the assault on their baby. But over the years they had learned that they could never be too careful.

He shoved his phone back in his pocket, and the pilot and flight attendant introduced themselves, checked ID, and went over safety procedures before the plane started down the runway. Harry stared down at his son the entire time, not letting go of his tiny hand that was wrapped around his middle finger. Y/N knew how worried he was feeling, and with an understanding smile, she carefully passed him their baby.

She grinned as Harry shushed him back to sleep when he began stirring, stroking his cheeks in total adoration of the little boy he held in his arms. His heart ached as he caressed the red splotch at the crown of the baby’s head, angry that grown adults would act in such a way, especially in the presence of a child.

“Do you think we should get a doctor to look at him?” he asked as their plane ascended.

Y/N nodded her head, “I think he’s fine but better safe than sorry. We’ll take care of it tomorrow. I think we all need to relax when we get there. It’s been a long morning.”

It wasn’t a long flight to Italy, but it wasn’t calming, either. Y/N fed Paxton while Harry fretted about the flurry of texts and missed calls he was bound to have by his managers, PR, and legal team, certain that videos and pictures will have been released by then. And just like he predicted, they landed to nearly thirty missed messages of all sorts, including links to articles titled, ‘Harry Styles Attacks Paparazzi Outside of London Airport’. They couldn’t bring themselves to open or read any of it, but Harry did spend a majority of their nearly thirty-minute car journey on a conference call with his team talking about the situation and discussing ways with which they could handle it.

Harry cut in after a while, saying, “Alright, listen. I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to be on holiday with my family. Can someone please make an appointment with a doctor out here to look at my son tomorrow and text me the details? We’ll talk about this another time.”

Harry wasn’t assertive a lot, but when he was, it always turned Y/N on. She kissed his cheek with a grin as he hung up the phone and squeezed his hand. His mom and sister were one of the many who had texted them after seeing the news and they made a quick FaceTime call to them, venting about the encounter and reassuring them that Paxton was fine, showing them the sweet baby’s face when they finally pulled up to the vacation rental and ended the call.

It was just after noon when they arrived at the house, and instead of unpacking, everyone left their luggage by the front door and took the food they had picked up from a drive-thru on the patio by the pool where they overlooked a beautiful, private beach lined with white sand and water the most beautiful shade of blue. Harry bounced a cooing baby on his lap while they ate. The couple silenced their phones, trying their hardest to avoid the onslaught of calls and messages they were bound to receive.

After lunch, everyone finally put their things away, got changed into their bathing suits, and headed to the pool for their first swim of the year. For just a few hours the coupe was able to forget about the inevitable problem they were facing and enjoyed their time together as a family.

Paxton seemed to enjoy the water once he warmed up to it, screeching joyfully and splashing at the surface while mummy and daddy took turns holding him and pushing him in the inflatable raft they brought. They laughed at the baby boy’s reaction to getting water droplets on his face and all the noises that escaped his tiny lips.

They stayed in the pool until nightfall when they wrapped themselves in towels and sat around the fire pit to keep warm while one of the security guards left to pick up dinner for everyone. Normally, Harry would feel bad for having someone else get him food, but given the circumstances, he felt it was for the best.

He looked over at his wife, her eyes red and irritated from the chlorine, and the high points of her face sunkissed from the warm, Italian sun. Her hair was slicked back, though that didn’t stop Paxton from getting a hold of a chunk of her hair and tugging as she fed him. Harry’s smile started to face into a frown when he noticed the red splotch on the crown of his son’s head was not tinged a blue-ish purple. It had started to bruise.

Y/N noticed her husband’s silence, and with an understanding and reassuring squeeze to his hand, she softly said, “He’s okay, Bub. Just a little sore when you touch it, but still a happy boy.”

“I know,” he nodded, “Still pisses me off that it even happened, though. I should go see if anyone was able to make an appointment for him, yet.”

He ambled off inside to find his phone that he left on the nightstand, ignoring all of his notifications and going right to his assistant’s texts to see the information of the doctor that was kind enough to agree to come to them tomorrow morning and take a look at Paxton. He did a quick background search on the doctor, pleased to find that she had come highly trained and recommended, and he sighed a breath of relief.

He then decided to take a look at some of these notifications, a little worried about the backlash he might have received. But, he was surprised to see the response of support and even shocked by some of the names that had reached out to him or spoke up about the fight.

The first people he noticed were his mom and sister who both made and shared an Instagram text post that read, ‘There is a lot that you have to deal with and compromise on when you have a fanbase or a following, and one of those things is privacy. It’s something so many of us take for granted, and so far, Harry and his lovely wife have taken it in stride, rarely complaining. They’re aware, just like the rest of us, that being a ‘celebrity’ and the lack of privacy in his line of work is an unfortunate given. However, when the safety and privacy of a newborn child are at risk, this type of behavior can become extremely dangerous. There is a time and place for paparazzi, and hurting a child to get a few snapshots is deplorable. Change needs to happen’. In the caption of the photo, there was a petition link that called for adjustments on laws when it came to paparazzi and children.

A lump formed in Harry’s throat as he read, reliving the moment his son had gotten hurt a mere few hours ago. There was so much running through his head. He felt like an idiot for losing his temper, he should have known not to lash out like that, especially when there were so many cameras out. He was pissed that the paparazzi put him in a situation where he felt like lashing out was his only option. He was upset that he couldn’t enjoy their first vacation as a family with their new baby because he was too worried that people might spot him. He was scared for the future of his son, worried that he’d have to look over his shoulder every step of the way to make sure his son could have even just a shot at living a semi-normal life. And he was grateful for the support of his family and for them speaking out and trying to invoke change.

As he scrolled through his notifications more, he saw that Lizzo had also posted a video to Instagram and tagged him in it. He played the video and chuckled, feeling comforted, when her face popped on the screen, shouting, “If y'all don’t leave my baby daddy, Harry, and my sister-wife, Y/N, alone! They had a baby with them! Like this child is basically straight out the womb, and y’all sick motherfuckers are out here grabbin’ on ‘em just to try and take a picture?! A picture?!” she looked disgusted as she shook her head, “These paparazzi are getting bolder every day. This shit needs to stop. I need each and every one of you to click the link on my bio. Things need to change. Yesterday.”

He went to her page and saw the same link that Gemma and his mom had posted to their story. And that wasn’t all. As he continued to go through his notifications, he saw that he had been tagged onto one of Niall’s tweets a ton. He opened the link to see what Niall had written.

‘Absolutely disgusted to see what happened to my friend @Harry_Styles, his lovely wife @Y/N, and their little lad today. Truly criminal that these paparazzi can do things like this with little to no repercussion. I’m so sorry the two of ya had to go through that. Absolutely fuming for ya.’

With a tight-lipped grin, Harry nodded and made a mental note to text Niall later and thank him. For now, he pocketed his phone and rejoined his wife outside who had just finished feeding Paxton and putting him in a portable rocker beside her to nap, her feet propped up by the edge of the fire, wiggling her toes in the warmth. He kissed her forehead before taking his seat on the other side of her, informing her of the response, so far, of the day’s events.

Throughout the week, more and more people had started to speak up. The doctor had come around to take a once-over of Baby Styles, deeming him healthy, just bruised, and leaving them to enjoy their vacation, utterly astonished by the number of people who had spoken out to condemn the paparazzi and share their experience.

Louis had called him shortly after the doctor had left while they were on the beach. Paxton was screeching on his tummy, holding his head up and beating his chubby fists into the sand. Harry watched his wife smiling and clacking at her baby, completely smitten by the two of them, as he and Louis caught up. The last time they talked was when Louis congratulated them on the birth of his son. This time, Louis called to make sure they were doing alright. Harry was still trending online and, being a father himself, he knew how upsetting it was when your kid was brought up in the media. Especially when they had to deal with the repercussions of the paparazzi.

“Man, it just blows my mind the shit these low-lives can get away with. Please tell me you’re gonna press charges, mate,” Louis seared.

Harry groaned, “I don’t think I can, mate. I broke his camera and shoved him. We’re pretty much even.”

“Even?” Louis repeated, “Mate, he hurt a baby. He’s done much worse than you did!”

“Not according to the law, man. Not really. Besides, he’s fine. Just a bruise, thank God. Was more worried about, Y/N, if I’m honest,” he whispered, trying not to let his wife hear, “You should have seen her. Thought she was going to have a panic attack because of her claustrophobia.”

Louis tutted and sighed, “Poor lass. She's alright now, though, yeah?”

“We’re on the beach, so she couldn’t be happier,” Harry laughed, watching as Paxton gazed in awe at the little sandcastle Y/N had just made.

They had received texts from friends, like Mitch and Sarah, who made sure that they and the baby were alright as well as posted a link to the petition. Big-name celebrities with kids, like Chrissy Teigen and John Legend, as well as Hilary Duff and Matthew Koma, had also come forward in light of the issue to share their experiences of being paparazzi’d with kids. He’d never had the pleasure of meeting them, but was sure to send them messages of thanks.

Ariana Grande had tweeted ‘Sending my love to the Styles Family. It’s scary when you can’t walk down the street with a newborn without being harassed. Please sign the petition to finally start holding those who cross the line accountable.’

Liam Payne texted Harry and mentioned it in one of his Instagram Live videos when asked by fans saying, “Yeah, I spoke to him. Apparently, the guy had bruised the poor baby’s head, but he’s doing alright. They’re a bit shaken by the whole thing, I don’t blame them. It’s-It’s just sad, you know? For all the years I’ve known Harry, he’s the last one to get rattled to the point of fighting someone I’ve met Y/N a few times and well and she was always kind and easy-going. But when you’re worried about the safety of your wife and child, I don’t think anyone could say they’d just sit back and take it. You’ve got to draw the line somewhere.”

James Corden dedicated a segment in his show talking about the dangers of paparazzi and his own experiences with being harassed, including the time he was out with his son, and Harry joined them.

“To see, very early on in his career, the amount of people that followed his every step- I mean, he was only with us for a couple of hours and it got so crazy that after thirty minutes I had to have Harry walk a bit ahead of us so that the paparazzi wouldn’t swarm my son. By the end of the day, we were exhausted. I can’t even imagine having to deal with that daily. I know how I felt about it at the time and my son was older. We were a bit more comfortable as parents. But these two have their first, brand new baby. The idea of leaving your house for the first time as new parents and being hounded by volatile people who have no care for anyone but themselves is terrifying. My heart goes out to him and his family,” he finished.

Dozens more came out of the gate to condemn careless paparazzi, but probably the most surprising of them all was Gigi Hadid.

It was no secret that Harry and the model had a strained relationship that dated back to the drama surrounding Zayn’s departure from One Direction. The two never really cared to get to know one another and there was always some unsaid animosity in between them for whatever reason. He never had anything against her. Still, it was there. So, when she spoke out in defense of Harry’s actions, it was in headlines everywhere.

Gigi was very vocal about it on all of her social media platforms, writing rants on Twitter, text posts on Instagram, and even making videos saying, “You know, it’s just disgusting how celebrities can be stalked and harassed every single day by people like these paparazzi and the response is always ‘well, that’s what you signed up for’. It never made sense to me. Like, why is it considered normal? Why does it have to ‘come with the territory?’ These celebrities didn’t sign up to have their lives picked through with a fine-tooth comb. Especially not their spouses or children. They don’t deserve to be harassed or stalked just because of who they fell in love with or made a family with. A lot of people forget that celebrities are just humans.

We’re normal people with abnormal jobs. My job is to model. Harry’s job is to sing. We shouldn’t be in fear to step out of our house that day, afraid of being stalked or our children being hit in the heads with fucking cameras. I’m no stranger to how dangerous and scary paps can be, and since becoming a mom myself, I’m even more cautious. We hardly leave our house. We have so much security it’s unreal. We shouldn’t have to live like this.

Having fans come up to us in the streets and saying hi or taking pictures with us is one thing, but to have these paps shoving their camera in a child’s face, blocking our way out, and endangering them is something else entirely. Paparazzi need to be held to a higher standard and they need to be held accountable. I really feel for them.”

By the end of their vacation, there was so much positive support from fans and other celebs that Harry and Y/N was feeling overwhelmed with love. They both reached out, personally and privately, to as many people as they could to thank them for speaking out and signing the petition. Their team decided that a simple response, in true Harry fashion, would be best. On Instagram, he posted a picture of Paxton’s sandy feet and captioned it,

‘All Is Well. Thank you. With Love, H.’

------------------------------------

Taglist:

@odetostep @mylittleangel9403 @thurhomish @fallingfordolans @gwen-and-harry

[paperpocalypse]

neodymium.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 49. You caught me doing something dangerous and flipped out + 50. I’m scared but won’t admit it so you take my hand

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,572 words

Warning: Swearing, science applications that would probably shame your physics teacher

It’s starting to snow.

You keep your hand on the cold, metal cross bar, pressing down but unwilling to open the door. The thin, plastic bag in your other hand rustles as you twist it up in your fingers, pills rattling around in their bottles as you swing it back and forth. A frown tugs at the corners of your mouth.

Winter is here, and you don’t like it. You used to. But that was back then, when you were allowed to wear winter jackets and gloves and scarves and thick, fluffy hats to protect your ears from the biting cold. The snowflakes were a lot prettier when you didn’t have to feel them melt through your hoodie, cold and wet, every time you had to go outside.

Now you have to toughen up because heroes deal with the cold.

“Warm thoughts,” you mumble to yourself, gritting your teeth and pushing the door open. The bell jingles as a freezing slap of air greets your face. “Warm thoughts.”

You step out of the drugstore and into the night, pulling your hood on and tugging the drawstrings taut. The streetlamps light a path across the road and down the sidewalk towards home. At least it’s just a fifteen-minute walk.

For the past few years, on account of you attending the Umbrella Academy, you’ve never felt unsafe walking through the City alone. One of the pros of being trained as a hero, though you’re not quite sure if it outweighs the cons of Mom selling your warmest clothes and the grueling, rigid routine of training and missions during the week. The crime rate in this part of the city isn’t that high, anyway, on account of it being one of the nicer, richer areas. Mom had been delighted when the two of you moved here to be closer to the Hargreeves mansion. (The fact that your stipend’s now enough to fully cover it this year is even better.)

Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you press the crosswalk button with your elbow. Cars screech to a stop and honk at you to hurry up as the traffic lights turn red. You scurry across, legs stiff.

(Halfway there.)

But just because you feel safe walking alone doesn’t mean you like it. Being alone means that you have to deal with your thoughts without being able to share them, and it stinks. You prefer the nights when you sneak out with Klaus, buying a tub of ice cream from the drugstore and eating it outside the 24-hour café nearby until the owners shoo you away, or going to the movie theater with everyone when Sir Hargreeves is gone on a trip. You like walking home with Five or Klaus after your Mom started getting too tired to pick you up for the weekends.

Somberly, you step out into the street towards your apartment complex.

You like being part of the Umbrella Academy when you don’t have to think about being a hero …

BEEEEEEEEEEEP

As if in a dream, you turn your head toward the sound. Your bag falls gently to the ground.

It’s a car horn. Loud, deafening. Distorting, blurring. A car.

It’s not slowing down.

You should move.

You raise your hands instead.

The force hits you like a giant fist. Your blood burns hot as you push, and push, and push, jaw clenched so tight you think your teeth might shatter. The air is getting squeezed out of your lungs. The tires screech. The horn screams. They’re all you can hear.

Push! PUSH!

The pressure rises and rises –

And then it’s too much.

The fist shoves you back. Your back hits the ground.

You don’t even have time for last thoughts. But before you can catch one last glimpse of the tires that would dash your brains across the road, something grabs you, and the next thing you know, you’re somewhere else.

The engine roars, and the car speeds away. What’s left of your lunch promptly ends up on the ground next to you, and that’s when you start crying, nauseous and cold.

“Am I dead,” you choke out, eyes screwed shut. Whatever had grabbed you is still there; you can feel their weight on your shoulders. Your mouth tastes awful and sour and bloody. “Am I …”

“You’re not dead.” A breathless voice pierces through the fog in your head. It’s familiar, and close, and you pry your eyelids open to see –

You see Five.

His face is stiff and pale, his voice even, but as you blink away your tears, you see unbridled panic just beneath the surface.

“Shit. Shit,” he hisses as you close your eyes again, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Why is Five here? How did he – “[Y/n], don’t close your – don’t go to sleep, for fuck’s sake …”

You do your best to listen as he shakes you a bit. Don’t cry. You’re okay, you’re fine … your … “My pills,” you slur out, hand feeling around for his arm so you can sit up. Looking at the road, you see the limp plastic bag, ghostly white against the dark asphalt. Your stomach roils again. “Ugh, I feel so sick …”

“I wonder why.” Five looks at you, mouth pressed into a thin, grave line, before blinking to the middle of the road to grab your things. He blinks back immediately. “Can you stand?” he asks tightly.

You swallow, wincing, and nod gingerly. You’re fine. “Yeah.”

The snow is falling harder now. Five helps you stand, and after a few minutes of regaining your bearings, the two of you slowly make your way up to your apartment. When you fumble with your key, Five takes it and unlocks the door himself.

“Couch or bed.”

“Bed,” you mumble as you scrape off your shoes. Thankfully, Mom isn’t home. You’d hate to have to explain all of this – she’s been so stressed lately …

The nausea is pretty much gone now, but the prickling fuzziness in your every limb remains. A little steadier on your feet, all you have to do is hold onto Five’s arm as you shuffle towards your bedroom.

“Get changed and wait here.” He fixes you with a steely gaze before disappearing. A few moments later, you hear the sink run, followed by the sound of the microwave opening and closing.

Is he mad at you? Biting the inside of your cheek, you take off your wet hoodie, putting it in your laundry hamper. Then you peel off your socks, and after closing the door, everything else that the snow had soaked through.

A few minutes after you change into your pajamas and settle onto your bed, Five knocks on the door, and you tell him to come in.

He hands you one of two mugs, this one filled with water. You take it. The other, filled with hot chocolate, is set on your nightstand.

“Are you mad?” Your voice is small.

Scoffing, Five glances away from you, a bitter smile on his lips. “I’m wondering what the fuck you were thinking,” he mutters.

“I almost did it,” you say. “That was the most I’ve ever done.”

“And you almost died.”

You look down into your mug. “It’s not that much different from a mission.”

“Actually, it is,” Five replies, his smile spreading – it doesn’t take a genius to know that he’s beyond ticked off – “because there are people looking after you during a mission. Who would’ve saved your ass if I hadn’t happened to be there? Nobody.”

“Maybe that’s what I needed,” you mumble, taking a sip of water.

Five narrows his eyes at you.

“What?”

You speak louder, a little indignant. “Maybe I needed to know that nobody could bail me out so I’d actually try.”

“You’re always trying!” he snaps. “Wanting to improve your ability doesn’t warrant a goddamn near-death experience, because as I’ve said before, you almost died!”

His chest is heaving when he finishes, and as you gape at him, startled by his loss of composure, you realize.

“I scared you,” you say, voice soft and wondering. “Didn’t I?”

Five just stares back at you. That is answer enough, but you set your water down anyway, stand up, and take his hand.

“Five?”

“I almost didn’t make it.” All the anger from before trickles out of his tone, and all that’s left is something quiet and uncharacteristically desperate. He clutches your hand until it’s almost painful. “That split second before I blinked, I thought …”

You step closer. “I’m okay now.”

“Don’t do that again.”

“Okay.”

“Please,” he says.

“Okay,” you murmur, a lump in your throat. “I won’t.”

Five looks at you, searching. Then he closes his eyes and sighs a very old-sounding sigh, and as he does so, you lift your free hand to brush his cheek.

“Sorry,” he eventually murmurs, and you can tell, by the way he looks down and says it quietly, that he’s not quite used to using the word, “for shouting.”

You smile. “I forgive you. Sorry for scaring you.”

“You should be.”

“Aw. Hey.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Five.” Feeling very warm, you take his other hand, chuckling at the awkward look on his face. (Honestly, the two of you are a mess, aren’t you?) “I love you a lot. You know that, right?”

At your words, his eyes soften. You wonder if he knows.

“I know.”

“Okay. Good.”

[omgrachwrites]

Our Souls Crave This Magic- Chapter One

Pairing: Prince Caspian x Reader

Summary: All you want is a quiet year of university as you and your best friend, Edmund move to New York City. Though, that all changes when you meet the spoiled trust fund brat, Caspian. College au.

Warnings: fluff, slow burn romance, swearing

Words: 2619

Disclaimer: Everyone in this fic is 18+ and this gif doesn’t belong to me!

A/N: Here we are, first part of my college au! It was a little weird to be writing a Narnia college au, I’d never thought of writing one before! Hope you guys enjoy this and please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

next part   masterlist

Chapter One - Once Upon a Time in New York City

The air in New York was hot and muggy, even with the roof of your rental car being down there wasn’t much of a breeze and you were beginning to feel irritable and the smog in the air was heavy. The traffic over here was slow, somehow even slower than it was in London but you knew that it was a small price to pay for your freedom.

When your best friend, Edmund received a chance to study overseas in New York for his final year of college he took the chance straight away and he had pretty much begged you to go with him. You had never known Edmund to beg for anything so you knew that this was serious. You didn’t want to lose your best friend so you agreed to go with him, as did his little sister, Lucy but you didn’t mind, it was her first year at college.

From the back seat you could hear Lucy gasping in awe as she glanced up at the impossibly tall skyscrapers that were beginning to make you feel a little sick, “I love this city already, thanks for letting me come with you guys!”

Ed grimaced as he leaned forwards to turn your rock music down which earned him a scathing glare, “it’s not like we had much of a choice,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes at Ed before smiling at Lucy in the mirror, “ignore him, Lu. I’m glad that you’re here.”

“Thanks Y/N,” she grinned at you before pulling a tongue at her brother, “I can’t wait to see the loft,” she sighed happily.

Neither of you wanted to stay in some shitty dorm room on campus so ever since you were accepted into NYU, you had begun saving money from your bar job and your student loan. Between the three of you the most you could afford was a loft apartment in Brooklyn. You spotted the moving van a couple of doors down from the loft and got ready to turn into a parking space on the busy street.

As you were reversing into the space, a yellow taxi blared its horn at you as it zoomed past you, “yeah, very nice, arsehole!” you yelled out of the window, knowing the driver couldn’t hear you but it made you feel better all the same.

Edmund rolled his eyes as he fixed you with an unamused look as he ran his fingers through his hair, “I’m beginning to regret asking you to come with me.”

You laughed, winking at him as you got out of the car, “you know that you love me.”

Ed laughed before he bit his lip, looking at you nervously, “you should call your mum, and tell her that you made it here in one piece. I know that you’ve been putting it off Y/N,” he sighed and pulled you into a one armed hug, “you can catch up with us in a bit.”

You sighed as you watched Ed and Lucy walk towards the moving van, he was right – most of the time he was right – you had been putting it off, and for good reason. You dialled your mum’s number as you lit up a cigarette and took a long drag of it. Just as you suspected, you were met with your mum’s voicemail. She was probably out, spending time with her new family, she was almost too happy when you told her that you were moving to New York.

“Hey mum, I’m just calling to let you know that I made it to New York, safe and sound. I didn’t want to call but Ed thought that I should, anyway call me back if you get this. Or don’t, it really doesn’t matter to me either way.”

The lie tasted bitter in your mouth but you didn’t want to dwell on it any longer so you quickly hung up the phone. You rubbed your temples as you took another drag off your cigarette, blowing out a large billow of smoke.

“Do you mind?” you heard a cough with the sound of a smooth honeyed accent. Your gaze started at his feet and you quirked an eyebrow when you saw that he was wearing expensive leather shoes. You travelled up his body with your eyes and they finally came to land on his face.

He had deep brown eyes that were almost black and he was very handsome with thick dark hair and clean stubble along his jaw, he looked just like the brooding hero in all those romance novels. You didn’t want to judge but he looked exactly like a trust fund baby, someone who got whatever they wanted on a silver platter. He coughed again as you blew out more smoke and he ran a hand through his hair, narrowing those gorgeous eyes at you.

“You can clearly see that I’m smoking here, it’s your fault for getting in my way, pretty boy,” you didn’t miss the scowl he shot you as you crushed the stub of your cigarette beneath your shoe as you turned away. You couldn’t let a stranger piss you off, no matter how good looking he was.

As you walked into the loft you were immediately taken aback by how spacious and beautiful it was, it seemed like good value for your money which was extremely rare in a big city. You decided that you were going to take the smallest room – you wanted Ed and Lucy to have the most luxurious rooms – but it seemed that you definitely got the room with the best view. New York was such a beautiful city and you were so glad that you got to live here.

As you were coming out of the room that you had claimed as your own, you noticed that the handsome stranger was in your apartment. Suspicion ran through your body as you narrowed your eyes at him, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

He opened his mouth to reply but before he could, Edmund came striding into the apartment, carrying a cardboard box, “Y/N, this is Caspian; he’s offered to help us move in.”

“How nice,” you smiled tightly, Caspian was a trust fund name, you were sure of that.

Caspian raised an eyebrow and he smirked at you, and you ignored the way that his deep brown eyes sparkled. You just wanted a quiet final year of college; you wouldn’t let a handsome young man ruin it. You had worked too hard to be here.

When Caspian walked out of the loft with Ed, Lucy smirked at you, “Caspian’s cute isn’t he?”

You laughed as you unpacked the kitchen boxes, “suppose so, for a trust fund baby.”

“What makes you think that’s he’s got a trust fund?” Lucy asked as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Come on Lu, his shoes cost more than our rent, it’s obvious that he’s rolling in money, and with a name like Caspian,” you let out a low whistle, “the evidence speaks for itself.”

Finally, you were all moved in – and Caspian had thankfully left, turning down Edmund’s offer to stay for a drink – it was early evening and your breath was stolen away by how pretty the sky looked. It was all pink and orange hues, and you were almost certain that you’d enjoy living here. New York seemed like such a romantic city – despite the smog – every story that was worth reading began in New York City.

Edmund grinned at you and flung an arm around your shoulders, “are you hungry? We were thinking about ordering pizza.”

You shook your head, although the notion of pizza sounded amazing, “no can do I’m afraid, I gonna go out and actually look for a job. How else are we going to be able to pay the rent?” you smiled.

Lucy raised her eyebrow at you, “Y/N, we’ve literally been here for a few hours and already you’re thinking about getting a job?”

You nodded at her as you kissed Edmund’s cheek, “you guys know how much I worry,” you laughed as you shrugged on your leather jacket, “I’ll see you guys later, and make sure to save some pizza for me.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Ed called after you, making you laugh.

You forgot just how hard it was to get a bartending job as you walked down the streets of New York, it had grown cool now and you wrapped your jacket tighter around your body. Finally, you came up outside a bar called; Aslan’s which had a golden lion on a field of red on the sign. Even from the outside it looked like a dive bar but you supposed that beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The bar stank of stale beer and cigarette smoke, and the floor was incredibly sticky. There was a pool table in the middle of the room and a juke box in one corner, playing loud music. The bar was a complete dive to be sure but you could also tell that it held a lot of character. You smiled at the sandy haired bartender; “I was wondering whether I could speak to the manager?” the bartender nodded and smiled at you as he walked into the back.

A couple of moments later, the bartender returned with an older man, the older man grinned at you as he offered you his hand, his eyes twinkling kindly, “I’m Aslan, the owner,” his voice had an Irish twang to it and you offered him a small smile. You were kind of surprised that he was the owner, he looked like a complete dad, and you had expected someone with tattoos and piercings, not a man in a cable jumper with his hand wrapped around a Spiderman mug.

“I’m Y/N; I was wondering whether I could give you my resume?”

“Certainly,” he smiled and you handed it over and his eyes scanned it before he glanced at you with a raised eyebrow, “are you a university student?” he smiled when you nodded, “have you done bar work before?”

“Yes sir,” you nodded, “I worked in a busy bar in the centre of London for a couple of years,” his eyes widened slightly and you could tell that he was impressed.

“Come in for a trial shift on Saturday so I can see what you’re made of.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, this was better than you could have hoped for, “I’d be glad to, thank you so much, Aslan.”

----------------------------------

Caspian knew that pre law would be difficult but he just had no idea, after only a couple of days he was exhausted. It seemed strange but he was happy, no matter how exhausted he was. He had a deal with his parents where they agreed that he could go to a school of his choice where nobody knew him. He didn’t want people to treat him any differently.

Edmund – one of his first friends from class – grinned as he clapped Caspian on the shoulder as they made their way across campus, “that Professors kind of a hard arse, huh?” he chuckled, mirth lighting up his freckled face.

Caspian smiled in response as he ran a hand through his hair, “I think that’s the lawyer that we should all strive to be.”

Ed chuckled as he looked across the quad and pointed, “oh, hey there’s Y/N. You remember her?”

Caspian glanced up and saw the pretty girl in a Sex Pistols shirt and ripped jeans with red converse. She carried an easel over her shoulder, she didn’t strike Caspian as the artistic type, “how could I forget?”

Edmund smiled as he pulled his friend into a hug, “hey, Y/N, you remember, Caspian?”

Y/N smirked as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she looked Caspian up and down in a way that made him feel small. He flushed and looked away from her burning gaze, “of course I remember, Cas.”

“Caspian,” he spoke through gritted teeth as he felt a wave of annoyance wash over him as she smirked.

If Ed sensed the tension he didn’t say anything, instead he flung an arm over her shoulders, “are you coming to the party tonight?”

Y/N grimaced as she shook her head as she placed a cigarette between her red painted lips, “Aslan needs me to work a shift tonight, clearly I got through the trial period successfully,” she laughed.

Caspian raised his eyebrow at her in surprise, “you work at Aslan’s?” he chuckled, “isn’t it a shit hole?” he had never gone in and he had no intention of doing so.

Y/N glared at him, if looks could kill, he’d already be six feet under, “it’s got character, I wouldn’t expect someone,” she trailed off as she looked him up and down, a scowl on her face, “like you to understand.”

Her insinuation made his blood boil, he was starting to like her less and less by the second, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Y/N opened her mouth to answer, most definitely with a scathing retort on her lips but Ed cut her to the chase, “I’m gonna go get a pretzel, does anyone want one?” he walked off before either of them could reply.

The tension was unbearable in the hot and heavy air, Caspian scowled at Y/N while she looked up at him as she took another drag of her cigarette, she looked completely unbothered. In fact, Caspian thought he saw amusement glitter in her eyes. Caspian coughed as the billow of smoke she blew out went right in his face. Normally he wouldn’t have cared but there was just something about Y/N that made him want to piss her off.

“Do you really have to do that here?” he grimaced.

Y/N smirked around the end of her cigarette but Caspian noticed that she turned to the side slightly so the smoke went in the opposite direction and he opened his mouth to thank her, stopping short when she replied, “last time I checked, this was a free country, Cas.”

Caspian clenched his jaw so tightly that he was afraid that he’d break his teeth but he didn’t bother correcting Y/N on his name. He wanted to ask her why she had it out for him, it had seemed that way ever since they met. Instead, what came out of her mouth was a stupid observation.

“I didn’t peg you for the artistic type,” he swallowed as she paused and looked up at him, the glimmer of a scowl on her face, “I had you down for a Psychology major or something, maybe that would explain why you’re manipulative,” his words were harsh but she didn’t even flinch as she crushed the stub of her cigarette beneath her shoe.

She looked away from him, wrapping her arms around herself, even though the day was warm. A flicker of emotion that he hadn’t seen before flickered across her face, “I used to paint with my dad, from a young age,” she looked back at him, that smirk was back on her face, “pre law, huh? That’s exactly the sort of major I’d expect from a trust fund baby.”

He let out a laugh and noticed that Ed was finally on his way back, pretzel in hand, “what makes you think that I’m a trust fund baby?” he asked, biting his lip.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, “oh sweetheart, with expensive clothes like that,” she gestured down at his outfit, making him scowl, “and such a pretty face, how could you not be?” she turned around to take a bit out of Edmund’s pretzel, laughing when Ed shouted out in dismay.

----------------------------------

@smiithys​ @elayneblack​ @amelie-black​ @generalblizzarddreamer​ @blackbirddaredevil23​ @whiskeywinter89​

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Eleven: Water Under the Bridge (Finale)

a/n: welcome back my loves <3 It’s so weird to think that this is the final chapter of YBMH and I’m definitely having a lot of feelings about it (denial, mostly). I want to say a huge thank you from the very bottom of my heart for sticking with this story and these characters that I love so much. I’ve had the most fun over the past few months talking to some of you and hearing your thoughts; I cherish it more than you’ll ever know. With all of that said, I’m going to miss this era so so much but I would still love to hear from you lovelies, so please feel free to drop by my inbox and let me know what you thought of this series!! Feedback, criticism, all of it is welcome :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, angst

Word Count: 6.7k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten

January, 2018

A strand of hair tickles Harry’s nose and his eyes flutter open. The faint sound of car horns and traffic outside reminds him of his location when his memory fails. He gently slips out of the bed and tiptoes over to the window, careful not to wake the girl sleeping soundly next to him. A thick layer of snow blankets every building and surface in New York City as far as the eye can see, and the grey sky above signals another storm on its way. 

I’m going to die of hypothermia, Alani shivers, nursing her steaming cup of tea as she walks away from the office window and takes a seat behind her desk. Even after living in the city for a year, she still hadn’t adjusted to the cold weather and feared that she never would. Her boyfriend had joked on numerous occasions that you can take the girl out of the island, but you can’t take the island out of the girl. 

“Vanessa’s on line three,” her assistant calls from the doorway. 

“Thanks,” Alani nods before bringing the phone to her ear. “So, what did you think?”

“It was brilliant,” the editor admits. “Insightful, witty. I think they’ll love it,”

Alani smiles and spins in her seat to face the window again. “St. James has been on my ass about this piece for weeks. I hope it’ll shut him up,”

“It will, trust me. Hey, I gotta go, but I sent the revision notes and we can discuss more later,”

“Great, thank you so much. See you at dinner,”

“Ta-ta.”

Alani reaches for a pen and scribbles a reminder onto a pink post-it note nearby. 

Bloody five-star hotel, you’d think they could afford decent pens.  Harry grumbles to himself, shaking the ballpoint to no avail. 

“Where are you going?”

Harry freezes in his tracks and turns to the brunette stretching out her tired limbs. He has to clear his throat to keep from saying the wrong name. 

“Just a quick walk,” he explains with a tight lipped smile. “Go back to bed.” 

She flashes a wide grin and snuggles back into the covers, but he secretly hopes that she’s gone by the time he returns. 

The snow crunches under Harry’s feet and he digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He had never been very fond of the cold, but he did have to admit that Central Park looked unbelievably beautiful in the winter. His phone buzzes inside his pocket and he digs it out to read the message. 

Mitch: Me and Sarah are going to Bisous in ten. Meet us?

Harry: See you there. 

********

“French is such a pretentious language,” Maleah scoffs, taking a bite of her pastry. “But I’ll be damned if I have to give up my chocolate croissants,”

Alani chuckles lightly and traces the restaurant’s logo of a red kiss printed on her napkin. Going to Bisous at least once a day had become a tradition during her best friend’s visits. 

“I’ll have to smuggle a real one back for you and then you can tell me if this one’s the real deal,”

“When are you going, again?”

“Next month,”  

Maleah wiggles her brows. “Oooh, Valentine’s Day? Are you taking Mason with you?”

“No,” Alani says casually. “It’s for work,”

“Well, who says you can’t mix business and pleasure?”

“Literally everyone.”

“Okay,” Maleah sighs, patting her full stomach. “Let’s go now before I get sleepy.”

The two friends make their way out of the busy restaurant and Alani’s shoulder brushes someone next to her. 

“Sorry.” she apologizes, making brief eye contact with the other person before doing a double take. 

Mitch purses his lips and turns his head back to the other girl at his arm while Maleah drags Alani out the door. 

********

“I mean, what the hell was that? I could barely keep my drum kit together,” Sarah laughs gently, sipping her coffee. 

“Cause of death: rocking too fucking hard,” Mitch shrugs. “There are worse ways to die,”

Harry stirs his black coffee with a spoon and watches the mini whirlpool grow. “Rob said you could feel it in the balcony, too,”

“I’m surprised you didn’t die,” Mitch pokes. “Mr. defective lungs,”

“Heyyy, I can’t help the asthma thing, alright?”

“Well it’s the last night,” Sarah chimes in. “Are we gonna try to beat the Kiwi record and go for four times in a row?”

Harry shrugs, a soft grin on his lips. “Dunno. Maybe if it feels right,”

“I say we cut out the middleman and just bulldoze MSG ourselves. What difference does it make if the fans tear the house down or if we do?” Mitch suggests. 

“Oh yeah,” Harry nods. “I’m sure Irving would love that.”

“Some food for thought.”

The trio finish their breakfasts and excitedly continue their conversations about the impending show, but the entire time, Mitch is haunted by the knowledge of Alani’s presence in the city. He debates telling Harry, but is suddenly reminded of the intense aftermath of the pair’s falling out. 

********

“Where’s Alani?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that name to me ever again.” 

Mitch’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

And with a simple question, anger had subsided into grief. Mitch still didn’t  know all of the details surrounding their split, but he had pieced together sufficient bits from Jeff and, in part, from the lyrics Harry penned in the following weeks. The slump had lasted through the fall and winter of that year, but as spring rolled around and the album’s release drew closer, Harry pulled himself together enough to promote and tour. It felt good to be on the road, and he found himself revitalized by the energy of those who came to support. Tour itself had been relatively intimate, as he had actively decided to play smaller venues than the sold out stadiums he was accustomed to, but the enthusiasm of the crowds hadn’t changed from his band days. As Harry occupied his attention with music, Hawaii grew smaller and smaller in the back of his mind. Eventually, it dwindled into a dull ache at the center of his chest, felt only on particularly long nights coaxed with a little bit of alcohol in his bloodstream. For now, he tried to focus on his last show at Madison Square Garden. 

********

Alani’s stomach turns. Had she really seen Mitch or had it been a remarkable doppelgänger? She hoped it was the latter, knowing that if he really was in New York City, Harry wasn’t far behind. This was by no means the first time she had been reminded of her summer love turned sour, but it stung just as much every time. The first incident was last April when she turned on the T.V. only to find Harry performing one of his new songs on Saturday Night Live. It had resulted in the loss of her favorite mug as it shattered against the hardwood floor in her apartment. Since that day, Alani had seen his face on countless billboards in Times Square and habitually asked taxi drivers to change the radio station or turn it off entirely. After a while, she had gotten better at dealing with the sinking feeling whenever he was mentioned, it was easier to detach feelings for someone who lived on a screen. Running into Mitch, however, had blasted a hole straight through the fourth wall that Alani had erected,  and she knew that there was absolutely no way she could cope with a similar encounter from Harry. 

“Oh shit,” Maleah gasps softly, looking through the windshield at the hundreds of people lined up on the pavement outside of Madison Square Garden. 

“What?” Alani asks, head still spinning. 

Her best friend immediately turns to her with a nervous smile and shrugs. “Oh it’s nothing. Hey do I have something in my teeth?”

Alani glances out the window behind Maleah and her eyes bulge. “Woah, what’s happening there?”

“Oh it’s probably, like, Lady Gaga or something. Anyways, look at this random text I got the other day.”

But it wasn’t “Lady Gaga or something.” The marquee reads “Harry Styles—SOLD OUT” in bold lettering. Alani retches into her bag. 

********

“Oh, for fucks saaake!” Harry shouts playfully, the sound of his obscenities echoing throughout the large venue. 

Mitch and Adam chuckle beside him and continue setting up their equipment while Sarah offers a comedic “badum-tss” on her drum set. 

“Okay then at that point, stage lights will come down and it’s ‘Meet Me in the Hallway’,” the technical director speaks into his earpiece.

Harry nods and watches the screen behind him roll through the animation that will play during the song. 

“Alright, then it’s—”

“Wait,” Harry interjects over the mic. “Sorry, can we run it?”

“Run ‘Meet Me’?”

“Yeah,”

Mitch tenses listening to the conversation that filters through his own inner ear piece, but he continues fiddling with the strings of his guitar.  

“Running ‘Meet Me’,” the director affirms. “Sarah, stand by.”

Harry’s eyes dart over to Mitch and he nods as a sign to begin. The guitarist clears his throat and strums the opening chords. 

Meet me in the hallway 

“M’gonna go wait in the hall…”

Meet me in the hallway 

“Give you some space to think and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

I just left your bedroom 

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Give me some morphine 

“I hope you got all the material you wanted.”

Is there any more to do?

“Please don’t go.”

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Maleah offers. “I can catch a return flight tomorrow,”

Alani sits up in her bed and shakes her head. “No, Mi, it’s okay. I’ll be fine,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s probably just a stomach bug or something,”

Maleah gives her friend a tight squeeze and pulls away to read her face. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll come right back,”

“Thank you,” Alani says, forcing a smile. “I’m so sorry to put a damper on your last day.”

“Nah, there’s nothing to worry about. Feel better soon, Nani.”

The door closes softly and Alani burrows deeper into the covers. She tries to bury the emotion back under a lock and key, but a gentle sob fights its way up her chest. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, she cries, but maybe it was. Just as the sun rises and sets, so had Harry entered and exited her life, and maybe that’s exactly how it was meant to be. After all, Alani had gotten exactly what she wanted, hadn’t she? So why does it still hurt? 

The snow falls gently outside of her window, but the entire scene blurs into shades of white and grey behind her tears. It had snowed just like this on the day she moved to the city. Shortly after the article about Harry had been published by a small gossip site, Alani had contacted the publishers and threatened litigation if they didn’t take it down. Unsurprisingly, they had also been contacted by Columbia Records and thus, the piece was removed that same day. Despite the quick turnaround, Rolling Stone had caught wind of the storm brewing on social media and reached out to Alani a few days later. They had been impressed that the elusive Harry Styles granted her an interview, but they didn’t push the matter much further. Instead, they had offered her one piece of her choosing to prove herself. If the reviews were favorable, she would be given a regular contributor spot, unpaid of course. They would re-evaluate at the beginning of the new quarter and negotiate from there. When January of 2017 rolled around, Alani’s writing was making surprising waves in the Rolling Stone community, so she had been hired on as a junior writer and assistant to the Editor in Chief. The pay wasn’t great, but it was a leap in the right direction. 

Despite everything that had changed in a year, a string of random letters on a building that Alani passed a million times had brought her emotions right back to the day she had tried so hard to forget. Her phone buzzes under the covers and she reaches out a hand to locate it. Her editor’s name appears and she answers it quickly. 

“Hello?”

“Darling, hello! Where are you?”

“Oh my god,” Alani groans. “Vanessa I’m so sorry,”

“Is everything okay?”

Alani sits up and clears her throat. “I have food poisoning,”

“Christ, from where?”

“Bisous,”

Vanessa sighs. “Poor thing. Okay, no worries we’ll just reschedule,”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you,”

“No need to be sorry, get some rest and we’ll catch up later!”

The call ends and Alani gawks at the time. 7:30 already?  She slumps back under the covers and sifts through her social media, wincing when she sees several of her friends posting about the line outside of Madison Square Garden. No, Alani decides sternly when the sudden urge to go stirs in the pit of her stomach, absolutely no fucking way. 

********

“10 minutes!”

Harry scans the crowd from the monitor backstage. He pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb as the nerves settle in. 

“The house is packed,” Jeff comments with a hand on the singer’s shoulder. “And there’s still a crowd outside,”

“We did it?”

“You did it,”

So why does it still hurt? 

“Thanks for everything,” Harry says, bringing his manager in for a hug. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jeff pats Harry on the back. “All in a day’s work for the dream team.”

Before heading out, Harry stops one of the crew members and asks if any of the guests on his list have arrived yet. Names are read off, friends from different inner circles over the years, but there’s one name in particular that isn’t called. He offers a thumbs up and a forced grin before making his way to the stage.

It always surprises the technical crew at every venue that Harry has specific lighting requests for the house. Performers had their individual preferences, this wasn’t unusual, but no one made a bigger deal about being able to see the crowd like Harry did. He enjoyed being able to see each person and connect with them, especially when performing an album that was as personal as this one. But in every sea he searched, one face was always missing. Tonight’s audience, much to his disappointment, was no different. 

The crowd cheers as “Sweet Creature” fades out and the lights on stage dim. More than half of the show has already gone by and they’ve reached the point that is always a little harder to get through. Harry takes a swig from his water bottle and clears his throat to fight the lump that forms. He breathes in deeply and “Meet Me in the Hallway” begins, but no matter how hard he tries to focus on the technical aspects of his performance, it’s nearly impossible not to get dragged back into the moment when the song was written. 

“I should go back,” 

“H, I don’t know if that’s such a good—”

“I have to go back.” 

And so he had. After two hours of pacing the airport lounge, Harry had jumped into an Uber and sped back to the hotel. It had taken another agonizing twenty minutes to explain his situation to the front desk workers and retrieve his old room key, but it was no use. He was too late. The bed was still unmade, but there was no sign of Alani save for the faint scent of Baby Honey and a gold necklace tucked away between the sheets. 

The flight back to the mainland had already departed by the time Harry stumbled through the hotel lobby, and there wouldn’t be another one for three more hours. In the meantime, he decided to get some fresh air and clear his mind, hoping all the while that he would find Alani at the edge of the beach waiting to run back into his arms. She never did, and he was left with all the words he wished he had said. 

I walked the streets all day 

Running with the thieves 

‘Cause you left me in the hallway 

Just take my pain away 

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Great show,” praises Rob Sheffield, author of one of Harry’s favorite books, Love is a Mix Tape. “Drummer’s incredible,”

Sarah beams and Harry flashes her a grin. “Thanks. It’s Sarah’s band, really. I’m just the frontman,”

“Well she kicked ass. All of you did, and I can tell by the way the floor was shaking that I’m not the only one who thought so.”

“Thank you so much, that means a lot.”

More guests filter in and congratulate Harry and the rest of the band, but while he sincerely appreciates all of the love, he can’t help the way his eyes flicker to the door every once in a while in the hope that someone else will straggle in. He slowly loses that hope when the room empties and the night drags on. 

********

This isn’t ethical, Alani chastises herself, this is wrong on every level and you’re gonna pay. She runs her fingers over the Rolling Stone press badge in her hand and stares at the marquee towering over her. What the fuck are you doing? 

“Excuse me!” Alani calls when she sees an employee slip through a side door. “Hi, I know I’m really late but I’m actually here with Rolling Stone,”

The blonde-haired woman blinks and scans over the badge with an unamused look on her face. 

“Nice try,”

“No, wait,” Alani begs. “I have to get in there, please—”

“You and every other girl within a twenty-five mile radius.”

Alani takes a deep breath and re-groups. “You don’t understand. I really need to get back there, I’m working on an important piece,”

As the struggle continues, another woman in stiletto heels exits through the side door with a clipboard in tow. 

“My name is Alani Hale, see? Please just—”

“Wait,” the woman with the clipboard intervenes. The name sounded strangely familiar, probably from the blacklist, in which case security would need to be notified. “What did you say your name was?”

Alani holds her badge out and swallows hard. “Alani Hale, junior writer for Rolling Stone.”

The woman checks through the blacklist but the name isn’t registered. She does a cursory glance over the V.I.P section and her finger lands on a note that reads “Mahealani ‘Alani’ Hale—Code Carolina: escort backstage and inform Mr. Styles immediately.”

“Follow me, please,”

Alani trails behind, doing her best to keep up with the long strides of the woman with the clipboard.

 “Marta to security, I have a Code Carolina,” she murmurs into her ear piece. “Repeat, I have a Code Carolina.”

Alani’s heart races as they zig-zag through the arena. Did Harry know that she was coming? Had Mitch told him that they saw each other at Bisous? The answer was no, Mitch hadn’t told and Harry didn’t know. He had only hoped. Unbeknownst to Alani, her name was printed on the Madison Square Garden list and on every list of every show in all the countries scheduled. Through Paris and all through Rome, Harry had looked for her face in the crowd and he dreamed that one day his efforts wouldn’t be in vain. 

“Wait here,” Marta instructs, leading Alani to a back room with mirrors, a couple of couches, and a clothing rack. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

Before she can ask any questions, Marta is gone and the sound of her heels echo down the hall. Alani takes a deep breath and her lungs are immediately filled with the familiar scent of vanilla. Her eyes carefully rake over the scene and land on a familiar white shirt hanging on the rack and the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey.”

“Thief,”

“I meant to return it.”

Alani spins on her heel and Harry stands with his fists shoved deep inside the pockets of his flared pants, eyes cast down at the floor. She tugs on the sleeves of her coat and offers a shy smile. 

“It’s okay, looked better on you anyway.”

A brief silence follows and they size each other up like it’s a gunfight, each waiting to see who will draw first. His hair is longer and curlier, Alani notices, chest and shoulders broader, too. But there’s a familiarity in his creased brow and in the heart shaped curve of his cupid’s bow. Harry does his own inventory; dark, almond shaped eyes, check. Round face, cinnamon skin, check and check. Her long, wavy locks are now shoulder length, but he’d recognize the scent of Baby Honey anywhere. The two are absorbed in their own silent assessments for a moment longer, but Alani quickly gets the urge to flee after she counts too many similarities between this Harry and the one that left her with a broken heart. 

“I should go,” she croaks, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have come—”

“Why did you?” Harry asks earnestly. 

Alani tugs at a loose thread on her sleeve before crossing her arms. “Saw your name outside and got curious. For a while there, I started to think that maybe I imagined you,”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he had haunted her as much as she had plagued him. He had spent so long believing that he meant nothing to her, but nevertheless, a part of him left room for her return. 

“You did, this is a hologram projection,”

Alani smiles and her shoulders relax at his humor. It really was him. 

“Did you enjoy—”

“I didn’t see the show—” they speak at the same time, eager words overlapping. 

“Oh,” Harry laughs softly. “You didn’t miss much,”

Alani shakes her head and takes a single step forward. “No, that’s not true. I’m sure it was amazing,”

Harry offers a coy grin, the shadow of a dimple on his left cheek. One hand emerges from his pocket and his knuckle brushes against the tip of his nose. Alani catches sight of the silver rose on his finger and she still remembers how it feels under the pad of her thumb. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks softly, pulling her from her reverie. 

“What?”

“Have dinner with me?”

Alani blinks, her throat suddenly dry. “Oh. Well I don’t know, I don’t wanna interrupt—”

“Never an interruption,” Harry assures her. 

She nods and he takes a step back. 

“M’gonna go change,” he explains. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“What, you don’t wear custom Marc Jacobs suits to dinner?” She teases. 

He grins, amused, and continues backing away towards the door before correcting her. “It’s Gucci.”

Alani rolls her eyes and he disappears into the hallway. 

When Harry reemerges in a beanie, puffy coat, and light wash denim jeans, he leads them through a series of tunnels and exits. 

“Where are we going?” Alani asks, bracing herself for the snow outside. 

“It’s a surprise.” he offers and she doesn’t fight him on it.

********

“We’re not eating here?” 

A soft smile falls on Harry’s lips. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed her incessant questioning. 

“No,”  he replies, opening the passenger door with one hand and passing her the bag that contains their dinner. “Too crowded,”

“Oh,” 

It made sense that Harry would want to keep a low profile and avoid any possible paparazzi sightings of the two of them, but it still felt strange to worry about such things after they had lived so carefree in Hawai’i. But that was then, and this was now, things had inevitably changed. 

“D’you wanna play some music?” Harry asks, settling behind the wheel. The parallels between this moment and their first excursion together make her chest tighten. 

“How about,” Alani starts. “Your album? Since I didn’t get to hear it live,”

Harry’s breathing hitches. “Well, I dunno—”

“Please?”

He meets her pleading eyes momentarily and, against his better judgment, agrees. 

“What’s it called?” she questions. 

“It’s just my name,”

“Self-titled, very classy. I like it,”

“I thought about calling it Sign of the Times,” Harry reveals. “But it’s already been done before,”

Alani hums. “Prince,”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But then I also thought about going with ‘Pink,’ because, you know, when in doubt—”

“Go with the pink one,” they say in unison and Alani smiles softly. How had he remembered that?

“And it’s the only true rock ‘n roll color,” she continues. 

Harry beams. “Exactly. But then Jeff suggested that we just go with the name. Simple, but effective,”

“Okay, so now that we’ve got the background,” Alani pokes. “And you’ve sufficiently distracted me, can I listen now?”

He swallows and checks the GPS, still twenty-five minutes to go. 

“How about we hold off,” he suggests. “Just for now so we can listen to the full thing and really soak it in?”

Alani backs off. “Alright, deal.”

She presses shuffle on the playlist of her frequently played songs for the month and immediately regrets doing so. Clearing her throat, she goes to press skip but Harry stops her. 

“S’a good one.” he says gently, so Alani lets Adele fill the awkward space. 

If you’re gonna let me down 

Let me down gently don’t pretend 

That you don’t want me 

Our love ain’t water under the bridge

********

Harry opens the passenger door and Alani steps out, her eyes squinting to make out any recognizable landmarks in their surroundings. They remain a comfortable two feet apart and make their way to the entrance of what appears to be some sort of greenhouse. Alani is filled with more confusion, but she doesn’t ask further questions until they reach the white double doors. 

“What?” Harry questions. “Never been to the New York Botanical Garden?”

Alani’s eyes widen. “The—wait, you—we’re?”

“After you,” he chuckles lightly, opening the doors. 

“Are we even allowed? I mean is it open?”

“I pulled some strings,”

She enters cautiously, immediately met with an archway of blush colored flowers and string lights that takes her breath away. A long, narrow pond in the center reflects the image back and creates a kaleidoscope of pink, green, and golden hues. 

“How did you,” Alani begins, at a complete loss for words. “Who are you?”

Harry nods in the direction of an adjacent hallway. “There’s a ballroom set up for a wedding tomorrow night, but Jim said we could crash as long as we clean up after ourselves,”

“Jim?”

“The director.”

“Of course.” 

Sure enough, round tables with cream colored tablecloth and elaborate floral centerpieces are arranged around the room. A delicate, yet undoubtedly expensive, chandelier twinkles in the center of the room and casts such a warm glow that Alani momentarily forgets about the snow outside. 

“Dig in,” Harry instructs, setting the pasta on the table in front of them. 

Alani sits and gently sheds her winter coat as he does the same. Underneath his jacket, Harry wears a yellow shirt that catches her eye with the words “treat people with kindness” printed in black lettering. She freezes when she spots a gold chain with a sun and moon pendant nestled comfortably between above the words.

“How is everyone?” Alani questions politely to shift her attention. “Mitch, Tom, Jeff,”

“They’re good, yeah,” he nods. “How’re Freddie and your family?”

“They’re fine, and he’s living his blissful little life,”

“Good for him. Miss his cuddles,”

And yours, Harry thinks, but he pulls back. Alani offers a shy laugh and thinks about the elephant in the room yet to be addressed: the break-up. It’s worth discussing, but she sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to bring it up. 

“And how’ve you been?” Harry asks when the silence stretches out for too long. 

Alani chews and ponders the question. “Good. Been working a lot,”

“Where at?”

“Rolling Stone,”

“Really?” he beams. “That’s incredible, congratulations,”

“Thank you,” she replies graciously. 

Harry’s chin rests in his palm and he twirls a noodle around his fork. “So you live here?”

“Yeah, in the Village,”

“Wow. Greenwich Village, a real city-slicker now. Traded Stevie in for the Holland Tunnel?”

A bittersweet smile spreads across Alani’s lips at the memory of her beloved Bronco. “Sadly, yes. And you?”

“Malibu,” Harry divulges. “I hate the cold.”

“It’s not so bad. You can always cuddle up with the giant rats,” she jokes, which makes his nose scrunch.

“I’m just gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” 

“Speaking of pretend,” Alani wiggles her brows. “You were in a movie after all,” 

“I was,” 

“I didn’t watch it, sorry,” 

Harry feigns offense and Alani quickly back pedals. “I don’t like war movies!”

“And you hated my guts.” he teases, though it pains him that there might be some truth to his words. 

Alani shakes her head and fights the urge to reach across the table for his hand. “No, not really. It was kind of the opposite, actually.” 

Harry’s eye wanders to the outside of Alani’s wrist and a faint smile creeps across his face when he spots the black outline of a crescent moon. He wonders if there are any new inked designs that he isn’t aware of. Despite all the time that has elapsed, there is a familiarity in her presence that he hadn’t felt even in the comforts of his California residence. It was like kicking off your shoes in the doorway after a long trip. It was like coming home. 

They finish their meal and continue their light-hearted banter into the night. Harry tells his favorite stories from tour and Alani wishes more than anything that she could have been there. She details the events of her own busy life in New York and the highlights of working for Rolling Stone, one of which being the time that she got to meet Stevie Nicks in the flesh. 

“Did you tell her about your car?” Harry presses enthusiastically. 

“No way,” Alani chuckles, draining the last of her drink. “I wasn’t gonna embarrass myself in front of the Supreme,” 

“I think she would’ve found it flattering,” 

“Naming your child after someone is flattering, not a car,” 

Harry shrugs. “I think it’s cute,” 

“Yeah well,” Alani sighs. “You’re not like most people,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She mulls it over, studying the familiar sea glass irises that she never thought she’d see again. What had Alani meant by that statement? Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could put it into words, nor had she meant to say them in the first place. But something about Harry always made her feel brave, like she could speak her mind uncensored and he would understand without even trying. 

“I just meant that you’re, you know,” she starts. “Not judgemental. Like, I could tell you that I think I’m part alien and you’d probably try to help me find my home planet,” 

Harry laughs and leans forward with his elbows on the table, an unspoken challenge for Alani to continue her thoughts. 

“You make people feel seen and heard,” she says finally with a wistful look in her eye. “I mean, why do you think all those people lined up to see you tonight?” 

The last part of her statement is a deflection from what she really wants to say, which is that Harry makes her feel seen and heard. Despite all the time and space between them, it was still true and it terrified her. There was only so much bravery that Harry’s presence could evoke. The mood shifts suddenly when Alani’s phone buzzes and the name “Mason” with a pink heart emoji lights up the screen next to her glass of water. Harry hadn’t meant to look and he deeply regrets that he did. 

“You have a boyfriend,” he comments dejectedly, and though he hadn’t meant it to be accusatory, all words carry the sting of judgment when falling on guilty ears. 

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ve stayed celibate this entire time,” Alani bites back. 

Harry’s brow furrows. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” she apologizes, standing with her coat. 

“Wait,” he jumps up. “What just happened?”

“I have to go—”

“Just stop for a minute, please,”

Alani stops in her tracks and turns back to face Harry slowly. His jaw is tight and the crease between his eyebrows is deeper than she remembers. 

“I’m sorry,” she begins carefully. “Thank you for tonight, but I really shouldn’t be here—”

Harry’s eyes clamp shut and he runs a frustrated hand through his messy curls.  

“Can you stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by leaving and just talk to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Alani pushes back. “‘I’m sorry that I saw your name in flashing lights and I got caught trying to spy on you’?”

“Alani—”

“‘I’m sorry that I tried to move on’?”

“Stop apologizing—”

“I’m sorry that I fell in love and fucked it all up because I was afraid and I’m sorry that I betrayed the one person who meant everything to me,”

Silence falls between them and the only sound is the sniffling of Alani’s nose as she tries, and fails, to hold back the emotions that pour over. 

“That’s why I went,” she continues, voice wavering. “Because I’m selfish and I couldn’t stay away. Every single day, I’m reminded of how royally I screwed everything up and it tears me apart, so I went to try to make things right and take some of that pain away. Even though I hurt you and there’s nothing I can ever do to change that,”

Harry swallows hard and his eyes sting, but Alani speaks up again before he can respond. 

“So please,” she begs. “Please, just let me finally do something right by you and let me go,”

He takes a cautious step forward and shakes his head. “I don’t want to,”

They both hold their breaths, anticipating the other person’s next draw. 

“And maybe that makes me selfish too,” Harry adds. “‘Cause I went back that day, back to the hotel,”

Alani blinks. “You did?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Because I wasn’t mad that you published the article, I was scared that it was the only reason you were with me—”

“Harry—”

“But then I realized that I didn’t care,” he laughs dryly. “Because I still loved you, and I figured that having you— having just a little bit of your heart and your attention—was worth it, even if you didn’t really love me back,”

He takes another step forward and the toes of their shoes nearly touch. “And maybe I’m being selfish now by asking you to stay, but you’re not the only one trying to get rid of the pain,”

Alani takes a shallow breath and studies the eagerness in his eyes. The sight makes her chest pound. 

“I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt,” she whispers. “But I meant every word I said, you were everything to me. You were the sun that my life revolved around and I was terrified of losing you because the truth is that I hate the cold, too,”

Harry gently reaches a hand up to her cheek and Alani leans into the warmth of his touch. 

“Can I show you something?”

You and your goddamn surprises. “Yes.”

He leads them down several winding hallways before flicking a light on in the gallery. Alani’s heart stops when she sees it. 

“Not quite as impressive as the real thing,” Harry offers. “But Ms. O’Keeffe did a pretty damn good job,”

An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting of a waterfall, their waterfall, the one that Alani had mentioned all that time ago, is displayed proudly on the wall before them. A replica had hung above the bed they shared on many nights and all at once a faint memory resurfaces. 

“Where did you say the original was?”

“New York Botanical Garden,” 

 “M’gonna take you one day,”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Alani takes a step closer to the artwork and examines the details of the oil on canvas. A few steps behind, Harry is only concerned with her reaction and pays little attention to the piece of art on display. As far as he was concerned, Alani was the only one worth admiring. 

“Do you remember what you told me when I asked why you went to the falls to write?” Alani asks. 

Of course Harry had, but he remains silent to let her continue. 

“You said that you liked going there,” she adds, deliberate. “Because it made you forget about every bad thing that ever happened to you, because none of it was real in comparison to the feeling of standing in front of that waterfall,”

Harry nods gently, but he still doesn’t speak. 

“Do you know what that feeling is called?”

“No,”

“It’s called home,” Alani says softly, turning to face him. “It’s what I felt, what I feel, when I’m with you,”

His breath hitches and he stands frozen as she carefully walks toward him.

“And while we’re making wishes come true,” she smiles delicately. “I never told you what I wished for the day we saw that rainbow,”

“What did you wish for?” Harry searches. 

Alani’s eyes fall to his parted lips. “That you would kiss me.”

His mouth curls at the edges and he releases a long breath. “Think maybe I can deliver on that one, too.”

Harry leans in, ever so slightly, and Alani closes the gap. They had been standing mere inches apart, but the meeting of their lips bridges an entire chasm. Over and over again, like waves against the shore, their mouths collide desperately as they pull each other closer with no intentions of ever letting go. 

********

February 14, 2018

“Comment est le temps?” 

Alani peers up at Harry and shields her eyes from the sun behind his back. “What does that mean?”

He grins softly and kisses the top of her head before taking a seat on the balcony next to her. 

“Means ‘how’s the weather?’,” 

“Oh,” she leans over, lips puckered for a kiss. “Full of perfectly Parisian sunshine,”

“Try sayin’ that ten times fast,”

Alani swipes his pink, heart shaped sunglasses and slips them onto the bridge of her nose with a contented sigh. Ahead, the Eiffel tower stands proudly in the distance and the lenses of her glasses tint the entire scene in a picturesque rosy glow. 

“La Ville de L’amour,” she hums. “Did I say that right?”

“Oui,”

“Hey, you know what I saw on the room service menu?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, what?”

“Piña coladas,” Alani wiggles her brows. “Think they deliver at midnight?”

He chuckles lightly and his hand takes purchase on her knee. “They better,”

“Never had a Parisian piña colada. Sounds romantic, though.”

“Sure does, sweets.”

Alani stands and reaches for Harry’s hand. He accepts and rises to his feet, pulling her close. Below, the sounds of the city serenade them as they gently sway in the chilly breeze. When Harry feels Alani shiver, he hugs  her to his chest and rests his chin comfortably on the top of her head. She feels his steady heartbeat against her cheek and smiles softly, fingertips smoothing up and down his back. 

“Are you ready for Valentine’s Day surprise number one?” he asks, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes. 

She narrows her eyes. “Where are we going?”

Harry pulls back with a mischievous smile, hands still attached to hers, and leads them back inside.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Alani giggles but she doesn’t push. Instead, she happily follows him out of their room, down the hall, and into the bustling streets of Paris. 

We don’t know where we’re going 

But we know where we belong 

And oh we started 

Two hearts in one home 

It’s hard when we argue 

We’re both stubborn 

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature 

Wherever I go, you bring me home 

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road 

You bring me home

[1kook]

skirt chasers - drabble i

a skirt chasers drabble bc they are my fave fictional couple to date <333

tags: coupley and domestic, jk’s terrible attempts at seducing via text, making out, dry humping, spitting (ik idk what came over me), too much talking for this to be sexual pero hey here we are wc: like 3k

entirely based off jungkook from bv3 that man had NO right to look that good and  the holy jirkenstocks (jungkook birkenstocks). wont lie this has been completely written in my drafts since November (yes 2019) and i hoarded it under the belief i would make this a whole part 2 which i did not 

que dios los bendiga <3

-

Much to everyone’s dismay, Jungkook’s spring break in Vegas with the boys is cut three days short when Jimin’s dog sitter suddenly cancels, citing a case of homesickness as enough cause to abruptly go home. When you first hear news of this, you’re preparing yourself for the return of a mopey, useless Jungkook, too drained from four glorious days in Las Vegas to carry on. What you’re not expecting is the mysterious text he sends you before boarding a five hour flight with no service (he was cheap).

kook still on vegas lockdown. Have that pussy ready when i get home

“The fuck does that mean?” Chaeyoung is the first to see the message, your screen lighting up on the kitchen counter beside you as you scrub through a mountainous pile of dishes. You try to play it off, after all, Chaeyoung had seen parts of you you hadn’t even seen, but there was no worse embarrassment than having your homegirls see your clown of a boyfriend’s ridiculousness. “He’s so romantic,” she swoons, and you shoo her away from the offending device as you wipe your hands down on your t-shirt. 

you for what?? One 20 second round 🤥

Chaeyoung suddenly cackles from over your shoulder, and you swear your soul leaves your body. 

You don’t get a response until exactly five hours and thirteen minutes later, your phone vibrating like crazy on the edge of your bathtub, and if you hadn’t given it a hearty kick and sent it flying across the room, front screen shattering into the most intricate spider web of glass shards, it would have fallen into the water. The terror. 

kook pls pick me up 

kook also haha. U r soooo funny 😑

You’re halfway to the airport, idly sitting in traffic and giving the public a free, Beyonce-like experience of The Script’s Breakeven, when you realize you’re not wearing any pants. You’re not exactly sure which part of Jungkook’s long t-shirt had tricked you into believing you were decently dressed, but you’re not too mad. After all, Jungkook’s trip with the boys had been a last minute decision that did not take into consideration your never-ending thirst for your boyfriend, so a little payback never hurt anybody. 

He’s sitting on top of his suitcase outside the airport when you get there, cute Birkenstock-clad feet swinging back and forth as he waits for you like the good boy he is. He crouches down by the passenger window, “Uh, yeah, is this the Uber?” 

You can’t even bother hiding the smile that consumes your face, and it only grows tenfold when he finally gets in and immediately leans over the center console to kiss you. “Look who’s finally back from their little bachelor party,” you murmur, eyes lidded dangerously low when he breaks away. 

“Oh, the party where I accidentally sleep away my life-savings to a stripper named Aries and then have to go home and beg for my wife’s forgiveness?” He responds immediately, devious pink tongue swiping out to lick at your bottom lip. 

You snort. “Joke’s on you, because our hot pool boy kept me company and treated me better in four days than my husband had in six years,” you mumble, finger looping into the silver chain around his neck to pull him close again. 

“Not our hot pool boy,” he whines, smile pressed adorably to your lips. 

You almost retort, but a ten-second horn blast from the car behind you has the two of you jumping three feet from each other, like teenagers caught making out in the school parking lot. 

-

Just as you’d predicted via text, Jungkook barely has the energy to walk up the steps to your apartment, much less fuck you like he’d promised. “Fuck, stop being healthy and let us take the elevator,” he grunts, pushing his suitcase onto the final platform leading to your floor.

“Nope,” you concede. “The stairs give me a good view of your ass going up.”

He shoots you a scandalized look, like you’re an old man who’d just catcalled him on the street. “Pretty sure that’s my line.”

It’s when you’re unlocking the front door, sending out a little prayer to the heavens (Chaeyoung) for the blessing of an empty apartment, that he notices your lack of proper clothing. “Oh, hell no,” he groans, immediately crowding you against the armchair nearest the door. 

You laugh, struggling to turn to face him as he nuzzles his face into your neck. “What seems to be the problem?”

He sighs against the shell of your ear, and you’d be a liar to say it didn’t send a gush of wetness to your core. Jesus, just a single puff of air from Jungkook was enough to turn your coochie into a Fruit Gusher. “Not your sexy legs again,” he whines, and you giggle when he presses those pouty lips to yours. 

“Thought I was supposed to have this pussy ready for you,” you tease, tilting your head up until your noses brush against each other. Jungkook lets a soft huff of a sigh go, eyes fluttering shut at your close proximity. 

There’s a hand that creeps along the back of your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft skin until he finally guides it upwards, hitched over his hip. The new position has your body curving backwards, tilted over the edge of the couch as he continues crowding closer and closer to you. “Baby,” he whines, and the tone and sudden usage of your favorite nickname wipes the teasing smile off your face. “I missed you so much,” he purrs, in that tone that says he knows he has you under his complete control, all he has to do is take care of you. 

Still, you try to put up some sort of a fight. “I’m sure your eyes were kept entertained in Vegas,” you retort weakly, not even bothering to hide the jealousy in your tone. 

Jungkook laughs, before puckering his lips and smothering you. Instantly, you throw your arms around his broad shoulders to pull him closer. His hair tickles your face from how long it’s gotten, and when you brush it back, collecting it into a makeshift baby ponytail, you can’t even enjoy the sight because Jungkook is pressing his rock hard member against your inner thigh. 

“You think I’m a cheater?” He muses when he finally pulls away, a little entranced by the saliva that coats your lips in a thin sheen. “Couldn’t be even if I wanted to.” Before you can ask what that even means, he’s hauling you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his tiny waist, his cock now cradled between your thighs, right where you want him most. You moan immediately, head lolling backwards at the touch you’d craved for days. “Feel that? No one gets my dick hard like you do, baby.”

Even though his adrenaline is on one hundred, and he’s clearly blinded by his lust, Jungkook still sets you down on the bed like you’re made of glass. Any comments you may have made are smothered by his lips on yours, fingers gripping your waist like it’s the first time he’s ever touched you. When he pulls away, his eyes are dark and his breath is a little heavy where it fans against the lower half of your face. 

“So pretty,” he huffs, rolling his hips against yours. You groan, eyes rolling back as the familiar feeling of your boyfriend between your legs consumes you. Jungkook presses his mouth against the skin of your neck, where the faintest sheen of sweat had begun to form the moment you unlocked the front door. 

If you thought you were loud, the sounds leaving Jungkook’s throat are teetering on the edge between a pornstar and a yodelling-enthusiast. You can’t help the smirk crossing your features. “Are you really gonna come?”

Jungkook was many things, and drama queen was definitely very high on that list. He gives you the most scandalized expression, stopping the movement of his hips to scoff. “As if,” he snorts, but you know that little eyebrow furrow a little too well. 

You snort, reaching down to his sides as you try to discreetly urge him to start up again. “Baby, your jaw is twitching,” you point out, a soft whine leaving your lips when he shifts your leg up. It’s this same sound that has him finally moving again. 

“Yeah, well,” he groans, one hand deathly gripping into your hip now, pressing you down onto the bed so hard you feel the comforter will swallow you up any minute now. “I just got my wisdom teeth removed, ‘member?”

Your retort is briefly cut off by the cry you let out when he ducks down to suck a mark beneath your jaw. “M-Months ago,” you weakly respond, 

Jungkook ignores you in favor of using his Hulk strength to fold you in half, groans borderline animalistic as he grinds his cock into your soaked panties. His jaw is tight like you’d said, but you can tell he’s holding himself back. He hated coming before you, seldom doing it unless it was one of those rare days where he wanted you to pamper him. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, swallowing your pitiful whines before pushing his tongue down your throat. There was something sexy about your boyfriend being so turned on that his saliva production was off the charts. “You’re gonna ask me to do that thing again, aren’t you?” He predicts. 

All you can do is nod, and Jungkook smirks. “Ah,” he says, much like a doctor would, and you comply, mouth wide. You see the muscles beneath his jaw twitch, and a moment later he’s leaning over you with puckered lips, a glob of saliva begging to drip down. 

The moan that catches in your throat has him smiling, tongue peeking out to cut the bridge of saliva that connected the two of you, and you want to tell him you love him, but then he’s raising his eyebrows at you, motioning for you to swallow, so you do. “Absolutely filthy,” he grins, and then returns to thrusting against you. 

As much as you liked to tease him, he’s good at fulfilling the sexual aspects of his boyfriend role, and he guides you to your orgasm moments later. Of course, he does so by toying with your tits just the way you like, lips pressed firmly to yours as you become a boneless heap beneath him. “That’s it, pretty baby,” he murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your lips before he’s shifting back onto his haunches, tugging you closer until the backs of your knees are cradled carefully in his elbows. 

Despite your transcended state, you love watching Jungkook get himself off, and your eyes flutter as you watch him thrust sloppily against your soiled panties. They’re soaked by your own arousal, and had Jungkook’s sweats not been as dark as they were, you’re almost certain you’d see how they stained. 

He comes a moment later, body twitching and fingers tightening against your skin. His chest heaves, head lolling back as he tries to regain his senses. Silence envelopes the room. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You blurt, no longer able to pretend like something isn’t completely wrong. 

Jungkook rolls his neck out, a satisfying crack resounding, as he angles to look at you again. His tongue is poking against his cheek in that cocky way it does sometimes, and he furrows his brows at you. “What?”

You shuffle up onto your elbows, motioning towards him with the vaguest wave possible. He blinks. You groan. 

“What did you do?” You question, and immediately his eyes go wide and shiny in that way they do when you’re reprimanding him and he doesn’t see the wrong in his ways. 

Cute little lips forming a pout he remains as confused. “Nothing? We really just went to fuck around and get drunk—“

“Kook.”

“You don’t actually think I cheated, I thought we were just joking? Unless…” he trails off, doe eyes suddenly filled with fear. “You weren’t?”

“Jungkook—“

He intercepts you, “did you do something while I was gone? Who was he? Or she? Wow,” he huffs to himself in disbelief. “I don’t even know you well enough to know if you’re into more than just men.” The frown on his face is getting deeper with each word he utters and you almost can’t believe how dumb he could be. “No wonder… am I a terrible boyfriend?” He asks, voice louder and more concerned than it’s been all night. 

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” You say, and Jungkook looks just as lost by your response as you are with his. “Because I’m talking about whatever this is,” you explain, reaching up to drag a hand through his dual-colored locks. 

They’d been carefully tucked under his bucket hat when you’d picked him up, a tuft of blonde peeking out from in front of his ear. It wasn’t until he’d tipped you over the side of the couch that it had tumbled off. Of course, at the time, there had been other pressing matters at hand than wondering why your Hannah Montana blonde boyfriend had returned as Todoroki, which is why you’d waited until now to revisit the topic. 

Jungkook doesn’t move for a solid ten seconds. Then, as if processing the emotional episode he’d just given you, he gives you a sheepish smile. It’s one of those smiles where his lips press together thinly and cutely and the apples of his cheeks seem like the squishiest things in the world. “Oh…” he says, voice soft and nothing like the man that spit in your mouth five minutes ago. “You like it?”

[paterson-blue]

Honey, You're Familiar (Like My Mirror Years Ago); Part 3

Part 3: The Date

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4 I Part 5

Summary: Things don't go exactly to plan. Clyde stresses.

Word Count: 4,010

Warnings: fluff, spice, grumpy Clyde Logan, pouty boy (but he's still in love), sentimentalism, sickly sweet pet names, smoochin', grindin', oral sex (male receiving), cum on body (not in!), original female character–let me know if I need to add anything else!

A/N: Thanks again to @paper-n-ashes for being my beta reader & quelling all my writing jitters. You're the absolute best!

Prefer AO3? I gotcha!

It’s a fuckin’ disaster.

Starts out nice. Juniper shows up on his doorstep wearin’ a slinky little black dress, one that shows off her curves and makes Clyde’s mouth go dry. She tells him he looks handsome and he feels giddy. He sweeps his newly styled hair out of his face, sayin’ she looks absolutely stunnin’. Juniper beams, grabs his hand, tells him they better get a move on ‘fore they’re late.

They’re late. They’re later than late.

They aren’ five minutes outta town when lightenin’ starts to streak across the sky. Clyde shifts uneasily, eyes cast upward towards the swirling heavens. It’s rainin’ cats and dogs in no time and Juniper has to slow to half the speed limit to drive safely. Clyde’s thoughts go to the river up ahead, the one the road crew was still tryna’ re-stabilize since the last storm flooded it.

Fifteen minutes from their destination and they have t’pull to a stop on the highway, suddenly blocked in a jam. Flashin’ red and blue lights indicate an accident up front, and while Clyde spares a thought to whoever was involved, he can’t help but check the time. They aren’ gonna make their reservation, he just knows it.

The car behind ‘em lays on its horn, the sound makin’ both Clyde & Juniper jump. The driver either doesn’ seem to understand the concept of bein’ stuck or plain just don’ care. Clyde clenches his jaw, glowerin’ into the rear view mirror—he can only see the driver’s silhouette behind the bright glow of the headlights. He’s keepin’ his cool until the driver reaches his arm out, in the pourin’ rain an’ all, just t’give Juniper the finger.

Clyde’s unbucklin’ his belt quick as can be, chest heavin’ as he reaches for the door handle. He’s ‘bout ready to stomp to the car and yank the man out.Teach ‘im a lesson on manners, teach ‘im t’treat a lady like—

“Clyde.” Juniper stops him in his tracks with just his name on her lips. He looks over at her from under his hair, expression tense. She reaches up to caress his cheek, holdin’ his face in her little palm so sweetly, thumb brushin’ over the sharp line of his jaw. “Leave him be. It’s not worth gettin’ into trouble.”

Clyde deflates, honey brown eyes downcast. He sounds miserable when he speaks. “… We’re gonna miss dinner.”

“I know, sugar. It’s okay.”

His heart flutters in his broad chest despite his distress. She’d called him ‘sugar.’ He likes that; wants to hear it again real soon.

By the time they get through all the traffic and make it to the restaurant, their reservation is indeed gone, table havin’ been given away. They stand together just outside the building, under the little awning in an attempt to stay out of the rain.

Clyde huffs, so morose that he’s unable to enjoy the way she was pressed up against his side. “M’sorry.”

Juniper frowns, reachin’ up to pat his stomach gently. “You stop that. You haven’t done anything to be sorry for.”

Clyde shakes his head sadly, heavin’ out a sigh. “It’s the Logan Family Curse.”

She looks up at him, brows arched, her hand still settled on his belly. “Oh is it now?”

He nods, brows pinched together. Juniper reaches for his hand, pulling it to her lips and pressin’ a kiss to his knuckles. “You aren’t cursed, Clyde Logan. And if you are, I’m perfectly happy to be cursed right along with you.”

Clyde doesn’ quite know how to respond to that, but luckily, he doesn’t have to right away. Juniper moves her lips to the pads of his large fingers, kissin’ ‘em gently before lettin’ him pull his hand away. Clyde cradles her pretty face in his palm, takin’ the time to admire her. Finally, he speaks. “Thank you, darlin’. That’s mighty nice of you t’say.”

Juniper nuzzles into his touch, sighin’ happily; it makes Clyde feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“I’m only saying what’s true. Now c’mon. I know it’s a Friday night but there’s bound to be somewhere we can eat.”

They end up findin’ an old fashioned drive-in burger place, somewhere they can park and eat in the car out of the rain. It’s not where Clyde wants to take her; she deserves to be wined and dined all proper, not greasy burgers and milkshakes. But Juniper doesn’ seem to mind; as soon as they’re parked she’s squintin’ up at the menu, a big smile on her face.

“This all sounds so fucking good.” She giggles, lookin’ over at him. It makes the disappointment in Clyde’s chest fade away, and he leans over the center console to peer out the window to see what choices they were offered. It puts him in her space, and Juniper leans in to press a gentle kiss to his temple. He blushes, his cheeks only getttin’ hotter when she brushes some of his hair out of his face. He desperately wants to kiss her but he doesn’ know if it’s the right time.

He’s finally acceptin’ the night’s change of plans—finally acceptin’ that this might be good, burgers and fries while dressed up nice, watchin’ the rain pour from the safety of Juniper’s little Corolla—when the carhop comes out to tend to them. Clyde’s already diggin’ into his wallet as Juniper rattles off their order; he holds his debit card out, arm reachin’ over Juniper’s lap.

The carhop doesn’ move for the card. Instead, they say “Card machine’s down. Cash only.” in what Clyde thinks is possibly the most bored tone they could muster. He tries not to bristle as he fumbles with his wallet for a second time, patience already worn thin from the night’s events. He’s only got a fifty in his billfold. The fifty.

Their fifty.

He hesitates, even though he knows it’s irrational; Jimmy always did tell him he was too damn sentimental for his own good. Juniper must realize—she always does, Clyde never seems to have to explain himself to her—because she grabs her purse from the floorboard. Clyde stops her, shakin’ his head as he tugs the fifty dollar bill out. “S’alright, darlin’. Y’told me t’save it for a rainy day.”

Juniper’s face softens at his words, and Clyde hands the money over to the carhop, who looks like they want to be literally anywhere else. Soon Clyde’s been given his change, and he quickly puts it back up. As soon as he’s done Juniper’s reachin’ for him, pullin’ him in by his collar. Clyde goes willingly, twistin’ in his seat to move his prosthetic to the middle of her back, arm wrapped around her.

“I’ll give you another one.” She tells him firmly, and Clyde huffs out a laugh.

“Well that’d be awful silly of ya, Junebug. You’ll run outta money real quick if y’keep givin’ it all t’me.” He tries to soothe her with a joke, wantin’ to let her know that it was alright. Sure, it had been special to him—reminded him of their meetin’—but it was just a piece a’ paper. What was a piece a’ paper when he had the most important thing right here in front a’ him?

He wants to curl up further into her, but their positions don’t allow for it—the vehicle doesn’ exactly allow for him to move his long limbs much a’ anywhere. If this was as close as he could get, he was satisfied. Juniper shifts suddenly, eyes trained on him as she leans closer. They share a breath, then two, and then she’s pressin’ her mouth against his.

It’s nothin’ if not chaste. Clyde gets the feelin’ she doesn’ exactly want to neck in the front seat of her car like teenagers—at least not in plain view of the drive-in’s staff and other patrons. Just a gentle kiss, a little more than a peck; firm and lingerin’ just enough that he knows it happened. Juniper follows it up with another one at the corner of mouth, their noses pressin’ against one another’s cheeks.

It’s more than enough for Clyde; more than enough to get his pulse to sky rocket. He can’t remember the last time he’s been treated so gently, so much love in such a small movement. She gives him a smile when she pulls away, and they both sit back in their seats, starin’ all heart-eyed at one another. She takes the metal of his hand in hers, holdin’ it, and Clyde thinks maybe he should reconsider the whole curse thing.

They head back home after finishin’ their meal, the storm slowly peterin’ off as they get closer to Clyde’s trailer. Juniper walks him to his door, gigglin’ when she offers him her arm to escort him. He takes it, grinnin’ like a fool as they stomp up the front steps. They stand there under the yellow porch light, humid heat surroundin’ ‘em. Clyde usually hated the humidity, but not when it was like this, creatin’ such a hazy, intimate bubble around ‘em. Juniper drops her arm, but only to reach for Clyde’s flesh hand, holdin’ it in both of hers.

“I had a really nice time tonight, Clyde. Best date I’ve ever been on—and I mean that.”

Clyde can feel himself blushin’, a pleased smile turnin’ his lips up. “I had a good time, too. Wouldja—wouldja wanna do it again? Sometime soon?”

“Yes.” She answers almost before he can finish askin’, and they both laugh. There’s a beat, a pause, a breath, and then Juniper is leanin’ up the same moment Clyde’s leanin’ down. It’s a relief when their lips touch, like the first drink a’ water in the mornin’. Clyde thinks he’s been parched his whole life and never even knew it.

Juniper’s the one who deepens it, the one who drops his hand to lean into him, to thread her fingers through his thick hair, holdin’ him close. And fuck, Clyde isn’ gonna fight it. He wraps his arm around her, prosthetic against her back as his hand moves to hold her face. His palm envelops her cheek, thumb under her chin to keep her head lifted. They kiss and kiss, and when she makes a little whine in the back of her throat Clyde swears he’s floatin’.

When she pulls away to breathe he makes a sound of his own, a disappointed little groan that she huffs out a laugh at. He’d be embarrassed if she wasn’ nuzzlin’ her nose against his cheek like she can’t get enough.

“Those lips a’ yours aren’t fair.” She murmurs, and Clyde hums, strokin’ his thumb along her jawline. He doesn’ want this to end, he thinks for possibly the thousandth time that night. He doesn’ wanna let her get back in her car an’ drive across town, over the train tracks, past the antique shop, until she gets to the bed & breakfast.

He wants her right here, and he’s never been the one in this position, but he doesn’ hesitate when he asks her, “D’y’wanna come in?”

She nods, and it sets his chest aflame. They straighten up, untanglin’ themselves from one another even as she leans into his side, not wantin’ t’be too far. Clyde’s hands shake as he unlocks the front door but he doesn’ care if she sees. He wants her to see, wants her to know what she’s doin’ t’him. Maybe then...maybe she won’t leave.

Clyde flicks on the lights, closin’ the door behind both of ‘em. He watches as Juniper assesses his things: his clumsily cleaned living area, the small kitchenette that was (thankfully) decluttered. The hallway leads back to the bathroom, and then his bedroom, but Clyde doesn’ dare look towards it, much less lead her that way. Instead, he steps towards the fridge, hand reachin’ out to brush against the door.

“Want anythin’ t’drink?” He asks, voice quiet, as if nervous to disturb the silence. Juniper shoots him a smile, shakin’ her head as she perches on the couch.

“No, I’m okay, thank you.”

Clyde nods, lingerin’ there even though he doesn’ want a drink neither. Her eyes look him over, amusement showin’ in them.

“Why don’t you c’mere? If you want, of course.”

He wants. Oh, how he wants. So he goes, movin’ across the distance between them in three long strides until he can sit himself next to her. He’s stock straight, heart thrummin’ in his chest; his nice button-down feels all tight against his skin, too itchy. He thinks only her touch’ll soothe it, but doesn’ wanna ask her. Juniper, however, reads his mind; she always can. She smoothes a hand over his jean-clad thigh, leanin’ in ever so slowly, like she’s gonna startle him if she moves too fast. Clyde’s breath catches in his throat as she kisses him again, and it's heaven, it's heaven.

It’s different from in the car, from on the porch. This time there’s more purpose to it. Juniper’s kissin’ him—tastin’ him— like he belongs to her, and Clyde thinks maybe it's because she knows he does. He’s tryna’ angle his body just right, tryin’ t’lean down without puttin’ a crick in his neck. Not that he’d care much, if he did--a crick was worth this, worth the feelin’ of her tongue brushin’ against his bottom lip, against his teeth.

Juniper makes a frustrated little noise, pullin’ back, and Clyde’s brows furrow in confusion.

“Wha--Wha’s--?” He stammers out, flesh hand flexin’ on her waist, the silky fabric of her dress feelin’ so soft and cool against his skin. Juniper’s lips are plush and kiss bitten; Clyde tries to take a picture of ‘em in his memory, eyes trained on their pretty color. He almost misses her question. Scratch that, he does miss her question; has to very ineloquently say “huh?” to get her to repeat it. She ducks her head, voice shy.

“Can I, uh--get in your lap?”

Shit. Shit. Clyde nearly feels dizzy for all the blood rushin’ down south. It makes him a little self-conscious; she’s not gonna want t’sit on his lap and have his cock pressin’ into her all demandin’ like. But damn, his little Junebug looks so eager, her eyes darker than he’s ever seen ‘em, and like he’d said: he wants. So he just nods, barely breathin’.

Juniper shifts, pushin’ him into the back of the couch and he goes easily, willingly. She hikes her dress up her legs and Clyde gets a barely there peek of dark green lace before she’s straddlin’ his lap. He moans, can’t fuckin’ help it, and Juniper dives in to capture the sound with her mouth. Her hands are on his face, in his hair, fingers rubbin’ the shells of his ears—he’s surrounded, he’s drownin’, suffocatin’. He’s never felt so alive.

His own hands are placed chastely on either one of her hips, though he knows his flesh hand must be grippin’ her somethin’ fierce. The thought flashes in his mind, of him leavin’ little fingerprint shaped bruises on her skin for her to feel the next day. It makes him shiver underneath her.

Juniper takes and takes, and Clyde lets her. Clyde wants to be taken, in whatever way she’ll have him. Suddenly she’s pullin’ away just enough to suck in a little air, lips still brushin’ against his. He presses his long nose into the soft skin of her cheek, breath hot between them. When Juniper speaks, her voice is strained.

“Touch me, Clyde. Please.”

He doesn’ hesitate. His good hand moves from her hip to her ass, grabbin’, kneadin’ as he pulls her tighter against him. She lets out the prettiest noise Clyde thinks he’s ever heard, and his lips find her neck as his other arm comes around to hold her close. God, she tastes so good; her perfume fills his head until he feels dizzy with it.

She's pressed flush to him like this, grindin’ her hips against his. Clyde’s hard and leakin’ in his brand new jeans and the only thing he can think of is hearin’ her little noises again. Her hands are back in his hair, pullin’ at it, sweepin’ it away from his face so he doesn’ get tangled in it as his mouth makes a hot path down the neckline of her dress.

It feels so damn good that Clyde doesn’ realize she’s tryin’ to get his attention until she yanks on his tresses, his scalp burnin’ from it. Honestly he thinks he groans, rough and wild in his throat, the pain shootin’ straight to his cock. But it makes him look at her, and she holds him from divin’ back into her skin.

“Clyde I wanna—I wanna taste you. Is that okay? Can I?”

Lord Almighty above. That should be his line, it really should. But how can he argue with her? He’d give her anythin’ she wanted, anythin’. And she wanted—wanted to put her mouth on him. Clyde spares a thought for all the trimmed and proper men he’s seen in porn, how much nicer they looked, how Juniper deserved the best. West coast mean surely didn’ look the way he did. But then,“Yes,” he’s sayin’, voice ragged, “yes.”

And she’s slippin’ out of his lap onto the floor between his legs. Clyde’s heart pinches, and he leans forward to pick her right back up. To say “oh, darlin’, y’don’ need to be on the hard floor like that. Lemme stand an’ you c’n sit right back on these here pillows.” But before he can get his legs under him she's pressin’ her face between ‘em, nuzzlin’ into the scratchy fabric of his jeans, right up against his cock. Clyde’s brain short circuits.

“Been wantin’ this.” Juniper murmurs, small hands workin’ at his belt, and Clyde arches his hips up, tryin’ t’help her get his jeans off. He can’t believe this—can’t believe this is happenin’. She tugs his jeans and pants down his legs, just enough that his cock is revealed. Clyde clumsily unbuttons the first couple buttons at the bottom of his shirt, not wantin’ to get the new fabric messy. Juniper seems to like his idea; she sighs and leans forward to press her lips to the bare skin of his stomach.

“Sweetheart.” Clyde whispers, voice all trembly. He stretches out a little, givin’ her more access to his pale abdomen. Her lips are so soft against his skin, against the dark trail of hair leadin’ down, down, down. She follows it, nosin’ to the crook of his thigh, teeth scrapin’ deliciously ‘fore she turns her attention to his cock—already plump and stiff, and very interested in her ministrations. She wraps a hand around it and Clyde’s breath catches in his throat. She studies his cock, gives it a gentle stroke, thumb rubbin’ at the velvety head.

“You’re so big.” Her voice is quiet, but it startles Clyde all the same—he’s been transfixed by the vision in front of him.

“O-Oh, I-m, uh—“

He’s attemptin’ to apologize—his first instinct, really. But his brain isn’t really functionin’ all that well, and then she’s leanin’ in to lave her tongue over his slit. Clyde groans, a sound comin’ deep from his chest as he zeros in on the pretty pink of her soft, wet tongue. Juniper hums as if she’s pleased, a little smile on her face, and then she’s slippin’ her mouth over his cock in earnest.

Clyde’s head drops back against the couch pillow, lungs strugglin’ to suck in air. Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck—it felt so good. She was gorgeous, she was perfect, she was a fucking angel doin’ this for him. She couldn’ take all of him into her mouth but goddamn she was tryin’. It didn’ matter—even if she wasn’ usin’ her hand to make up the difference, Clyde thinks he could cum just from seein’ her there between his legs, her silky soft lips on his skin.

He moves with her—not in a way where he’s pushin’ her or askin’ for more, but in a way where she’s pullin’ him; she’s the ebb and flow of the tide and he follows her willingly. His back arches, toes curlin’ up in his boots; his prosthetic settles on top of her free hand where it was grippin’ one of his large thighs. His other hand is too busy grippin’ the couch cushions to do much else. He’s lost to it—to her—an’ he doesn’ wanna be found.

It’s over far too quickly, embarrassingly so—it even surprises him. He’s ridin’ the high of his pleasure and his orgasm hits him so hard and fast that Clyde barely has any time t’warn her. All he can do is make a frantic noise, her name garbled in his throat as he quickly tries to push her off a’ him. But it’s too late—he’s cummin’ the same time that she’s pullin’ away, and Clyde can only watch in an odd mix of both arousal and horror as his cum paints her chin, neck, and cleavage.

Juniper’s mouth is held open in a surprised little ‘o’ shape, brows arched, and Clyde feels fuckin’ humiliated.

“J-Juniper, darlin’, m’so sorry, I—“ He scrabbles behind him for the throw blanket layin’ across the back of the couch, tuggin’ it into his lap so he can clean his mess off a’ her skin. He’s quick to tend to the spend on her cleavage first, hyperaware of how close it was to the fabric of her pretty black dress. “I’m sorry, I tried t’warn ya but it was too—“

“Clyde, it’s okay.” Her voice is all raspy and Clyde bites back a moan at the sound of it. She was so fuckin’ sexy, fuckin’ flawless. He’d cum all over her, messy and wild, and she was still lookin’ at him like he’d hung the damn moon. She pulls herself to standin’, and Clyde’s gaze dips down to where her knees were all red from kneelin’. Just another thing he didn’ know he found hot until now.

“But I guess it’s a little dangerous to keep this on, huh?”

His gaze snaps up to her face when she speaks, and she’s wearin’ a grin, eyes alight. Then she’s twistin’ her arms around, wrigglin’ out of that cute little dress until it graces the linoleum floor. She bends down to pick it up, drapin’ it carefully over one of the kitchen chairs. She moves like it’s nothin; like the sight of her in her heels and underwear ain’ makin’ his cock try to thicken up again.

“Yer so beautiful.” He tells her, gaze trained on her as she walks back over to him. Clyde feels so small with her standin’ in front of him; feels vulnerable even if he was still mostly dressed. Juniper steps out of her heels slowly, placin’ them to the side before leanin’ in, restin’ her hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head so she can kiss him.

Clyde runs his flesh hand over her bare waist, down the swell of her hip, toyin’ with the band of her underwear. He doesn’t push it down; he won’t without her permission. It’s enough to kiss her like this, soft and lazy, feelin’ her skin underneath his. He feels all gooey and happy from his orgasm, even if it had come sooner than he’d have liked.

He sighs into her mouth, content; chases her lips when she pulls away. Juniper starts to work on the buttons of his shirt, and he sits up to help her ease it off a’ his shoulders. She folds it neatly, settin’ it to the side; Clyde forces himself to speak, tryin’ to get his brain back in workin’ order. “D’y’wanna—wanna go back to the bedroom? You c’n lay down and I’ll—I’ll take care a’ ya.”

He thinks he sounds all awkward and silly, but Juniper gives him a warm smile, and his insecurities fade. She was always comfortin’ him, whether she knew it or not. She places one last lingerin’ kiss to his lips before noddin’ at him. “I’d like that.”

______________________________________________________________

taglist friends!

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[lovetowee]

Traffic Jam Pt. 1

By: MrMister

"How much longer?" my girlfriend asked. We were on a road trip to my cottage. It was over six hours from the city. Now, six hour is still six hours, but the trip was never usually this long. The weather was terrible, and we had been stuck behind a major accident for quite a while now. "This sucks so much. Why do people have to drive like this," she complained. She'd had to use the washroom for a while now.

"I'm sure they'll have everything fixed soon, and we'll get to a rest stop." I could see two of the four vehicles still on the road. Might be a while yet.

"Will certainly be nice once we're there. Babe," I turned to her, "it's honestly so beautiful. You're going to love it."

"I know, I've seen some pictures," she gave me a small kiss on the cheek, but seemed distracted.

The radio played a quiet song. The pounding rain outside was doing nothing to kill the summer heat. We sat in silence watching the police lights, the distant boom of thunder and car horns adding it's own beat to the music.

She was looking out the passenger window. She seemed concentrated, but was fidgetting. I was nervous for her. I felt bad. Needing a toilet when there wasn't one, not a lot of fun.

"You okay?" I asked, knowing it wouldn't help.

"I just have to go so bad. Why did this have to happen." I gave her hand a squeeze.

"Let's look around maybe there's a bottle you can use?" I looked around but couldn't see one. I just wanted to give her some hope.

She blushed a little and looked away. "I don't just have to pee..." Ah, that made things a little worse. Luckily it looked like they were almost done cleaning up the accident.

It was a few more painful moments, but people started moving. But three lanes were reduced to one, and things were moving slowly.

The rain was still pounding outside, which I'm sure wasn't helping. She was openly fidgetting now, her hands planted firmly between her legs. She looked like she was in pain.

"Jess, if you want," I just wanted to help her, and I didnt see any other way. "Look if you have to go..." she looked at me as I trailed off. "I just mean I won't be upset. Maybe taking the pressure off your bladder would help with the... other thing. When we got to the rest stop it would just look like rain."

She kept squirming, I knew she was thinking. "I'm 19, I can't just..." she kept fidgetting looking out the window. "This is bullshit," she murmured under her breath. But she moved her hands and visibly relaxed. Even though the rain was pounding the roof and people were honking I could make out when she started peeing. I won't lie, I was a little aroused by the thought of my girlfriend wetting her pants.

She just looked down in shame, as we sat in silence. The sound of the rain and her urine rushing the only thing we could hear. She finished, and looked a little more relaxed, but still upset she wet herself. I peaked at the dark spot on her jeans.

"At least you feel a little better, right?" I tried to alleviate the awkwardness. "Was it that bad," I asked curiously.

"No," she said with a faint smile, "was actually kinda nice. But," she said, her eyes getting teary, "it made the other urge worse."

We were still quite far out. I wasn't even sure what I could do to help. "Baby, I still love you no matter what. There was nothing we could do." I smiled to reassure her.

She grabbed my hand, and I held hers back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered looking again out the window at the rain. She farted once, still trying to hold back I guess. She whimpered as I could hear her body release the load into her already wet panties. It was over in a second and the car was filled with a poopy odor. Tears silently streamed down her face.

"Baby it's okay. Honestly," she looked at me all sad and embarassed. "Youre amazing no matter what. We're on vacation, let's enjoy it!" I kissed her on the lips and we kissed until the person behind us honked. We laughed.

The sun started to show through the clouds, the rain lessened, and we were free of the highway. Just not in time.

I realized as we headed somewhere she could change I kinda liked the smell. Heck, I thought realizing the hardness in my pants, I kinda liked the whole experience. I wonder if there was something arousing for her about this experience too. I would have to find out on our vacation some time.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Gentle Sins ch.3 (BAON)

Summary:   Edge is heading back into work, but since when do his days ever go smoothly?

Tags: Spicyhoney, kustard, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Aftermath of Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

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~~*~~

It was entirely too soon for him to be returning to work by Edge’s measure. Two days off after a kidnapping was a paltry concession and he would have preferred at least working from home for the rest of the week. The Embassy wasn’t particularly far from New New Home, but depending on traffic and stoplights, it could take nearly half an hour to drive between them, not including the time it took to get to his car.

Time enough for so many things to go wrong and for Stretch to be alone when it did.

But despite his preference, two mornings after he’d brought Stretch home, Edge was pulling into the Embassy parking lot and ignoring the shouts of the protestors on the other side of the street as he walked in, though he didn’t extend his cane until he was inside the front entrance.

The issue at hand was not with his employment. Stretch was the one all but pushing him out their front door and he’d done so with a massive spew of words coupled with wild gestures, all of which boiled down to him not needing a babysitter while he was at home.

Edge didn’t have the soul to argue with him about it, particularly since he was right. There were already enough new violations of his boundaries, and past experience taught that he would start to chafe under them soon enough. Perhaps it was already beginning; exhausted as he was, he’d still slept restlessly the night before and while Stretch often tossed and turned, this time it was enough to disturb Edge’s own sleep, his subconscious crying out that this was not a familiar level of thrashing.

He’d still been in bed when Edge left though not asleep, muttering something about heading down to his lab to check on his experiments. Edge hoped that he did; if he could get absorbed in his own version of mad science, it would be a good distraction for the day, one that was very much needed. Red was supposed to stop by at some point about the bodyguard assignment and while Edge asked his brother to wait for him to get home, there was no telling if he would. If he deemed Edge’s presence unnecessary, Red would do as he liked and to hell with waiting for his brother.

With that in mind, Edge’s plan was to work as swiftly as he could today without sacrificing accuracy so that he could leave on time, perhaps even early, in an effort to thwart anything Red might attempt for his own amusements. But as so often happened, plans had a way of changing and in very unexpected ways.

When he’d arrived at the Embassy that morning, he’d been hyperaware of the stares that followed behind him from the moment he came through the door. From the security guard at his station to the interns to the janitors, eyes and whispers lingered in his wake. Whatever hopes he’d had for discretion about the kidnapping incident were quickly dismissed; it was obviously the talk of the office though no one was bold enough to confront him about it directly. As Red often said, ‘the only way to keep a secret is if ya kill the guy who told ya’ and considering how many witnesses were at the bar that night when Stretch and Jeff were taken, that option was not exactly feasible, if it ever was.

The local news was plastered with stories, some sticking with the one provided by the Embassy and others filled with wild speculations. Monsters were hardly immune to gossip and Stretch often featured on both sides of the rumor equation.

As for his usual partner in crime, Jeff was taking the week off and Antwan with him, and while Edge could appreciate the urge to get back to some form of normalcy, he couldn’t help a twinge of jealousy to think the two of them were probably curled in bed together sleeping while he was fending off the glares of his co-workers.

He deliberately kept his limping pace normal on his way to his office, refusing to give the gossip any further fuel. That worked well enough until he went inside. Janice was already at her desk and she looked up when he entered, her long ears swiveling in his direction and her pink nose twitching as she gave him a narrow look.

He wondered if she was disappointed in him for coming in today. The thought made him want to look away from her direct gaze and he forced himself not to, saying crisply, “Good morning.”

But perhaps he was only projecting his own troubled thoughts because Janice only replied with a certain gentle concern, “Good morning. How is Stretch doing?”

Yes, the gossip traveled quickly, indeed. Edge hesitated, then said with cautious honesty, “He’s doing better.”

She nodded and didn’t press. Absently, she reached out to straighten the picture frame on her desk of her two children. Edge understood the impulse. “If you need anything, either of you, please do let me know.”

“I will,” Edge said. He meant it. Somehow in the past year their relationship had gone from a strictly working one to something akin to friends, a change that came about right around the time he’d married Stretch. Another way his love had changed his life for the better.

Still, it was a relief for her expression to change in a flash from motherly concern to businesslike briskness. “I’ve already emailed your agenda for the day, nothing particularly robust, but you do have a meeting in an hour with Toriel.”

“Toriel.” Edge blinked in surprise. Technically, Toriel didn’t work for the Embassy in a similar way to Stretch. She acted as Frisk’s guardian, and while she certainly handled things she likely shouldn’t at her own discretion, they were the diplomat, not her. What could she want to discuss that she couldn’t have come to their home?

He set his laptop case down and dug out his phone, opening the email app and scrolled to his daily agenda to scan the list. The schedule said only, ‘Meeting with Toriel, 10am’ and gave no clues. “Did she happen to say what it was about?”

Janice shook her head. “I’m afraid not, she only contacted and asked for an appointment. I couldn’t think of a reason not to, so I gave her the first available timeslot.” Her voice uplifted at the end, turning the statement into a question.

“Of course you should,” Edge said, belatedly, “I’m perfectly willing to talk with her. I’m simply confused as to why.”

Janice offered him a faint smile and raised eyebrows. “I suppose in an hour you’ll find out.”

“I suppose I will,” Edge sighed. He picked up his laptop and headed into his office, already considering whether to brave the gauntlet again for a cup of coffee or to relinquish is pride and ask Janice to retrieve one. He wasn’t particularly in the mood for any surprises and a meeting with the former Queen would likely offer them, in spades.

~~*~~

If there was one thing to appreciate about meeting with Toriel, it was her promptness. At precisely 9:59 am Janice buzzed him that she’d arrived.

Edge took a moment to drain the last of the lukewarm coffee from his cup, brought to him by Janice without any prompting from him, further proof of what an excellent assistant she was. He saved the document he was working on before he replied, “Send her in.”

He’d hardly finished speaking when his door opened, Toriel’s bulk filling the entryway. She had to duck her head to fit through the entrance, barely missing bumping her horns on the trim.

“Please, come in,” Edge said. He ignored his cane where it leaned against the side of his chair and instead walked cautiously as he came around it. He gestured to the sofa rather than the chairs at his desk; Toriel was not a small Monster, but his office was designed for visits with everyone, up to and including Asgore himself.

“Thank you,” Toriel said. Her voice was soft enough that it seemed one should strain to hear it, and yet it still carried clearly through the room. She seated herself where he’d indicated, folding her lightly furred hands into her lap.

Edge hadn’t spent a great deal of time with Toriel outside of Embassy functions and the few times he’d traveled along with the diplomats. Even then, he’d kept a cautious distance from her. Despite the small glasses perched on her muzzle, her soft purple dress and motherly cardigan she wore, as a Boss Monster, there was a certain aura of power that she carried that no casual outfit could stifle. Her status might be simply as Frisk’s guardian, but even Humans couldn’t fail to notice it. Adding in that Edge had no basis of comparison with her counterpart in Underfell, put simply, she made him faintly uncomfortable, despite the common interest in puns she shared with several members of his family.

“Would you like a drink?” He barely caught himself before asking if she’d care for tea, already knowing the answer to that. She and Stretch should be closer friends, they could bond over their mutual dislike of the King. “Water? Fruit juice?”

“Water would be lovely,” Toriel said. The words were merely polite, he sincerely doubted she’d come here for refreshments.

From the small fridge in the corner, he retrieved a bottle of water. He set it on a coaster rather than hand it to her and took the seat across from her, folding his hands into his lap in an unconscious mirror of hers. “What can I do for you?” Edge asked.

Without preamble, Toriel said, “You saved my child’s life, and mine.”

That was far from any topic he’d expected she wanted to discuss. If anything, he’d supposed she might wish for more personal information regarding the kidnapping and rather than trusting the gossips, she’d gone to a reliable source. That she might want to talk about their last meeting hadn’t even occurred to him.

The incident in California was not so long ago and yet, despite his lingering scars, the event itself had mostly left his mind. Yes, it was traumatic and yes, he’d certainly be feeling the aftereffects for some time. But it wasn’t his way to linger over such things; it happened, it was over, and now there was only to move onto introducing new safeguards to keep such a thing from happening again.

He considered Toriel’s statement with care before offering cautiously, “Anything I could do to keep you and your child safe, I was willing to offer.”

“I’m sure you were, and are.” Toriel’s eyes were a shade of red unlike his own eye lights. In a way, they were more like Red’s and his way of seeing things deeper than should be possible. “And I am willing to offer my own gift for that kindness. I’ve noticed your leg is still troubling you.”

Edge struggled against shifting uncomfortably, forcing himself not to look down at the leg in question. He was wearing the brace today as he always did in the office, not because he thought he particularly needed it, but due to his suspicions that Janice would discreetly tattle to Stretch if he didn’t. It was a tradeoff for leaving their strictly business relationship behind. “It’s healing, it simply takes time.”

“Indeed,” Toriel inclined her head in agreement. “I’d like to help you, if you’ll allow it. It wouldn’t begin to pay my debt to you but—”

“Your Highness,” Edge interrupted gently, “you don’t owe me anything. I’m well aware that you saved my life after the explosion.”

“I’m no longer the Queen, Toriel is fine,” Her interruption was less gentle and for one who claimed no title, her tone made him want to straighten his spine and come to attention, a habit he’d thought gone along with Underfell. “And your life wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t saved mine.”

“Toriel,” Edge said deliberately, “if you’re offering to heal me, I have a doctor, they’ve done as much with healing magic as they can.”

“I’m sure they have. Which is why I’m offering. My skills are somewhat more…” she hesitated, settling on, “Robust, than other Monsters.”

As a Boss Monster, that was surely true, and Edge couldn’t help considering it.

She’d used her magic on him before, and while that was an emergency, he could hardly protest her doing it again. And what she was offering was gift unlike any other. The opportunity to be healed, to be able to return to his normal activities was tempting to be sure, but what irritated more was his brother keeping him at arm’s-length during the kidnapping. If he’d been more capable, if his leg wasn’t slowing him down, would Red have forced him to stay home instead of allowing him to provide some real assistance? There was no way to tell now, but if he could keep it from happening in the future…?

But Edge also knew that things that seemed too good to be true often were and that there was little in life that came without some sort of price attached. He’d gotten such a gift from the Angel already, if one believed in such things, in the love given to him by Stretch. Asking for more seemed greedy.

Toriel only waited serenely, perhaps understanding his inner turmoil.

“There’s no chance this could have a negative effect,” Edge said slowly. “I’ve made a great deal of progress already, I won't have it set back."

“None at all,” Toriel assured him. “I wouldn’t offer if there was even a chance.” She shifted in her seat, briefly looking away as if his bookcases had suddenly caught her interest. “I would have offered sooner but you must understand, this sort of healing is very draining. If it got out I could do this, Monsters would be lining up at my door, begging for treatment.” She shook her head, her mouth pulling downward unhappily, and suddenly she seemed older and weary. “I can only do as much as I can.”

“I understand.” He did. It was the same reason they’d chosen to keep Monsters’ ability to heal from the Humans. There were limits to the care anyone could provide. Still, his immediate impulse to agree warred with his cautious reluctance. “Then why now?”

“Why not now?” Toriel countered. She spread her empty hands in something like a plea. “I can’t heal every Monster, but what point is it for me to have these gifts if I can’t use them to help someone who was injured by helping me? I owe you a debt, Edge, and I mean to pay it.”

The steel in her voice resonated and the determined need to repay a debt was certainly something he could understand. Edge straightened and inclined his head formally, “I accept your offer.”

A smile lit Toriel’s face and that melancholy fell away as she clapped her hands together like a child rather than the powerful, centuries-old Monster that she was. “Wonderful! Let’s get started, then, shall we?”

“Now?” Edge said, surprised. He’d expected her to need to make some preparations, perhaps arrange for a secret meeting someplace out of the way and not well watched. If there was such a place when one considered his brother.

But Toriel only nodded. “Oh, yes. It won’t take long.”

She rose from the sofa and crouched down next to him. A bit nonplussed, he helped her unbuckle the splint and remove it, and as always, there was a slight, uncomfortable twinge with its support gone. Worse was the awkward intimacy in the way she settled her hands on his leg, even over his trousers, her fingers shifting into precise positions as she closed her eyes and summoned her magic.

Edge had been healed before, too many times to count. Rarely in Underfell, healing there was usually scoffed at and often considered a weakness as it was a difficult skill for those with LV. But in this universe, Stretch, Blue, even Toriel herself had healed him in the past, little wounds mostly, except for California.

He hadn’t been in a position to pay attention the last time she’d used her magic on him, drifting in and out of consciousness, but here there was nothing to distract him. Her magical signature was a deft one, not the brusque force of his brother or familiar honeyed languidness of Stretch or even Blue, who managed to somehow be both forceful and nearly timid at the same time. The greenness of healing came at a delicate trickle at first, seeking and finding the places in his leg that still ached with cunning skill, sinking in. In tiny increments, that trickle became a flood, and then a torrent, and the sensation was indescribable. Not pain, that was far too simple a word, but the deep power that carried healing into his leg and further, seeking out his very essence. Edge shied away instinctively as it sought out his soul, trying to escape that implacable, almost ethereal touch, but it didn’t invade or violate, only swirled briefly through his ribcage in a sort of greeting before returning to the task at hand, or rather, at leg, before it slowly withdrew into empty nothingness.

Edge opened his sockets, hardly aware of closing them, to see Toriel closing her own eyes as she wobbled on her feet, sinking back to sit on the floor with her legs tucked under her and her skirt demurely covering them.

“Your Highness,” Edge said in concern. He reached for her automatically, hesitating before touching her. Even though his gloves he could still feel the aura of roused magic surrounding her.

She opened her eyes. “Toriel,” she corrected with a slight smile, waving his hands away. She retrieved the bottle of water from the table, opening it and taking a long drink, then sighed out, “I’m fine. How are you?”

In answer, Edge stood, striding across the room and back again. The lingering weakness and frustrating ache of the past weeks were entirely gone. The urge to tests his limits was strong and he wondered giddily what anyone would make of it if they caught him racing up and down the stairwell with his coattails flapping behind him.

As if reading his thoughts and perhaps she was to some extent, they wouldn’t be difficult to guess, Toriel cautioned, “I suggest you wear the brace for a little longer. It might keep the curious from asking questions.”

Edge was about to agree, then amended it, “I won’t lie to Stretch. If he asks.”

To his surprise, Toriel let out of a peal of soft laughter and shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry about that. He’ll know the moment he sees you.”

That he hadn’t expected and Edge could only stare at her, aghast, “What?

Her smile turned incredulous. "You have my magic clinging to you, do you truly think he won't notice? Papyrus of all people?"

He wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that and he wished he'd known before he agreed. Well, it was too late to change anything now, wasn’t it, and that was a meal he’d have to swallow when it came to the table.

Belatedly, he realized Toriel was attempting to climb up from the floor and he hastily leaned down to help. Her weight was easily triple his own but between the two of them, they managed to get her back on her feet.

“Well!” Toriel said with a soft sigh as she dusted off her dress. “I’ll leave you to your duties, then. I need to get back to Frisk, they have a meeting this afternoon with the Prime Minister of Japan, and I wanted to brush up on the agenda.”

“Yes, of course, your—Toriel,” Edge correctly hastily. He couldn’t help flexing his knee again, still giddy with the pain-free movement of the joint. “Thank you, Toriel. This means a great deal to me, past simply healing.” She’d already turned to the door and paused, turning back to him.

There was a certain familiar impishness to her smile as she said, “If you truly wanted to thank me, you could try calling me Tori.”

In answer, Edge only bowed deeply to her and said, sincerely, “I’m afraid the attempt would be too much for me and might undo all the damage you healed. I would hate to be the cause of ruining all your hard work.”

Her soft laughter washed over him in a gentle wave and she shook her head. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we.” Her amused expression shifted to seriousness, “And Edge? Anything I could do to help you, I was willing to offer.”

Edge inclined his head in wry acknowledgement and with a last smile, she went out the door, leaving him alone in his office. Alone with his leg in perfect working condition and itching to be used.

A jog up the stairs might be out of the question, but there was no reason he couldn’t walk down to get another cup of coffee. With the brace on for now, and by next week? Perhaps he could risk going without, at least in the morning, if the stares died down by then. Time would tell.

He sat down to strap the blasted thing back on, its lack of necessity making it all the more annoying.

Soon, he told himself, soon.

Despite the events of the past few days, Edge felt lighter than he had in weeks. He only hoped Stretch’s reaction would be as pleased as his own.

Once the brace was properly on, Edge retrieved his cup from his desk and went down the hallway to the breakroom to fill it, giving Janice’s curious glance a sedate nod and careful to keep his steps slow and measured so as to not rouse any suspicions.

On the leg brace he would concede, an annoying necessity to be sure. But the cane? That, he left behind.

tbc

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - Angel Fire

Tony is an Angel-Hunter, and Peter is...

Peter Parker is beautiful.

Then again, all angels are. Tony’s been following him for a couple of days now, his latest mark. He’s seventeen years old, one of the youngest Tony’s ever encountered, but really, that just makes him easier to kill. 

Not that there’s anyone around to teach him how to fight anyway. His mother is human, and Tony’s a good guy, so he’ll make sure she’s not home when he kills Peter. She’ll mourn, of course, which is a shame, because she isn’t his real mother. His real mother’s an angel- hopefully killed already- and now Peter’s here, pretending to be her child. Pretending he can feel real, genuine human emotions. Pretending like he doesn’t feed off the souls of others. 

Tony feels for her. 

So, he waits and watches and follows.

Peter doesn’t have many friends which doesn’t surprise him. Angels are horribly standoffish beings.

What does surprise him is that even as he follows Peter in every shadow, he never sees the boy feed. 

Well, he is a young angel. He doesn’t need as much as the older ones. 

Tony wonders how many humans this one has killed.

The perfect opportunity presents itself on a Saturday morning. The mother’s out of town, and Tony sneaks into the apartment by quietly busting the lock, his gun in his pocket, as the sun begins to peak over the horizon outside.

It’s nearly seven am. 

The apartment is still and warm when he enters, and he closes the door behind him silently. It’s painfully normal looking. Throw pillows on the couch, homework on the kitchen counter, left overs in the fridge. They’re struggling for money, that much he knows. At least the mother will only be feeding one after he’s done.

Right on cue, he hears Peter start to stir, so he presses himself behind the sagging armchair and the curtains, and watches.

Goddamn, he’s seen a lot of beautiful angels. But Peter Parker takes the cake. He watches as the boy ambles into the kitchen, rubbing one eye with his dainty fist. His skin is smooth and flawless, like a pearl, and his eyes are the warmest brown with flecks of honeyed gold. He’s wearing these skimpy little silk shorts; white with little painted dandelions, showing off those long legs and shapely thighs, and a flimsy button up sleep shirt that exposes the lovely sharp collar bones he has.

Goddamn. Such a shame. 

The boy potters around the kitchen, eyes still half-closed, yawning every so often, and his thick, hickory locks tumble into his eyes, and Tony levels his gun, and takes a deep breath.

It’s second nature now, to see the lavender glow that shines around angels. It’s like a fuzzy aura that hovers just over their skin, he sees it without trying. But the halo? That takes effort. A lot of mental strain. 

He draws on it now. He’ll need to see the halo. It’s the only way to kill an angel. A bullet will shatter it, and they’ll drop-

When he opens his eyes, he nearly drops his gun.

There’s no halo.

Above those brown curls, is nothing. Just air. Almost like a…

He steadies himself, and tries again. His head starts to ache with the strain, but still nothing. 

He can feel his fingers trembling. What the hell? How is this- how is this possible-

And then, he gapes, as he watches Peter dig his hands into a box of Lucky Charms and inhale them noisily. He crunches happily, letting out little moans of contentment and…

He’s eating. He’s eating- human food- with no one around to prove anything to- just for- just for-

For one, absurd moment, he wonders if he got it wrong. Maybe he’s been tailing the wrong person, but-

no. He can still see, clear as day, the lavender light that glows over Peter’s skin. The sheer beauty of him, the elegant slope of his neck, the long flutter of his eyelashes- unnaturally stunning. 

What is he? 

There’s a clatter, as cereal spills all over the floor, and Tony looks up to see honey-gold eyes staring at him.

Oh shit.

Peter screams, immediately bolting for the door, and Tony strides over, and grabs his arms.

“Please!” Peter cries, yanking ineffectually, tears blossoming like crystals, “please, please! I don’t- I don’t have anything, oh god-“

If Angels can’t feel, how is- how is Peter crying? How is he shaking like a leaf with fear so tangible Tony is crushed with guilt? 

But the lavender light- this boy is-

“Please,” Peter sobs, pulling harder, “please, I won’t tell anyone, I won’t, I swear-“

Tony can’t think. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t- 

He twirls the boy in his grip, and Peter startles, and Tony gets him in a sleeper hold.

Peter struggles, and then slumps.

Tony can’t breathe. He draws in deep, worried breaths. What the fuck. What the fuck is happening? 

No halo, there’s no- there’s no halo- he eats, he cries-

The dawn makes everything looks clean. The air is fresher, and birds are tweeting as they start to wake. The city is almost silent; the calm before the storm; the cacophony of car horns and exhaust pipes yet to come.

Tony carries Peter to his car without any problems at all.

Apart from when he gets there.

The front seat? The back seat? The boot?

He’s not sure. The Jeep is pretty high off the ground, and the back lights are doubly secured- no chance the kid could kick them out. 

But- if he’s not an angel, and Tony’s vision is just a little wrong, he doesn’t really want to put the kid in the trunk. 

Jesus, he tries not to feel the skin under his fingertips. Peter’s soft thighs are over one hand, his shoulders in the other as he carries him bridal style, and the slip of a thing is so light, so silky.

In the end, he picks up front.

He buckles the kid into the front seat and then zip ties his hands under the dash, before getting in. Peter’s limp body slumps against the window, and it looks like he’s dozing.

He’s a gorgeous sleeper. His lashes cast shadows against his sharp cheekbones as the sun moves farther up the sky, and his chest rises and falls languidly, like a princess in a story. 

Tony peels off into the road and curses himself as he does so. The mother will be back in two days- but she’ll know something’s off before then. When Peter doesn’t answer her calls. She’ll go to the police- there’ll be posters- missing persons.

This is sloppy. Tony doesn’t like sloppy. But he doesn’t know what to do. 

He could report to his boss. It’s a long drive up to Canada, but he could make it, he thinks. Hopefully. If the boy’s story doesn’t go national. 

His fingers are deathly tight around the steering wheel, and he tries to get ahold of himself. Glancing to the right, Peter’s breathing gently, and the sound soothes him, as dangerous as that is.

The lavender light still glows beautifully from his skin. 

Fuck. Tony exhales slowly, trying to get himself under control. Canada it is. 

***

The kid wakes up a few hours before Connecticut. 

He makes a soft noise, before he seems to remember everything, and he jerks desperately- letting out a whimper when the zip ties cut into his delicate wrists, and he spins to face Tony- eyes huge and petrified.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, yanking frantically, “please- oh god please-“

“Settle down, kid.” He warns, even as his stomach ties itself in knots. He better not be abducting a fucking innocent child. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Yet, he thinks uncomfortably. If the boy is an angel. But how would they even kill one without a halo?

“Why? Please,” he begs, “we don’t- we don’t have any money, please, my mom- she’ll-“ his breath becomes fast and shallow, “she’ll freak out, Sir- please-“

He’s tossing and turning in the passenger seat now, his wrists already marked red with how he’s trying to free himself, his gaze wild and manic like a trapped animal, as he watches the motorway whirl past. “Calm down,” Tony tries, keeping his voice low, “kid, calm down- stop- jeez, just stop wriggling!”

Peter screams, ear-piercingly loud, and Tony nearly swerves the car into oncoming traffic. 

“Shut the fuck up!” He snarls, and is immediately rewarded by silence.

He doesn’t look over for a while, heart pounding. Sweat is budding at his temples.

But when he does look, his heart breaks.

Peter’s got his knees drawn up to his chest, and his cheeks are red with tears- eyes glistening, and he’s muffling his sobs into his arms. 

It cuts Tony up. “Kid, please,” he says, more softly, reaching out- only for Peter to flinch away in fear. He’s shaking so bad Tony thinks he might burst.

Okay. This isn’t going to work.

He pulls over the next chance he gets, and parks the car. 

Peter doesn’t move. He’s still crying.

Tony rubs his face with his hands, feeling sick. The kid can’t be an angel. The fear and sadness is so strong as it rolls off him in waves Tony feels suffocated by it. He wants to let the kid go. Just drop him off here. But the lavender still hovers over his skin.

“Peter, listen.” He begins, but the boy only makes another choked off sob.

“You know my name.” He weeps, and Tony groans-

“Kid, kid, look at me. Seriously. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“You were pointing a gun at me,” Peter wails, cringing into the window. Tony swears he can almost hear the frantic jack-rabbiting of the boy’s heart. 

“You’re not human, Peter.” Maybe the truth will do it. 

Peter squirms. “You’re crazy,” he whispers, looking like Tony’s a delusional kidnapper, gaze swinging to the window, desperately searching for help. 

It’s not an unfair assumption. “Peter, I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’m an Angel-Hunter, okay? I kill angels. I was sent to kill you, but, you don’t have a halo.”

Peter looks at him for a long moment, before he hollers for help again and tugs at the dash so hard that the plastic creaks warningly. “Help! Help, please, somebody!”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. Thank god for his soundproof car. “Believe me or not, this is what’s gonna happen: I’m driving us to Quebec, that’s where my boss is. She’ll tell me whether or not you’re human, and if you are, you can go home, if you aren’t…” he shrugs, “I’m going to have to kill you.” How they’ll do that if the boy doesn’t have a halo, he still doesn’t know.

Peter seems to pause at that. He stops shaking so much. He looks at Tony tentatively. “If your boss says I’m human- you’ll let me go?”

“Probably reimburse you for your trouble,” Tony promises. “She’s very good like that.”

“Okay,” Peter whispers, nodding, even as his cheeks glisten with tears. “Okay, so-so- we just need to go there, and then you’ll- you’ll let me go?”

“If you’re human.”

Peter nibbles on his plush bottom lip, before he seems to sag into the seat. “Okay,” he whispers hoarsely, “let’s go to Quebec, then.”

Not that he has any say in the matter, but Tony doesn’t point that out. He doesn’t want the kid freaking out again. He just nods, and starts driving. 

*

Silence, as it turns out, is not Peter’s strong point.

The kid’s a babbler. Asks a ton of questions. If Tony were a real kidnapper, he’s not sure he’d have bothered keeping the boy this long. As it is, he answers tersely, and then flips the radio on as an excuse not to answer anymore.

Of course, it doesn’t deter the boy. 

“So, how long have you been angel hunting?” Peter asks over the thrum of a pop song.

Tony shrugs noncommittally. “Born into it. My dad was.”

“And-and what do angels do that’s so bad? Aren’t they meant to be, like- good?”

He snorts. Common misconception. “Not these ones. They look like people. But more beautiful. They feed on human souls. Drain the life out of someone and kill them. The death looks natural. It makes them hard to track.”

“Feed on human souls?” Peter repeats; horrified. “Oh. We didn’t learn that in Religious Studies.”

Tony almost cracks a smile. Damn, the kid’s a little cute. “There’s a lot you don’t learn at school, kid.”

“But- if they look just like humans, how do you catch one?”

“You have to train. Every human has the ability to see auras, but they have to harness it.”

“Auras?”

“A light that hovers over people. Humans have white, Angels have purple.”

Peter pauses. “You think I have purple?”

“I’ve been doing this for over twenty years, Peter. You do have purple.”

Peter looks down at his arms, and squints a little, before sighing. “Wouldn’t I know? If I was an Angel, I mean? I don’t kill people.”

“I know.” Tony frowns, “therein lies the problem.” Peter eats food. 

On cue, the boy’s stomach rumbles.

His huge eyes look at Tony hopefully, before they quickly dart away. But it’s been a bit of a morning, and he hasn’t eaten bar a handful of Lucky Charms, and Tony has technically kidnapped him, so he follows the route to the nearest drive-thru. 

Peter’s relaxed now, thankfully. Doesn’t seem so frightened. Seems desperately hopeful. He’s the optimistic sort, then. Awfully trusting, too. Naive. Innocent. It’s troubling.

“What do you want, kid?” he asks, as he pulls-up.

Peter vibrates with excitement. “A chicken wrap? If they- um have it?”

Tony rolls his eyes, and turns into the microphone- just before he does, he gives Peter a look. “You’re smarter than to cause a scene, right, Pete?”

Peter nods, pressing his lips together. He looks as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

Tony doesn’t want to, but he can’t risk it.

He takes his gun out, and sets it on his thigh. Peter’s eyes go wide, but he nods his understanding. 

Tony turns to the microphone. “I’ll have three chicken wraps, a cheese burger, a black coffee and…” he turns to look at Peter, sizing the boy up. He’s sweet. “and a double chocolate milkshake.”

Peter smiles so beautifully that Tony feels a small lurch of arousal. 

The thought is horrific. Not only is the kid seventeen, but he may not even be human. Tony shudders, and carefully doesn’t look at the boy as he rounds the corner, and gets to the window. The spotty teenager who hands over their food barely looks up, which Tony is grateful for. He doesn’t need anyone remembering they saw Peter.

He only has a day or so before he’ll have to get Peter to duck when they drive through busy areas. 

He hands over the wraps and the milkshake, one hand on the wheel, before he takes a bite of his own meal. 

Peter’s making contended little sounds beside him, opening the wrap carefully, making sure none of the foil falls on the floor, and biting.

His moan is pornographic, and Tony feels himself grow warm, and starts ahead resolutely. 

The kid devours two of his wraps, and leaves the third one, before starting on his milkshake. Which Tony now realises is a mistake. Even in his peripheral, he can see the way the kid’s lips purse around the straw, the hollow of his cheeks as he sucks- fuck. 

More significant than his arousal, though, is the fact that Peter can get nourishment from food. 

If Peter is an Angel, he’s an Angel who doesn’t kill humans. And if that’s the case- then- would he have to be killed at all? Even if he was-

There’s some shuffling beside him, and he turns to see Peter attempting in vain to get comfortable on the seat. The boy notices he’s watching, and then blushes. He’s got freckles dappled all over his nose. It’s irritatingly endearing. “Could you um, maybe, just tie my hands together? Not to, the car- I mean?”

Peter’s wrists are very sore. Tony doesn’t like the sight of them. He wants to help the kid out, but…he shakes his head. “Sorry, Pete. We’re not there yet.”

The boy nods, and then shuffles some more, trying to find a position that’s comfy.

Tony falls into the lull of driving. He keeps thinking. If the boy doesn’t kill, then he’s not a threat. And if he’s not a threat, Tony could just…let him go. But it’s not up to him. He needs to see Peggy. She’ll know what to do. He just…he rather hopes that killing the boy isn’t the way she’ll handle it, but again, not up to him. 

Maybe he should stop thinking of him as a boy. Because of the lavender light but- innocent until proven guilty, he supposes. 

When he looks over, Peter’s got his cheek smooshed into the dash, curls spilling out over the plastic, hunched over, and fast asleep. 

Tony smiles before he can catch himself. It can’t be comfortable, like that, but the kid’s clearly exhausted. Coming down from an adrenaline rush and some warm food will do that to you. Tony turns on the heater, and leans back into his seat, and tries not to think too hard at all. 

***

It’s a reflex as they drive through towns, to keep his eyes peeled for any spark of purple. 

There are a lot of Angels still around, but Tony doesn’t see any. Probably for the best, really. He doesn’t want to kill one in front of Peter.

He doesn’t know why. 

He just passes trees and people until he gets past the border.

Then the people disappear, and sunlit woodlands spread out all around them.

When Tony pulls over, Peter stirs.

He blinks to awareness slowly, smacking his lips together and blinking hard.

His eyes seem to glow like liquid gold in the light. 

“Bathroom break,” Tony says, by way of wake up call, and Peter lets out a sleepy little muffle, before sitting up. 

Tony’s fingers brush against Peter’s wrists as he slices through the zip tie. He can feel Peter’s pulse; slow and lazy with sleep, and he wants to press his lips to it. 

It’s so fucking dangerous. He’s walking a thin line-

“Are we in Canada?” Peter asks in surprise, as he looks out the window. His voice is still syrupy with sleep. 

“We crossed the border about an hour ago.” Tony confirms. “My gun’s in my pocket, kid, I’m gonna open the doors, we’re gonna do our business, and you’re gonna stay in my line of sight.”

Peter nods, squirming like he already has to go, and Tony bites back his smile and unlocks the door.

Peter jumps out, flitting around the car to Tony’s side and hurrying towards the privacy of the trees.

Tony has no such qualms about privacy. This stretch of forest road is deserted. The sun is hot on the back of his neck, but there’s a nice breeze that sends the branches and the flowers dancing. 

When Peter finishes, he heads back over to Tony obediently, before his eyes go huge and stare at something in the road like he can’t look away.

Tony turns and rakes his eyes over the environment. The blades of grass sway, the branches creak with old age; craning up to the sun, but nothing else moves.

And when he turns back to Peter-

the boy is gone.

*

Alright, Tony is almost impressed. 

It was a sloppy technique, but the kid got the job done. It’s Tony’s fault really, he’s not on high alert. He should be. This case is more important than the others. 

So, he makes his way through the forest. He’s slow and methodical. He’s quiet and he listens. Peter, no doubt, will be running as fast as he can. The kid’s smart. Acting docile so Tony will let his guard down, and what’s more infuriating is that that such a junior technique was effective.

He won’t be so lenient with the boy after this. It’s straight in the trunk. No more drive-thrus. No more nice guy-

He comes to a halt suddenly, when he breaks into a clearing.

A gap in the canopy, where sunlight is streaming down onto a meadow of grass- and there, sure enough, is Peter.

He’s on his knees, feet folded neatly underneath him, his profile as beautiful as the statue of a cherub, and he’s before the hulking great mass of a grizzly bear. 

Tony thinks his heart does a horrible sort of jerk. He stares, uncomprehendingly for a long moment at the scene. The bear- huge and immense- and Peter- tiny and defenceless-

It’s the final thought that kicks him into gear, reaching for his gun when-

“I was calling for you,” Peter murmurs, and Tony creeps forward, gun in his hand, before he sees that the bear is holding it’s gigantic paw in Peter’s lap, and that Peter is pulling thorns from it. It’s horrifying. It’s beautiful. It’s something from a children’s story book. “But I realised I didn’t know your name.”

“It’s Tony,” Tony manages; wrecked. 

Peter’s pulling thorns out of the paw of a fucking wild grizzly bear.

The bear looks at Tony, with horrifying black eyes, and Tony levels his gun. 

Peter shakes his head without a word. “Put it away. It wouldn’t even leave a dent.”

Tony wavers. The kid’s probably right. A bullet against that. Fucking goliath. Have bears always been so big? But where’s the sudden wisdom come from? Where’s the kid who inhaled a milkshake-

“Couldn’t you hear it calling?” Peter asks.

Tony just stares at him. The sun throws its rays against him, and there’s a halo of sunlight around Peter’s curls.

He looks like an Angel. A real one, not a monster.

“No,” Tony whispers hoarsely, as the bear lets out a guttural moan, pulling his paw away as Peter wipes his hands. “I didn’t hear anything.”

The bear leans down and rubs its nose against Peter’s head, before turning away with its massive weight, and disappearing into the forest.

Peter’s still glowing lavender.

“Oh.” Peter frowns, turning to look at Tony with his big gold eyes. “I could hear him. That’s why I came, I didn’t…” he trails off, looking unsure. “You didn’t hear him?”

“No.” The woods had been silent.

Peter looks very troubled, and he doesn’t resist when Tony comes over and offers his arm. Peter gets up, grass stains on his knees. He’s still in his pyjamas- all floral and soft. He looks like a flower child. Like he grew here, in the forest, surrounded by nature. 

“A bird fell in the playground in middle school.” Peter says, and he sounds far away, as Tony guides him back through the forest. “I heard it in class and no one- no one else did.”

“Peter.” Tony says, because it’s all he can say.

“Is that what-“ his voice drops into a whisper, “am I an..?”

“I don’t know.” Tony confesses, “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of an Angel being able to hear animals.” But then- he doesn’t know much about them. Other than that they glow, that they feed off humans, and that they can’t feel. “I don’t think they do, though.”

“What am I?” Peter asks helplessly, and Tony’s touch is more protective than it should be. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but we’ll- figure it out.”

*

The incident sets Tony on edge.

Instead of driving right to Quebec he pulls over at a nice looking hotel. It’s expensive, but he has the money, and the receptionist’s smile turns much warmer when he slides over his card.

But he has eyes for no one but Peter. The boy’s staring at his hand. Squinting hard. He looks utterly dazed.

Tony supposes wondering whether or not you’re human will do that to you.

It doesn’t mean he should want to reach out and comfort.

Tony’s leather jacket is hanging over Peter’s shoulders, draped there, but the bare feet and grassy legs have drawn a little bit of attention.

Not too much attention, but even a little can be dangerous.

Tony gets them up to their room as fast as possible. 

Peter still looks dazed. He doesn’t take in much of their room even though Tony’s sprung for an enormous, gorgeous, airy suite, he just sits on the edge of the bed where Tony settles him, and looks down at his lap. 

Tony checks all the windows and shuts the curtains, and locks the door, before turning to look at the boy. Peter peaks up at him through his curls. “I’m scared,” he confesses. 

Tony’s heart. He pads over, and lays his hand awkwardly on the kid’s shoulder. The boy’s so small. “I know. We’ll figure it out.” We? 

“I can see…or maybe I’m imagining it.” Peter lifts up his hand and squints, “It’s purple. My head hurts.”

It’s a relief, that the kid can see it too. Tony nods, before flipping off the lights. “Get some rest, Pete.”

Peter flops down onto the bed, and wriggles under the blanket with the sort of fatigue Tony’s seen on men back from war. “I don’t have any friends.” He whispers, “I feel alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Tony says fiercely, automatically, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You’ve got me.” 

[mnictasbcl]

Life’s beauty

For #dbhcolorsofdeviancy, prompt:

June 9th: The feeling of being alive @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Rating: Teen

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson

Relationships: Connor & Hank Anderson

Additional Tags: Fluff, Break, Swearing, Cabin, Woods, no not a cabin in the woods this is fluff lads, Beauty of nature, Fishing, Sensory detail,

Summary: After the Revolution, Connor had done nothing but work. Hank decides to take him away to the beauty of nature, to truly realise the feeling of being alive.

Story below! Or, read it on AO3

The androids fought, they won, they became free. In the weeks proceeding the revolution, Jericho’s sole goal was getting sorted the rights of androids so that deviants could truly be as human as they wanted to. Connor was involved in some of the proceedings, helping Markus word and practice his speeches, aiding North with logistical things and tasks to help with the thousands of homeless deviants seeking shelter. But as soon as the right was agreed that androids could work and earn a salary as humans do, Connor was right back at Hank’s side, working at the DPD. After all, whilst his help was needed in Jericho, he could be of much more use on the police force, especially given the rising numbers of hate crimes towards androids following the revolution.

Besides, it was nice to get back into a familiar routine, minus the all-seeing, all-knowing control of Cyberlife hanging over his head.

So, the months progressed. Connor worked as partners with Hank at the DPD, and the two were an unstoppable force, what given their bond and skills around deviancy. More rights were being fought for them in the background. Soon, androids were almost treated, at least by law, as equally as humans. They could not be discriminated against, not hurt, they could work, they could buy property, they could start families- everything. Months after the revolution, and things were looking bright on the horizon.

This didn’t mean that the hatred against androids all out stopped. However, crimes were slowly but surely falling, what with the consequences for committing them becoming stronger by the day. This left slightly less work for the DPD to sort out.

However, when Hank woke up one morning and decided he wanted some time off, Connor was still a little confused.

“Are you quite alright, Lieutenant?”

Hank groaned. “For the last time, it’s… never mind.” He paused, placing his coffee mug back on the kitchen table. “Why’d you ask, though?”

Connor shrugged. “I just wondered whether you needed the time off to rest, or recuperate, perhaps—”

The man shook his head. “You don’t always need a reason to take some time off, Connor. It’s been pretty hectic these past few months at the DPD and I just thought it was time for some change around here. Sumo’s barely seen us.”

“Alright.” He nodded, “But I will have to arrange with Fowler what partner I will be assigned whilst you are away.”

“Whoa whoa, who said you couldn’t use a break too?”

“I do not require breaks. I perform stasis every night and—”

“Don’t you just want to… to be out there?” Hank questioned, rather vaguely, Connor thought with a furrow of his brows. “Go out and do things. I mean, now that Markus and crew have got all those fancy rights for you all, I thought you’d want to go and experience them.”

Connor straightened his tie. “I already am, Lieutenant. Captain Fowler is paying me above minimum wage, and last week, Gavin managed to restrain himself from insulting me.”

Hank smirked. “Oh boy. Not exactly what I meant. Look- I’m not going to force you, but I’m offering: we take a week or so off work, I’ll show you some sights, or we can just stay at home and spoil Sumo, whatever you want. I just want to see you have fun, kid.”

Connor blinked. His LED briefly flashed yellow, processing. Eventually, he nodded. Perhaps the Lieutenant’s words had some reason to them. Aside from a couple of weeks after the revolution, he hadn’t done much outside of work. Of course, it hadn’t struck him as odd. Even with his new status as deviant, which came with its differences, such as emotions and connections with other people, he’d been used to constantly working, following orders, completing tasks, completing the mission. But maybe he could now benefit from not having anything to do other than… what was it… Be out there, as Hank had put it.

“Okay.” He agreed, LED circling back to blue. “Perhaps some time away from the precinct would be optimal. However,” Connor added, glancing to the clock, “we had better get going for work today, lest Fowler relieve us of duty for good.”

Hank cursed, chugging back the rest of his coffee. But even with the time limit now imposed on their morning, Connor noticed he was a lot less grumpy about the rush to work.

 ___________________

  Luckily, Fowler had allowed them the week off work, and the time between then was spent planning what activities they’d get done.

Connor was pleased to hear that it wouldn’t be full of travelling and going a multitude of different places. Whilst he was excited (excited? Yes, he supposed he felt a rush of happiness every time he thought about their trip) about seeing the world, he didn’t really feel up to seeing everything at once, and, besides, travelling for long amounts of time bored him. There was nothing to do but listen to the tinny radio on Hank’s car, playing either jazz or heavy metal rock music, and flick his coin back and forth between his hands (at least for a short amount of time, until it was confiscated from him for being ‘loud as fuck, Jesus Connor’).

Instead, they’d decided upon going to a cabin Hank had managed to rent for a fairly cheap price, somewhere in a wooded, natural area. It wasn’t so out of civilisation that they would struggle to get supplies lest they need them, but it was far enough away from the traffic of the city and the hustle and bustle of busy daily life.

Sadly, the journey was still fairly long, a couple of hours out. Luckily, though, Connor had brought five US quarters with him, each one stored in a different place on his outfit.

Hank looked long-suffering by the time he’d taken away the third coin.

“You’ve got another one, haven’t you.” It was less of a question, and more of a statement.

“Affirmative, Lieutenant. You advised me to pack the essentials.”

“Like clothes. Food. Water. Ah ah ah—don’t you get cocky with me and say they’re not essential for you. I know.” He sighed. Connor smirked. He could tell that Hank was mildly annoyed but not angry with him. He tried his best not to antagonise his fellow occupant in the car, but he just couldn’t help it—since deviating, something in him had changed whenever he had to sit in a long car journey.

Boredom, his mind supplied.

boredom /ˈbɔːdəm/

noun          the state of feeling bored.

Connor chuckled softly at the definition his mind supplied. Firstly, it was… incredibly unhelpful. Secondly, he must be bored if he was subconsciously searching the definition of boredom itself.

He decided he would need to find a way to occupy his mind on the journey. For now, he didn’t think getting out his fourth coin to play with would be a good idea, since Hank was a bit on edge, and he needed some coins for the journey back. So, laying back in his seat, he took to looking out the window. It wasn’t too long before they arrived, he deduced from a scan of his surroundings. Things were changing vastly now. There were no tall and looming buildings like those in the city, no cars shooting by, horns blaring, people running up the streets, late to work. The city was alive, kind of beautiful in its own way, but nature, he began to notice, had its own sense of beauty. What with the trees lined up along the landscape, varying in shape and height, and in density of leaves and branches. The skies almost seemed clearer, more vibrantly blue and interspersed with soft white clouds. It was aesthetically pleasing, he noted, even if not sharing the geometry of lines and symmetry that the city held.

He whiled away the rest of the journey watching the sights go by, managing to stay stiller than he had the first half of the journey. It was awfully serene. Still, when they reached their destination, car pulling up on a dusty road, the cabin sitting by a pond in the distance, Connor was eager to leave the vehicle.

Connor helped eagerly with the bags, carrying a couple in each hand and waving off Hank’s requests to take some off him.

“I can manage, Lieutenant.”

“Show off.”

“I could also carry the two you have, if that would be of help.” He added, teasingly, to which the man flipped him off. Which then caused him to drop a bag with the change in hand positioning.

Connor couldn’t help it. He started to laugh, which wasn’t a good idea when he was holding four bags. His side started to ache a little, and he eventually had to drop a couple of the bags onto the floor in order to supress the stitch.

“That’s it, we’re going back home.” Hank made to walk back to the car, trying to act serious, but the fact that the android was still sniggering didn’t help things. “You’re a little shit, you know that, right?”

“I believe… I… believe you have referred to me as that multiple… times…” Connor got out between chuckles, before taking a few deep breaths, getting a hold of himself.

“Well, here’s one more to add to the list.” Hank remarked, reaching down to pick back up the bags, following after Connor as he headed towards the cabin.

There was a moment of confusion as they tried to figure how to get the front door unlocked, what with all the bags, until they realised it was already unlocked, Connor leaning against it and finding it swing open.

“That’s safe.”

“I do not detect any beings inside the residence.” Connor informed him after a quick scan of the cabin.

“You sure? No pigeons or squirrels made a little home for themselves up in the attic?”

Connor began to walk inside, glancing around in case his scans hadn’t been accurate, but shook his head upon reaching the living area. “I believe not. There is no attic.”

He heard a slight thud of a bag being dropped onto the floor, and snorted.

 ___________________

 The first late afternoon and evening at the cabin was spent getting everything unpacked and homely in the cabin, and Connor cooking a healthy meal for Hank (“There’s no takeaway service out here, Lieutenant”).

After that, however, Connor awoke them bright and early the next morning, coming out of status around 7.30am and pulling open the curtains.

“As per our schedule, Lie—”

“Jesus Christ, Connor.” Hank groaned, a phrase the android had become accustomed to hearing. He cringed. Perhaps he’d forgotten that coming out of human rest was different to coming out of stasis. He pulled the curtains slightly to, so that it wasn’t blinding early morning sunlight streaming into room. This time only a small slither of it.

“Apologies… Hank. I may have been too prompt. I’m just…”

Rubbing his eyes, Hank looked him over, seeing the android fully dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt with an image of a cartoon Saint Bernard on it, and some loose-fitting pants.

“Excited.” The man finished for him. “Well, that’s what I get for letting you organise a schedule for the week… If you get me some coffee, I might forgive you.”

Connor swiftly made his way into the kitchen and came back approximately 3 minutes later with a mug of coffee.

 And so, that’s how the morning went on. Hank might’ve complained, used to this side of the android from how he liked to get the tasks done swiftly and properly at work, but he was fond to see Connor moving about and happy to do something other than work.

It wasn’t much later into the day that they were sitting out by the side of the lake, situated to the right side of the cabin. It stretched out a fair distance beside the residence, its waters calm and silvery on the surface. Just reaching midday, there were chirps of wildlife buzzing around them, but nothing too loud and overbearing.

Hank had decided one thing he wanted to introduce Connor to was fishing. He could remember going on to a lake not dissimilar to this one in his youth, being taught how to fish. Maybe he could pass that skill, or at least the experience, down onto the android.

After making sure he wouldn’t cheat and download a step-by-step guide on fishing in his ‘brain-computer-thingy’, as the man eloquently put it, Hank entrusted him with his fishing rod he’d brought along. It was a little rusty with disuse and he had little in the way of lures, but it didn’t seem like Connor wanted to harm the fish anyway, given from his reluctance upon seeing the sharp metal hook of the rod.

“I doubt they’ll actually bite,” he shrugged, guiding the fishing rod into the android’s hands. “But if they do, you can just release them back in. A little different to how I’ve done it, but…”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He stepped back a little, eyes squinting as he concentrated, focusing on flicking back the rod and casting the line as Hank had just shown him how to do. It was a few moments before he managed to precisely replicate the movement, and soon his line was bobbing in and out of the water.

After a few moments, though, he tilted his head, confused. “What now?”

“You wait.” Hank supplied, sitting back on a deck chair he’d brought with them, cracking open the ice box he’d brought with him. “Hey—where did all the beers go?”

The man was looking at him, holding out the can of lemonade. “It’s a much better alternative, Lieutenant. I did… I left a few beers in the bottom of the box, however I’d much rather you left those for later.”

Hank groaned, but complied, and Connor refocused his attention on the waters in front of him. The goal of the task was to catch a fish, and then reposit it back in the waters. But he was meant to wait for that to happen—

He shook his head. That wasn’t the goal. He supposed, from what he’d learnt from his short months of being human, was that there wasn’t really a goal to be attained with every action and thing he did. There were outcomes, but maybe the true aim of this ‘fishing’ wasn’t to catch the fish at all.

Not with the still waters, glistening on the surface, calm movements every now and then as something beneath rippled the current in its movements. Not with the calm hum of nature, the trees lightly dancing back and forth in the breeze. Not with the soft click of the lemonade can opening, Hank’s breathing, the warmth of companionship.

It was about the moment, he noted. The build up of planning their excursion, the anticipation in the car ride over, and now it was the moment he’d thought about. A break from modern day life, a chance to fully enjoy being human. Not working, not thinking constantly about android rights, having things to get done. That moment gave him a chance to reflect, as his eyes cast over the waters, line bobbing as something began to lightly tug on the end of it. To reflect truly on what had happened the past few months.

Because it was a lot. It was being created, being a machine, hunting deviants, meeting Hank… realising that there was more to life than following orders and completing the mission. Taking those orders and throwing them away, meeting the leader of the deviants, of their people, and finally becoming himself.

And now, he was realising what it truly was to be himself… it was freedom. Freedom was being able to have family, to move in with Hank and Sumo, to be free to choose his career path, choose what he wants to do with his life. Choose to take a break away from it all and immerse themselves in nature.

Nature, with all its beauty, all its life—

Standing there, realising this all, feeling the fresh breeze of air tickle his cheeks, the warmth of sun, shining soft yellow light, Hank teaching him to fish. He could do what he wanted. And it wasn’t a task; there was no mission. He could just have… fun.

“Connor? I think you caught one.”

He snapped back to reality. Hank was right. The line was tugging in his hands, and he moved swiftly to reel it in. A fish dangled from the edge of the line. He gathered it up in his hands, carefully, then crouched down, letting his hands hover partway through the water.

It was gentle, and the fish tickled as it moved in his hands, burrowing deeper into the water it could find. He laughed. It reminded him of the fish he caught back in the Tower, that one day, so far away. Connor let it back into the lake.

He watched it swim further away, down and down, deeper into the water. A pause. “Hank, is… is this what it feels like to…” he paused again. LED swirling in thought. “To be alive?”

Hank stood beside him, hand patting his shoulder. “This, and a lot of other things, kid.”

Connor thought it over for a moment. “I think I like it.” Being alive seemed to bring its downs, but even the hostage situation would bring the fish struggling on the floor to be saved. It would bring choices, choices he could make his own decisions on, and moments like this which he wouldn’t trade for the world.

“Great. Now, where were those beers you hid again?”

[massivedrickhead]

Loving your series of one shots bud!! I, myself, am a massive fan of fluff and happiness (tooth rotting), how about a prompt where Beca is in LA with Khaled (post PP3) and she is finding it really tough, physically and mentally, especially knowing Chloe isn't there, she hasn't spoken to her in a while, and she believes her to be happy with Chicago elsewhere... and when she returns home... She finds Chloe there. Waiting. (Or the equivalent, where Chloe is engaged, Beca hasn't spoken to her in a while, and she comes home to see her there) xxxxx

Hi, thank you so much! 

I might have gotten away from the prompt a little, but I hope you like it anyway.

I’m kind of tired and emotionally tonight so I don’t know if this is any good, and it’s kinda long so I hope that’s okay haha

Read on AO3

------

“Beca, are you listening?”

Chloe Beale is single.

“Mhm,” Beca said, pulling her eyes away from Facebook on her phone and looking back at Theo. “Sorry.”

“Everything alright?” He asked, knowing it wasn’t like Beca to zone out in a meeting like this. 

“Yep,” Beca said, turning her phone face down. He raised his eyebrows. “It’s Chloe.”

He closed his eyes with a sigh. “Is it an emergency?”

“No,” Beca said, putting her hands in her lap to resit the urge to pick her phone up again. “I am super focused and professional.”

“Can we talk about your album for, like, ten more minutes?” Theo said, trying to keep up his face stern.

“Absolutely,” Beca said, her eyes dropping again, briefly, to her phone.

The meeting felt like it lasted a lifetime, but eventually Beca hurried out and back to her own office, puling Facebook up on her phone.

Chloe Beale is single.

Chloe’s profile picture had changed from the sickeningly sweet picture of her and Chicago showing off her engagement ring, to just a simple selfie.

Beca clicked into her contacts list and her thumb hovered above Chloe’s name.

She should call her, right? 

She scrolled down further, and hit call on Aubrey’s name.

“Aubrey Posen,” Aubrey said, using the same tone of voice she would use to greet a stranger, and not one of her closest friends.

“Aubrey what’s going on with Chloe?”

“I’m doing great Beca, thanks for asking,” Aubrey replied.

“Aubrey.”

“I don’t know,” Aubrey said, her tone softer. “She’s been unhappy with him for a while.”

“She has?”

“Yes,” Aubrey said. “When did you last speak to her?”

“It’s… It’s been a while,” Beca said, sounding guilty. “Work has been a bit much.”

“I know,” Aubrey replied. “You should call her.”

“Yeah,” Beca said. “Thanks.”

“Speak to you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Beca said. “I’ll call you.”

She ended the call with Aubrey but once again hesitated before calling Chloe. Apart from the occasional surface level text or exchange of snapchats and memes, she really hadn’t spoke to Chloe for a while. Not properly. Not the way they used to. 

She was scared that if she called her now, Chloe would be mad at her. 

She drummed her fingers against her desk, her stomach twisting slightly, as she tried to decide what to do. She never handled confrontation very well, it’s why she’d spent so much of her life just walking away from situations.

Beca picked up her phone again, and typed out a text.

Beca: Hey Chlo’. I’ve just seen Facebook, are you okay? xx

She hit send and closed her phone before she could overthink it, and tried to focus on her work again. 

She had a bunch of album art she needed to look through and pick her favourites. (Yes, her job was pretty awesome.)

She also had twenty unread emails that had popped up in the ten minutes she had spent on the phone to Aubrey/deciding what to do about Chloe. (Yes, her job was also pretty demanding.)

As her phone buzzed on her desk with Chloe’s reply, Theo poked his head through her office door.

“What’s up?” She asked, resisting the urge to pick up her cell to read the message.

“Have you got plans tonight? Because you need to cancel them if you do,” he said, looking stressed.

“Why?” Beca asked with a sigh.

“The head of the label is coming in for a meeting tomorrow morning and he wants to hear your new album and it is nowhere near ready for that,” he said.

“Isn’t he in Europe?” Beca said with a groan.

“He is literally flying in for this meeting. There is a lot riding on this album, Beca,” he said. “He took a big risk when he signed you as a solo artist after the Khaled collab.”

“I know that,” Beca said, running a hand through her hair. “I know. But it isn’t getting released for another two months, why does he need to hear it now?”

“I don’t know how his mind works, I just know we need to impress him tomorrow,” Theo said.

“Okay,” Beca said. 

“No distractions tonight, okay? Take an hour now and we can get started at,” he glanced down at his watch, “5:30.” He closed the office door behind him, and Beca immediately picked up her phone, pushing away the sudden wave of nerves.

Chloe: I’ve been better xx

Beca: Are you free right now? xx

Chloe: Yeah, I just finished work. xx

Beca called Chloe, this time without hesitation, and the redhead answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” Chloe said, her voice sounding heavy.

“Hi,” Beca replied, sinking back into her chair at the sound of Chloe’s voice. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed hearing it. “What happened?”

“Can we not talk about it?” Chloe asked. Beca could hear the sound of New York traffic over the phone and she felt suddenly homesick.

Not for New York specifically, but for that tiny apartment she and Chloe had shared in Brooklyn. For that level of closeness and intimacy. 

She liked L.A. fine, and her new home was, on paper, a thousand percent better than the Brooklyn apartment, but it still didn’t feel like home. She would trade her state-of-the-art kitchen, king-sized bed, hot-tub - all of it - for one more night in that apartment. One more night sleeping beside Chloe. One more night where Chloe’s arms would snake around her waist and pull her close, mumbling that she was cold. One more morning eating breakfast together before they parted for work. One more evening making dinner and watching trashy TV.

What made it hurt more was that she knew there was no going back to that apartment. Chloe had moved in with Chicago, Beca had moved out to L.A., and Fat Amy was somewhere in the Bahamas. Someone else was living in their apartment now. Sleeping in their cramped bed, making food in their kitchen.

“How’s work?” Chloe asked, breaking Beca out of her thoughts.

“Busy,” Beca said. “It’s… It’s a lot right now.”

“Are you taking care of yourself?” Chloe asked. And Beca thought just how like Chloe that was. While she was going through a heartbreak, she’d rather make sure Beca was okay.

“I thought that was your job,” Beca said, smiling at the soft laugh Chloe gave. She could hear the sounds of keys jingling and a door opening.

“That’s kinda hard to do when I’m all the way in New York,” Chloe said. “God it’s so cold outside. I need a vacation.”

Beca glanced at the sun streaming through her office window. “Maybe you should come to L.A.,” she said, without really thinking. As soon as the sentence left her mouth, she realised this was something she wanted more than anything right now. 

“That would be nice,” Chloe said with a laugh.

“I’m serious,” Beca said, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement. 

“Come on, Becs. I can’t do that,” Chloe said. “I have work.”

“Take some time off?”

“The flights are expensive-”

“-I’ll pay for the flights,” Beca said, cutting her off. “I think… Chlo’ I think I need this. I need some time off. And I think you need it too?”

“Yeah, I need it,” Chloe said. “Are they even gonna let you have time off?” 

“I can ask,” Beca said. She looked down at her watch and saw she only had ten minutes before she had to get back to work. “Look, if you want to come, I can make it happen. I’m working for the rest of the night, but give me a call tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay,” Chloe said. “I’ll call my boss.”

“So you want to come?”

“Yeah. Yeah I want to.”

——

Beca glanced around her nervously as she stood at the arrivals gate of L.A.X. airport a week later. She was wearing a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses but she was still afraid someone would recognise her.

Then she caught sight of ginger hair and suddenly Chloe was walking towards her and Beca felt her nervousness drain away.

Chloe grinned when she spotted her, and started walking more quickly, practically running by the time she got close enough to hug her. She dropped her case and flung her arms around Beca, squeezing her into the tightest hug she could manage.

Beca was going to make some sarcastic joke, but the feeling of Chloe’s arms around her caused her voice to die in her throat and her eyes to fill with tears. 

“I’ve really missed you,” Chloe said, squeezing tighter and planting a kiss on her cheek and releasing her.

“Missed you too,” Beca said, grabbing the handle of Chloe’s case. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine,” Chloe said, grinning. “Why are you dressed like a spy?”

“Um, because I am?” Beca said, laughing. “I just don’t wanna get spotted.”

“Right,” Chloe said. “You’re a big deal now.”

Beca laughed and shook her head. “It’s a lot,” her voice was a little quieter. 

Chloe frowned slightly, and then her eyes widened as she saw a few men with cameras hovering outside the entrance to the airport.

Beca sighed. “Just ignore them and stick close to me.”

They walked out of the airport quickly, and as soon as the men spotted her, they started yelling. 

“Beca! Beca! How’s the album going, Beca?!”

“Beca! What do you say about the rumours that you’re dating your producer?!”

“Holy shit,” Chloe muttered under her breath as they made their way to Beca’s car, the paparazzi following them, continuing their barrage of questions.

“Beca! Introduce us to your friend!”

“Beca is it true you’re dating-”

Whatever name he was planning to say was lost in the sound of Beca slamming her door shut, and starting her car. She honked the horn a few times to get them to move out the way.

“Beca, what the fuck was that?” Chloe asked, pulling on her seatbelt as Beca pulled out of the parking lot. 

“Fun, right?” Beca asked, glancing in her rearview mirror, making sure they weren’t going to follow her home. 

“Does that happen every time you go out?”

“Not always,” Beca said. “To be honest they were probably there just hanging about to see if anyone would turn up. I don’t think they knew I was there before they saw me.”

“Jesus,” Chloe said. “I forget you’re like a legit celebrity now.”

Beca pulled a face. “I’m not. Not really.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Beca said, glancing over at Chloe. “Yeah, just… Just really looking forward to this time off. I had to work a lot of late nights to get Theo to agree with this.” Chloe frowned. “You know that guy was full of shit, right? There’s nothing going on between me and Theo. I haven’t been dating him. I haven’t been dating anyone.”

“Why not?” Chloe asked.

“Why not, what?”

“Why haven’t you been dating anyone?”

Beca shrugged. “I haven’t met anyone I liked.” They were quiet for a little while longer as they continued to sit in L.A. traffic. “So, can we only talk about my love life or are you going to tell me about you and Chicago?”

“There’s nothing really to tell,” Chloe said, turning to look out of the window now they had gotten off the highway. “I just… It wasn’t working. We were fighting a bunch. I wanted him to be different and he wanted me to be different.”

“I’m sorry, Chlo’,” Beca said. 

“It’s okay,” Chloe said. “It’s better in the long run. At least we weren’t married with kids before we figured it out.”

They sat in a comfortable silence as Beca drove them the rest of the way to her house, the radio playing quietly. 

When Beca pulled up to to her house, Chloe let out a low whistle.

“Right, you live in a fucking mansion now,” she said.

“It’s hardly a mansion,” Beca said, feeling embarrassed. She took Chloe’s bag from the trunk and they made their way into the house. “You want the tour?”

“Please.” 

Beca showed her around, dropping her bag into the guest room. The tour ended on the deck, and Beca grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses from the kitchen on the way. They sat in comfortable loungers and looked out as the sun set over L.A.. 

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Beca said, pouring them some wine.

“Me too,” Chloe replied, cheers-ing her glass against Beca’s. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Anytime, Chlo’.”

As they sat in silence watching the sunset, Beca felt a warmth spreading through her chest. For the first time since moving to L.A., she felt like she was home. And then she realised something.

Something she’d known all along, really.

She glanced across at Chloe, who was smiling with her eyes closed, letting the sun soak into her.

Chloe.

Chloe was her home.

She placed her hand on top of Chloe’s and squeezed, softly.

Chloe opened her eyes and looked over at Beca, still smiling. She adjusted her hand so her fingers were threaded with Beca’s. 

Beca looked away, blinking against the sun and feeling tears stinging her eyes.

If Chloe noticed, she didn’t mention it. She just carried on smiling, and turned back to face the sunset, their hands still linked. 

“It’s beautiful out here,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Beca said. “I feel like I never actually get to relax out here. I spend so much time just sleeping at my office these days.”

“I knew you weren’t taking care of yourself,” Chloe said.

“There’s just been a lot of pressure at work. This is my first solo album, and if it fails… If it doesn’t do well everyone will know that my last one was only a success because of Khaled,” Beca said. “I can’t fail at this.”

“You won’t fail,” Chloe said, softly. “You’re so talented, Beca. You’ve got this, I know you do.”

Beca smiled. “I wish I didn’t have to do it without you.”

“You don’t,” Chloe said. “I’m only on the other end of the phone. You can call me anytime.”

“It’s not the same,” Beca said. “Sorry, I just miss how things used to be.”

“I know. I miss it too,” Chloe said. 

“If I’d known things wouldn’t stay that way forever, I might have done things differently,” Beca said.

“What do you mean?”

Beca shrugged, feeling like she should stop talking before she said something she’d regret. She didn’t want to cause an awkward situation that they both had to live with for the two weeks of their vacation.

“Don’t go quiet on me now,” Chloe said.

“I just wish I’d been more honest. Braver,” Beca said, avoiding looking at Chloe.

“It’s not too late,” Chloe said.

But Beca shook her head. “Sorry. I’m… I’m rambling. I’ve probably drank too much.”

“I guess it’s getting late,” Chloe said, letting Beca’s hand drop. “We’ve got a long day of relaxing ahead of us, right?”

“Yeah,” Beca said. She stood and stretched and helped Chloe to her feet. “If you get hungry or anything during the night just help yourself.”

“Thanks,” Chloe said, kissing Beca on the cheek. “We’ll finish this conversation tomorrow, okay?”

Beca laughed, and felt her cheeks burn. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Night Becs,” Chloe said.

“Night.”

Chloe woke a few hours later, her head hurting from too much wine and sun and not enough water.

She made her way to the kitchen and drank what felt like her body weight in water. As she was about to head back, she heard noises coming from Beca’s office. 

The door was open and a dim light was creeping onto the landing.

Chloe peaked inside to see Beca sitting cross-legged on her chair, her hair tied up messily, the light from the computer screen the only light in the room.

She was talking to someone on the phone, her voice a little hoarse.

“No, I get that Theo,” she said, her hand resting on the back of her neck. “But when I spoke to you yesterday, the track was fine.” She watched as Beca tucked the phone in between her ear and shoulder and the began typing into her computer. “Uh huh. So like, more bass? Less bass?” She stopped typing. “I don’t know what you mean by the same bass but different.”

Chloe had heard enough and stepped into the room. 

She placed a hand on Beca’s shoulder and tried not to laugh when she jumped. She held out her other hand for Beca’s phone. 

Beca sighed and handed it over.

“Hi Theo,” Chloe said, smiling. “It’s Chloe. You remember me from the USSO tour, right? It’s 2 am, and Beca’s on vacation. I know. I’ll pass your apologies on. Goodnight Theo.”

She clicked end on the call and passed the phone back. 

“Theo said sorry.”

Beca laughed and put the phone down. “Thank you.”

“Does this happen often?”

“Oh yeah,” Beca said. “Theo and I are both kinda nocturnal so sometimes he’ll call me with ideas.”

“No wonder you look so tired,” Chloe said.

“Gee thanks.”

“Come on, it’s bed time.” Chloe took her hand and pulled her up. “This room is off limits while you’re on vacation, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” Beca said, smiling. “How are you finding the guest room?”

“It’s nice,” Chloe said, as they hovered outside Beca’s room. “Why?”

“No reason,” Beca said.

“Becs, you can just say it you know?”

Beca laughed, and looked down. “I can’t. I’m not good at this.”

“Okay,” Chloe said. She pushed Beca’s bedroom door open and gave her hand a tug. “Come on.”

“Chloe,” Beca said softly, closing her eyes when Chloe cupped her cheek with her hand. “Wait.”

“Hey,” Chloe replied, her voice just as gentle. “Look at me. Tell me what you need.”

Beca swallowed hard, tears burning her eyes. “I’ve… I’ve been waiting. That’s what I wanted to say before. Why I haven’t dated anyone since Jesse. I’ve been waiting for you. I… I waited to tell you and I waited too long.”

“It isn’t too late,” Chloe said, pulling Beca into a hug. “You can tell me now, it isn’t too late.” She felt Beca take a deep breath, and when she spoke her voice was muffled by Chloe’s shirt.

“I’m in love with you. I’ve always been in love with you. And I know you and Chicago just broke up. I don’t need to hear it back.”

Chloe ended their hug and cupped Beca’s face in her hands again, her thumbs brushing away the tears. 

“I wanted Chicago to be different than he was. That’s why we didn’t work out. I wanted him to know what I needed without me having to ask. I wanted him to know when I needed a tea instead of a coffee. I wanted him to bring me an aspirin when I was two hours into a study session because he knew I’d have a headache by then. I wanted him to know when I wanted to talk, and when I just needed to sit and listen to music. I wanted him to know me. I wanted him to know me the way you know me. I wanted him to be you, Becs. And… And when I realised that… When I realised it was you that I wanted… You that I was in love with… That’s when we broke up.”

“You love me?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Yeah I love you.”

Beca let out a teary laugh. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Beca nodded, and Chloe’s mouth was on hers, and Beca knew she was home.