#rotating these men around in my mind like sorry but them in a group together would be fucking hilarious

[mourn2]

when will people realise that "'team'' L" was never L, near, mello and matt, but instead near, L and light (and even matsuda if you want to go that far which i obviously do) because they all actually shared the L title. and when will people realise that this is actually the funnier alternative

[venus-haze]

In the Mood for Love (Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Elvis breaks up with you just as his career is taking off, as if your support for him meant nothing. You finally manage to work through your heartbreak and start what you think is a new chapter in your life with someone who seems to understand what you’re going through. After two months of guilt and regret, Elvis returns to Memphis to find that you’ve apparently moved on, but he’s determined to win you back.

Note: This is based off of an anonymous request. Reader is gender neutral. I listened to the soundtrack from In the Mood For Love (one of my favorite movies ever) while writing this, and Frank is inspired by Tony Leung’s character Chow. Please let me know what you all think. Requests are open🔮 Do not interact with my blog or posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Mentions of cheating. Some jealous behavior, but nothing disturbing.

Walking up to ‘Miss Louann’s Dance Studio’ as the sun set purple behind you, you felt your stomach flip at the prospect of stepping out of your comfort zone. You signed up for a beginner’s Latin dancing class on a whim, wanting something to take your mind off of Elvis, your boyfriend of two years, breaking up with you as soon as he started getting famous.

Even if you ended up being terrible at it, you hoped a new hobby and making new friends would be a step in the right direction of getting yourself out of the funk you’d been in for the past two months. You’d go to work and feel sorry for yourself, come home and cry yourself to sleep, and be an absolute drag whenever you went out with friends because inevitably his music was playing somewhere. If anyone but your ex had recorded ‘Heartbreak Hotel’, you’d probably have the record on non-stop. You decided enough was enough, and you needed to move forward with your life.

The dance class was held twice a week in the evenings, which fit in perfectly with your work schedule. The modest dance studio showed signs of wear, especially on the wood flooring with grooves and scuff marks from years of dancers moving across it. Miss Louann had opened the studio after the war, and it seemed like she hadn’t updated anything since.

You set your bag down next to the others that were piled against the wall. Scanning the room, you noticed a mix of a few dozen couples and singles, all appearing to be in their late teens to mid-thirties. You walked over to a small group of people, awkwardly introducing yourself. To your relief, they were all friendly, and you enjoyed the casual conversation with them.

Miss Louann walked into the studio wearing a bright red dress with ruffles at the hem, her matching heels clicking against the floor. Certainly a bold look, but she caught everyone’s attention right away.

"Circle please, my dears! I want to see everyone’s lovely faces!" she declared, her voice as loud as her outfit. "Since this is a large class, we’ll skip over introductions, which is a shame because I’m extremely nosy and like to know as much about people as possible."

This brought on chuckles and laughs from the other people in the class. You liked Miss Louann already.

"If you currently do not have a partner, please raise your hand so I can pair you up. Now, the person you’re partnered with may rotate, depending on the number of people in the class,” she said, “but if you don’t mind being paired with a person of the same gender, I certainly don’t have any objections. C’est la vie!"

You lifted your hand. You didn’t care whether you were paired with a man or woman, truth be told. Miss Louann busied herself with partnering people up, while the couples who’d come together took their places on the floor.

"Your name, dear?" she asked when she walked up to you.

"Y/N," you answered.

"Y/N, let’s see which of these bums is good enough for you, hm?" she joked as she scanned the men standing around without a partner. There were a handful more women than men in the class, but some of the girls seemed to know each other already and paired up anyway.

Miss Louann’s eyes lit up, and she waved her manicured hand. "Frank, dear, you’ll be Y/N’s partner."

Frank gave you a warm smile as he walked over to you. He was handsome, with a boy next door look that immediately endeared you to him. Not as handsome as Elvis. You shook the thought from your mind. He was the last person you wanted to think about.

You and Frank stood next to each other as Miss Louann explained the basics of Latin dance, having studied it as she lived in various parts of South America before the Depression. Even then, she said that the style was diverse, ever evolving, that you could never truly stop learning. She demonstrated a simple dance to start, one to get everyone into the rhythm of the music and dance style.

"This first class isn’t about how good you are. I want you to have fun tonight," she said. "Now get to it!"

You turned to face Frank, who held his hand out for you.

"Sorry in advance if I trip you up," he said.

"I’ve never done this before either, so no judgment," you said.

During your dance together, Frank confessed over Nat King Cole’s cover of ‘Quizas quizas quizas’ that he joined the class to get his mind off of a recent breakup with his longtime girlfriend. You quickly divulged that you were there for almost the exact same reason. Strangely, you felt comforted knowing you were lonely, but certainly not alone. You spoke with Frank as you danced, getting to know each other better. While he told you that his ex was named Cynthia, you didn’t tell him your ex’s name. After all, how many guys named Elvis were walking around?

The class ended far too soon for your liking, but Frank offered to drive you home, which you gladly accepted. You knew how it’d look to have a guy dropping you off at your place late at night, especially one you’d only just met, but for the first time in weeks, you arrived home in a good mood. Your parents were visibly relieved when you walked in with a smile on your face, chattering on about how fun the class was. They’d expressed concern for you, but you’d brushed them off, wanting to wallow and mope instead. It was nice having something to look forward to again.

You ended up becoming friends with some of the people from your dance class, much to your delight. While none of you were trying to make it professionally as dancers, it was fun getting together to practice at the nearby park and then go out to eat or get drinks afterward. Even though everyone came from different backgrounds, you at least had the dancing that brought you together.

You and Frank especially grew close, spending more and more time with him outside of class. Usually the two of you would find a diner that was open 24/7, spending hours talking over baskets of fries and glasses of milkshakes. You felt validated knowing that your response to the breakup wasn’t an overreaction, that he’d felt the same hurt and betrayal you did and sunk into a hole of loneliness and depression he never thought he’d claw his way out of. His ex-girlfriend Cynthia had cheated on him with one of his best friends, just as Frank was saving up to buy a ring and propose to her. He spent the money on the dance class instead. 

He spoke about Cynthia the same way you did Elvis, a nostalgic bitterness at the heartache, unable to even appreciate the memories of the good times without falling to pieces, and the knowledge you’d do it all over again in a heartbeat if given the chance. Frank was honest and sensitive, and you found yourself developing a bit of a crush on him from how much you’d opened up to each other in just a few weeks of being friends.

One night, when your parents were out late, he brought over a new album of assorted Spanish-language songs specifically for Latin dancing. What began as just listening to the album turned into impromptu dance practice, until during one particularly slow and sensual song, he boldly dipped you, kissing you sweetly and softly. It was like a scene out of a movie, and definitely not unpleasant, but you didn’t feel anything like when Elvis kissed you, where it seemed like nothing was real except you, him, and the butterflies you felt in your stomach.

From the disappointed expression on Frank’s face, you could tell the kiss didn’t live up to his expectations either. 

"Do you still love him?" he asked softly.

"Yeah,” you answered. “Do you still love her?"

"Yeah."

You sat down on the worn-out living room couch with him. "You know how he broke up with me to focus on his career," you said.

He nodded. You trusted him, but you didn’t want things to change between the two of you if he knew who your ex was. "Well, up until about two months ago, I was in a two year relationship with Elvis Presley."

"You’re kidding. The guy who does the thing with his hips and all that? I think one of my sisters has a poster of him in her room."

You laughed. "He sings too. Just when he started getting really famous, he dumped me. Said it was better for business if he was single, or something," you recounted sadly.

"I’m sorry, Y/N," Frank said. "I like you a lot, but if you’re not ready to be in a relationship, I’m happy to stay friends. I don’t think I am either, to be honest."

"Thank you, Frank," you said, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "You’re a good kisser, by the way."

"Good to know," he said with a smile.

Things were going well, you were nailing the new dances Miss Louann taught, so much so that you and Frank spoke about signing up for the intermediate class together. 

You’d be glad to keep going to Miss Louann’s, and especially to spend more time with Frank. You did hang out with some of the other people from the class on your own, but none of them seemed to understand you like he did.

During one of your days off from work, you were running errands before meeting with Frank. In the produce section of the local grocery store, you ran into Gladys Presley. You’d been avoiding the Presleys since Elvis dumped you. His parents had always been kind to you, and you knew they had nothing to do with the breakup, but it was still too close to him. 

You gave her an awkward smile, unsure how to respond when she went marching over to you. She engulfed you in a hug, kissing your cheek.

“Y/N, honey, how are you?”

“I’m good, Mrs. Presley,” you said. It was weird to call her that, early on in your and Elvis’ relationship, she said you could just call her ‘Mama’ too.

“She must really like ya,” Elvis had whispered to you, a bright smile on his face. 

Her expression fell a bit, “We miss seein’ ya around, but I understand, honey. And believe me, I raised my boy better than to do you like that. It’s that damn Colonel–”

“I know,” you assured her. “How have you been?”

“Well, worryin’ myself sick,” she sighed. “He calls but you know him. The Colonel’s got him workin’ like a dog and all the press does is say he’s some delinquent. Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t talk so much. I have missed seein’ you, Y/N. You should come by for dinner sometime.”

“I’d love to, but I started taking a Latin dance class recently. Just to do something different,” you said with a shrug. “So I’ve been busy with that most evenings now. Some of us practice at the park up the street from the apartments.”

“That’s nice, honey. I’m glad you’re doin’ good.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Presley. It was great catching up with you.”

“You too, Y/N,” she said.

You walked down to an empty aisle to silently congratulate yourself for not breaking down when she mentioned him. Considering it a win, you treated yourself to a carton of your favorite ice cream, throwing it into the cart with a smile.

Meanwhile, in a roadside motel somewhere in Alabama, your ex-boyfriend was not having as good of a time of things as you were. He thought that the regret he felt at breaking up with you would go away, like the Colonel said, but he couldn’t get you off his mind, except when he was on stage. Even then, he found himself instinctively looking at the crowd for you. 

He had fans waiting outside of his motel rooms at all hours of the night, but he felt so deeply alone, like it threatened to consume him. He often found himself dialing the first few digits of your phone number before hanging up. It was a mistake. You were the one, and he blew it. 

During his frequent phone calls with his mother, he resisted the urge to ask about you, but this time he couldn’t help it. He was going home for the first time since he broke up with you, there to stay for a few weeks while the Colonel worked out his next album and supporting tour schedule.

"How’s uh—how’s Y/N?" Elvis asked.

"Y/N? You know, I ran into them at the grocer’s just the other day, and they said they started takin’ a Latin dancing class. We don’t see much of them anymore, though, Bewbie," Gladys said.

He sat on the motel bed, bewildered. He didn’t even know you liked Latin dancing, you’d never mentioned it once while the two of you were dating.

"Bewbie, you still there?"

"Yeah, I’m here, Mama."

"Darlene across the hall, she told me that she’s seen Y/N all over town with this boy they met dancin’. Think his name is Hank? No, Frank! And she said that she sees them dancin’ most every night at the park, you know the one right up the street here."

“Every night?”

“They sure are.”

"Well, I’ll be home for the next few weeks. Maybe I could see them there.”

"Bewbie, I love you, but the way you broke that sweet thing’s heart? I thought I raised you better."

"Mama, the Colonel said—"

"I don’t give a damn what that man said! A person’s heart is not somethin’ to be toyed around with, ‘specially not one like Y/N’s," she said, before letting out a wistful sigh. "Y’all woulda given me the cutest little grandbabies."

"Mama, c’mon," Elvis groaned.

"You made your choices, now you gotta live with it," she said. 

He quickly ended the call, lying back on the motel bed as he processed what his mama said. You going out dancing, and with a new guy at that. He couldn’t just sit around at home next week knowing he had the chance to make things right. 

Of course, it was near chaos when he arrived home. He could hardly get to the front door of the apartment building, and was stuck signing autographs until his mama pulled him inside, shouting for everyone to go away. It was nice to be home, in his own bed and eating home-cooked food, but he kept looking at the clock, wondering what time you’d be likely to go to the park. 

Around 8, he told his family he was going out. His mama gave him a warning glare, which he tried his best to ignore as he left. He was glad to find the emergency exit of the building open, so he could slip away without causing another scene with the handful of fans who were still waiting outside for him. 

The park wasn’t far, only a few blocks from where he lived. The night air was cool and refreshing against his skin as he walked. 

He noticed a dozen or so people sitting around one of the empty basketball courts. An older looking couple had a portable record player with them, along with a stack of albums. From a few yards away, he could hear the sound of an upbeat salsa tune, and watched as a couple began to dance. His breath caught in his throat when his eyes landed on what he knew to be you, sitting awfully close to a man. You were focused on the dancers, whispering to the man you were sitting next to every so often.

Elvis moved through the shadows, getting closer to where the group was. He leaned against a nearby tree, hoping to remain undetected by you until he could get you alone. 

“Y/N, Frank, you go next,” a young woman called out, appearing to startle you.

“Gracie, do you just like to put me on the spot?” you joked, the rest of the group laughing and making their own comments in response.

“I don’t wanna catch you slackin’, Y/N,” Gracie said with a mischievous smile.

Elvis felt his chest tighten at the sound of your laughter. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it. 

You walked under the soft glow of the streetlamp, hand-in-hand with who he could only assume was Frank. You were nervous, he could see the tics from a mile away. Your eyes never left Frank, though. Instead, you put your hand on his shoulder, and he placed his on your waist. A few silent moments later, the song began to play out. He recognized it vaguely. Perfidia.

He was stunned at the way you moved. Confident, graceful, in tune with the music and your partner. He slunk down against the tree, guilt and jealousy washing over him. He could remember when you used to look at him the way you did Frank, like there was no one else in the world but him. 

The group clapped for you and Frank, who you hugged tightly. You looked up from the hug to see Elvis standing alone, a few feet behind the group. You blinked rapidly. It had to be a dream, there was no way he was actually there. You had no idea how he’d even know about it, until you remembered you told his mother, who told him pretty much everything.

As you and Frank moved along for the next duo to practice, Elvis walked up to you. You stiffened, squeezing Frank’s hand. Elvis felt a pit in his stomach, did you hate him that much?

“Y/N, I—how are you?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” you answered coolly. “Elvis, this is my friend Frank. Frank, this is Elvis.”

Frank stuck out his free hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Elvis said, giving Frank a half-hearted handshake. “You were incredible,” he said, looking at you.

“Thank you.”

"Can I talk to you?" he asked. "Alone?"

You looked to Frank, who nodded, staying behind to watch the next couple dance. You and Elvis silently made your way to another one of the empty basketball courts, the lamp illuminating that court flickering every so often. Shifting uncomfortably, you avoided eye contact with him.

"I didn’t know you dance,” he said.

"That’s because I didn’t, not until a few weeks ago.”

“If I’d known you wanted to dance I woulda—”

"Why did you come here tonight, Elvis?" you snapped.

He scratched the back of his head. "See, I was thinkin’ maybe we could give us another chance. I miss you, Y/N. I shouldn’t have broken up with you.”

You shook your head. Weeks ago you would have jumped at the chance to get back together with him. It wouldn’t be fair to Frank to go back to Elvis so easily, not when you and Frank had been trying so hard to get over past your relationships. You wanted to so badly, though. You still loved him.

"You can’t just come back here and say that. It’s been two months, Elvis. I have something good going with Frank."

"Frank? Darlin’ you only met him a few weeks ago,” he argued in exasperation. “He don’t know you like I do."

"And whose fault is that? Elvis, you made it clear I didn’t have a place in your life anymore."

"Y/N, please, I’ll do anything to get ya back."

"Can you just leave?" you asked, getting choked up by the words you’d dreamed him saying over and over for weeks.

"No, I did that before, and it’s the stupidest mistake I ever made."

"Look, I have to go. Congrats on the new single," you said, running off of the court and back over to Frank.

"Hey, are you alright?" Frank asked, putting his arm around you.

"He said he wanted to get back together," you said, your breath shaky. "That it was the stupidest thing he ever did, breaking up with me. I wanted to just say yes, but—"

"I know," he said softly. "If Cynthia did the same thing, I think I’d go back."

You sniffled. "We’re a couple of idiots, huh?"

"Seems like it," he said. “We’d be perfect together if it weren’t for that.”

You laughed, putting your head on his shoulder as he walked you over to the group, where you said goodbye before leaving with him in his car. Elvis watched the display of affection you showed Frank, feeling jealous yet again. 

He shouldn’t have followed Frank’s car back to your place, he knew that. But seeing Frank walk you up to your front door, the two of you talking quietly for a few moments before you kissed Frank’s cheek, bidding him goodbye made Elvis feel like lava was running through his veins. It wasn’t even a real kiss, but he punched the steering wheel in frustration nonetheless.

He watched as you walked into your house, turning to wave at Frank one more time from the doorway before heading in. Frank lingered on the doorstep for a moment before going back to his car. As Frank pulled away, Elvis wondered what was so special about Frank. You’d only known him for a few weeks, but it seemed like you were close. Did he treat you right? Did he think about you all the time? Did he love you?

Elvis hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting in his car until he glanced down at the clock on the car dashboard. Chewing his bottom lip, his eyes moved back and forth from the keys in the ignition to your darkened bedroom window. Finally, he grabbed his keys and got out of his car.

He stood on your front lawn, trying to figure out how exactly he was going to get up to your room. He’d never sneaked in through your bedroom window before, your parents had liked him enough that they let him come in any time of day. Now, he figured if he knocked on the front door, your dad would kill him. 

The lattice on the side of the house went only halfway to your room, which meant he’d have to grab a tree branch and maneuver over. He’d do it, though. You were worth the possibility of falling out of a tree and breaking his neck.

You were half asleep when you heard tapping on your bedroom window. Ignoring it as the wind, you closed your eyes—until you heard the window sliding open. You sat up, reaching for the lamp on your nightstand, ready to shout for your parents.

“Y/N? You up?” Elvis said before climbing through the open window.

“Elvis Aron Presley, get the hell out of my bedroom! What are you doing?” you whisper-yelled, throwing a pillow at him.

“Somethin’ wild and spontaneous to show my love for you?” he offered weakly. “I had to see ya, Y/N. The past two months have been miserable. I can hardly sleep because I spend so much time thinkin’ about you. Food don’t even taste the same. It’s like everything got the good taken out of it. Maybe I deserve that much, but I’d do anything for a second chance.”

“A second chance,” you repeated. “You made me feel like no one could love me, and just when I thought I could make something work with Frank, you come back here and ask me to trust you to not put me through that again.”

“Darlin’, I swear on my life I won’t.”

“How could you do that to me? Like I didn’t even matter! Like I wasn’t there where you were still that kid too afraid to sing with the lights on! And the fact that you let some stranger talk you into dumping me like I was last week’s garbage. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was? I could barely function for weeks! Then I meet someone who has the same hurt I do, and now you want me to hurt him? Who do you think you are?” you ranted, finally taking a breath.

“Tell me you love him. If you tell me you love Frank, I promise I won’t ever bother you again,” he said.

Your lip trembled. You wanted him to feel as dejected as you had, say it just for spite, but you couldn’t do it. Perhaps part of you did love Frank, but you knew you’d never be completely happy together. Not when he was just as hung up on Cynthia as you were on Elvis, no matter how hard either of you tried.

“I love you,” you whispered.

He wrapped his arms around you, crying into your shoulder. “I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s going to be a while before I can really trust you again though.”

Lifting his head, he nodded, tears tracked down his reddened cheeks. “I’ll earn it back. I’ll make sure you can be on tour with me. I’m gonna tell the whole world you’re mine, album sales be damned.”

“Well, I’ll believe that when I see it,” you scoffed, knowing the Colonel wouldn’t allow it.

“First thing in the morning, I’m callin’ every newspaper and radio station in the city myself,” he promised. “Hell, I’ll walk right into one of those tattoo parlors on Beale Street and get your name over my heart.”

You smiled, putting a hand on his chest. “Easy, cowboy. Papers and radio are fine for now.”

He nodded. “I wish I’d known you wanted to dance,” he said, repeating his sentiment from earlier. “You looked so graceful.”

“I didn’t before,” you answered honestly, “but thank you.”

He got up from your bed, leaving you confused as he looked through your record collection. It had changed since he was last in your room. Previously blues and gospel albums outnumbered any other genre, but the Latin music was getting close.

“What are you trying to find?” you asked.

“Somethin’ good, so you can show me how to dance with you,” he said.

“You don’t know what to look for,” you said, getting up from your bed. It didn’t take you long to grab a single that you knew would be perfect. I’m in the Mood for Love. 

In whispers, you explained the steps to him, trying to remember what Miss Louann had demonstrated on the first day of class. The two of you giggled over the soft music while he tried to follow your instructions. 

“C’mon, Elvis, I know you don’t have two left feet,” you teased.

“Hard to concentrate when I got such a beautiful partner,” he said, almost bashfully. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you said. “But you have to dip me.”

“Dip you?”

“You know, tilt me back while we’re dancing,” you explained while dropping the needle back at the beginning of the song.

“I can do that,” he said, holding out his hand for you.

He did well remembering the steps, the two of you dancing in an intense silence. At the perfect moment, the one you were thinking of, he dipped you back, his soft lips meeting yours. This time, it was magical, perfect even. You felt the butterflies in your stomach again. When you pulled away, looking into his eyes that shone with nothing less than adoration, you knew you made the right decision.

[littlemisslipbalm]

“it’s not that important”

Summary: Y/N is in Harry’s band and one night they have a drunken hook up. One thing leads to another and they find themselves engaging in a friend’s with benefits type of situation. spoiler: it is important

AKA: A friends with benefits to lovers story :) with some angst in there

This is for @stylesharrys fallinharry10k celebration so my trope is friends with benefits! prompt is “you have no goddamn idea what you do to me. when i’m around you, i have no control of my emotions or my thoughts” and the tenth picture ^ i kinda just used it in the beginning to descripe what he was wearing - i got really carried away with this story but the prompt is in there !! lol, not proofread tho but would love your feedback !!!! :) love y’all very much 

oh boy i’ve had this done for agesss but i hadn’t written the smut until today so now we’re here i dont even remember what happens - i vaguely remember not loving the end but I hope yall enjoy

Word Count: 15.4k (longest fic to date) | Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, alcohol consumption? i dont remember but i dont think theres anything too heavy in here.

-

“Hey Harold!” You smile as you easily hop over the side of the couch and settle beside your bandmate.

Harry groans, yet can’t keep the small smile off of his face when he sees it’s you. “How many times have I told you to never call me that?”

Your eyes narrow at his faux glare. “And how many times have I told you, I simply do not care?” 

You reach a hand out and tousle his already disheveled, unstyled brown hair. Despite his lack of styling, his hair still looked perfect. His chestnut hair fell into a middle part when he did nothing to it and you found it endearing. It made him look far younger than he truly was, like a boy you might have pursued when you were in your early days at college. The waves slightly framed his prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw that was sporting a tiny amount of stubble.

He moves his arm from around the back of the couch to pat at his hair, trying to put it back in its nondescript position you had just messed with. After he’s satisfied, he uses the same hand to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. They’re chestnut brown Gucci frames that match the natural highlights in his hair. You can safely assume that’s why he bought them. The lenses are clear, but you know they don’t hold any prescription. He looks incredulously at you from behind them still.

“Nice glasses,” you mention offhandedly as you reach out to the coffee table to grab the drink you had left there earlier.

Before Harry had arrived, you had been taking up residence on the couch, in the spot he had actually taken up. You had ventured to the restroom for a moment and gotten held up in a conversation when asked your preference for the Beatles. Having to defend your staunch stance for the Beatles and against the Rolling Stones, you had gotten swept up into an argument with Adam. He believed that because the Rolling Stones toured for longer warranted them the title of best rock band. While you countered that despite their long touring and production of music, the Stones had a rotation of members. The Beatles maintained the four of them and held such a large impact even though they were barely together for a decade. They were one of a kind, or at least the first of their kind, you’d allow. You weren’t really in the mood for intellectual conversation tonight, so upon seeing Harry taking up your seat, you had told Adam you’d continue the discussion at a later date and returned to your spot.  

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles as his gaze flits around the room. He wasn’t sure if you were actually complimenting him, but he would take it as one either way.

The rest of your friends are all up and about, drinking, talking, dancing. It was the usual house party scene: a relatively intimate gathering, music you all actually liked, some friends of friends feeling slightly out of place. There was no pressure in this type of gathering but still Harry wasn’t necessarily in the party mood tonight. Usually, Harry was the one instigating these types of get-togethers with his friends and bandmates. He liked to be the life of the party, but as the tour loomed closer and closer, he felt some tinge of longing for quiet and solitude. He knew he wouldn’t have much quiet while on the road, which mostly didn’t scare him. He loved the stage and the high he received from performing and the gratification he felt from all the people in the room being there to see him. But there was also that other part of him that liked the quiet, the privacy. As the lack of alone time nudged itself around the corner, he had been hoping to enjoy solitude, or at the very least peace before he was on the road. Some sort of blissful state before technical chaos ensued. When Charlotte, the host of tonight’s soiree, had texted their group chat about tonight, Harry had politely declined. Then came the slew of private texts from Charlotte giving him all the reasons he should come tonight. He tried to say no again, but had shown up after the continued begging from her.

His appearance mirrored his expression, choosing a not perfectly fitted white t-shirt and random trousers rather than picking something he really loved, like usual. You could tell something was up and as his friend you were wondering what was wrong with him.

“Don’t sound so excited, Harry, someone might mistake you for somebody who’s happy to be here.” You stick your tongue into the side of your cheek, gauging his reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not very funny?” He quips, green eyes flashing to meet yours.

Your banter is probably how the pair of you communicated the best, never really falling into the whole serious side of friendship. You never shared those late night talks about the future or your fears. It was a fun friendship, so you didn’t fancy yourself one of his closest confidants. When it came to music, you and Harry were a bit more serious which formed a sort of paradox because the music you would share with each other gave a far greater insight into your souls than you probably realized. As a member of his band, you would discuss his music and what was going on with that sort of business part. But the sharing and discussion of other music that you did was part of your friendship, even if you didn’t see it like that. Because of the countless albums you had recommended to each other and the specific songs you had made note of, Harry and you knew each other much better than you thought you did. Music connects to something deep inside yourself and you have to like it enough and know the other person well enough to believe that they will also enjoy it to recommend it. As much tongue and cheek that you partook in with Harry, deep down, unbeknownst to either of you, you were that friend he shared his hopes and fears with, through the way he knew best, music.

“No, most people find me hilarious...”

You take a sip of your drink, trying to cover up the sting that his remark actually left. Most of the time you were great at keeping up with anyone’s banter, especially Harry’s, but tonight you weren’t feeling it. His tone had sounded so harsh it almost sounded like he meant it. His features soften when he sees the way your face falls, despite your sarcastic tone.

“‘M sorry. I’m just not in the best mood tonight. Didn’t want to come, but Charlotte…” He shifts to face you, arm retracting slightly around the couch, landing his hand at the edge of your shoulder. His fingers fiddle with themselves absentmindedly, he turns his rings around his fingers and they ever so slightly brush against your shoulder. You don’t mind, you know its his nervous tick that he did whenever he didn’t have something to clink them against.

“Yeah, same here, actually.” Your tuck an out of place hair behind your ear, returning your gaze to Harry, who’s tilting his head at you curiously. “But might as well make the most of it, though. After all, this is our last week before tour starts.” You raise your glass and tilt it towards him before taking a sip.

You really didn’t have a plan, you were just trying to make him feel a little better. It was seldom you saw him so solemn at this type of gathering. He usually was the one bouncing from group to group, entertaining everyone with his dazzling charm and quick wit. Sometimes he would bring a date and spend the night with them in the corner, but that was usually at bigger parties than this. At these types of gatherings you often found yourself talking with Charlotte for most of the night. You were both new additions in the band and you had clicked immediately. You would travel in a pair between different groups and talk with everyone. Sometimes you would tell a humorous anecdote about your life and everyone would laugh wholeheartedly. Your ability to retell a story and make it hilarious every time seemed to be your secret talent. You could make any experience into a ten-minute retelling and it always sounds like the funniest moment of your life. It ranged from your embarrassing audition for Grease as a tween to your supermarket run in with an old acquaintance or B-list celebrity the day before. It didn’t matter what it was, it just always had the entire circle of people laughing and wiping their eyes with joy. You’d laugh a little with themselves, but usually you just had a triumphant smile on your lips for the rest of the night.

He nods, sipping his own drink for the first time since you had settled down beside him. “Well, I’m all ears.”

“What?”

“Give me your suggestions on how to make the most of tonight.”

“Drinking, mostly, was my plan,” you laugh nervously as Harry continues to stare at you intently.

“Mostly?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? I didn’t think to pack my bouncy castle, my bad.”

He bites back a laugh but lets some air escape his defined nose, before staring with a deadpan face at you.

You like to tease him. You simply liked him. Harry was different from other men you knew. You were pretty sure most people could say that though. Harry was just different. It seemed like no one could not have some sort of affection for him. With the playful friendship the pair of you had, you always skirted the edge of flirtation. But you also didn’t particularly ever want to cross any lines with him. He was the employer of you, technically. He had brought you into his backing band and you wouldn’t do anything to harm that position. As well, at the end of the day you knew Harry. His tendencies and the choices he made.

When you were around him at parties like this, you had to try really hard to keep him at an arm’s length. Because on one hand, you would drink and suddenly the boundaries you put up didn’t seem that important, instead his lips started to look rather inviting, but on the other, you knew that he was extremely emotionally closed off to any relationship that was more than either friendship or a one night stand.

Harry doesn’t give you a response, just swings back his drink. The pair of you sit and drink in silence. Before you know it, Harry and you are five drinks in, finally talking after the second. The pair of you decide to move to the balcony outside and continue your conversation there after the third. After the fourth, you're getting really handsy and by the end of the fifth, Harry’s arm is wrapped tightly around your waist and you're laughing breathlessly into his neck. It looks like he’s just shielding you from the cold night air, but both of you seemed to be enjoying each other’s embrace for other reasons.

Finally catching your breath, you lean back and pant softly as you meet eyes with Harry. His pupils have blown out from the alcohol and dark light. The emerald green barely surrounds the black and you swear there’s flecks of gold or maybe brown in them. Your brows scrunch at the revelation and Harry asks what you’re thinking. You don’t respond, too entranced and drunk to even hear him.

“Oi,” he bops your nose, “What is goin’ on in there, little lady?”

Your hand reaches up and widens Harry’s eye manually. His inebriated state has no qualms about you doing such an odd thing. “Why’s your green not actually green?”

“What?” He asks before moving your hand away from his face, it instead falls to his chest. The pair of you shift until your caged between his body and the balcony’s ledge. You pout as you stare up at him. His skin looks soft and taught over every inch of his face and neck. The urge to kiss him keeps nagging at the back of your mind. The idea keeps creeping up closer and closer and the drunker you are the less likely you are to suppress it.

“Do you want to fuck me?” You blurt out.

“Sure.” Harry isn’t taken aback. He had been thinking about asking for a while, so he was glad you had asked first, made it easier for him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He takes you back to your place, the pair of you catching a cab the short distance between yours and Charlotte’s flats. No one blinks an eye at the pair of you leaving together. Everyone watched the pair of you sulk all night about being there and only enjoying the other’s company, so they weren’t keen on either of you staying. Charlotte was simply glad the pair of you had stayed for as long as you did.

The two of you walk casually until you’re inside your bedroom. Once inside, Harry throws you on the bed and fucks you. Hard. He’s got you spread out in more ways than you had ever thought possible. He’s got you saying things you had never even dreamed of saying. And he’s got you cumming and screaming more than you could have ever wanted. He enjoys himself as well. He loves the way you feel around him and the way your eyes look up at him while he fucks you straight into the bed. He loves the way you sound whispering dirty things and screaming his name. He loves the feel of your soft skin all over your body as he pushes deep inside you. He loves the way you’re able to rip a guttural moan from him every time he cums. And he cums three times that night. While it wasn’t quiet, he did find that blissful state he had been in desperate need of.

After the third round, Harry feels spent. He brings himself into a sitting position, legs hanging off the edge of your bed. You’re lying in your bed, completely overstimulated, cumming at least twice as many times as Harry. He scratches at the top of his head, his bicep bulging as he folds his arms around himself.

“That was fucking good, Y/N. Just what I needed.”

You can only hum in response.

Then he takes your blanket and lays it over you. After that he begins to stand up, getting ready to grab his things and go.

“You don’t have to go…” your voice raises when you realize what he’s doing.

“Yeah, I do. This was just a one time thing, yeah? I enjoyed it, but you know...”

“Erm, I guess?” You rolled to fully look at him, he was pulling his t-shirt back on now, his marked chest disappearing beneath the white fabric. “Do you really not stay over at your one night stands?”

He thinks about it as he begins with his shoes and his glasses at the same time. “Yes? Usually I don’t know the person and I don’t particularly want to sign an autograph when I leave in the morning. Best to leave immediately afterwards.”

“That was exactly why I wanted you to stay...Shit! No chance you’ll give me an autograph now? Could sign my tit, right next to your hickies.”

He laughs, automatically in a better mood after the catharsis of having sex. It was also a relief for him that you didn’t seem to be weird about the hook up. “Shut up!”

“You’re a twat, Harold.” He groans instinctively at the annoying nickname, not caring about the ‘twat’ part. “But be my guest, you can freeze your arse off while waiting for your cab outside at this hour.”

“Rude..” He mutters, standing in your doorway now. “You wouldn’t actually make your employer stand out in the cold at this time of night. I haven’t even got a jumper. Could get a cold and ruin my voice. ”

“You’re the one who says it’s best to leave immediately. Get on it, mister.”

Your hand makes a shooing movement, but he doesn’t budge. You sigh as he makes a puppy dog face - eyes wide and a puckered pout with his flushed cheeks and lips - playing into your actual kindness, that he knows is somewhere. Your sweetness that you were keeping hidden from Harry right now. Nothing was serious between you so it made sense that you were trying not to let your innate ability to care show as he’s about to walk out on you.

“Ugh, fine. Stop looking at me like that. Just grab one of my coats from the bottom right, they’re all oversized so one should fit.” He doesn’t relent on the face. “And you can stay inside until your cab comes.” You sigh and throw one of your pillows at him. He catches it easily and throws it back, much softer than your throw. “Also never pull the employer card on me again when I’m naked in the bed you just fucked me in,” you call as he looks through your closet.

Returning with a patchwork coat you had thrifted tight over his shoulders, he looks at you seriously, “Yeah sorry about that part. Definitely wasn’t trying to exert my power over you, it sounded better in my head. Meant more like you could ruin my voice and both of our jobs.”

You nod and chuckle slightly, finding how inarticulate Harry could be as an endearing trait. His explanation didn’t actually make it sound better. “The jacket fits.” You say, choosing to move forward from Harry’s weirdness, knowing he didn’t mean any harm from his initial statement.

“Yeah, thanks. I think my cab is here,” He glances at his phone, “So I’ll go...See you?”

“I’m sure.” You smile, “We do in fact work together and will soon be touring the world. Would be a bit weird if I didn’t see you.”

“Right.” He nods and adds a peace sign before he walks out of your sight. You know he’s gone when you hear the door click shut. What an interesting night.

-

Love on Tour had just started and Harry couldn’t lie. He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. You were both his most recent partner and the best he had had in a while. He found himself rubbing over the spots on his neck and clavicle that you had given particular attention to during the night you had shared together. When he went to bed it was your body he pictured to get himself off. So, after the first show he’s beelining to you at the beginning of the after party. He’s got an adrenaline high and he needs a release. You’re the solution. He’s whispering in your ear, asking if you’d like to meet him in his dressing room. Your eyes study his face when he pulls back and they widen slightly when the realization of what he’s implying dawns on you. Then you’re nodding and excusing yourself from a random conversation five minutes later.

Inside Harry’s dressing room, you find Harry already unbuttoning his shirt. He grabs your face and shoves his lips onto yours once you lock the door. As he kisses you he tries to make one thing very clear, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Got it.” You begin to finish Harry’s job of taking off his shirt.

He pulls back to look you in the eye, “Are you okay with that?”

“Jesus fuck, yes, Harry, just shut up and fuck me senseless again!”

He listens to you and begins to kiss down your jaw and neck. His open-mouth kisses leave a searing trail across your skin. He settles on a spot at the base of your neck and begins to suck and nip at it with vigor. You set to work on finishing his job of unbuttoning his shirt. Then you pull off your own shirt, reaching behind you to untie the bows at the back. The new skin exposed grabs Harry’s attention and he moves down to suck over the cleavage of your tits. He’s happy to be back with his ‘bosom friends’. You smack his head when he says it and he chuckles darkly, only sucking harder on them causing you to moan louder than you would like.

Once you’re both in only your underwear, you find your back pressed up against the mirror behind the dressing room counter. Harry’s body is nestled between your spread legs as he kisses down your skin. His fingers dance along the line of your thong as he looks up from beneath his lashes for position, you only push his head closer to your heat in response. He laughs mischievously before tugging them down off your hips.

“Missed this pretty little cunt...All I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout,” He mutters as he begins to latch onto your dripping core.

Your brows shoot up at the thought that Harry’s mind has been stuck on you for the past week. You definitely had thought about your drunken hook up a bit, but hadn’t thought it had left a lasting impression on Harry, you assumed he had that lovely of a night with every person he chose to spend intimate time with. These thoughts are forgotten when Harry’s warm tongue is lapping at your swollen bud. You’re already panting for Harry and now you’re heaving with moans and whimpers leaving your mouth with every lick and nip of his expert mouth.

“Fuck Harry, feels so good,” you whine as his tongue travels down your folds and swirls and dips into your hole.

He moans at your words and the way your legs squeeze at his head. His hands move to spread you open wide to maintain his control and he smirks at the way your body rolls due to the friction of his voice against your pussy.

“Be a good girl f’me,” he growls still pressed against your wet heat.

Your body rolls again as you get closer and closer to your first release. Your bite your lip trying to contain all of the sounds that are trying to escape your mouth. Harry notices the new silence and glances up seeing how you’re trying to behave. As much as he likes you obeying his words, he also wanted to hear how he was pleasuring you.

“Tell me how you feel, princess,” he demands.

“So-so good,” you hiccup as his fingers caress over your folds now as he looks you in the eyes, his lips wet with your slick. He kisses you hard, his tongue diving into your mouth and you kiss back passionately, loving your taste on his tongue.

He pulls back and your hands trail down his chest, swirling around his familiar tattoos and hair that grace his lower torso as you move. He grins, enjoying the feeling of you on him and how he was affecting you.

Soon enough, his cock is finding its way back to your glistening folds, wet with your own liquids as well as his saliva. His mouth waters at the sight. He only pushes into you a few times like this. Then he catches sight of himself in the mirror in front of him and can’t resist. He pulls out and flips you over, your squeal leaving your mouth before you can stop yourself. His dick finds your entrance once again, not wanting to be without the wonderful warmth for any longer than he must.

“Ahhh,” Harry groans when he slips back inside.

Your head throws back on your neck, the feeling of him as well as the sight of him gripping your hair in one hand and your fleshy hip in the other. His rings dig into the skin as he’s able to slam more forcefully in this position. You gasp and whine at his motions. The sounds coming from between your legs are turning you on even more and they seem to make Harry happy too. He picks up the pace and drops the grasp of your hair for a second. Your head falls down as you try to keep yourself up on your elbows.

Gripping both of your hips, Harry growls, “Look at me while I fuck you. C’mon now.”

You moan in response and tear your eyes open to see your reflections in the mirror. One hand goes up to hold onto the mirror to give yourself more traction, causing your back to arch even more. The new position has Harry’s cock slamming into you deeper.

“Fuck!” Harry practically yells and can’t keep himself from landing a harsh slap on your ass. You jump forward at the sting but his other hand keeps the pace steady. He keeps burying himself into you all the way to his base, his balls slapping at your now slick spread thighs. He rubs over the red handprint he had just left on your ass. You whimper and bite your lip, truly enjoying the sensation.

Still staring into the mirror as Harry commanded, your eyes water slightly and Harry makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You smile widely and he grins back. “This feels so fucking good. Your pussy takes me so well. Fuck…” Harry babbles, still pistoning into you. You had noticed how vocal he was the first time you had fucked, but thought it had just been the alcohol. Apparently not. But you didn’t mind, you much preferred it to partners who barely spoke or didn’t even moan. Like how were you supposed to know what was going on in their minds? With Harry, you knew he was having a good time.

A few more heavy thrusts and you felt yourself nearing the edge. Your panting was getting faster, exceeding the speed of Harry’s thrusts and he could also feel you were close. Your cunt began squeezing him tighter so he hooked a hand under your knee and brought it onto the table. He hunched over you slightly and snaked his hand to your clit. “C’mon darling, I know you're close. Can feel that little cunt putting a choke hold on my cock.” He rubs at your clit with the vigor of strumming a quick paced song on the guitar. It’s enough to overtake your senses and the laugh that had bubbled from his words turns into your orgasm moan. You try to muffle it into the arm that is holding you against the mirror to avoid a full on scream because it feels that good. You felt like you were having your first ever orgasm, it felt that new to you.

A few more thrusts and you’ve come down from it, but Harry still hasn’t finished. It’s your turn to be the partner coaxing the other to get off. “Faster, Har. Want you to cum too.” He grunts, picking back up the pace. He had slowed to let you ride out your stay. “That’s it...want you to cum in me. Your cock feels so fucking good.” You whine, meaning every word. He smiles again at you and closes his eyes, focusing on chasing his high. You watch as his smile widens to that open mouth grin, “Fuck,” he almost whispers. And there it is. There’s a twitch in his hips that mirrors his expression and then he’s pulling out and cumming on your back. His voice is now even lower and raspier than before as he babbles how good that was and how tight your pussy was. It was sweet nothings, but extremely explicit and you sighed heavily, feeling a small orgasm wash over you again. His final thrusts and voice pushing you off the cliff again easily.

The two of you take a minute to bring your breathing back to normal and Harry goes to clean your back off.

“So..how do you feel about maybe doing this regularly?”  Harry asks sheepishly as he begins to pull his pants back on.

“Like a friends with benefits kind of thing? Or bandmates with benefits, rather.” You laugh breathlessly at your not really funny joke, but you’re now truly exhausted. From the show and the fuck, you felt thouroughly worked out.

“I guess that’s what it is, yeah.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“You’re honestly so chill, Y/N. It’s fuckin’ hot.”

You laugh and flip your hair dramatically. You’re only in your bra and panties right now and Harry licks his lips, finding your playfulness to be a turn on. “What can I say?” You laugh.

“But like I said before...it’s just sex.” He’s buttoning up his shirt and looking at your reflection through the mirror now. He watches you slip the pants you had been wearing back on.

“Oh, Harold, I know.” On cue, he groans and turns around to face you after fixing his mused hair in the mirror. Interrupting yourself, you turn your back to Harry, “Can you tie this, sorry it’s hard for me to get the -” Harry walks to you without any hesitation and begins tying the silk ribbons on the back of your shirt. “Thanks. Anyway,” you turn to face him when he’s finished and you place both of your palms on his chest. “Trust me, I know you’ve got your issues and I’m not looking to be the girl that tries to change you. I know what this is. I only ask that you let me know when you sleep with other people, because once you do, you won’t need me.” Harry nods and you pat your hands against him. You both smile and go your separate ways when you leave the dressing room.

-

Harry and you fucked almost every night on tour. Sometimes it was right after, on the counter in his dressing rooms. Sometimes it was later in the evening in his hotel room or yours. He stopped leaving immediately after your hook ups. He never kicked you out of his room so he decided it was fine for him to stay in yours. Especially because you weren’t a stranger who would be weird with him in the morning. He also didn’t like trekking through the hotel halls late at night.

The first few times you stayed in the same bed, the two of you stayed on opposite sides of the bed, not touching after you were finished engaging in your sexual endeavours. Rigid bodies against the edges of the mattress. Then one particularly long night, filled with multiple rounds, Harry was so exhausted from his performance on stage and off that he collapsed on top of you. He fell asleep there and you didn’t particularly mind. It felt nice to be slightly compressed and held. He shifted in his sleep and when he woke up he wasn’t upset to find you nestled into his side with his arms wrapped around you. After that, cuddling sort of became part of the routine. After you were done having sex, Harry or you would get up to clean up and bring back waters. Then you would settle in his arms. Sometimes in a spooning position and sometimes you cradled softly into his chest. You didn’t talk about it, it just happened.

One night it was your head directly on top of his butterfly tattoo, one leg thrown over his lower torso and your arm snuggly wrapped around his middle. He liked to pet your hair when you laid against his chest in that way. His fingers would fiddle with the strands and you liked it because he usually took off his rings before he would do it and his hands felt so soft and delicate against you. Harry liked the way he felt when he would hold you afterwards. It was calming to fall asleep against your soft skin and feel your fingertips trace lyrics to songs he wasn’t sure the name of against his own.

No one knew about how your friendship with Harry worked. To the rest of the world, you seemed to be someone who had become another close friend in the band. You were similar to Mitch in many respects. Except for when Harry winked at you during a show, it wasn’t a friendly wink, it was a ‘this song makes me horny and I can’t wait to relieve the pressure by fucking you later’ kind of wink. You knew this because Harry had gone over and whispered it in your ear during a quick break, when you had only looked at him weirdly after he did it.

Before the show tonight, you pulled Harry aside, “So what are we thinking tonight? I feel like I might want to ride you...Haven’t been on top in a while.” In the darkness of the backstage, you crane your neck to take Harry’s earlobe between your teeth. He groans softly and grips your hips to guide them against his for a second. “Sounds fuckin’ fantastic, love.” You twitch back, releasing him immediately at the word. You always told him not to call you that and he tried to reason with you, that it was just something he called people. But you disliked it a lot, adding it to the growing list of rules the pair of you had for the do’s and don'ts of being friends with benefits with each other.

“Harold,” you groan and he steps back at that pet name. While he hated this, you refused to let him put it on the list because it didn’t cross any lines with your physical arrangement. Not that there was any physical list to put it on, it was more of a theoretical list that the two of you would speak of occasionally.

“Sorry.” He says eventually, “Didn’t mean it.” You both laugh.

You think about how other relationships were sometimes desperate to hear their partner express their love for them and you believe you’re grateful for the simplicity of your arrangement. The term relationship regarding what you and Harry were doing was also in the ‘don’t’ category on the list. If either of you were being honest, there should be no need for a list and you should be questioning yourselves why you felt the need to set boundaries if one part of it was physical and the other part was your friendship and job. If it truly was just physical why were boundaries constantly needing to be set and followed? But right now honesty was not in the cards.

-

After the show Harry gets delayed with press or fans or something that you don’t really care about. You barely read the text that he sends, only caring about the ‘sorry got held up’ and the ‘be there in thirty’.

You let yourself into his room and wait on the bed, flipping through your phone, completely unbothered by the rest of the world. When you hear a knock on the door, you don’t think twice about getting up and opening the door. You only realize your terrible mistake when it’s Mitch and not Harry standing at what you’re also just realizing isn’t your door, but instead Harry’s.

“Shit!” you say under your breath as Mitch looks at you confused.

The room is dark behind you because Harry would have just entered and gotten down to business. He might turn on a side lamp, but you hadn’t felt the need to have light on while you waited. Forgetting all of that, you had just gone to the door and opened it.

Mitch tucks some of his hair behind his ear as he stares at you. “Is Harry here?”

“Er..No?” It comes out as a question. You rub the back of your ankle with your foot, feeling nervous.

“Is he actually not here or?” Mitch trails off, narrowing his eyes at you.

“No, no he’s really not here. I’m waiting for him, too.” You rush your words, but try to remain calm.

“You have a key to his room. And you’re waiting in the dark.” He says. They’re not questions and you’re not sure just how guilty you look.

“Yeah!” You try to come up with a non suspicious response, hoping there’s a way to still salvage your’s and Harry’s secret, “He gave me his key because he wanted to talk about something and I kept it dark because my eyes always hurt after shows. Kind of like a migraine.” You scratch at your head and smile, trying to convince Mitch. He seems to believe you as he nods slowly and opens his eyes more.

There’s a little bit of an awkward silence and Mitch shifts his weight between his feet, looking at you still. Just as you're about to invite Mitch to come wait inside with you, Harry steps out of the elevator and begins to walk down the hall. His key card is already in hand and your eyes widen. Harry’s expression mirrors yours when he realizes Mitch is standing outside of his door and that you are standing with him. “Mitch!” Harry says, placing his hand on Mitch’s shoulder and sliding his key card into his back pocket with the other. Mitch turns to Harry without seeing him put away the other key card and you look at the pair of them.

“I was just telling Mitch how you gave me your key card so we could talk about...that thing.” You interject, flicking the lights on in Harry’s room as casually as possible. Harry shoots you a look about how you couldn’t come up with an actual reason for being there. You shrug your shoulders helplessly.

Mitch looks between the two of you and feels some weird tension and he’s not sure if it's always there and he’s just noticing or if something is going on right now.

“Yeah, well, I came to stop by to talk about the riff in Canyon Moon. Something is wonky with it.”

“Oh! Sure,” Harry nods to Mitch and then glances at you, “Y/N, we can talk about that other thing later. It’s not that important anyway.” His tone is so casual and nonchalant. You stare at him, thinking he can’t be serious. You had been almost sure he would send Mitch away, but instead you were being kicked to the curb. When he doesn’t say sike or anything of the sort, you nod. “Okay,” then you mumble a ‘good luck’ with figuring out the problem with the song. Mitch walks in the door, but Harry’s eyes stay fixed on your figure retreating down the hallway. He watches you disappear and is only pulled from his thoughts when Mitch calls his name from the couch in the room.

After reaching your floor, you key into your room and get ready for bed. Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, completely alone for once in a long time, there’s another knock. This time you check the peephole, a habit you realized you were going to have to get better at. It’s Harry. You open the door and walk away immediately once he’s entered the room.

“Why are you here?”

“Thought we could still...” He follows you into the room, trying to make out your face in the darkness.

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” Your tone gives away your annoyance. You couldn’t hide that you were mad at Harry for sending you away. It made you feel weird. The way he did it so easily made you feel like you were extremely disposable and unwanted.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs as he lays down beside you. You turn to face him when he places a hand on the small of your back. You’re face to face and your noses are almost brushing. It’s not really possible to see each other’s features, but after months of hooking up you knew each other’s faces pretty well. You could reach out and pinpoint all of Harry’s freckles and moles on his face and neck right now and be correct. He could likely do the same. The theory is proven correct when he reaches out and his hand dances down your cheek. “Just thought it would be less suspicious if I didn’t get rid of him. Couldn’t make him wait either…”

“I know,” your voice is small and soft, just above a whisper, “I forgive you.” You scoot closer to him and Harry instinctively wraps his arm around you, bringing you tightly into him. You sigh into his neck and he shivers at your warm breath on his slightly clammy skin. When you lick your lips, they brush lightly against his skin. He laughs at the feeling, so you decide to press an intentional kiss to the hollow in his neck. In response, he presses a kiss to your hairline, his lips slightly chapped after the concert.

The kisses are tender, filled with that thing neither of you dare attribute to anything the two of you did in the dark. The word you told him time and time again to not call you. So is just about every touch and word that has been exchanged in this room since Harry entered it. You fall asleep wrapped up in his arms, a soft smile resting on both of your faces. Neither of you seem to mind that you didn’t actually have sex tonight or anything even close to it.

-

When you wake up you feel especially well rested. You shift around and realize your bed is empty besides you. It depended on the day, but it was always a toss up between Harry being there when you woke up or not. However, lately, you had found it was usually the former. You would linger longer and so would Harry in each other’s rooms, lounging in each other’s embrace under the soft glow of the morning light peaking through whatever windows the room had. Today you were cold at his absence. Then you look up and realize you aren’t completely alone. Harry is standing at the end of your bed, staring down at his phone, smiling.

“Hey.”

You wait for his reply, but he doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hey, Harold,” you repeat. His head snaps up, a grimace on his face at the name. He slips his phone in his pocket and ruffles his hair. “Hey.” He finally responds. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you seem to find it necessary to talk about what happened last night. Harry definitely seemed a little off to you this morning, but you try to shake it from your thoughts. There was no reason to be upset with him being quiet. He didn’t owe you anything, you hadn’t even slept together last night, so if anything it was weird he stayed as long as he did.

It was the second night at the Forum in Los Angeles. This means no travelling necessary. No day off either, tomorrow you’d have a day off before the third and final show at the venue though.

Harry and you were talking normally at the venue, mostly about the setlist - him and Mitch had changed something for whatever reason last night, which was fine. Your banter was to a minimum, but you were trying to convince yourself that nothing was off. Even though it felt like something was different, you couldn’t place your finger on what it was, so you thought it was best to ignore it.

When Harry is about to go out on stage, you don’t pull him aside and when he introduces the members of the band to the audience, he doesn’t say anything fun or silly about you. He doesn’t wink or come up to you at any point in the performance. It’s so unusual the rest of your bandmates are giving you funny looks. Charlotte looks at you from across your keyboard in a way that she’s asking if you’re okay. You shake your head at everyone trying to signal that you’re fine.

Mitch goes over to Harry and whispers in his ear to check in with him, Harry looks at him with a bright smile on his face and says “of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Mitch looks between the pair of you, thinking back to last night and how weird the pair of you were being then. Maybe it dawns on him then what might be going on between the two of you, but if he did, he wouldn’t mention it for a long time.

You falter a bit on your back up vocals tonight. You’re trying to give it your all, like always, but for some reason your voice isn’t sounding the way you want it. About halfway through the show, when your voice comes out the exact opposite of how you would like, Harry finally gives you a second glance. His face practically emotionless, save for the single arched brow. He’s concerned, but not concerned enough where he would go over to you. He just doesn’t understand why you keep missing the right note tonight. You make a shake of your hand to say I don’t know either. He just shrugs and turns back around to continue the show, his lively smile returning while he turns his head.

After the show, Charlotte, Sarah, and you are all checking in, going over what had happened during the show in general. They’re both worried about your voice and you’re simply trying to tell them that it was just an off night. Nothing was wrong. As long as you told everyone else that, then it might turn out to be true.

“It’s fine, maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” you fib, having gotten more sleep last night than most other nights on this tour. They both nod, seeming to take that as a reasonable answer.

Then Charlotte gets quieter as she whispers to the three of you, “Did you guys notice anything weird with Harry? He was super lively, but he barely interacted with you, Y/N, which is so unlike him...”

Sarah nods while you look skeptically on. Sarah adds, “He kept looking up to the boxes, too. More than usual at least. I don’t know though…” She trails off and you cross your arms over your chest, not really enjoying the conversation topic. “I mean, what do you think, Y/N?” Sarah adds.

Your eyes dance between the two women, your fellow bandmates, your friends. You sometimes wished you could share with them what you were doing with Harry. The secret was fun, but it’s also nice to be able to share with your girlfriends about the guy you’re seeing, even if it is a casual thing. The friendly gossip of it all is something fun to share, but sadly that was another thing you couldn’t do. You sigh, “You never really know what’s going on in his mind, y’know. He’s just Harry.” Your response is half-assed at best. You figure they’ll both give you shit for the non-answer you just supplied, but instead someone else speaks for them.

“I am in fact, just Harry.” He says and you swivel around to find yourself almost chest to chest with him. Charlotte laughs while Sarah simply smiles. Your eyes are huge as you stare up at him and you hope your blush doesn’t come out too strongly after being caught talking about Harry by himself. “Enlighten me on when I was being ‘just Harry’ though?” You bite your lip and take a step back from him, forming more of a line with the other women. He shrugs when no one offers a response, laughing lightly.

“Oh and Y/N, I can’t talk about that thing again tonight, I’ve got-”

“A date?” Charlotte asks, trying to understand why Harry was acting a little different tonight still. The part that Sarah had mentioned about him looking up into the boxes had given her the idea that he might have plans with someone after the show. Harry scratches his head, his hair slightly wet with sweat right after the show. He’s taken off his coat so he’s just in the almost completely unbuttoned, sweat soaked shirt he had been wearing underneath. It sticks tight to his skin and you can make out all the muscle lines that hide beneath the fabric that you usually get to caress. Your eyes flit from his body back to his face when he speaks again.

“Erm, I wasn’t going to phrase it like that...but yes, I suppose, it’s a date.” He says finally, he avoids your eye contact and you look at him very confused, trying to hide the hurt. He shoves his hands in his pockets trying to look and sound as casual as possible and ignore the strain he sees on your face. Is that what had held him up yesterday? Making plans with someone else? And he hadn’t told you until now? The past twenty four hours stung a little bit more now that you knew why Harry was being so distant. It simply felt icky finding out this way and it didn’t even seem like he was going to tell you it was a date.

“Okay,” you say simply and walk away. You hear Charlotte asking him details about his date, but you try actively not to hear any of it. Sarah watches you walk away and sees the way you wrap your arms around yourself to comfort you. She feels a twinge of sadness as she watches the scene unfold, seeing something she hadn’t realized was there before.

Harry doesn’t text or call you that night. You hang out with everyone else for a little while in Charlotte’s room before heading to bed, saying you think you need an early night tonight. Before you’re able to walk out of the door, Mitch stops you. “I heard Harry blew off whatever conversation the two of you have been trying to have again. Just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” You try to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. There is no conversation Harry is blowing off, it’s simply you. “It’s fine. Like he said yesterday, it’s not important.” Mitch nods, but still looks at you with concern. What he had seen last night, then on stage today, and what Sarah had told him about your interaction after the show it all strung together in his mind. It didn’t seem unimportant at all. But he didn’t know how he could tell you that. He felt like he should talk to Harry about the way you looked when you left Charlotte’s room tonight, but he didn’t know how to bring it up to him either.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you're in the elevator, and it’s slowly rising to your floor of the hotel. You’re only one level up, but it feels like an eternity in there. You already weren’t a fan of elevators, but this ride felt impossibly worse. The walls are all made up of mirrors and you see yourself in the reflection, but you don’t exactly recognize the girl in there. Your eyes are tired from the show, dark circles already formed. Your hands are aching, clenching and unclenching on their own accord. Your body is slumped against the back wall, likely leaving a slight imprint from the smoke residue and dust on your clothes. Worst of all are the tears running down your face, smudging at your makeup, the black mascara you had applied dripping down in sinister raindrops against your skin. The sad girl stares back at you as you sniffle slightly, confused at what you’re seeing. “Why are you crying?” you ask yourself, your voice creaking and then breaking at the end as you struggle to get out the word ‘crying’ before a sob wracks through you. You roll your eyes when your reflection offers no explanation for itself. You laugh at your own patheticness and try to shake the feelings you’re experiencing.

Inside your room now, you flop on the bed and stare straight up at the ceiling. Your arms spread to your sides and your legs lay limply below you. You think about every night before last, every night since the tour started. Every night where you weren’t alone, where you were with Harry. Your mind flits to last night, how Harry’s lips had ghosted over your skin after his apology. How you had told him you forgave him and it had felt so peaceful, so simple. It was all so easy. Thinking about him and the things the two of you did together brought a smile to your face, unbeknownst to you. When you realize it’s there, your face drops immediately, deciding not to think about Harry.

But trying to not think about Harry makes you only think about him more and what you think about him now most definitely doesn’t bring a smile to your face. You’re thinking about him out on his date with some person you chose to learn nothing about. Maybe out of fear of what is happening right now. By knowing nothing about the person, you can’t compare yourself to them. Can’t see what’s different about them that would make Harry go out on a date with them. But it doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like because at the end of it all you know one thing for certain. They’re not you. You correct yourself, you know two things actually, because you also know that Harry chose to be with them instead of you tonight.

You fall asleep with tear stained cheeks that night and absolutely nothing positive on your mind. You want to sleep but know it only brings whatever is bound to happen tomorrow, which doesn’t seem very promising.

-

It’s noon when you wake up and you wake to a knocking on your door. You grumble and throw a sweatshirt over your body to hide the underwear you slept in. Not remembering your new habit, you swing the door open without any hesitation to find Harry. He looks wide awake and happy, the way he almost always looks, a fresh beautiful flower of a man. You look at him groggily, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Because I was asleep?” You tilt your head and look at him incredulously. “What about this,” you gesture to your appearance, “looks like I just went for a 3 mile jog for fun and I love the morning?”

“Can I come in?” He ignores everything you just said and enters the room when you leave the door to get back in bed. You often did that with him, you don’t know why, but when he asked to come in the room it was just simpler to let him in then say anything. He knew what you meant.

He sits at the edge of the bed as you reclaim your spot in the middle of it, tucked slightly under the covers, but still sitting up. “How was your date?” You try to sound nonchalant and it seems to work. Harry doesn’t notice your tense figure, but you notice how he tenses up when you ask.

“Good…Her name was-” You don’t let him finish, you already know the answer to this next question and you don’t need her name in order to ask it, “Did you fuck her?”

He’s silent, green eyes staring straight at you. You meet his gaze, your eyes almost burning holes into him. His eyes are begging you to not make him answer the question, he doesn’t want this to end, even if he also didn’t want the commitment he had felt himself exhibiting the other night.

When he had come to your room the other night after Mitch had almost caught you, he knew he shouldn’t have stayed. He didn’t want you to feel bad so he had come to apologize, but when the pair of you didn’t have sex, he should have left. But he didn’t, he stayed and it wasn’t for you, it was for himself. It was for him to hold you in his arms because he liked to. But when he woke up the next morning he knew he needed to leave. Solely cuddling wasn’t part of your arrangement together. It’s probably on the list of don'ts that the pair of you had. So after he realized the line he had willingly crossed with you, he quickly sent a text to Jeff who had tried to set him up with a model they were acquaintances with the night before - the reason he had gotten held up. Harry had initially declined, not very interested in seeing anyone else but you. But looking back on that choice in the light of day seemed to solidify what this relationship was - a relationship - and Harry didn’t like that. The commitment wasn’t part of the plan, so he told Jeff to set that date up for after the second show at the Forum and give the woman a ticket. That’s why he was smiling at his phone the morning after only cuddling with you, that’s why he didn’t joke around with you during the show, and that’s why he wasn’t in your bed last night.

You watch him expectantly, silently waiting for his answer, your veins cold as ice. He finally starts his answer and he wants to make it clear that it wasn’t as good with the other woman, but he’s not sure how to work that part in. He’s not sure how to explain to you it meant nothing if your arrangement also apparently meant nothing. You barely even let him get in a sentence. “Yes, but it was just a one time-”

“Alright.”

“What?” He doesn’t understand what you mean when you nod your head and cut him off.

“I told you at the beginning, Harry. Tell me when you sleep with someone else because when you do this is over. It doesn’t matter if she’s the love of your life or a one night stand. I will not be a backup plan, so if you’re able to find other people to sleep with, you don’t need to be sleeping with me.”

He sits in silence for a moment, his jaw dropped open slightly. He’s unable to keep it shut as his mind races about what to say. “Are you mad with me?”

“No, I’m fine. This was just sex. Charlotte will be happy that I’ll be going out with her more.”

Harry’s brow furrows as you shift away from him on the bed, grabbing your phone and beginning to flick through it. You feel numb and you’d like to not think about why.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks because he does care about you, worry is written all over his face. He just can’t commit, not now.

“What would I be mad about, Harry?” You look up and your eyes widen at him, silently asking him to truthfully say why you should be so upset about this revelation. You always knew it would eventually come to an end, you just hadn’t expected so soon. You hadn’t known the last time would be the last time and it broke your heart even if you knew it shouldn’t.

He shifts to reach his hand out to touch your exposed knee. You move away from him and he sighs, looking exasperated. “I- I don’t know. It just seems like we should talk about this.”

“You didn’t even think it was necessary to tell me you were going on a date last night, so I think it’s best if we just left it at ‘it’s fine, see you around’.”

He spreads his hands out across the sheets, examining his rings and painted nails thoroughly. You’re right, he doesn’t really want to talk about this. Well, more so, he’s conflicted. He would like to talk enough that you want to continue your arrangement but he doesn’t want to talk about feelings or emotions. Even if he has those feelings and emotions, they’re just not part of the things he’d like to talk about. “But-” You set your phone down at his first word, “Were you even going to tell me you fucked someone else today if Charlotte hadn’t asked you if it was a date last night? Would you just have come to my room tonight and acted like nothing had changed?”

“I would have told you.”

“Sure.”

“I swear I would’ve. I would never break a promise to you.”

“But you would make a decision that affects the both of us without telling me until afterwards?” Your voice breaks a little and you beg yourself not to cry right now.

“I thought you said this was just sex?”

You laugh humorlessly, in disbelief, “Of course it’s not, Harry! And it hasn’t been for a long time and that’s why you got scared and went and fucked someone else.” He looks at you blankly, unsure what to say, knowing you’re right. You continue, “But I also told you at the beginning of this, that I wasn’t going to try to change you. So this is me not trying to change you.” You sigh when he still says nothing, his expression completely unreadable, even to you. “Why couldn’t you have left it at ‘it’s fine’?” You say finally, barely above a whisper.

He blinks a few times after your final question. He flexes his hand one more time and then stands up from the bed. He adjusts his clothes and stares at you. You feel helpless, but you’re still trying to look pulled together, even after your outburst. You stare back. A thousand words floating through your heads, all the things you want to say and likely never will.

“I know, I’m…” he pauses, trying to get himself to say it, but he can’t. He can’t admit that he’s completely ruined whatever messed up paradise you had created together. “I’ll see you later.”

The apology or lack there of hangs in the air as he walks silently out your door. You don’t move, you barely even blink, still staring at the spot he had just occupied. Your breath finally escapes you, a large sigh. Then some nervous laughter. It was over...just like that. But things like this, left like this are never really over.

-

It’s awkward for a good amount of the rest of the tour. You hang out with your bandmates more and Harry rarely ever comes out with them after the shows. He either hangs out with Mitch on his own or is going out with random people he knows on the road. You and him speak, but it’s never a lot or about anything relatively meaningful. It’s not the fun back and forth of before or the fiery heat of sneaking around. You try to be normal with him, act like his casual friend and bandmate.

He does his best to do the same, but it’s difficult for him. He doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore. He misses being with you, but can’t bring himself to fix it. He doesn’t do much to right his wrongs with you. He also doesn’t even know what he would want if he did apologize. It scared him to think about the step that came after ‘sorry’ so he saved himself the trouble and never did that part either. One night he texts you: “I’m trying, it’s just hard.” and that’s it. You don’t give him a response, he doesn’t need one. You know he’s trying and he knows you know.

Near the end of the tour, he comes out with the rest of you for drinks one night. Only Mitch is between the two of you in the booth, so you feel closer to Harry than you’ve felt in a long time. The group of you are chatting and having a good time. You somehow get onto a story from when you were still in college. You explain how you had narrowly avoided getting Chlamydia right before your Christmas break junior year. You act out the conversations you imagined would have happened at all your Christmas events if you had indeed gotten it. Your impressions of your mother, father, and sister have everyone laughing the most. Harry is shaking with laughter from your story and you smile at him in appreciation when he says, “That is the funniest story I’ve heard in a long fucking time.”

The rest of the night goes really well, for the most part. No one bickers or is short with each other. Everyone is laughing and drinks are flowing. Eventually Mitch gets up to go to the bathroom and you feel Harry slide back into the booth closer to you after letting Mitch out. Your hand had taken up residence next to your thigh, resting on the vinyl of the booth. You sense something next to it now and notice Harry’s hand is resting close beside it. He shifts his hand closer when he sees that you’re looking down at it. He’s almost touching you and you look up to his eyes, wondering if he’ll close the distance. He makes an imperceptible shake of his head, but you know what he means. As you’re about to shift your hand so that your pinky connects with his, Mitch returns and your head shoots up to his figure. You instantly remove your hand from the vinyl and shift closer to Charlotte. Harry gets up, but doesn’t sit back down once Mitch is settled. He instead walks off to get another drink, risking one last look at the table where he makes eye contact with you, but he doesn’t come back. Mitch informs everyone that Harry went back to the hotel because “he was tired” after Harry doesn’t return and Mitch gets a text. You roll your eyes, sure that you saw him slip out of the side door with a woman he found at the bar after he had gotten his drink. If that’s what ‘tired’ looked like on Harry, it was fine.

You start to speak to Harry on a more regular basis after that night out. It’s not funny or lighthearted. It’s just ‘I saw this song the other day, thought you might like to listen’. It went back and forth, it wasn’t everyday but it was something. The last text between the two of you before you began sharing songs again was his ‘I’m trying it’s just hard’ text that he had sent randomly one night. Then after one of you would listen, you would see each other at sound check and mention the song and what you thought about it. It can be noted that it was Harry who sent the first song.

For Harryween, Adam couldn’t be there. He has some family emergency the day of and doesn’t come with the rest of you to Madison Square Garden or the hotel you were staying at. Thankfully, Charlotte also plays keys and you can play bass. The band had to shift around some things on stage and make minimal changes to the setlist since you weren’t rehearsed on the covers Harry was doing. You spent the whole day running through the chords of those songs with Mitch, trying to memorize them so you didn’t mess it up during the show.

It was weird because for Harryween the setlist was switched up a little from the regular set for Love On Tour. Harry was playing the entire new album as well as half of the first album, Medicine, some of his other unreleased stuff, and about six covers, including old One Direction songs. It was going to be a long show and a challenge for you.

Before the show, Harry pulls you aside, to a dark corner backstage, and your mind flits back to the last time you had been in this type of position. The last time he had called you ‘love’, the last time you bit his earlobe - which always drove him crazy, the last time he ground his hips against yours, those and more and you had no idea that it was the last. By then you had already had sex with Harry for the last time, kissed his lips for the last time. It made your heart race to be so close to him and so alone once again. But it’s nowhere near the same as it once was. You shake the memories from your mind and look up expectantly at him.

“Have you got this?” He asks seriously, tone concerned. Of course it’s a music question, nothing more. Like it always was now.

“Yeah, of course.” His stare is unwavering and you try not to falter from it.

“I can get someone else to cover tomorrow, it was just such a short notice today. You know bass really well too, it made sense.”

“I’ve got this. Seriously, don’t worry, Harold.” You pat his chest lightly and for once Harry smiles at the sound of your nickname for him. You had stopped using it after the end of your arrangement. It never felt right to use when you were talking about music, and that was about the only time you had been talking. In this moment though, it felt right. His warm, large hands held your upper arms as you stared up into his big eyes. You missed staring into them, the shimmering emerald of his irises were constantly intriguing. You instinctively reach up to move back a curl that has fallen onto his forehead. He doesn’t shy away from your touch and continues to smile down at you.

“Y’haven’t called me that in forever.” He grins, his lips a shiny pink from the lip balm he had on.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But where was the groan? The whole point is to annoy you.” You smile coyly. He tips his head back and laughs, releasing your arms from his grasp as he laughs wholeheartedly.

Then he does a soft groan, a playful sound, “How was that?”

“Eh. I’ll give you a four out of ten. Not enough emotion behind it.” You slide from the area the two of you have been occupying and make your way onto the stage to start dealing with the bass you would be playing. You hear Harry call out to you, “I think I deserve at least a five, maybe even a six!” You turn back for a second to look at him with an unimpressed expression and shake your head no. He laughs again and you hear him even when you walk out onto the stage. You smile to yourself as you pick up the bass.

When he introduces the band, he waits to talk about you last. “And sadly this evening Mr. Adam Prentergest, our usual fabulous bassist, was unable to attend our fancy dress party! However! Our lovely Y/N L/N is also a superb bassist and was kind enough to step into his place. - Anything to add?” He saunters across the stage to you and you laugh kindly, feeling at ease in this part of the stage even though you were usually on the opposite side and further back from the crowd. You nod at Harry and he leans his portable mic towards your lips. You wet them quickly and eye Harry before turning out to the crowd. “Just please go easy on me if the bass sounds a bit wonky. It wasn’t on the job description that I’d be playing songs I didn’t know, with a few hours notice, on not my main instrument.” You say this in a kind of list format, holding up your fingers as you tick off all the ways that this was out of your comfort zone. You scratch your head dramatically after you’re finished and the whole crowd laughs and cheers. The rest of your bandmates chuckle along and Harry nods and smiles at you.

“You’ll do great, love.” He leans into your ear and says without the microphone. Then he winks and turns to go back to the center of the stage. You press your lips together to contain your smile, both happy and concerned about the flip your stomach just did.  

The show is going great. Harry is killing it with the crowd. Everything is electric. You’re entirely focussed on your bass playing, but Harry has been coming over every so often to do something fun or have you tell a joke.

“She’s truly the funniest person I know! And I know a fair amount of people I think.” Harry says as he walks over to you have you tell another joke. Mitch has been looking at you and Harry interacting all night and he’s sure that it isn’t your different position that has him coming over and talking to you so much tonight. Something has definitely changed once again. First the pair of you were always together and having fun, then it was silence and stolen glances that neither of you realized you were taking, now it was back to the beginning.

“That’s because you think puns are part of the top tier levels of comedy.” You say easily, “Here, I can guarantee Harry will love this and the rest of you will likely groan.” Then you stop and act as if you’re thinking for a little, everyone’s waiting expectantly. “Sorry, thinking...Well, I’ve got some skeleton puns I could do, they’re very humerus or y’know classic vampire ones..eh but those ones kind of suck. What do you think, Harry?” You look out at the crowd, face deadpan, as Harry laughs beside you. You roll your eyes playfully and push him back to the center of the stage. Leaning into your own mic now, you say, “I told you.” That’s when everyone laughs. Harry throws another look at you over his shoulder and laughs a little more, his smile wide and eyes bright.

A little over half way through the night, it’s time for ‘to be so lonely’. You already knew the bass chords for it before today and you were confident in yourself by now. It wasn’t as hard a song so you were happy for the little break. This song allowed you to not be looking down at the notes you had stuck to the floor in front of you. Harry’s voice comes in after Mitch’s intro and you watch the way his lips move against his mic. You laugh a little as you watch the crowd yell the first “arrogant son of a bitch” line. You used to not particularly like when people did that, but after it had ended with Harry you had started to enjoy it a bit more. Having those people yell the words you couldn’t, but truly felt about him sometimes, was cathartic. Tonight you weren’t angry with him, but you enjoyed the energy in the room when everyone said it. We’ve all got our own ‘arrogant son of a bitch’ that we want to scream at sometimes. Tonight yours wasn’t Harry for the first time in a long time. The song moves along and Harry takes the microphone off its stand, he walks towards your side of the stage. When the lyrics get to:

“I miss the shape of your lips, your wit, it’s just a trick, this is it so I’m sorry”

Harry isn’t looking at the crowd, he’s looking straight at you. You don’t understand the way he’s looking at you. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it. This song, its lyrics, explains Harry really well. You saw the relationship you had with him in the words. Maybe not precisely, but a part of it was in it. Harry had unknowingly foretold your lives with his words. You know he has trouble connecting and committing, you know his issues, and you accept them. But you knew what had happened between the two of you was far more serious than meaningless sex and you knew Harry couldn’t bring himself to be that serious. He ran off and that was fine, but the face that he couldn’t even apologize hurt you the most. But the song lays it all out for you, he’s not one to be able to apologize quickly. The fact that he looks at you and means the apology he sings in the song for you, it’s a big step, but it’s not enough. The banter, the technical apology, it was all a good start, but it’s just that - the beginning. If Harry wants to make things better with you, a lot more needs to be discussed. So when you sing backing vocals for the following chorus you mean the words for Harry completely.

“Don’t call me baby again, you got your reasons, I know that you’re trying to be friends. I know you mean it, but don’t call me baby again it’s hard for me to go home and be so lonely”

His eyes flick to you again and see your lips moving around the words as you play the bass. He sees the emotion in your face and understands what you’re saying. It’s hard for you to go to your room at night and be alone while he’s out with someone else. It’s hard for him to act like everything’s all fine and perfect, back to normal, because for you it isn’t really. He can’t call you ‘love’ and tell the world you’re funny and expect it to be enough. He can’t sing his sorry that was initially for someone else to you and expect you to accept it. And he knows it, too.

After the show everyone decides they’re exhausted and need to rest before tomorrow. You all planned to celebrate the whole day and you knew it was going to be a wicked Halloween. Knowing this, you’re surprised with the knock on your door after about an hour of being back at the hotel. You’ve given up the habit you had once hoped to cultivate and swing the door open haplessly. Truly having no idea who to expect, you are still surprised to find the man standing before you.

“Mitch.”

“We need to talk.” He stares down at you, his shoulders slumped from tiredness.

“Come in,” you usher him in when you hear the urgency of his voice. He saunters in before you and you close the door. You move to the small couch in the room and sit down. Your hands gesture for him to sit as well, but he shakes his head. He stays standing and brings a hand up to smooth his hair back on the right side. His eyes staying on the floor and flickering up to you every so often.

“What is going on with you and Harry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on Y/N. You’re seemingly best friends with him for a good portion of tour, then you’re barely on speaking terms for the second half, now you’re joking around again. What is going on?”

You sit there in a stunned silence, “I don’t know what to say.” Your arms go to hug your body, feeling anxious about being confronted about this topic.

“Were you seeing each other?” His voice is soft, eyes taking in your body language and knowing it’s a difficult topic.

“I wouldn’t put it like that…”

He holds back the ‘I knew it’ statement because of  how sullen you look, b..ut in his mind all of the pieces he had watched unfold came to fit in a perfect puzzle. He decides to sit beside you when you don’t say anything else.

“We were having sex,” it felt weird to say it out loud, no one but you and Harry had actually known, “But it ended. I don’t know what today was...but it felt different than how it’s been.”

“Why are you so sad if it was just sex?” He places a hand on your shoulder and your tear-filled eyes meet his. “Oh…” He knows why.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” You sob at his apology because he’s not the one who should be at your door apologizing. You sniffle and lean your head into his chest. He takes you into his arms and holds you as your cries become muffled sounds in his shirt.

You cry without words for a few minutes, Mitch coos some soothing words, his voice soft and kind. He was always a good shoulder to cry on for all of your bandmates, he was extremely strong and you made a mental note to thank him thoroughly when you actually were capable of forming coherent thoughts. “I’ve never told anyone before. It feels so weird even saying it out loud,” you say as you pull back from Mitch’s embrace. You're thankful his shirt is black, no tear stains can be made out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently, gauging your reaction. You wipe at your eyes and nod.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to start from the beginning. “Do you remember the party Charlotte had a week before we left for tour?”

Mitch nods and his eyes widen at what you’re saying as he remembers the night. “It started back then?” He’s unable to contain his incredulous question. He had suspected something, but hadn’t thought it had been going on for that long. He was truly astounded. You nod, “Well sort of,” then you go on to recount the last couple of months. All the way up until the Forum shows. “That night, when I opened Harry’s door and it was you standing there...Harry and I didn’t have anything to discuss. It was just…” Mitch nods again. He hadn’t spoken much since you had gotten into the story, wanting to let you be in charge of what you were saying and believing he could probably ask questions at the end. “Then the next night he blew me off for his date with that model and I cried in the elevator because I knew what was going to happen next.”

“So that’s when it ended?” Mitch asks when you don’t speak for a rather extended period of time.

“Yeah, the next morning he came over and I asked if they had sex and he said yes so I told him it was over.”

“But I don’t get why he went out with that model. He had told me she wasn’t his type the night before…” Your eyes shot up and looked at Mitch. His eyes widened when he realized what he said.

“What?”

“When we were talking about Canyon Moon, he mentioned that Jeff had tried to set him up with some woman but he had declined. Said he wasn’t interested. I don’t get what changed between then and the next morning.” He figured it was best to put all the cards out on the table right now. You’d be going your separate ways for a while, now that the tour was over and he had seen how unhappy both you and Harry had been over the last part of the tour.

You shift your leg to have it folded beneath you as you continue to stare at Mitch. “He came over after you and him had your meeting,”  you say quietly. Mitch hums, waiting for you to continue this time.

“He apologized for choosing you over me to talk to. Then we slept together, but we didn’t have sex...I think that’s what wigged him. It had felt too real, sleeping in the same bed with me without having sex beforehand made it feel like something more than just two people fulfilling needs.” Mitch nods and sighs heavily. He looks around the room and then back to you, taking in your full appearance. Again he feels terrible for you, how he had felt the second night at the Forum even though he hadn’t known the full story yet. “Now we’re here.”

“Tonight, it felt like he was trying,” Mitch finally said and you smiled sweetly, thinking back to Harry’s behavior. No matter how far from him you were, all those good feelings you associated with him never went away.

“Yeah, it’s been getting better. He texted me once saying he was trying. Then he came out with us one night and it almost seemed like that would be the night he’d apologize, but then he didn’t. Then we started sharing music with each other again. Then tonight… was tonight. It’s just confusing. He’s confusing.”

Mitch smiles sadly and brings you in for another hug and you’re actually so thankful he

showed up at your door. It was your first time telling anyone all of this, because Harry didn’t even know how you felt about some of these things. It felt amazing to be heard and to be told it was okay to be feeling like this.

Pulling back, Mitch says, “He’s definitely different. But his differences are what make him special and that’s why I think he clings to them even if they sometimes can hurt other people. The fact that he’s trying is a good sign. I hope he can find it in himself to make it right between you two because I had never seen either of you happier than when you were apparently together. Especially those few weeks leading up to Los Angeles. Sarah had kept asking me why Harry was so smiley back then. When I had asked him, he had just said “have you ever found something and realized you wanted to keep it with you forever?” I had no idea what he had meant, but I feel like he meant you now.”

Your awestruck at what Mitch has just told you. He was right about the first part about Harry trying to change, but the last bit, that’s what had left you speechless. You turn your body to face the rest of the room and put your chin against your hand as you think.

“Mitch...I have to go.”

He understands what you mean and you walk out of the door with him. He walks down the hall to his room and you walk quickly past the elevator and opt for the stairs. Before you know it you’re running up the stairs, taking two at a time even though you’re not the most athletically inclined. You can’t stand to wait for the elevator and your mind is racing.

You knock on the door that is Harry’s after reaching his floor. It swings open and reveals a confused and sleepy Harry. Thankfully he’s still fully dressed because that would have been a whole other problem you would have if he hadn’t been. You push past him and walk straight into his room without any invitation. He follows behind you, still unsure of why you’ve come here.

“Have you ever found something and realized you want to keep it forever?” You ask him, repeating the words Mitch had just told you.

“Pardon?”

“You told Mitch that about me before we ended things. If that’s how you felt, why didn’t you do what you said?”

Harry sighs as the words register in his mind. The memory of when he had smiled at Mitch so giddily and asked the vague question, his thoughts only of you as he asked it. The shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face after Mitch had looked at him confusedly flitted across his mind. As well as the way he had gone to his dressing room and had a quickie with you after that conversation.

“It’s not that simple…”

“It is, Harry! Why can’t you just be honest with me for once?”

“Okay, fine. You want me to be honest?” you nod at his harsh tone. The two of you standing only a few feet apart. “You have no goddamn idea what you do to me, when I’m around you, I have no control of my emotions or of my thoughts. I pushed you away because I didn’t like feeling out of control. I got out because what had started as a fun time had turned into me longing to be with you every waking hour. I found myself not caring what we did as long as I got to hold you and be around you, but that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Plans can change, Harry.”

You step closer to him and he meets your eyes. He had left his music playing softly on his phone before he had opened the door so now as the two of you stared at each other, he must have been playing his Etta James playlist because her voice faded out of the song “I’d Rather Go Blind” and straight into “A Sunday Kind of Love”. Harry had shared her At Last album with you over the Christmas holiday of last year and you had decided to listen to her entire discography afterwards, so you knew the songs. The transition was a little too on the nose and you wondered if Spotify ever listened to your conversations.

His emerald eyes examine your face and take inventory of your features, measuring whether anything had changed since he had looked at you this close up. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek and he nuzzles into it, dropping his head closer to you ever so slightly and closing his eyes at the feeling of you.

“I am sorry,” he whispers earnestly as he reopens his eyes.

You can’t take your eyes off of him even if you tried. He looks so soft in the moment, so vulnerable in this light as the music swells in the corner of the room. Etta sings about how she needs a love that is going to last as the pair of you inch yourselves closer together.

“I forgive you, Harry,” you whisper back.

He nudges his head further down and your lips finally press together, slotting back together after months apart. Your lips are eager to press back against their favorite companion. You oblige them, but pull back for a second, just far enough to say, “I will always forgive you, so long as you tell me when you’re scared so we can work through it together.”

He nods, “I promise to never let you go again.” Before taking you back against his lips and gathering your body up in his arms. His lips missing yours just as much.

-

[bobohu4eva]

Pink Lace - Preview/Chapter 1

Characters: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: College AU, stripper AU, fluff, smut, slow burn

Summary: Baekhyun, a philosophy professor with mysterious wealth, got himself completely fucked over a girl who can’t let him into her life. 

Word count: 2k

Warnings: sex work, mentions of sexual assault, adult themes/situations, eventual smut

Master list

“Looking good tonight Candy.” 

You rolled your eyes, frowning.

“Thanks Dave.”

Having your manager check you out every time you clocked in was one of the less fun parts of your job.  

You didn’t clock in to make any kind of hourly pay, and your real name was definitely not Candy. As a dancer at a gentleman's club you made your money on a pole and in private lap dance rooms, but it’s whatever pays the bills, and as a college student being able to make over a thousand dollars a week working just two nights was worth it. 

After checking in, you went back to the dressing room to check your makeup and outfit one last time and grab your money bag before heading back out to get your night started.  

Saturday nights used to not be your favorite, but they had been for a few months now because of one customer. The first night you met him, his friends had dragged him in after getting dumped to cheer him up. When you sat down with the nine of them you already knew it would be a good night, judging by the *quite* expensive VIP booth they’d bought. 

Your first impression of him wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, having met plenty of relatively good looking guys while working at the club and being quite used to groups like them doing birthdays or bachelor parties.

They were a fun group, and you found yourself actually having fun as they bought you rounds of drinks and perched you on their newly single friends lap. 

That night his friends bought him a private room with you, and he’d been back to see you again every Saturday night since.  

Baekhyun always arrived pretty early in the evening so you sat yourself down at the bar and made yourself look busy while you waited for him to show up. Tonight you were wearing a matching lace lingerie set along with a new pair of clear heels, and your hair straight down your back. With your nails done and your favorite perfume on to top it all off, you felt sexy as hell. On weeknights you didn’t try as hard, but on days he would be there you always made sure to put in a little extra effort to look as nice as possible. You told yourself it was just because he payed you so much, so you wanted to look your best. But you’d have been lying to yourself if you didn’t admit that you wanted to impress him. Baekhyun, especially compared to other customers, was quite attractive. Having him fawn over you and compliment you always made you feel good. 

You feel a tap on your shoulder followed by a “hey” and turn around to see Baekhyun grinning back at you. 

“Hi Baekhyun” you smile back, getting up and giving him a small hug. 

“Hi Candy.”

Standing in 8 inch stripper heels you’re slightly taller than Baekhyun, and you find his usual glasses + hoodie + cargo pants combo endearing. Despite being somewhere around 30 and therefore significantly older than you, you can’t help but find him cute, adorable even. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, already knowing your answer.

“Of course, you know what I like” you say, giving him smirk and running one perfectly manicured hand over his shoulder, and down his toned chest.

The whole time you touched him his eyes were fixated on yours, looking at you with an intensity you weren’t used to, something you’d noticed was unique to him compared to the other men you met there.

“Your outfit tonight it.. um..” he says, eyes now looking you up and down, almost drooling. “ I like it.” 

 It was the same thing every time he’d come see you. He’d buy two beers, one for him and one for you, and shorty after pay you $800 for an hour together in a private dance room. For any other guy it would be $1000, but he didn’t need to know that.

You made your way up the stairs towards the area of the club with the private dance rooms hand in hand, leading him behind you to give him the best view.

“Do you want me to dance for you today or do you just wanna talk?” You asked as you entered the room and took your top off, standing in front of him as he sat down on the couch. Usually you would dance for him for a few songs and spend the rest of the time sitting on his lap listening to him talk about whatever it might be that week but some days he just wanted your company and nothing more. 

“Just for this song, I really like this song.” He said looking up at you with big eyes. So, you got to work doing your usual thing.

Getting into the rhythm of the music, you started swaying your body and slowly leaning towards him.

This time both of your hands find purchase on his chest and you move your body in a wave, giving him the full close up view of your bare chest.

As you lean back up you notice he’s slumped deeper into the couch and biting his lip, already thoroughly turned on.

“Holy shit” he muttered to himself, watching your nearly naked form sway in front of him.

The way he looked at your body was different too. Most men looked at you like nothing more than a piece of meat, something to use for pleasure and nothing more. Not that you minded, as long as you got your money, but the way Baekhyun looked at you as you danced for him was almost like someone observing a piece of art. 

You rotated your body until you’re facing away from him, and bent down slowly, the curves of your ass on full display to him, making it jiggle a bit before bending back up and lowering yourself onto his lap.

“God you’re something else, I wish I could touch you.”

You noticed him sit on his hands, because of course he wasn’t actually allowed to touch you, you were only allowed to touch him.

Once you were situated on his lap, you started moving your hips to the music, causing his head to hit the back of the couch.

As usual, you could feel his dick straining against his pants as you rolled your hips over him.

“Fuck” you heard him whisper.

You knew how much he was holding himself back by the way he was sweating and panting. He was one of the few costumers who had never once tried to touch you, not even a little bit. Which you appreciated, but right now you felt yourself almost wanting him to, knowing that his reaction alone would be worth it for you to see.

So against your better judgement, and with the hope of a little extra money, you turn around, knees straddling his right thigh, and put your arms on each of his shoulders. You play with the hair at the base of his neck and whisper in his ear

“If you really want to, you can touch.”

You almost feel bad when you notice his entire body go rigid beneath you, eyes wide at your words.

“Are you serious?”

“I mean nothing too invasive please, but I don’t mind if you want to caress me here and there” you respond with a smile.

“Okay”

You see him swallow as you lowered yourself onto his lap again, this time feeling his hands make contact with the bare skin of your waist.

As you let your hips move with the music, his hands slowly wandered across your waist, hips, and sides. His hands on you were surprisingly warm, soft, and gentle. Under his gaze and in his hands you felt like your body wasn’t just being used for shallow, fleeting pleasure. You felt appreciated.

And this was exactly the problem with Baekhyun.

You knew that you liked him too much, more than you should like one of your customers. You shouldn’t be thinking about how soft and pretty his hands are as they make their way across the skin of your thighs.

“You’re so beautiful. Your skin is so soft.”

You smile, now facing him once again as you sit with your knees on either side of his leg. You feel his words in the pit of your stomach and your hands caress his shoulders and chest, only now with his hands gently placed on your hips.

A few body rolls later and the song was over, so you shifted your weight onto one of his legs, sitting down on his lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, and leaning into the couch.

“You’re gonna completely ruin me one day” he breathed out, making you giggle. “Why’d you let me do that?”

“I don’t know, I guess I could tell how much you held back and most guys try to touch me anyway so..”

“They just do it anyway?” His eyes narrowed.

“Yeah well I tell them not to and usually it’s fine after that”

You could sense his discomfort with what you’d just said, looking genuinely agitated.

“Yeah well those guys aren’t worth your time no matter how much they’re paying” he muttered so quietly you almost didn’t hear.

“This is my job Baekhyun, there’s bad customers in every job” you respond timidly.

He turned to look you in the eyes again, this time more intensely due to the proximity of you sitting on his lap.

“Do you like working here?”

“Please don’t ask me that.”

“You know you don’t have to, I can take care of you.”

With the way his eyes bore into yours and he gripped your thigh, you knew he was serious. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted by his words.

Nonetheless you got up from his lap and sat next to him, bodies no longer touching.

“You know that’s not how this works Baekhyun.” You cross your arms over your bare chest, feeling like you needed to hide.

You look down, not wanting to look at him as you continue.

“It’s my job to make you feel good and give you something nice to look at but that’s all it is. My job. I’m sorry.”

He knew you were right. He knew because despite coming to see you every week for a few months now, he knew nothing about you. You wouldn’t tell him any details about your personal life, hell he didn’t even know your real name.

He knew he was stupid to have let himself become so completely fucked over a girl who wouldn’t even tell him her name.

“It’s okay, I understand, I’m sorry if that was too far”

You look at him again, giving him a soft smile.

“How was your week?” You ask, trying to change the subject.

You soon find yourself back on his lap as he starts talking to you about his week, but you couldn’t help feeling guilty. You could tell what Baekhyun felt for you was more than just sexual attraction, and yet he knew nothing about you. He’d asked you general things and you’d told him you were college student, which was true, but you’d lied about which college you attended. He asked about what you were studying and you’d lied about that too, quickly changing the topic back to him and his life.

Every time he tried to get to know the real you, you pushed him away, and you knew he could tell.

It fell silent for a moment, until Baekhyun spoke up.

“This is for touching you” he said as he dug in his pocket before pulling out three hundred dollar bills and putting them in the waistband of your thong.

He didn’t look at you as he gave you the money. It wasn’t until he was done that he grabbed your hand, and gave you another intense look.

“Please, can I please just know your name?” He asked.

With you sitting on his lap, faces close together you saw the desperation in his eyes. He’d spent a decent amount of time with you now and you knew how badly he wanted to know more about you, how much he wanted to be able to get to know the real you.

The way he looked up at you, with that look in his eyes, you knew you couldn’t tell him no.

You sighed.

“Okay. I’m y/n.”

~

Shorty after your hour together was up, Baekhyun went home and so did you. Counting your money was easy that night; just the eleven hundred dollar bills he’d given you. 

As you took your makeup off and got ready to finally sleep you couldn’t help but feel strange about Baekhyun knowing your real name. Despite how nice he smelled, how cute he was, and how kind, generous, and funny, and how you liked spending time with him more than any other customer, that’s still exactly what he was. A customer. Someone who walked into a club looking to pay hot girls in exchange for their attention. But at that point Baekhyun was your friend too. He’d been coming to see you for the whole summer, and you really did enjoy talking to him. 

Is it okay for him to actually get to know you? Is it okay for you to want him to? 

Next Chapter

A/N: Hello! This felt pretty short which is why it’s kind of a preview/first chapter but please tell me what you think :) and let me know if anyone wants to be tagged for the next chapter!

[the-last-kenobi]

Oh for the bad things happen bingo, could you do 'passing out from the pain' with hurt Obi-Wan and the 212th being like 'this is unacceptable let us help you for the sake of our sanity Please'. Good luck with moving!

Thanks willow! 🤍 I hope this fulfills expectations!

General Kenobi had several policies that his men disagreed with. Strongly, fiercely disagreed with.

Unfortunately, all these policies were personal and were applied only to himself, meaning that the 212th had little means of having them changed.

Hoop, the Chief Medic, particularly hated his General’s insistence on handling all negotiations or Council briefings after a battle before he went to the medbay.

“If it’s bad enough that you need to see me straight away, you’ll be carrying me on a stretcher anyway,” the Jedi had said. Hoop sincerely hoped this was a jest. But so far, Kenobi seemed to return from every battle in either one way or the other — beaten and battered from leading the front line but capable of walking and talking, or on the brink of death on a stretcher.

How the man had managed to walk away from Kadavo with the injuries he had — Hoop wanted to punch a wall every time he thought of it.

The man should have been unconscious. He should have had lasting, permanent damage. He should have been on drugs for two weeks.

Instead he strolled alone into the medbay a full rotation after the rescue, still wearing his ruined tunics, every visible inch of him bruised or swelling or bleeding, his rib cage just a little too prominent through his undershirt. “I’m fine, Hoop,” he said, sounding vaguely amused. “I’ve held myself together this long, haven’t I?”

And he had.

But nothing lasts forever.

Not even the infamously stubborn Master of an infamously stubborn Padawan and Grandpadawan, the former protege of another infamously stubborn maverick.

Cody was aggressively trailing after his General like an overprotective guard dog, his lips curled in a snarl beneath his helmet. “Sir,” he said for the dozenth time.

“Never mind, Cody,” Obi-Wan said dismissively, waving an airy hand as he glanced over his shoulder at his Commander. “It will keep.”

“Sir,” Cody said more insistently.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan said, smiling.

They both knew there was no overriding the General, not when he was capable of thought and speech. Still, the Marshal Commander had to try. “Sir, it’s been two days.”

“And I’ve yet to collapse,” Kenobi pointed out blithely, now opening the doors to the bridge of the Negotiator. “If I had been injured on Tameris, then I’m sure we’d all know it by now.”

“Sure,” muttered Cody.

Obi-Wan turned his head again to face forwards, but as soon as he crossed the threshold into the bridge he was accosted by his Chief Medic.

“Sir, you didn’t report for detox,” Hoop said firmly.

General Kenobi sighed. “It appears I’ve come across a plot against me. I never would have expected my own troops to turn on me.” With a gentle tap on the shoulder he bypassed Hoop, who joined Cody in trailing the Jedi closely.

“General, everyone has to undergo the detox,” Hoop said angrily. “Not just the men. The officers too. Every species that was down on Tameris during the explosion—”

“I understand that,” General Kenobi said. He kept walking away, striding towards a group of officers gathered next to a holo projector, studying a slowly rotating map and arguing in low tones.

“I don’t think you do,” snapped Cody. He bit his tongue immediately, cursing his loss of temper. His General didn’t seem disturbed, however.

“I do,” General Kenobi said, and he stopped walking and turned to face them, causing both clones to stumble abruptly to a halt. “I do,” he repeated earnestly. “But so many of the men were caught in that radius, so many of the officers on the ground. I’m having a hard enough time trying to hold things together as it is; what happens if I step aside to be checked over and treated for days at a time while the Separatists close in?”

“I could do it,” Cody swore. “I’ve already been detoxed. I can take care of everything.”

“No,” Obi-Wan shook his head. His expression was unbearably fond as he stared at them both. “The structure is in shambles. The only reason we’re not on standby in need of assistance is because my rank and knowledge shared between the Senate and the Council permits me to make executive decisions. If I surrender my position to be treated…” he shook his head. “We can’t afford the chaos that would cause to our already fractured chain of command.”

He smiled and walked away as if the discussion had never taken place.

Around them, the bridge continued busy, the people present frantic and scrambling just as the General had said. Understaffed, uncoordinated, held together by determination. By the General.

Hoop swore colorfully and stormed from the bridge. Cody turned back to watch his General, a cold determination of his own creeping over him. He snagged a passing lieutenant and leveled him with a stern glare. “I’m setting up a rotation to have the General monitored at all times. He’s under extreme stress and he’s in danger of succumbing to possible illness. Understand?”

The lieutenant nodded. He did understand. With a discreet salute he stepped away, off to spread the word as quietly as he could.

-

Of course, Obi-Wan noticed that his men were suddenly watching him so intently.

No matter where he went, or how quickly, or how late he stayed up, there was always at least one brother standing nearby, close enough to catch him if he fell.

It was irritating and endearing. “Cody,” he began, his voice heavy with regret and reprimand.

“Sorry, sir, I’ve suddenly gone deaf,” the Commander said with a straight face.

Obi-Wan stated. “Excuse me?”

Cody didn’t even blink.

“What if I wanted to talk about the Chommel Sector instead?” Obi-Wan tried. Cody nodded and stepped forward, leaning over the desk the General was standing over to peer at the information spread out before them.

“And if I wanted to talk about the men followi—” Cody stepped away again, dropping his bucket back over his head.

“Sorry, sir. Deaf.” Cody said loudly.

Obi-Wan sighed long-sufferingly, although the corners of his mouth did twitch upwards, part of him touched by his men’s protective nature, touched enough to perhaps forgive the insubordination.

-

They were a week out from the disaster on Tameris when the General’s luck — or will of iron — finally failed him.

He was halfway through a holo transmission with the available Council, meaning that Mace Windu, Yoda, Shaak Ti, and Plo Koon were all watching when Obi-Wan dropped like a discarded droid part.

It happened so quickly that not even Cody, hovering a respectful three feet behind, was able to reach him in time. One second General Kenobi was staring up at Windu, nodding solemnly as the other man derailed their plans for the Chommel Sector, and the next second he was on the ground, his head striking the console and then the floor.

“No!” Cody screamed. He forgot about the Council, about the others in the room, and dove forwards, quickly removing his gloves so that he could search gently for injuries. And a pulse.

“Commander Cody!” Windu shouted, his voice full of concern.

“He’s breathing,” Cody said shakily, and he turned the General over ever so gently, nervous of aggravating the damage. “But his head… he…”

There was blood everywhere. Head wounds bled profusely, but there was already bruising forming around the places where the red-haired Jedi’s forehead and cheek had collided so sharply with the console and then the floor. His breathing was shallow, and his cheeks overly flushed on his pale face.

“He’s weak,” Shaak Ti said softly. Her image wavered. “He’s been weak for awhile. I can feel it, now.”

“We all can,” said Plo Koon. “Commander Cody.”

“Hoop!” Cody screamed over his shoulder. He pulled the General into his arms, cradling the broken head, the tired shoulders. “Someone get a medic in here!”

“Commander Cody,” Mace Windu said.

“Help is on the way,” Cody said, and he tilted his head far back to look into the holo-blue eyes of the Jedi. “Should I bring him back to the Temple? We can be there in four days.”

“Commander Cody,” Yoda said. Cody turned his eyes to the diminutive, ancient Master, pleading.

Yoda looked back at him, leaning heavily on his wooden staff. “Let him go, you must,” he said softly. “Too far gone, is he.”

“No,” Cody said. The word was defiant, but his tone wavered, wobbly and confused, like a frightened child woken suddenly in the night. Nothing made sense. He wanted to go back. “No, he’s just ill—”

“Sickness, there is,” Yoda murmured. “And strain. He will not survive the fever. Possibilities there are — hope, always hope. But very little. Overextended himself, has Obi-Wan.”

“No,” Cody said again, but this time there was not even the ghost of defiance in his voice. Just despair. “No.”

He curled around the General and held him tightly, even as Obi-Wan’s breath began to fade.

“He said— he said he had to—I shouldn’t have listened to him!” Cody screamed out between hitched sobs.

“You did what he asked,” Windu’s voice drifted to him through the ringing in his ears. “You trusted his judgement in a time of crisis. There was nothing else anyone would have asked of you. Come back to the Temple. Bring him home, no matter what happens.”

“I would have asked more!” Cody shouted, and he lifted his head from Obi-Wan to stare up at the other Jedi, his face twisted with rage and with tears. “I should have! I should have — I failed him. I failed my Jedi,” he said in disbelief, and Obi-Wan’s limp form trembled in his arms as his shoulders began to shake with wracking sobs. “I failed my Jedi.”

The Council was speaking, the other men were speaking, but Cody wasn’t listening.

He dropped his forehead to rest against Obi-Wan’s and waited.

Hoop burst through the door, furious and panicked.

The ship began to turn as they plotted their route back to Coruscant.

Obi-Wan’s breathing faltered.

fin.

[kaylathekittykat225]

Carnival Ride of Horror // Steve Harrington x Reader

Carnival of Horror // SH

Warning/s: Cursing, laughing at inappropriate times, (very minimal) mentions/implications of abuse/stalking (just wanna warn, its super small but just in case!)

Word Count: 3.5k

Hey guys! It’s been a bit since I’ve written, lemme tell you, life has been kinda crappy and its just a little less crappy now! So I decided to start pecking at the keyboard again and this is what came of it! This lovely person requsted this work and I just got around to starting to really write because I had a free week. Anywhoodles, it’s good to write something again and I hope yall enjoy it!

Again thank you for this idea @seraphiiii

omg i came across your post about writing ideas in my feed and got so excited to see both steve harrington and young justice in the tags lmao. but i think a steve harrington x reader where reader and him go to an amusement park and reader is terrified of the rides so he’s like comforting her throughout them and encouraging her but also laughing (in a good natured way obvi) about how scared she is and stuff? i think that would be so cute!!

Here’s my Masterlist.

Enjoy.

-----

“Stevie, when we agreed to have a date night away from the kids, I didn't think we would be going into a mass of more kids.” As he pulled the keys out, you stared at the bright light shining machinery that had been set in the middle of a field outside the city. The annual summer fair had finally made its way to Hawkins, and it had left a buzz in the air as everyone planned when they would go, talked about what rides had come this year, who their ride buddy would be; it had been all the kids had been talking about for weeks. They put a day together the coming weekend to go as a group and they planned to drag Steve and you along on the off chance that they needed an “adult” to allow them on the rides.

Funny how they assumed either Steve or you knew how to adult.

“Cause I thought it would be a nice change from us just watching movies or having dinner.”

“Oh, so dino nuggets are no longer date-worthy for you.” Steve almost took you seriously, but he saw the grin that has graced your lips at your own comment. He relaxed a little knowing that you weren’t upset with his idea for date night, but he had always wanted to kiss someone at the top of a Ferris Wheel, and he would do anything to get you to the top of the rotating ride.

“So, you’re not mad that I chose here for tonight?” You shook your head and pulled at the door handle separating the two of you from the outside life.

“Of course not Stevie, I just thought it was an interesting choice.” The smile you chose to have was one that hopefully convinced him that you were okay with where the pair of you were going, even if you weren’t happy with the choice.

You can be happy with the idea of going to a carnival as long as you don’t go on-”Cool, so what ride do you want to do first?”

“Shit.” The world slipped out before you could stop yourself as Steve finished paying for your tickets and asked what you had said. “Nothing just kicked myself. Um…” You looked around frantically for something to do that wasn’t flashing brightly and spinning faster than the legal highway speed. “Let’s go over there!”

Steve followed your hand as he saw you point towards the stands of games that were rigged and way too fricking expensive, but he would do it for you. “Alright, starting out with some games I see, I like it.”

The two of you ran through a few of the games, most of them where Steve got way too into it and you had to step between them as he tried screaming that he deserved that stuffed bear/pony/cat/fish, because he almost had it every single time. He did beat out the basketball one, one of the last ones the two of you did on that strip, bolstering his confidence just enough to get him into a cheery enough mood.

“Alright! We played some games, and let the crazies test out the rides so I’m pretty sure they won’t break down on us. Which one should we do first? They got a drop tower, or how about the pit viper swings? Or, or, or how about we…” The night had been going enjoyable up until Steve turned to the rides you had managed to distract him from and pointed at the glowing and fast-moving monsters.

“How about we do the haunted walk over there?” Steve followed your pointing finger with a quizzical look, he hadn’t really taken note of the scary attraction before, never thought to really look to it with everything else going on. “I bet it won’t even be scary to us after everything we’ve been through right ha.”

You took off with a dry laugh without waiting for a response from him; his cries were head behind you, but the haunted house looked better than anything else around you. “Y/N.” He called you again, but you walked faster. By the time you got to the stairs leading into the building, you were practically running up them to get into the dark house with smoke billowing out of it.

“Y/N!” Your name was the last thing you heard before diving through the door and physically bumping into one of the scarers dressed as a zombie. He seemed nice, breaking character enough to ask if you were okay before you had already turned the corner and left him behind too.

Twisting and turning, you didn’t pay much mind to the screaming witches, zombies, skeletons, or anything that happened all around you; over the music and screaming, you could vaguely hear your name, giving you an indication that Steve followed you.

Not too far in, you found a quieter corner with only a couple cobwebs around it where you quickly ducked back into and tried pressing yourself into it deeper, hoping to watch Steve walk right by you.

Why the hell were you running from your boyfriend? You gained a sense of logic for a second where you paused. Why were you running? This was super childish of you and really had no reason. All Steve wanted to do was go on a few rides and you were being selfish and completely ruining what was going to be one of the few evenings you didn’t have to babysit the kids.

As the guilt started to swirl with your desire to not be found, you didn’t notice as the Frankenstein in the room had taken notice of you hiding in the corner and started to tromp over to you. “Hey, miss, you can’t be hiding in here, you gotta keep moving.”

“I’ll be out in a second, sir, let me just-” “You can’t be here-” “If you give me a second, I will leave as soon as I can-” “Miss you have to leave-” “Give me one dan minute-” “Y/N!”

Among all the screaming the Frankenstein and you had been doing was your name being called by a third and new voice along with a hand clasping onto your shoulder. Looking to the hand, you saw the unmistakable outline of the man you were hiding from. “There you are babe, why were you running off.” Just looking at the Frankenstein’s demeanor, you could tell he went into defense mode suddenly.

“Were you hiding from him miss? Are you okay? Do you feel safe?” The painted man moved to step between you and Steve in an attempt to separate you two.

“Whoa, whoa buddy, back off. She’s my girlfriend, chill out.” Steve tried stepping around the man o little success.

“Oh, your girlfriend? And she’s running from you? I don’t think this is looking very good for you, buddy.” The two were shooting back and forth at each other, getting chest to chest, and starting to cause a larger disturbance that started o be heard over the music and background scream noises. More workers it looked like started to slip into the room and try to get the two men to quiet down, going so far as to begin threats of throwing them out of the haunted house.

You were pulled away from the situation before being pushed away and into the next room, looking like it was on its way to the exit in the next two or three rooms: your destination.

-----

“Y/N?” His voice finally chirped up next to you as Steve took a seat next to you on the grass at the edge of the carnival. “You okay?” When he saw you sitting over here, he had quickly jogged over and took her in as he did so: sitting with her face pressed into her knees and arms wrapped tightly around her legs as she kept herself in as tight of a ball as possible.

You didn’t respond at first, only moving your head to look up at your boyfriend, the person you have embarrassed tonight and most definitely pissed off with your childish antics tonight. “I’m sorry.”

“Whoa what do you have to apologize for? I’ve been worried about you and wanted to make sure that you are okay.” His hand found its way to your back and began rubbing circles into your shoulder blade.

“I was really childish today and you didn’t deserve it, all because I was scared of the stupid rides.” Your words may have been mumbles, but he heard every word clearly.

“Hold on. Babe, did you say you were scared of the rides?” Your small and timid nod was enough for him to understand. “Why didn’t you tell me? I never would have brought you here if I knew that!”

Swallowing the thick feeling in your throat, you looked up at him and saw the disappointment and hurt in his face and that hurt. “Because you were so excited about it, I thought I could get through it and do at least one or two with you. But as we got closer, I guess my nerves got the best of me and I just...ran. Like a stupid child.”

“Hey, hey, hey, no.” Steve quickly shuffled to kneel in front of you and grabbed your hands, holding them in his own and your legs fell down to where you were now criss cross apple sauce. “I’m not gonna force you to do any of these rides if you don’t wanna. If you want to just go home, we can make this a movie night if that works better for you.”

“No, Stevie,” His mouth quirked up at this name. “You already bought the tickets; I don’t want you to waste the money you earned because I’m a scaredy cat.”

Steve took a second to think, racking his brain on how to salvage what has been an eventful evening. “How about…” He paused again and just stared at you with you staring back at him, waiting to hear what he wanted to say. “You can say no, how about we try a few rides, to try and get you on some. If you don’t like riding after one, we can go home, and you can at least say you did it.”

Mulling this idea over in your head, your eyes shifted from where your boyfriend sat in front of you to the bright and joyous scream filled rides were. “I suppose they don’t all look so bad.” You murmured to him, staring particularly at the giant Ferris Wheel that turned, a small memory from early on in your relationship popping into your head. Steve had mentioned a few times that his dream date would be to take a girl up on a Ferris Wheel and cuddle her and kiss her when they got to the top.

“Okay, we can try a few.” Though shaky, your voice was a little stronger this time and you gave Steve a small smile.

“You sure?” A nod. “Okay, I’ll let you choose which one we go on, okay?” Another nod.

Together, the two of you stood to your feet and approached the hustle and bustle of the carnival grounds again. “What did that Frankenstein do to you? I hope he didn’t get you in trouble or anything.” You asked as you laced your hand with Steve while the other went to hold onto his arm, squeezing it slightly as you got closer to the machines and your stomach growing heavy again.

“Oh him, he didn’t do much, just tried scaring me when he though I was some creep chasing you.” He chuckled at the short story, glancing over to you as you took in the carnival for really the first time, looking for something that didn’t freak you out. “How about we start with those spinning pods over there? All they do is spin around and if you want it to, we can make it spin on the inside too.”

Following his finger, you saw what he was referring to as it did spin around, the four small egg things with windows in them were spinning on the main machinery but also appeared to be spinning on their own. As you got closer and apparently joined the line, you could see inside one of them a group of middle school boys cackling as they pulled on the weird center disk that kinda looked like a pizza pan. “Yeah, we can give it a try.” The shakiness in your voice had come back and your grip on Steve tightened.

“Hey, you got this I’ll be right here with ya.” He returned the squeeze to your hand and fishes through his pocket for two tickets to hand over at the entrance. “Up ya go.” He mutters as he helps you up the three stairs leading into the egg ride thing you were entering before he stepped in behind you and took his place next to you. You were already holding a death grip on the center console when the door was shut, and Steve sat next to you. “You know what this is?” He asked gesturing to the disk you were holding onto with the vice grip.

“Something for me to hold onto?” You shocked yourself with how violently your voice was shaking as you heard something start to rumble around you. “Oh, shit its moving.” Steve let a quick chuckle out before he stopped himself and tried explaining the center console would cause the pod thing to spin. “Fuck no! Don’t you dare make this thing spin.” Bloody murder was not even near definitive enough of how much you were screaming.

“Babe, babe calm down, it’s fine! I promise, ha!” In comparison to your screaming, Steve seemed to be having the time of his life as he laughed; at least he wasn’t making the ride spin. “Babe, babe, babe, I’m so sorry I’m laughing, I promise I didn’t mean to, but you were screaming so much! And it was hilarious!” Steve held onto his sides as he nearly fell out of the pod and waited for you to follow his laughing self. When you didn’t step out, he turned back around and saw you still had your hands clenched very tightly to the metal plate, your eyes wide and your lips pursed together. “Sweetheart, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the rides, do you wanna go home?”

Hearing him soften up got you to finally look at him and slowly let go of the wheel. “N-n-no. I’m…” You paused to catch your breath and steady your voice. “I’m good, I just don’t know if I can do any more of these kinds of things.” Taking his hand, you pulled yourself up and stepped out from the ride and have yourself a few seconds to remember how to use your legs.

“You okay?” You nodded at him and gave a shaky, but okay smile. “You sure you wanna do another one? Cause we can go-”

“No, no, I can do…” The carnival really did have more rides than just ones that wanted to make you die, but none that really made you want to jump on them. “Can we do the carousel? I know I can do that one at least, my mom took me on them enough as a kid to be desensitized to those ones.” Steve looked over and saw the carousel that was filled predominately by smaller children, but if you wanted to do this and it was because he bought the tickets, he couldn’t make her do something else.

“If that’s what you wanna do, then we can do the carousel all night long, babe.” You nodded at him and followed him as he took your hand and the two began the walk to the carousel.

The carousel ride was much less curse filled, thankfully. You and Steve had found a pair of horses sitting side by side and the two of you quickly claimed them. Like you had said, you did get to enjoy this ride due to having done it before and you were able to just chat between the two of you, talking about how the kids were cute, how excited you were to take the kids to the park and not have to rides. It was a fine ride, definitely better than the last one.

“You ready to go home, babe?” Steve turned to you with a smile on his face. Getting you to ride two of the rides was honestly enough for him, plus, he knew Dustin would ride all of them with him later, with you waiting at the end for him.

You were about to agree and leave this eventful evening behind you, but you saw what Steve was standing near and bit your lip. Should you do it? Could you do it? “Actually, I wanna do one more.” He gave a quick quirk of his head before he followed your eyeline and turned around.

“What? Babe, we don’t have to do that, you have been through enough today and you were great, you don’t have to prove anything.”

“But...you have been wanting to do it, you told me about it one time.” You responded a little shyly as you confessed that you were doing it back of what he told you that one time. “I just...I really want you to be able to do it.”

“You...you remembered?” Steve was kind of shocked that you remembered him mentioning it, he had told that to girls in the past, but none of them really went out of their way to think about it, hell, even to remember it. “Are you su-”

“Steve, yes, I wanna do it with you.” The grin on his face was immaculate and contagious as one grew on your face as he quickly took this well and pulled you towards the line to the Ferris Wheel and dug around in his pockets for another round of tickets.

As it went around, you felt your stomach grow heavy again when you finally saw how high it got and had to calm yourself down without causing another scene. “Come on, babe, looks like ours is up.” He gently tugged on your hand and pulled you into the seat next to him before the handlebar was lowered and locked in front of you. “And here we go!”

The squeak that left your mouth was nothing but surprise and terror as you clung onto the bar for your life, your knuckles turning white with the sheer force you were holding on. “It’s really stupid you know that the only thing holding us back from falling to our death is this small bar and it’s really stupid because was if I was reall-holy shit this is really tall!” You finally removed your hands from the bar and moved to press yourself in Steve.

You could feel him trying to stop himself from giggling as he moved his arm to wrap it around you. “You can laugh you know; I really don’t care. I’m the coward of an almost twenty-year-old who’s scared of a carnival.” A chuckle did come through as the ride kept rotating and you slowly moved closer to the bottom.

“I’m not laughing at you, babe, but the noises you are making are fricking hilarious.” His voice still held the chuckle as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, and you responded with another squeak of shock as you started rising again.

Making it to the top again, you were waiting for it to hit its peak and for the relief of lowering the cart to begin, but instead there was a shudder before the ride stopped. “What’s going on, what’s going on, why are we stopped? Oh god we are about to die, fuck, shit, I don’t wanna die.”

“Babe, calm down, someone below us is getting off so they had to stop the ride for a bit. Remember when we had to get on? Same thing probably happened to someone else.” You nodded your head and just stared ahead to the tops of the trees you never thought you would have seen.

“It’s...it’s not too bad up here.” You finally mutter after a few beats of silence and getting your bearings. “I wouldn’t want to stay up here, but it does look nice.” Steve hummed in agreement and pulled you a little closer. “Hey Stevie?”

“Hmm?” He responded looking down at you.

“Thanks, tonight was fun.”

His face broke out into a grin again at your thanks. “Of course, thanks for giving a few of these rides a chance.” Smiling up at him, you sat a little straighter and caught his lips with your own, the two of you humming to the other that you were happy with your evening.

Though it was not as long as Steve would have wanted to stay in that moment with you (the ride started again and you broke away with another shriek), but he wouldn’t have traded that moment for anything else in his life.

[watermelonlipstick]

Distraction (Request)

This was a request for @sergeantsea​, who asked:

Hi angel!! I was wondering if you could write something with the reader slow dancing w Sam? Maybe they have to pretend to be together to do a mission? 

It was a total blast to write--SUCH a cute idea. I hope this is something like you were thinking.

Title: Distraction

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1673

Summary: A misstep during a case requires a distraction and some quick thinking. 

Warnings: canon-appropriate threat of violence, mention of alcohol, fluffy fluff fluff, a little teaspoon of smut-adjacent action 😜

           You tried to make the quick strides across the room look purposeful rather than frantic and resisted the urge to check over your shoulder for whether the pair had followed you across the bar. It had been stupid to try to eavesdrop without the pretense of another conversation to cover, and when the vampires had both looked up at the same time, you were sure you were done for.

           “Look alive,” you hissed, grabbing Sam’s hand and yanking him up from the cracked leather stool he was leaning on. He had to stretch against your grip to rest his pool cue on the wall, giving an apologetic smile to the denim-clad guys he and Dean had been playing. Didn’t matter much, Dean could hustle the two of them by himself anyway.

           “What’s going on?” Sam muttered, low and serious as he caught up, trailing just barely behind you so that the words played against the back of your neck, the delicate heat of them along your skin already easing some of the panic you had been feeling.

           “I might’ve just gotten us made—don’t look,” you said with a smile you hoped would look flirtatious to a bystander, turning to curl a hand around the back of his neck as a safeguard to prevent his inevitable impulse to check it out.

           “Uh, okay. What’s the plan?”

           “Just two regular people in a regular bar doing some regular dancing.”

           You could feel Sam’s neck tense under your palm.

           “You know, I’m really not so good at—”

           “Sorry, you’re going to have to pretend unless you’ve got a better option. Smile, please,” you said through the gritted teeth behind your put-on smile, and Sam gave a tight-lipped facsimile as the song shifted, Lionel Richie singing “know it sounds funny but I just can’t stand the pain,” smooth as silk even over the dive’s old speakers . You took Sam’s hand and set it on your hip before floating your free fingers behind his neck. He followed suit somewhat tentatively, holding you with big paws as carefully as if you were some antique Christmas ornament.

           “Can I look yet?” he smiled down at you, grin only partly exasperated. You moved a misplaced lock of hair back to the right side of his loose part and tried not to flush at the way he deliberately closed his eyes while you did.

           One of your hands traced down the collar of his flannel, resting on his lapel and closing a few more inches between your waists. “Sure. Stocky guy in blue and a blond guy with a goatee.”

           Sam checked back from where you’d come under the pretense of tucking you under his chin. When he spoke it was like stepping into a hot shower, soothing warmth flowing over the crown of your head. “They’re definitely watching. You sure it’s only those two? They’re sitting with a bigger table and no one’s talking.”

           “Fuck. How many?”

           “Uh, how fast do you think you can get to the car?”

           “That bad? Spin me, I wanna see.”

           He obliged, slipping his hand into your lax grip on his neck and guiding your hips around a small spin that was just enough for you to see the overflowing booth the two had slid into, at least 7 or 8 angry-looking probably-vamps with eyes trained on you and Sam.

           When you turned back toward him, an easy, cheeky grin spread over his face as Sam slid an arm to your lower back and interlaced the fingers of his other hand with yours. “I didn’t realize you were this much trouble. What’d you do, spit in their beer?”

           “Very funny. Are they buying this?” You rested your palm on his shoulder, feeling the ripple of the muscles as his fingers spread out over your back.

           Sam chuckled and you felt the vibration of his chest into your forearms, starting to feel like a competition cheerleader with the plastered-on smile. “Gimme a sec, I don’t want to look suspicious.” He started incrementally rotating the two of you and you knew it was tactical, so he could see both Dean and the booth. Didn’t really help you either way, field of vision pretty much entirely blocked by the broad span of Sam’s chest. Knowing that he was trying to better his position signaled to you to get ready, and you held a deep breath in an effort to calm your racing heartbeat. He leaned back a touch. “You okay?”

           “Yeah, sorry. Just such a fucking rookie move, I feel like an idiot.”

           “Don’t sweat it. If it’s a rookie move, I must be a rookie too. And usually the warning Dean gives me for shit like this is yelling for me 6 punches in.”

           You snickered a little into the flannel of his shirt despite yourself. “Thanks.”

           The two of you swayed together through a chorus. “Come on Dean, you idiot, look up,” Sam murmured to himself. Dean was lining up a shot he could hit backwards with his eyes closed like he needed laser precision, blissful ignorance allowing him to concentrate only on hustling the guys he was playing for a couple hundred bucks and not the imminent danger. A few people got up from the booth and began making their way across the bar. You could see them in your peripheral vision and knew even if Dean miraculously glanced up now and got with the program lightning-fast you’d be in trouble based on sheer numbers alone.

           “You trust me?” he asked fervently.

           “Yeah, of course I—” you stammered, immediately cut off by the plush crash of Sam’s lips into yours, the deepened pressure of his hand sealing your torsos together. After the briefest stunned moment you got the picture, kissing Sam back cautiously. You let him pull you closer, relaxed into his arms and dragged the hand you had on his shoulder down to gently hold onto his lapel, feeling a little dizzy even through the relative chasteness of the kiss. He disentangled his fingers from yours and slid them to your neck, the tiny chill of each of his wintry fingertips sending goosebumps down your spine as he cradled your head. Hands on his collar, you didn’t even think to stop yourself when you wrapped the flannel up, pure instinct driving your motion. Sam wound through the hair at the back of your neck and those instincts betrayed you again, nipping at his bottom lip on reflex and slipping your tongue into his mouth, somehow sweet over the cheap beer you’d all been drinking throughout the night—perfect—and Sam was much less nervous than you would’ve thought when he took a sharp inhale in surprise but didn’t back down, met your escalation as readily as he supported your weight against him.

           And then you were well and truly in it, Sam’s hand hitching up the back of your tee as he reached for a better grip on you, your grabbing at his shirt popping open a button so you could feel the impossible heat off his chest and get towed under by it like a current, like a magnetic field, and you couldn’t stop, needed more and more, mind a fuchsia cloud of want totally void of intelligent thought or awareness of your surroundings even as you had been so panicked minutes before.

           The spell was broken by a wolf whistle from one of Dean’s opponents, and you broke apart with a lascivious pop of suction. Inches from you, Sam’s eyes were half lidded and kissed stupid, the pink of his lips feathered out to match the flush in his cheeks. You glanced toward the pool table to find the almost-hustled men leering at you and Sam from where they stood next to Dean, whose face had landed exactly halfway between stunned and disbelieving.

           Addressing his brother, Sam cleared his throat and breathed, “We were just—” looking back toward where the crew had been closing in and finding nothing, the group now playing some rowdy game and crawling all over each other to stay in the booth, not paying any attention to you or Sam. “We were, uh, just—” he tried again, still at a loss for words.

           “Get a room,” Dean teased, play-nauseated, eyebrows twisted so far up on his forehead you were surprised they weren’t pushing his hair back.

           “No, it wasn’t—”

           “In front of God and everybody,” he continued, roguish twinkle overcoming the surprise in his eyes. You could feel the heat rising in your face and hastily stepped back from Sam, yanking your shirt down the few inches it had risen. Sam seemed not to notice his open buttons as he froze, still facing Dean. “By all means, don’t let us stop you.” He supported his weight on his pool cue, face as clear a challenge as anything.

           Sam ruffled the back of his hair sheepishly and took the ribbing with tightened lips. “Yeah, okay. Ha-ha.”

           “I’m going to, uh, grab another beer. Do you want one?” you asked Sam quietly, hoping Dean and the pool players might lose interest.

           “Sure, yeah. I—ah, I’m gonna—” he stuttered, face screwing up in a silent, bashful “help me?” smile while his shoulders bunched around his neck. You started to giggle, nerves finally catching up to you, and bit your lip to hold your smile together.

           “Go finish your game?”

           Sam chuckled and nodded, looking at his feet.

           You took a deep breath. “Um, thanks for saving me back there. I won’t make the same mistake again, I promise.”

           He flicked his gaze up, grin split open at the side to show a few teeth as he ran his tongue over his molars, framed by an impossibly sliced dimple. “I—ah, I wouldn’t mind if you made that mistake again.”

-

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass​ @vxnderlindes​ @deanwinchesterswitch​ @akshi8278​ @itsjensenanddean​ @flannellover67​ @weepingwillowphoenix​ @tj-drinks-tea​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @winchestergirl2​ @winchest09​ @samwisethegr8​ @fawnxng​ @nurse-sarahrn​ @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love​ @thewinchesterandreidwhore​ @deanwanddamons​ @stressedoutkitten​ @winchestershiresauce​ @tatted-trina6​ @percico-heronstairs​ @downanddirtydean​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @lyarr24​ @wonder-cole​ @sergeantsea​

And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

[imlovethomassanders]

Eyes are the Windows to the Soul(mates) - Chapter 4

You can also read on ao3

Thank you to @strongindependentcheesecake for beta reading

This work is complete, and new chapters will be added everyday until completion:

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 5 (FINAL)

Summary: The lucky few who have a soulmate are born with heterochromia, with their left eye being the color of their soulmate’s eyes and their right eye being their own color. Not only was Virgil one of the lucky few to have a soulmate, but he was given four. His left eye changed colors every time he blinked, rotating between his four soulmates’ eye colors. His rotating eye colors caused him to be a bit of an outcast growing up, but when he finally leaves for college, things start to fall into place. This is the journey of five strangers finding each other.

Pairings: DLAMP with background Remile

Warnings: None I believe

Words: 3924

Taglist:  @touchstarvedvirgil @lamp-calm-sanders @ninjago2020 @confinesofpersonalknowledge @secret-novelisthost18 @phander-sides @sherlock-lives-on-bakerstreet @bookbingingproblem @viana-dascolli @sharktryingtofly @crofters-n-falsehoods @turnedthefreakingfrogsgay @little-kat07 @romano-hottopic​

Logan had been too worried about Roman and his eyes to talk to Patton and Virgil. It had been two weeks since they last video called, and Patton and Virgil were getting worried. For the first few days, Logan said he was sick. Then he had a lot of homework, then he had a migraine, then he had to study, then he had to help Emile with studying, or whatever excuse he could think of. He knew Patton and Virgil didn't buy it, but he was grateful they didn't push him.

Patton: How are you feeling today sweetie? Virgil: think you can talk to us today? Logan: I'm in the apartment elevator. As soon as I get home I will turn on my laptop and call you. Patton: !!!! :D <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Emile wasn't home yet, so Logan assumed he was still out with Remy. He went to his bedroom and opened his laptop, and a video call request popped up as soon as Logan came online.

"Hello-"

"LOGAN YOUR EYES!!" Patton exclaimed, Virgil wincing next to him. "Who?? When?? Where??"

Um, a couple weeks ago," Logan admitted. "We... had a bit of a rough start."

"You okay, Logan?" Virgil asked.

"Yes, things are getting better. We actually have a date tomorrow."

Patton squealed. "Oh, when can we meet them?? I can't wait to meet them!!"

Logan texted Roman that they were excited to meet him. Even though Virgil waited to meet Logan in person, that wait was only a couple days. Since Patton and Virgil probably wouldn't be able to meet Roman in person until the end of the semester, they decided to video call tomorrow.

Logan got to Roman's apartment a little before noon, and Remy was already gone. Roman said he wasn't too upset about being kicked out, since he got to use this as an excuse to go see Emile. Logan remembered Emile being particularly giddy as he left.

Logan was surprised when Roman pulled him into a hug as soon as the door opened.

"Hello," he said, muffled against Roman's chest. He prayed his cheeks weren't as red as they felt.

"It's wonderful to see you," Roman said as he let go of Logan. "I made tea. Do you like tea?"

He started talking again before Logan got a chance to respond.

"Oh, I'm so excited. You're going to love these. Which ones do you want to watch first?" Roman asked as he shoved a mug into Logan's hands.

"Show me your favorites."

Roman beamed.

A relaxing afternoon passed into evening. Roman and Logan had spent much of the time poking fun at inconsistencies in the movies, or Logan holding back laughter as Roman dramatically sang along to the songs.

Logan's phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Patton and Virgil are almost back to their dorm. They will be ready to call us when they arrive."

"Oh, wonderful!" Roman said.

Their moods had been so playful, it was easy to notice Roman's mood shift as his leg started shaking.

"Are you okay?" Logan asked.

"I'm fine," Roman said, but winced when his voice cracked.

"There is no need to worry," Logan said as he pulled his laptop out of his bag and Roman paused the movie. "I know they are very excited to meet you."

Roman gave him a grateful smile as Logan clicked the "Accept Call" button.

The few moments it took for the video to load dragged on for what felt like forever before the image of two men appeared on screen, one with pale skin and dark hair and the other covered in freckles with golden curls.

Roman's breath hitched at how absolutely gorgeous they were.

"Ohmygosh! Hello!!" the curly one exclaimed with a giant grin. "I'm Patton! It's so so wonderful to finally meet you!"

"Hey," the other one said, not nearly as energetic. "I'm Virgil."

"I'm Roman Kingsley. I'm so glad to finally meet my soulmates," Roman said as he flashed a grin. "And may I just say, that you two are two of the most beautiful beings I have ever been blessed enough to see."

Patton squealed in delight as he grabbed Virgil's hand while Virgil's cheeks grew a dark shade of red.

Conversation followed easily for them, and all of Roman's worries melted away. Roman glanced over to see Logan looking at him with eyes softer than he'd ever seen before. Roman smiled back and took Logan's hand and the two turned their attention back towards Patton and Virgil.

They were all so incredible. Roman swore he was in love.

*

"Logan?" Roman asked. He was laying on the couch with his head resting on Logan's lap. It was late Saturday night, and the two were exhausted after spending most of the day unpacking boxes. Roman and Emile were switching places so they could each live with their soulmates (Emile made sure he and Logan kept in touch - plus, double dates with them were now a common occurrence).

"Hm?" Logan hummed as he ran his fingers through Roman's hair.

"How long until winter break?"

"Thirty more days, dear."

It had been almost two months since Roman and Logan first met. And since Roman had met Patton and Virgil, too, he had been counting the days until he would finally get to see them in person.

"That's too long."

"I know."

Roman reached for Logan's hand that wasn't in his hair, but he didn't take it. Instead he just held his hand out for Logan to grab. Roman had been prepared to move at a fairly fast pace once he met his soulmates, but Logan clearly wanted to take it slow. So Roman was patient and let Logan set the pace. It took a couple weeks for Logan to hold his hand in public, a couple weeks more for Logan to cuddle with him. Some days, Logan didn't feel like being touched at all, so they'd sit in the same room on different chairs, just enjoying each other's company.

"Not that I'm not content with you," Roman quickly added. Logan opened his mouth to speak but Roman didn't notice. "I'm so unbelievably happy when I'm with you. Though I'm excited to meet Pat and Virge, you make me so much happier than I ever imagined I could be-"

"I know, Roman. I'm excited to see them, too."

Roman smiled up at him as he squeezed Logan's hand.

"...You're gorgeous," Roman said softly as he gazed up at Logan. Logan's face tinted pink as he glanced away.

"I-... you-... Thank you," Logan managed to stammer as he looked back at Roman, letting go of his hand just to run his hand down the side of Roman's face. "...May I kiss you?"

Roman's eyes widened as he sat up. "Are you sure? Because if so, then yes. Absolutely yes. But I don't want you to feel rushed or-"

"I want to, Roman," Logan assured, a tad embarrassed. Roman gave him a gentle smile as he placed a hand on Logan's cheek. He leaned in slightly but let Logan close the gap. Roman sighed happily as his eyes fluttered closed. He went to raise his other hand to Logan's cheek but Logan' separated, eyes wide and cheeks red.

"Are you okay?"

Logan nodded. "That was... really nice."

Roman smiled.

"Can I... Can I kiss you again?"

Roman nodded as he placed his hands back on Logan's cheeks. This time Logan placed his hand on the back of Roman's neck to pull him just a bit closer, not that Roman minded. Logan was the one to pull back first again, but only for a couple seconds before he pulled Roman back to him.

Roman kept the kiss slow and soft as Logan's hands held tightly on him, firm grip trying to pull them as close together as he could. Roman moved his arms around Logan's waist, aiding in pushing together. Soft gasps were escaping them both as their chests were pressed together.

The next time Logan pulled away, he just wrapped his arms around Roman and buried his head into the crook of Roman's neck. Roman smiled as he placed a kiss onto the side of Logan's head while rubbing soothing circles on his back.\

"Roman, I... I think that I... I0" Logan huffed out a frustrated sigh as he struggled to finish his sentence, his grasp around Roman tightening.

"I know, Logan," Roman assured him with a smile. "I know. Me, too."

*

Roman groaned and shut his laptop. He had done enough school work for tonight. Probably.

He ran his hands over his face. His eyes stung slightly from staring at a bright screen for so long in the dark room. Glancing at the clock, he was surprised to see it was already nine o'clock. Logan had gone out to attend some seminar for extra credit, not that he needed it. With Roman no longer tapping away at the keyboard, he noticed the light pattering of rain.

He pushed his chair away from his desk and fell onto his bed, reaching for his phone. He didn't know when Logan would be back, but he hoped it would be soon. The apartment got lonely when he wasn't around.

Roman was about to text the group chat to see how Patton and Virgil were doing when he got a phone call from the emo nightmare himself.

Surprised, but in no way complaining, he happily tapped the answer button.

"Hello, my darling. How are-"

"Roman," Virgil gasped out, and Roman was immediately worried. He sat up in the bed, mind racing with what could be wrong. Was he hurt? "I'm sorry. This is so stupid, but Patton's not at the dorm and- Oh, it's getting late I shouldn't have called I'm sorry-"

"Virgil," Roman interrupted. Virgil was already breathing heavy - Roman didn't want him to work himself up even more. "What's wrong, dove?"

"It's stupid," Virgil muttered.

"Virgil."

"...It's storming. And thunderstorms make my anxiety spike."

As if on cue, Roman heard a loud clap of thunder in the background followed by a sharp intake of breath from Virgil.

"That's not stupid," Roman said, affection dripping in his voice. "Just focus on my voice, dove. Follow my breathing."

Roman took a few deep breaths, listening as Virgil followed, and his breathing eventually grew steadier.

"Perfect. You're doing wonderful."

Roman led Virgil through breathing a bit longer until Virgil's breathing was back to normal.

"Thanks, Roman," Virgil said quietly.

"Of course, darling. I'll always be here for you, to protect or comfort. Whatever ails you, I'll work to destroy it."

"Sap."

Roman couldn't help but smile. The sound of rustling blankets came through the phone.

"...Hey, Ro?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you, um, sing for me?" Virgil asked quietly. A large grin grew on Roman's face, his heart burning with so much love for the man on the other end of the phone that it almost hurt.

"Of course I can."

Roman started to sing softly all the love songs he knew, anything he thought could even begin to portray how much he was already in love with him.

"I wish you were here," Virgil said, his soft voice making it evident he was getting sleepy. "So your voice wasn't muddled by the phone."

"I wish I was there, too. To hold you and let you know that as long as I'm around, nothing is going to harm you. Not even thunder."

Virgil chuckled softly.

"I wish you could hold me."

"And I will, love," Roman said earnestly. "As soon as I can."

Virgil yawned.

"Sing me to sleep?"

"Anything you need, Virgil."

*

Fluffball <3: Everyone get on video call!!

Roman shook Logan's shoulder, who was sitting by him, to get his attention. He showed Logan the text and Logan grabbed his laptop.

"Hey sweeties!" Patton said the same time Virgil said "'Sup."

"Hello, dearests," Roman said the same time Logan said "Salutations."

"So we all agreed to get together the first couple weeks before Christmas so we could still go see our families on the holidays, right?" Patton started, smile wide in excitement.

"Yes, Patton." Logan said.

"Well, I found a place in my home town we could rent for those weeks. So we can spend the time by ourselves instead of making our schedule around my parents," Patton said sheepishly. "If we all pitch in, I know we could afford it."

"That sounds incredible, Pat," Roman answered with a large smile. Patton's grin grew wider.

"I'll email y'all the details."

*

Roman was shaking his leg as Logan drove. He was finally, finally, after far too many months, on his way to see Patton and Virgil.

"There's nothing to worry about," Logan assured him. "They are both very fond of you. Just... be prepared for a really big Patton hug when you walk through the door."

Roman was looking forward to it.

Roman knew Patton and Virgil almost as well as he knew Logan due to the constant texts and video calls, though that could never compare to finally being able to see his darling soulmates in person.

Logan held Roman's hand as they walked up the path to the front door. He didn't have time to knock before the door flew open and Logan was pulled inside, yanking Roman in with him.

"Roman!!" Roman heard someone shout before they threw themself into his arms. "Oh my gosh it's so wonderful to finally meet you in person!"

Roman pulled back to see Patton looking up at him, absolutely beaming. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Virgil and Logan hugging while exchanging "I missed you"s, but right now all he wanted was to focus on the little puffball in his arms.

"Hello, dear," Roman said with a large smile as he pulled Patton back to him. Patton let out a loud squeal of laughter as Roman picked him up and spun him around.

"I can not express how ecstatic I am to finally hold you," Roman said as he put Patton down, taking the opportunity to cover his face in kisses. "My dear, my darling, my love, I've been waiting for this day for as long as I can remember, and oh, how gorgeous you are in person."

Patton's face was very red as Roman finished talking, Logan and Virgil watching in amusement. Roman panicked for a moment, thinking he had gone too far, but Patton just threw his arms back around Roman and pressed kisses to his cheek.

"You're so sweet! I'm so happy you're here," Patton said as he pulled back.

Virgil gently placed a hand on Patton's arm, and he let out a little "oh" before stepping aside, turning his attention to Logan.

"Logan! I've missed you!" Patton exclaimed as he threw his arms around Logan, but quickly pulled away once he remembered Logan's occasional aversion to being touched. But Logan wrapped his arms around Patton, and Patton smiled before hugging him again.

"I've missed you, too."

"Uh, hey, Roman," Virgil said a bit sheepishly as Patton turned to Logan.

"Hello, Virgil,"  Roman said with a grin as he stepped closer. There were a couple of moments of silence, then Virgil threw his arms around Roman and Roman quickly reciprocated, placing a hand on Virgil's back and pressing him against his chest.

"It's lovely to finally see you, darling," Roman whispered as Virgil took a shaky breath and hid his face in the crook of Roman's neck. "I'm here now. It's okay."

"We're all together!" Patton squealed happily as he wrapped his arms around the two of them, and Roman felt Virgil smile against his skin.

Roman gave Logan an expectant smile, holding out his hand for Logan to take. And when he did, Roman pulled him into the group hug.

"It's really nice to finally be with all of you," Virgil muttered against Roman, voice cracking just slightly. Roman tightened his arm around him.

"It is," Patton beamed. "I'm so happy."

*

Roman groaned as he stood up off the couch and stretched his arms up, hearing his bones pop in the process. The four of them had gone out to eat that night, and it had been pure magic. It wasn't a particularly grand place, just a small diner around the corner, but the four of them being in the same place for the first time was just wonderful. Roman could put his arm around Patton, or reach over to take Logan or Virgil's hands. The way the four of them clicked together so naturally made Roman feel like he was walking on air.

Oh, how lucky he was to be blessed with soulmates.

When they got home, they had put a movie on the TV. But after a long day of travelling, Logan and Roman didn't last half the movie. When Roman woke up, Virgil had also fallen asleep and Patton was gone, but Roman could hear humming in the kitchen.

"Oh, hello, sweetie," Patton said as Roman walked in. "I'm making tea, would you like some?"

Roman nodded as he reached out towards Patton but hesitated. Patton then gently grabbed his arm and pulled Roman towards him.

"You don't have to worry about me. I always want cuddles," Patton sighed happily as he rested his head on Roman's chest. "You don't have to ask."

"But what if one day you don't-"

"Then I'll make sure to tell you. Though there's never been a day in my life I didn't want hugs."

Roman rested his cheek on Patton's fluffy hair and sighed. "I... I'm honestly sort of relieved. Obviously I'm not upset about Logan's boundaries, but..."

"You can tell me, honey," Patton urged as he tightened his grip around Roman. "It's alright."

"It's just... I've been fighting my insecurities for as long as I can remember. And physical affection just makes me feel better, I guess. It makes me feel secure and wanted," Roman said, voice getting softer from embarrassment. "And when I feel like I need it but Logan doesn't want to be touched, I just keep my mouth shut on how I'm feeling to not make him feel guilty."

"I get it," Patton said as he stepped back to cup Roman's face. "Virgil's the same way. Less often than Logan, but the same.

But I don't think you should hide how you're feeling from Logan. He'd feel bad you felt the need to hide from him. I just know he would want to know so he could find a way to help you. He loves you, Roman."

Roman huffed a bit as he pulled away from Patton to sit on the counter.

"But I don't want him to think I'm trying to pressure him."

"I know, I know. Roman... I get sad often. For no real reason in particular, sometimes. And physical affection helps me feel better, too. And just like Logan with you, Virgil is usually more than happy to help me. But for a while I, too, felt like I needed to keep it to myself because I didn't want to bother him."

"And?"

"He figured out, and he told me to tell him whenever I'm feeling sad. And we've found other ways. I'll sit next to him and we'll watch cat videos, or he'll show me his favorite music. Sometimes he'll say he can handle a little bit of touching and he lets me hold his hand or rest my head on his shoulder. But nothing is going to get better if you keep it to yourself."

Roman ducked his head as Patton gingerly pushed hair away from his face.

"Yeah, you're right," Roman said quietly. Patton pressed a kiss to his cheek. A smile grew on Roman's face. "And one day, we'll all live together, and we'll all balance each other out and love each other in our different ways. We'll never be more than a name call away from all the affection we need. Plus, while I'm here with you, I'll always be more than happy to give you lots and lots of attention."

Patton returned his soft smile as he cupped Roman's cheek. The two gazed at each other for a moment before connecting their lips, pulling the other towards them as close as they could.

The kiss was so incredibly soft. The two had to break apart for a moment just because their smiles grew so big, but they immediately reconnected their lips. It was gentle, just like Patton. Roman couldn't help but melt against him, promising himself that he was going to get as many Patton kisses as he could in his lifetime.

"I don't think I'll be able to handle another semester away from you," Patton said with a melancholy smile as they parted. Roman kissed him.

"Only a couple more years, darling. Then I'll be all yours."

*

Over the following days, Roman had the three of his loves in arms reach at all times. He could finally cuddle Patton against him or wrap Virgil tightly in his arms (and he'd never get tired of holding Logan). But the bliss couldn't last forever, and the day for them to leave for the holidays arrived.

Logan and Patton didn't have a far drive at all considering they were already in their hometown. Virgil had a good few hours, but Roman had to drive to the airport to get home, meaning he had to get up early in the morning and leave significantly sooner than the others.

"I'll see you soon, Specs," Roman said with a sad smile.

Logan met Roman halfway for a kiss. "See you soon."

Patton had been holding back tears all morning. But when Roman pulled him into a tight hug, he couldn't help that a few tears fell down his cheeks.

"Hey now, it's okay, darling. We'll see each other again soon. I lo- I'll miss you."

Patton's eyes widened and Roman tried not to wince at his slip up. But Patton gently placed a hand on Roman's cheek and pulled him down into a kiss.

"I love you," Patton whispered. Roman kissed him again.

"I love you, too."

They shared one more brief kiss before Patton let him go.

"I'll bring your bag out for you," Virgil said and walked out the door before Roman could say anything.

Roman gave one last goodbye to Patton and Logan and followed his other love.

"Call me when you land," Virgil said. "Want to make sure your plane didn't crash."

Virgil put Roman's suitcase in his trunk and slammed it shut. He wasn't looking at Roman.

"And drive safe. I know you like to play your music loud but be careful."

"I will."

"Well, um. I guess this is goodbye," Virgil said, staring at the ground.

"...Please look at me, darling."

Virgil huffed but slowly lifted his head, showing his red cheeks and puffy eyes.

"Oh, my dear," Roman said as Virgil let him pull him into a hug. "It'll be okay. We'll see each other again soon."

"I know," Virgil muttered into Roman's shirt. Virgil pulled away slowly, then placed his hands on Roman's cheeks to pull Roman down into a kiss. Roman pulled Virgil as tightly against him as he could, wishing this didn't have to end.

"I love you," Virgil whispered, surprising Roman. But he smiled.

"I love you, too. So much."

"Call me," Virgil said as he let Roman go.

"I will."

Virgil pressed one more quick kiss to Roman's lips before walking inside. And Roman smiled.

This is going to work out perfectly, he thought.

[crimson-dxwn]

AT ODDS 6 (Kal Skirata x F!OC)

Summary: Tea gets spilled at Kyrimorut. Ordo gets involved. Ori makes a choice and a new enemy.

Warnings: Mando profanity, pregnancy, SPOILERS for Republic Commando books (all but the last one), medical shit, surgery, fucking SADS

As always, so many thanks to @detroitbydark who lets me screech about my weird fic and Kal and Ori! Also this is barely edited be kind, I’m on my psych rotation and barely scraping by. 

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

Kal realizes he’s slipped the figurine into the pocket of his bodysuit semi-consciously in his hasty retreat from the apartment. Knotted Jonah wood whittled smooth forms two stylized figures, one large and one small, their hands joined between them. 

He barely registers the ride back home and comming Mij. They need a plan, and they need one fast if they are going to find her. He knows little about how the Empire treats their prisoners compared to the late Republic, but he isn’t about to have any illusions of honor or fair play. After all, he doesn’t play fair himself. But there’s a hydrospanner thrown into the mix. What he doesn’t know is how the Imps treat prisoners with … unique health conditions. Or if they even give half a bantha’s shebs. Odds are they send men and women alike to those osik’la camps he’s gotten word of. Yeah, the Empire was equal opportunity like that. 

If Mereel can’t slice into the system remotely, they were going to have to do an old-fashioned infiltration. He’d ask his ad’ike if they were up to task, there’s no way he could ask to put them in danger, not after the entirety of their lives being war. It hurts him to even think about asking. But he has to do this, even if it’s just his sorry shebs. 

He tries to put on a good Sabaac face when he’s back in the karyai, discreetly gathering up all the surplus weapons they have that he finds might be useful for an infiltration into a heavily armed and fortified position. 

Mereel of course, catches on within minutes. 

“You’re going to find her,” Mereel interrupts. Kal yanks his head up out of the gun locker to look at his son. “And you didn’t even think to ask for backup?”

His son’s tone is accusing, edging on hurt. That he did not expect.

“It’s my fuckup, son,” he replies, “I’m the one who needs to fix it. I can’t ask you to do this.”

“What’s so special about this doctor?” Mereel slams the door of the locker shut. It’s obvious his ad’ika is protective. They all are. 

“She delivered your ba’vodu’ad, Mereel. I’m pretty sure she saved Parja’s life.” Kal says, keeping his eyes on his work, cleaning the weapons, arranging the ammo he needs. Sharpening his father’s three-sided knife. 

“And that’s enough to go up against the Empire? ”

He’s going to have to spit it out. Mereel is looking at him expectantly, sure that he’s going to change his mind, see reason. 

“She’s pregnant, son.” Mereel, who has been away for the events of the last few months, just stares back at him in a puzzled fashion, brows slightly furrowed. Looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Maybe he has. 

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

In comes a second voice, and the accusatory tone startles him enough that, when added to his baseline urgency and anxiety, causes his hand to slip and nick itself as he sharpens his knife. 

“Osik,” he hisses, holding pressure to the cut as blood wells, looking up to the figure in the doorway. Ordo. Mereel stares at his brother, unsure whether he is joking. Kal sighs. He should know better, trying to keep things from them. The last time he was successful at that was when they were four. 

“Does it matter?” 

“Maybe,” Ordo replies, just this edge of indignant, “is she carrying my vod?” 

A strange and protective piece of him flares at Ordo’s tone and Kal stands, still holding the cloth to his cut hand. 

“Most likely.”

“Then we need to get her back.” Ordo meets his eye finally and Kal nods, satisfied, and starts gathering ammo from the safes. This time Mereel moves to help, still in a rare state of stunned silence. 

By the time they’ve gathered what they need and loaded it into aayhan, Mereel has a willing team assembled and what they know of the building schematics up on a datapad in the karyai. Fortunately for them, the team won’t be breaking into any prison blocks, which are bound to be heavily guarded. 

“All we have to do is get into the information security room that houses the main terminal,” Mereel starts confidently. “We can stay far away from the security blocks and the bucketheads.” 

“Though it would be fun to bust some vode out of there,” Scorch adds. 

“Not our mission,” says Mereel, regret plain in his voice, “we’ll have to get them another time.” The realization that they were leaving prisoners at the mercy of the empire sobers the group even more. It was becoming more and more apparent that more planning was needed before they could root out the Empire on Mandalore. Meanwhile, Kal had set Uthan to the task of trying desperately to make their own homebrew vaccine. 

---

It’s been many many years since he’s fastroped. Lately, he has been finding that it’s been years since he’s done many things. Fastroping, underwater diving...fathering kriffing kids. He swallows, hard and regroups himself. Every single one of them needs to be focused if they’re gonna pull this job off. 

Yes, he’s fast roped before. But he’s never liked it. Where his sons get twitchy when confined to tight spaces, he finds himself sweating more than usual under his beskar the more stories they climb. Right now, they’re about ten stories up, far above the sensors of the garrison and way above his tolerance for heights. They have about a minute to pull this off before the Imps realize this transport is lingering too long in their airspace. 

Mereel, Sev, Scorch, and Kal are in Aayhan, hovering silently above the Keldabe imperial garrison in the inky black late summer night. The humidity sticks his tactical garments to his skin, making it itch and crawl in addition to his surging adrenaline. That was one thing that never changed, no matter how old he got, no matter how many missions he’s finished - that nauseating spike of pure fear and bliss. 

He gives the signal to move move move and soon he’s roping down, strong north Mandalorian wind whipping around him, soaking through his underlayer. The four of them land silently on the roof of the compound, and Scorch starts laying a strip charge along the floor to create a hole leading below, straight into the admin offices. Four sets of Mando armor gleam lowly in the moonlight. It’s a perfect night for an op like this, whipping wind obscuring any slight noise they did make and the faint whine of aayhan’s engines. The charges detonate with a controlled bang and flash of bright light that briefly blinds his HUD. Kal switches to night vision.

*His child*. It’s barely a concrete concept in his mind yet, but an instinctual piece of him knows the truth. The timing is too perfect for him to be wrong. The way Orla had looked at him in the med center…

The stakes are too high to fail, and distracting thoughts get men killed. Mereel leads the way through the door, rifle at the ready, and Kal banishes his musings to the back of his mind, pushed away by a fresh rush of adrenaline. It’s a stealth mission, and they navigate by night vision, as silently as their boots will allow. 

They stalk through dark quiet hallways lined with innocuous office doors until they reach the end, what is presumably the CO’s office, with its durasteel double doors and obviously larger size. 

Mereel starts in on slicing the door panel while Sev shoots out the camera in the hallway corner while the rest of them listen for any approaching patrols. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed they were there, whether it was the hole in the roof or the blacked out camera. The double doors open quietly and they head inside. Vau’s boys guard the door while he and Mereel crowd the desk in the middle of the room. 

“I need a few minutes to get into this,” Mereel says, eyes locked onto the screen before him. One of his slicing tools is between his teeth.

“You’ll get it, son. We’ll take care of anything that tries to get in our way.” 

So far it looks like no one has noticed them. The imps must really be confident in the plan to neutralize Mandalore with so few guards and patrols. Sweat drops trickle down the back of his neck and into his bodysuit.

Mereel studies the datapad stripping the system for a few more moments and turns it towards Kal. There’s a concerned look stretched across his handsome face. Together the watch the recorded scene on the screen before them. 

There’s Orla, still in her work clothes, talking with an Imp who’s behind this very desk, flanked by two stormtroopers. He knows those gestures - she’s spitting mad, barely containing the fury that was directed toward the man behind the desk. Without audio he can only guess as to the contents of their conversation. The Imp behind the desk gives a short reply and nods curtly to the right-hand trooper who, without hesitation, raises his blaster rifle and cracks her across the face with the butt end. She doesn’t even see it coming. Even in the shades of blue from the holoprojector the blood is obvious, trickling down the side of her face. 

Kal is livid, trembling so finely it’s barely visible, and he almost forgets where they are for a moment. Deep in enemy territory, with hostiles incoming any minute. 

Mereel makes a disgusted noise from deep in his chest as they watch her be pushed to the ground. They follow the video feed where she’s led to a cell. His breath catches. There’s a chance she’s still here. His hope is tempered, however, when an alarm starts to sound from within the garrison. A patrol must have finally found their breach point.

“Sarge?” warns a voice from outside the door. It’s Sev, by the gravelly tone. 

“Almost finished,” he shouts, over the screeching din. Mereel continues to work furiously, his bulk hunched over the console. He’s able to parse through incredible amounts of data with immense precision; Kal can practically feel the concentration rolling off him. 

“Wait,” Mereel says. Kal looks over at the screen. They’re centered on a video feed again, this time outside. The sheer amount of prisoners in line for the transport is shocking enough, but the fact that none of them are in armor is even more appalling. The Imps are slowly stripping their culture away, plate by plate. 

“She’s not on the manifest for this transport, even though the records say she leaves.” 

It doesn’t make sense. Unless… Kal knows Mereel must be thinking the same as him. Judging by the brutality of the footage they’ve watched, the stories from around the planet, he wouldn’t put it past the Empire to take care of a pesky problem in the easiest way they knew how. It wasn’t something that supposedly peaceful, orderly governments liked to keep records of. His dread and guilt intensifies, leadening his limbs already weighed down by heavy beskar. 

He chokes the words out. He has to know. “Is there any footage of…” Kal can’t bring himself to say them. It doesn’t need to be said, Mereel knows what he’s looking for. He’s been in a war zone long enough to know that armies aren’t sentimental. 

“No, no footage. Just them leading her away.” The alarm continues to blare. It could be minutes, seconds before they have to blast their way out. 

“Here.”

Kal steels himself to watch. It’s his fault, he reminds himself again. Two more fresh marks in his ledger. His arm reaches automatically to his son’s to steady himself. He feels Mereel’s slump ever so slightly, whether it’s in relief or defeat, he can’t tell. 

“I have what I need,” he says, “time to go. Debrief can wait for later.” Distant footsteps start to echo towards them, modulated shouts following close behind. They were about to be grossly outnumbered, by the sound of it. Kal shoves his helmet back on, heading through the doorway and signaling Sev and Scorch to follow. 

They wind through the garrison, avoiding both patrols and squads of stormtroopers sweeping the building. It’s laughably easy compared some of the other heists they’ve pulled - except he speaks too soon. As they make their way out of the back door of the garrison onto the Keldabe streets, one squad catches up to them. Ordo has aayhan back at Kyrimorut - earlier they had decided it was too risky for the four of them to fly home and possibly expose the homestead. So instead their plan was to run the winding streets and strategically borrow a transport. The problem is that Kal is pushing sixty and the other men are - physiologically at least - still in their early twenties. They’re a lot kriffing faster than him, even with his ankle fixed. 

The streets and alleys twist and turn, switching from ancient cobbles to smooth duracrete without warning. Easy enough to get lost if you’re a local, they are impossible to navigate as aruettiise. Soon the four are panting, ducked into an alcove off a cobbled alley. Finally, it seems they’ve dodged the patrol. Only time will tell if they were recognized. Kal finds he doesn’t much mind if they know his face. In fact, he hopes they do. He wants to meet that garrison officer. 

-------

Imperial Rehabilitation Center

Weeks later

19 BBY

Life isn’t all doom and gloom. They are kept...occupied. Like rats in a maze. Ori shares a bunk with another Mandalorian, the only other there. Taren is a kid really, small and slight except for her distended belly. It’s obvious she’s used to wearing armor by the way she walks, how upright she holds herself, arms swaying slightly away from her body. And how she closes in on herself when she realizes it’s not there, when it’s nighttime in their room and thinks Ori can’t hear her sob breathlessly into her pillow every night. 

It’s almost childish, the way they’re herded from room to room. Chaperoned and on a schedule, like one would handle a naughty child needing extra discipline. It was how she imagines Coruscanti boarding schools some of her medical school classmates attended - polished stone floors and crisp uniforms, all strict routines and synchronized repetition. It’s meant to numb the mind, making days run into weeks. She suspects they’re kept intentionally disoriented. After all, most of them are still political prisoners, and many she’s found have important connections on their respective homeworlds. 

They’re at lunch, scattered around their assigned tables. Generously, they are allowed to converse during meals, though their seats remain assigned. The ‘rehab center’ has proven to be much more expansive than she expected - some rooms are swallowingly large, like the one she is in now, and some are as small as a broom closet, connected by narrow winding hallways. The building itself could have been any number of things in a past life - a school, factory, or prison. She supposes it doesn’t matter much now. Today there’s a newcomer, sitting quiet and sullen at a back table with the Corellians. Time would tell if she was one of them or if she hailed from a different world. 

An arm jostles her, hitting her square in the ribs. It successfully knocks her out of her analysis of the newcomer. 

“-did you hear what I just said?” Taren says, mouth full of tasteless nutritional paste. It’s far from delicious, but you ate what they give out and she is hungry *all the time* nowadays. A fleck lands on Ori’s face and she wipes it away with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, al’verde.” Commander. Her eyes roll automatically. She knows she doesn’t deserve the title. Discreetly, Ori shushes the younger woman - they’re lucky the stormtroopers here don’t understand Mando’a. 

They put together kit for new stormtroopers, morning and night. It’s another endurable humiliation. She stabs at the cubes bitterly with her spoon, scattering crumbs across the table. They’re not allowed forks or knives, not after Taren’s first week. A tiny smile flits across her face as she thinks on the memory. 

 Ori feels like a geriatric compared to the spry warrior, though they’re less than ten years apart in age. She’s seen things in that time, lost people, buried dreams. Though Taren is looking older and older by the day, cooped up in this place. 

“Theera is gone,” Taren says, “she wasn’t at breakfast either.” 

Looking around and finding no sign of the woman, Ori hums an agreement. She’ll be gone for good soon, and her baby as well. Every time someone delivers it sends a sense of unshakeable dread down her spine and into the pit of her stomach. All of them are marching slowly towards that finish line. 

The artificial hierarchy into which they are forced has made the two Mandalorians de facto leaders, despite Ori being one of the newer inmates and to cement her as *alverde*; her medical expertise makes her invaluable. 

The room hushes as Dr. Loesch sweeps down to the cafeteria, all business in crisp grey scrubs, so confident in his admiration. He insists they call him ‘Doctor L’ like he’s a popular lecturer at a university. He’s the worst kind of hut’uun, just as bad as the rest of the Imps she’s met here. Loesch is in charge of their medical care, all 100-some of them, including herself. Loesch towers over most of them, even herself. 

As a physician, Ori is personally insulted at his complacency, the fact that he is perfectly content in his post and cemented in his belief that what he was doing is just, his complicity. She stabs at her cubes some more to try and make herself feel better. 

As a woman, she’s decidedly less surprised. Men like him are everywhere, tall and handsome, handed success on a silver platter, born into families of privilege and power. Taking and taking with no thought of the carnage they leave behind. 

He saunters his way over to their table and sits with a charming smile. 

“Beviin,” he starts, “I heard through the gossip chain that you were an obstetrician before you came here?”

It’s physically painful to keep her retort in hand. She’s been here long enough to see women sent to solitary. And to see them come back, changed indefinitely. 

“Mmm,” she mumbles affirmatively through a mouthful of cubes. She swallows. “Yes.” Keep it simple, that’s easy enough. 

He smiles sardonically. “How ironic,” he adds, obviously pleased with the revelation. Expectantly, he looks around the table to gauge his joke, and they catch on, laughing softly, nervously, afraid of what might happen if they don’t. Even Ori joins in, the butt of the low blow, though her simmering rage ratchets up another level.

They finish the rest of their lunch largely in silence and Loesch pulls her away when she files out with the others. 

“Ms. Beviin,” he says conspiratorially, “I know it must be difficult for you to be here.” 

The man over her, face too close for comfort, his voice deep and low. Alarm fills her as the other people in the room dwindle until it’s just the two of them and the scattered troopers on the upper level. All Ori can think about is where the nearest exit is located when she realizes he’s still speaking to her. 

“...what do you think?” He waits patiently, a benevolent expression in his face. He blinks too little, she thinks, and his eyes are devoid of expression, shining with an amused sort of malevolence. They’re a strange shade of brown...no, green? The little noise he makes in the back of his throat brings her back to their conversation.

“Ah...sure?” she replies weakly, stunned and frozen.

“That’ll be nice for the other inmates,” he says. Incredibly white, straight teeth flash as he smiles down at her. “I think it will give them comfort to have you there. I’ll have the guards collect you when it’s time.” 

——

Three nurses eye her from across the suite. They wear sweet matching hospital uniforms, in the same soft fabric as hers except in a delicate petal pink. With a pang, she misses her fellow nurses and doctors on Mandalore. Who knows how many had fallen ill? Been arrested? The way they clustered in a little group reminded her of her schoolmates, when they found out she didn’t like fighting, whispering rumors from across the room. That she thought she was better than them, that weird girl who was more concerned with grades than winning fights and impressing boys. Now they stand across the room from her like a little bunch of flowers in their coordinated outfits, identical and perfect. She’s an other in their world, someone to be feared and hated, pitied at best. 

Orla stands awkwardly, waiting for the show to start when her stomach flips. The scrub top she has on stretches across her middle awkwardly, pulling at the seams and the soft shoes that cover her feet are obscured by her bump. The strange sensation returns, a little differently this time, just the barest flutter, deeper down than that nervous feeling. Her baby. She lays a gentle palm over the swell, as discreetly as she can, still feeling the scrutinizing looks of the women across the room.

Another nurse wheels a bed into the room, complete with Theera shivering atop it, her hair and gown drenched in sweat. Orla rushes to the head of the bed as she’s prepped for the operation. Theera is dazed, too exhausted to make much sense of anything right now, glassy eyes focused on the ceiling. She smoothes back the sweaty hair from Theera’s forehead. 

“Hey cyar’ika. It’s Ori,” she says softly. The woman’s eyes focus a little, just enough to meet hers. She bumps their foreheads together. It was as much to comfort herself as much as the other woman. Non-mandos typically didn’t understand the meaning behind the gesture. She can’t squeeze her hand like she wants to - it’s being hooked up to IV tubing.

“I’m cold,” she mumbles. Some of it is adrenaline, some from fear, and the rest from the icy operating room temperature to keep the surgeons comfortable. Drenched as she is, it’s no wonder Theera is shivering. 

Ori asks the wary tech for a warm blanket, terrified of overstepping and getting her shebs kicked out of the operating room. She’s promptly ignored in favor of his work. Dr. Loesch enters the room and the nurses titter around him while he ensures everything is prepped to his liking. Ori settles for as much skin to skin contact as she can get with Theera, trying to warm her, mumbling comforting nonsense into her ear as Loesch starts to work. A warming bassinet waits ominously against the wall for its prize. 

A thin cry interrupts their mumbling and Theera’s eyes sharpen at the noise. Loesch holds the little thing over the curtain separating them indulgently, just for a moment. A boy, he says, and she and Theera find themselves mesmerized by the bloody little thing and his tiny squished face and flailing arms, already so angry at the world. He’s held up for a second, allowing Theera a cursory glance and then whisked away by the nurses to the bassinet. His mother is still paralyzed on the table and it makes it all the more unjust that she isn’t even allowed to touch her son, see him up close. The nurses at the bassinet laugh and coo, oblivious to Theera, who starts weeping pitifully. Fat tears slide down the side of her face, wetting the starched white sheet beneath her head.

Ori is in the middle of the absolute emotional chaos around her. Theera crying, Dr. Loesch talking with his assistant about weekend plans, and the nurses with the baby, who have turned back at the sound of crying to glare at them judgementally. She can practically hear them now. Serves her right, their looks say. She deserves it. The rage congeals around Ori, settling itself in her throat. This feeling is exactly what had put her in this place to begin with and she knows she has to control it, use it somehow. She watches them place a little bracelet around the infant’s ankle and scan it into a datapad. They don’t bother with Theera. It dawns on her then that if she’s lucky - incredibly lucky - she can use the Empire’s obsession with order against them. 

She makes her way over to the bassinet under the ruse of joining the indulgent cooing that is going on, trying not to throw elbows before she’s kicked out of the room. The little boy’s leg is caught for a heel stick an she gets her chance. The number on the leg band is just visible, only for a second. She sends a prayer up to the Manda that she gets it right. 

Taglist

@clonewarslover55 @simping-for-fives @808tsuika @jedi-mando @cherry-cokes-world @nelba @fractiouskat @passionofthesith 

[theroomofreq]

Personality Before Punctuality

In honor of #Jilytober2020 I decided to rewrite this fic from four years ago! It’s a meet-cute Muggle Au because I am a sucker. 

AO3

Lily was lucky, she thought, that her boss adored her to no end. Horace Slughorn owned The Hallows bakery where Lily was recently hired. Her interview lasted all of two minutes before Slughorn announced, “You’re a real gem Miss Evans. It would be a shame not to have you in our midst here at The Hallows.”

Lily was an hour late on her first day but somehow, she charmed the unnaturally stiff bakers to love her, they had to kick her out of the kitchen though.

Lily Evans had many talents but fell short –extremely short- when it came to baking. She did much better as the face of the store greeting and assisting customers. Lily still arrived late every day two months into the job. It was also every day that her personality came to the rescue with a witty joke and a smile.

personality before punctuality. personality before punctuality.

Lily rehearsed the mantra in her mind over and over again as she bustled through the crowds. She was going to be late again, and if she didn’t have something hilarious to say those bakers would really take the mickey.

Her walk to the bakery was usually busy about this time, and almost all of her fellow commuters would gather together before one street crossing.

Lily doubted there was a time that this place wasn’t crawling with pedestrians. The traffic light here had a sick sense of humor, it always made Lily late. In fact, it made everyone late. Her watch turned to 09:11 and the scowl on her face intensified with each passing second. 09:12. Lily turned her glare up to the light again and sighed. Instead the face of a crooked nosed man interrupted her view of the offending light. Due to her bad morning ‘tude she managed to deepen the glare, and Mr. Nose snapped to face forward.

Honestly.

Lily shook her head at the ill-mannered man, that small shake of her head brought her attention to the persons to the right of her. All of whom were blatantly staring at her, with strategic accuracy she sent a glower in their direction.

The whole situation seemed uncanny to Lily and particularly creepy. As she whipped her head round and around the crowd, she found almost every person to be staring at her. 

By the third time she sent daggers to a gawking bunch of teens she noticed there was only one person who wasn’t staring directly at her. It happened to be the bloke directly to her left.

She couldn’t gather much from his appearance, because hello staring is rude, only that his right arm was lined with tattoos. The man seemed not to notice nor be bothered by the fact that everyone was apparently obsessed with Lily today.

So, she decided to inform him of the situation, “By the way everyone is staring you’d think they’d never seen a red head before.”

Tattoos let out a low chuckle before he said, “Honestly. People these days.”

“They are starting to flock like vultures.”

“Look out,” he gasped, “that girl at 2 o’clock might get drool on you if she comes any closer.”

Lily shifted closer to him before she said, “If this goes on, I might be able to start charging for autographs.”

Tattoos choked a bit, “Well err,”  Nervous. He sounded nervous; Lily could work with nervous. “I do hope I could secure your autograph before prices skyrocket.” He finally managed.

Lily smirked and turned to face him before replying, and the tables turned. Tattoos wasn’t marked on his right arm, but on his left arm as well as his neck- Lily choked.

His neck was inked from the base to the edge of his jaw, with a stag’s antler.

Tattoos was not just tattoos, he was famous.

James Bloody Potter.

Lily was not the type to be star struck, really, she wasn’t. But let’s be real.

James Bloody Potter.

Lead guitarist to The Marauders, a band that recently rose to fame. Lily loved their sound and their original lyrics, and it seemed that a lot of others in London did too. And it might help that each member was exceptionally fit. James Bloody Potter included.

His hair was a right mess, his curly locks were inky and seemed stubbornly stuck in a messy mop atop his head. Did Lily mention the tattoos yet? They should be high on the list. Really high. His specs were important to notice too, they didn’t exactly seem to be the type found on a rockers face. But somehow Potter had them tilted at just the right angle that it didn’t matter.

So, go ahead sue her, she’s a bit enamored with a terribly fit guy in a band who’s smirking down at her.

Deal with it.

Seeing him came as a bit of a shock, it wasn’t exactly every day Lily ran into a witty guitarist on the way to work.  It definitely wasn’t every day that she spoke with famous attractive men. Hopefully she could change that.

It took her a moment to realize she needed to reply, “Perhaps we could work that out” she tried to add on a smirk, but undoubtedly failed.

James Bloody Potter. She could stare at him all day.

OH.

oh oh oh oh oh.

Shit.

Lily suddenly caught on. No one had been staring at her.

They’d been staring at him.

James Bloody Potter.

The famous musician from a up and coming band. The ruggedly handsome man next to her was catching all the attention, not her.

Apparently, her ego was unnaturally high today.

It wasn’t her at all, it was the bloke to the left of her. Lily was turning redder with each new thought.

She was so wrapped up in the embarrassment of her blunder it took her a second to realize that Potter was talking, “Ever think about getting a bodyguard? I hear those are dead useful.”

Only barely recovering Lily said, “Not really.” She gestured vaguely around her, “This is all new to me. I was hoping to be sneaky.”

“Just between you and I,” he said behind his hand, “Sneaky doesn’t seem to be working.”

Lily rolled her eyes, “Like you’d be doing any better.”

Potter threw his head back laughing, “Love, in my experience it’s usually the drastic measures that handles these things best.”

Lily heard the shuffle of footsteps and reluctantly pulled her eyes from him. The light had switched, and her fellow pedestrians were moving to cross. Lily took a step forward with the crowds and turned back to Potter. But he was gone, she looked ahead to see him surging ahead in the crowd, pushing and shoving to the front.

“Drastic?” Lily called after him.

The guitarist sent a nod over his shoulder to her before turning completely around to walk backwards. His hands shot into the air as he announced, “Alright people. I know Red here is devastatingly attractive,” Lily felt her jaw drop. “But all this staring is a bit excessive. So, if you all could kindly go back to your business that would-”

“Oi,” Lily interrupted, “Don’t think I don’t see you two trying to snap a photo.” She sent daggers to the two girls about to record Potter’s display, “I’ll be having none of that.”

In response Potter sent Lily a grin, “Yes ladies, sorry, she will be having none of that today.”

At this point the commuters safely crossed and started making their way down 12th, “Thank you all very much. Have a beautiful day!” he yelled out to them with a wave and a smile.

Lily continued straight instead of turning with everyone else, the bakery was just ahead, and was pleased to see that Potter did the same.

“I don’t think I’ll be needing a bodyguard as long as you stick around,” she said. 

“Well,” he pulled his hand up to splay across his chest, “I do specialize in the drastic and dramatic.”

Lily laughed, she supposed it had worked, he earned credit for that. Not to mention the fact that it was the most entertaining thing that happened to her all week. 

“Shall I scout ahead then?” He asked her.

Lily turned to face him with a quirked eyebrow. “What?”

“Scout, ya know. Race ahead determine if the area is safe. It’s what I think a bodyguard might do.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, somehow, she didn’t quite believe any bodyguard would race at all. But there was something about this Potter fellow that made her curious. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

A small smile appeared on his lips before he spoke, “Err, I was actually supposed to turn back on 12th.” He began to card his fingers through his hair while he watched the ground below.

“Ahh. I see.” Lily could feel the ridiculous nature of her smirk, “Go on then. Scout ahead.”

Potter’s head snapped up at that last bit, pulling his hand out of his hair and into a salute he said, “Copy that,” and took off.

He ran straight down the walk and into a collection of people, Lily figured a good scout would have ran around them in order to avoid detection.

Potter was not a good scout.

He took on the group by twisting and turning between each person. As he completed a full rotation he called out, “Spin move!” Lily was positive that spin moves were not stealthy enough for a scouting bodyguard, although his efforts did make her lips tug upwards.

After making his way through the disgruntled bunch Potter took off in a dead sprint, blowing right past the bakery. It was then that Lily decided that James Potter was the biggest dork she had ever met in her life.

He skidded to a stop a few paces past The Hallows Bakery and approached a lamppost. Lily laughed as he began to slink around it. His back pressed flush against the pole he slowly lowered his legs into a squat and made his way around to the other side. To him the movement was athletic, sneaky, and clever. To Lily it was ridiculous, unnecessary, and hilarious.

Lily shook her head as Potter took off once again down the walk, in a fashion that was none to sneaky, her head movement caused her to realize she too had passed the bakery. She wasn’t sure what exactly had distracted her from missing the bakery just a few storefronts back, she just knew she was later than ever.

personality before punctuality. personality before punctuality.  

“POTTER!” Due to the fact that he was still sprinting away Lily determined he hadn’t heard her. “HEY POTTER.” She yelled again, this time she caught his attention, he whipped around with an eyebrow raised at her. Lily simply jerked her thumb over her shoulder then turned back toward at the bakery. Potter dropped his brow and ducked his chin as he ran to catch up to the red head. Lily heard his chest heaving as he fell into step beside her.

“Took it a bit far that time, eh Potter?”

“Never can be too careful love,” his hand was in his hair again. “That lamppost looked rather shifty to me, had to check it out.”

Lily couldn’t bite back her smile. “That’s exactly the type of dedication I’d like to see in a full-time scouting bodyguard.”

“Aye aye Ma’am,” his hand snapped toward his hair, but remained solid in his salute.

Lily snorted into her laugh at his attempt to hold still. As she glanced sideways his salute broke to run his hand down through his hair. Unfortunately, along with the glance to Potter she realized they had come upon the bakery again. Lily stopped and began gathering enough charm to hopefully make up for her tardiness.

personality before punctuality. personality before punctuality.

“Err…could you perhaps, well if you don’t,” Potter’s stuttering pulled Lily back to the guitarist in front of her, “I was hoping. Well as long as it’s all right. It would just be such a shame.”

“Potter. Get on with it already.”

“Can I getyourautograph, it might not seem like it but I really do-”

Lily stopped him with a sigh, “Fans, can’t escape ‘em.” She held out her hand, “Got a pen on you?”

His eyes lit up with his grin, “Funny you should ask that,” he said, “Recently I acquired the habit of carrying one around with me.” One hand went to rub his neck while the other sank into his back pocket and produced a black marker.

“Fancy that,” Lily hummed as she took the marker from him and uncapped it. Lily reached out and snagged Potter’s wrist and ran her eyes around his inked arm trying to find a spot for herself. Finally, she settled on a blank section along the inside of his forearm. Lily held fast onto his wrist as she wrote her name along his arm, ensuring to take up as much surface area as possible.

Lily Evans.

“Wouldn’t mind if you put a number to that name love.” His smirk was audible in his request.

“Don’t push your luck Potter.”

“Course not,” he began. Lily pulled back from her handy work, capping the marker before she turned it back to her fan. His eyes lingered on her name a bit too long before he pulled his eyes up, “Evans.”

Lily couldn’t hold back her smile as he looked down at her with wide eyes.

“Wear a hat next time,” she said as he returned the pen to his pocket. “Perhaps that might prevent the need for drastic measures.”

Potter looked gob smacked, “And ruin my hair? Not a chance.”

Lily shook her head at him as he plowed through his hair yet again.

“Whatever Potter,” she dropped the line from the corner of her smirk, spinning toward the doors.

As she reached for the handle, she caught a, “S’later Evans.”

Lily didn’t need to turn around to know there was a huge grin on his face, but she did anyway. However, the grin wasn’t pointed her way, instead it faced down on his arm where she had left her name. And if it was that grin of his that made her so exceptionally late to work that day, then perhaps she would like to be delayed by James Potter far more often.

[a-lil-perspective]

The Bad Batch and Axe/Knife Throwing

A/N: Uhhh I’ve had this in my drafts for weeks. I don’t actually know what this is. Just funky bro stuff that spiraled into like 2.5k words because I just don’t know when to stop, do I. The working title for this was “Bullshit and Bullseyes”, if that puts anything into perspective (I nearly made that the actual title haha). Anyway. Enjoy?

Technically, no; they didn’t need to spend credits on booking the space. By all accounts, there’s nothing wrong with chucking weapons against the Havoc Marauder’s hull. You wouldn’t believe the damage it’s withstood over the years.

Nevertheless, its walls had been taking quite the beating lately (honestly how many times has it actually been said “no weapons in the house”?) and quite frankly, Hunter was getting sick of grousing about the fact.

But when you’ve been cooped up in the vacuum of space for days as the Bad Batch has, you become acutely aware of the perpetual sensation of losing your mind—and of the stagnant air beginning to fester.

Let’s put it this way: Intelligence work is not kind to four Super Commandos, who’d just as soon wrangle a herd of Gundarks than allow anymore strategic analysis to keep them huddled around a comm system for days on end with no intermission in sight. It can’t be stressed enough the way this work was far, far beneath them. They’d just as soon tell High Command to get on with the invasion already (where their skill sets actually applied) and that if they want Clone Force 99’s help, they had best find a better way to hold their attention, because “tapping into enemy comm channels” ain’t worth a damn.

But, until then: there were other things that would do the trick.

Back within the planet’s gravitational pull once again, the Bad Batch prioritized their short timeframe of respite by not actually participating in the act of respite at all, instead seeking out the nearest weapons range. It felt something like freedom upon discovery.

The axe throwing establishment was practically empty when they arrived, which was the driving force in their eagerness, having booked the last session of the night. More room to work.

And, no one to tell you you can’t bring your own arsenal.

Hunter removed the strap of his weighty knife bag from his shoulder and set it down as the boys settled in their designated lane. While Wrecker and Crosshair dove for the bag like deprived womp rats, Tech had more gracefully found a spot on the nearest bench and planted himself to it, tapping away at the little box atop his vambrace. Predictable.

“Don’t even give me that look, Hunter,” Tech didn’t even look up, already privy to the quizzical gaze while fixated on his slew of technology. “You knew good and well I would be taking notes and collecting data during this session for the purpose of enhancing our overall performance going forward.”

As if he hadn’t been taking an infinite amount of notes the past five days.

“How ‘bout you take some notes on how to have fun,” Crosshair mumbled through the toothpick he anchored to the corner of his lip (Hunter always felt nervous when he worked out or trained with that thing in, just waiting for the day he finally chokes). The sniper didn’t bother looking back at Tech as he rummaged through Hunter’s bag in search of knives he deemed fit. He grinned wickedly at a particular set of five, all of them airy and tapered and perfect for his nimble fingers to sidle around. They were similar in size, if only a few inches wider, to the darts he usually threw in his quarters. He considered them with a sleight of hand, quickly piecing together an accurate projection of air velocity and the weapons’ overall weight.

Crosshair would make his mark. He always did.

It further came as no surprise that the Sergeant excelled in his turns from the get-go. He wasted no time in nailing bullseye after bullseye with a variety of weapons big and small. It was comical, the way Tech would make sounds of marvel and adjust his recording lens accordingly when Hunter would nail a pair of axes with a backwards throw or something of dramatic flair.

And Wrecker, oh, Wrecker.

Let’s say his turn was cut rather short—as were the rest of his brothers—when his very first throw, bearing as much care a demolition expert could muster, drove straight through the target in its entirety and brought the entire structure down wall-to-board. Hunter shuddered, grimacing instinctively at the harsh clang of colliding metals and wood that ended in a timbering heap.

Wrecker merely flashed a sheepish smile.

Hunter bit back his frustrated sigh, but the one expelling behind him was unmistakable. He whirled around to find the sensation to be correct, and that the expression marring the Devaronian’s features was unsightly.

Great. The owner of the establishment.

“I’ll pay for that,” Hunter offered immediately, gesturing awkwardly to the ghastly pile of materials. It was an auto-pilot response, really; Hunter was used to cleaning up after his rowdy bunch by now.

“Got that right,” the Devaronian rumbled, cracking his brooding knuckles as a statement that seemed more mindless than anything; he must’ve realized it foolish to get into it with four Super Clones. He turned around and stalked off, but not before grumbling something about the Clones being “mindless rank weeds” and “no better than droids”.

Wrecker must not have heard thank the Maker, otherwise the entire building could’ve been brought down on their heads in nothing short of an emotional outburst. Crosshair simply threw a crude gesture to the Devaronian’s retreating backside. It was either that or the knife in his hand.

“Cross, put your finger down dammit, we’re trying not to cause trouble here,” Hunter hissed. “You really wanna piss off a Dev?”

“You really wanna piss off a Crosshair?” Wrecker interjected with a wicked chuckle, always at the ready to tango with Crosshair and trouble.

He had a point, though.

Crosshair made a deep scoffing noise in his chest and simply turned his attention back to the dilapidated target. The sniper with no fear. Or so he’d like everyone to believe.

“Sorry, Sarge,” Wrecker rubbed at the back of his thick neck, having gone back to anxiously surveying the damage.

“Let’s just switch lanes,” Hunter countered coolly, helping Tech gather up their weaponry and move over one. It’s not like the owner would let him (or his pocket) forget, so there was no use worrying about it.

With a fresh target and a fresh turn at the ready, Wrecker eagerly began to ask for a re-do with the axes he skewered with moments ago only to be let down—gently, of course. Hunter wasn’t a mean brother, for fierfek’s sake.

He felt a bit guilty over limiting Wrecker’s turns but honestly, what was he thinking, bringing them to a place like this? It’s too... normal for Commandos—whatever ‘normal’ is. They would’ve been better off back on the Marauder.

No they wouldn’t have.

Maybe that’s why Hunter willingly ventured out on a weekend evening in the Coruscanti Districts for that sense of normality for he and his brothers; as if it could actually be found in the bustle of city life and whatever resided within.

It’s not that he wanted them to fit in, per se—Hunter can speak for the four of them in that they’re secure in their abilities and standings. But it’s as if he wanted something... grounding. In the middle of a war. Certainly a foreign term to both soldiers and citizens alike.

Grounding. Something to give the boys a sense of fulfillment and a taste of youth, even if only for the night. No expectations, no methods. Just Serotonin and sibling rivalry. Fulfillment.

Wrecker was certainly feeling fulfilled over the knives he opted to throw instead, much lighter and more controlled than the axe—which was a shame, really; he was very good at them. You haven’t quite lived until you’ve seen Wrecker at full capacity in his brute strength. The axes were just an inkling of his potential. Despite the fact that the majority of knives completely disappeared in his wide expanse of palm, he could still stick them with deadly force. Tech especially made relevance of the fact, insisting he show Wrecker a recap of his feats later.

When he wasn’t recording and plugging in data for the other throwers, Tech went a few rounds with Hunter’s smallest knives: quick and sleek and agile, much like the goggled member himself. The preference of axe or knife was divvied between the group: axe’s were more Hunter and Wrecker’s thing while knives were more Tech and Crosshair’s.

It took a bit of encouragement for Tech to actually complete his turn, as he was more concerned with the preliminaries and technicalities instead of the actual throwing. He’d stand there for what felt like several minutes, considering and trying to incorporate the use of his tech until Crosshair—how dare he—cut through his concentration with a sharp demand to “Just. Throw.”

It was rather unfortunate that there was only one target available to four people wanting to use it simultaneously. It seemed the members of the elite Commando squad still hadn’t mastered the art of patiently waiting their turn.

Hunter couldn’t help but find the hilarity in that Tech managed to land several of the knives as ‘butt sticks’: handle side in. He chuckled to himself. Only Tech.

The engineer claimed the act was wholly intentional. Hunter thought his witty brother was just trying to excuse a simple over-rotation. Tech had the aptitude for speed under his belt, but sometimes he had trouble controlling his speed. But if you thought that hindered Tech’s ingenuity or prowess in the slightest, you were sorely mistaken.

It’s times like these Hunter felt that familiar swell of pride in his chest as he relish his brothers’ unique array of strengths, weaknesses, and opportunes. All of it played a monumental part. The Sergeant in him couldn’t ask for a more proficient squad. The brother in him couldn’t ask for more unique siblings.

In no time, all four men had each accumulated their own sheen of sweat, the byproduct of a solid hour’s workout—no, two hours (Hunter should know by the way he grudgingly dumped another handful of credits into the Devaronian’s on the hour), their allotment extended all because the bros refused to be done, reduced to acting like petulant children because of.

Speaking of petulant.

“Who’s in the lead now, Tech?” Crosshair asked through a lingering pant, breaking from his turn as he took a seat next to the human scoreboard. He accepted the cool rag Tech handed him with a curt nod and slung it over the back of his neck to soak up the sweat, rolling his toned shoulders and shaking away the thought of potentially having to break from the rifle tomorrow because of how much he overdid it with the knives. Sore shoulders made for shit shots.

Tech chewed his lip and shot a single, timid glance up to Cross, who suddenly realized that maybe the gifted rag rapidly warming behind his neck was actually just an act of grooming for the disappointing news to come.

Tech cleared his throat. “In the current overall standing, it appears that Wrecker takes the lead, with Hunter a very close second, me of course making the ranks, and you being last—”

“Aw hell no,” Crosshair yanked the rag off and threw it to his feet as he pulled the toothpick out from between his now grit teeth, jabbing it around the room in emphasis. “I’ve easily got the best aim around here, I ain’t the one who destroyed an entire target and I didn’t miss one damn time—”

“It is not about missing, Cross; there are many factors to consider in the overall performance,” Tech answered matter-of-factly, with maybe the slightest hint of sympathy (more like irritation) laced within.

“And that includes humility,” Hunter chimed in, crossing his arms.

Wrecker and his lack of knowledge on appropriate social cues left him cheering over his victory, and Hunter forced himself to swallow the smile tugging at his lips. Few things in life filled him as much as Wrecker’s youthful exuberance. It was infectious.

He gave a light shove to the solid mass of man. “That means you too, Wreck.”

“Bullshit...” Crosshair sulked, numbingly processing his loss. He found himself leaning into Tech’s supportive pat on the back, suddenly too tired to care about his dwindling dignity or even any of his prior winnings in the past. He’ll forever be consigned to his dangerous competitive streak and that’s that.

“You’re just a sore loser!” Wrecker was grinning wide again, all teeth and triumphant. Crosshair scowled further and yes, he was actually pouting up from his spot on the bench thank you very much. Blackmail him later.

“The only thing that’s gonna be sore is your ass when I shove my foot up it.”

“Hey.” Hunter’s cue to intervene. “Settle it down. We had a good run tonight, blew off some steam, got a nice workout and stretched the legs. Let’s head back home, yeah?”

Hunter received murmurs of agreement save for Crosshair, who responded with silence, which was his answer.

The Bad Batch gathered their things and headed out, with Hunter paying the owner for the property damage on the way (reaching up to smack Wrecker in the back of the head just for good measure), and the alien made no attempts at subtlety in his relief over the way the chaotic bunch were finally departing. Apparently, the Bad Batch showcased some of the more poorer examples of decent clientele.

Funny that one might assume ‘decent’ and ‘Coruscant’ actually go together.

As they emerged back into the flow of the planet-wide city, the near-midnight breeze quickly catching in all of the sweat spots, Wrecker stopped in his tracks, having been eyeing a dejected Crosshair on the way.

“Hunter?”

“Yeah, vod?”

A timid pause. “Can we get ice-cream? I think Cross here could use some. With sprinkles and a starcherry on top, just how he likes it.” Wrecker scooped up the lanky brother in question, who squawked in protest. “And a nice, squishy Wrecker hug.” He pet Crosshair’s head. “That always helps him feel much better about me winning.”

[seokiloquy]

Lost In- What Word? Pt 1 - Akaashi Keiji

AU: Single Parent

Requested

Word Count: 4.5k+

Disclaimer: Fem! Reader, Time skip spoilers, Udai being a meta Furudate insert, just fluff

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3

Akaashi wasn’t sure if Udai was naturally forgetful, or just held so much anticipation in his smaller form that he glossed over details and didn't realize it. Udai was an excellent author despite not having reached the major public yet. His first published work was short and eerie which most of the shonen reading population didn’t greedily rip off the shelves. Although, those that did read it gave him overwhelming support, maybe the rest of the world wasn’t ready for that kind of psychological horror just yet.

When Akaashi originally applied for a position at the publishing company he intended to work in the literature department, editing lengthy novels and picking out grammatical errors, not reading conversations via text bubbles and looking for continuity errors between images. He never did pick out the exact moment he went from editor to fact-checker and archivist. Akaashi also never knew how many different ways there were to translate a single word until he met you. And once he did, he realized that his eyes would follow you across the office as you ran around and spoke to other editors, helping them furnish their translations so that they flowed properly.

“Tenma, isn’t he meant to be out of the rotation for this panel?” Akaashi couldn’t help but grimace when faced with the utter despair that had pulled on Udai’s typically eased expression. The panel itself was masterfully drawn, taking up two pages and showing off Udai’s immense talent in drawing expressions and anatomy.

“I spent 8 hours on that, only to find out that it needs to be scrapped. What has my life come to?”

The yellow office lights made both of the men’s hair give off a green tinge and made their faces look sickly. Udai frowned as he pushed his chair back and let his chin sit on the table of the small meeting room. His hair curled around his fingers as they gently tugged on the ends of the wavy black stands, straightening them only to let them go and have them bounce back into place.

Akaashi flipped through the printed out pages of the chapter, letting the loose papers lay flat on the table. He pointed to the next pages. “These are fine though. They’re in the right rotation here, so not all is lost at least.”

Udai sighed, as he threw his weight back into the chair, making it spin with his momentum. “That’s all well and good, but I was really proud of that panel. It was going to be the attention grabber.”

Akaashi pursed his lips gently, flipping through the pages once more before tucking them into the pale yellow folder and closing it. Udai’s new story was in its beginning stages, only having a sample chapter that would be published in the following week’s magazine, that is if they got it done in time. 

“It needs to be perfect. I can’t have this not work and starve for the rest of my life.”

Akaashi opened his mouth slightly, taking in a deep breath, ready to spout out his words of encouragement for his colleague when there was a knock on the door followed by the soft creaking of the hinges as it opened.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to ask Udai about some of the uh… what’s the word? Dang, I’m supposed to know Japanese, it’s my job. The— I give up. Help?”

Udai chuckled and waved you over to take the seat opposite him, you shook your head and bowed slightly as your hand raised, saying you were alright, not needing the chair. Leaning down slightly you pointed at the ruff sketch copy in your hand where your current author’s handwriting seemed to over the edges of the text bubble slightly.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but how in the hell am I supposed to translate ‘paisen’?”

The innocent question seemed to brighten Udai’s mood much more than Akaashi’s monotone words of support would have. The older man launched backwards, nearly flinging himself off the chair, in a fit of laughter. His hands gripped the shirt he wore above his stomach and chest as they tried to ease the laughing pains.

Akaashi chuckled at the sight before looking at your somewhat regretful expression, you were probably too used to your co-workers laughing at your in-fluency at Japanese. “You can probably substitute a familiar nickname or a joking reference of respect.”

You sighed and brushed your hand over the back of your neck, “I swear, Himari had the intent to torture me with this last chapter. Thank you, Akaashi.”

Finally calmed from his fit of giggles, Udai sat straight in his chair and sent you a gracious smile. “Well, at least when you join our team I won’t torture you as much.”

You gave Udai and Akaashi a teasing smirk as you reached for the door handle. “I’m not so sure about that,” you said. “Besides, you need to get the attention of the readers before I join your team. No point in translating a comic that doesn’t even get off the ground right?”

You sent them a wink and the door closed behind you with a quiet click.

“Was that a challenge?”

“I believe so,” Akaashi said, handing Udai a blank sheet of paper. “Looks like we have some work to do.”

The office was, as it was the day before, and the day before that, calm. Udai sat in a small isolated office on his own with a naturally coloured lamp hanging over his hunched figure. The rest of his team, including Akaashi and now you as well, sat outside his door in a row of cubicles that led up to a large window that took up the entirety of the wall. In the corner cubicle, pressed against the window and directly across from him, you sat, typing away on your computer as you translated the Japanese text into Wild Words fonted English. 

“Akaashi, is the end of chapter ready to translate?” Your head peeked over the frosted cubicle wall, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips and the corner of your eyes pinching together. Akaashi’s gaze fluttered around.

“Ah, Ya the edits are done so you can finish translating it now.”

The smile you wore only seemed to grow, making Akaashi want to turn away and stare at the same time. The sun’s light contrasted with the dull rectangular lights in the office, making your skin glow. Your fingers tightened on the top of the glass and your shoulders rose to your ears, you narrowly missed knocking over an owl keychain that hung on his side of the wall.

“Perfect,” you said. “I’ll get them done now.”

The day continued like this, everyone working and occasionally calling out to each other through their cubed walls, possibly getting a twirling pen in the forehead followed by a meek apology (coming from you). Every time you spoke to someone you would rise out of your seat to make eye contact with them, refusing to continue speaking otherwise, and even though he wasn’t the person you always spoke to, each time your head began to poke out of your squared corner Akaashi couldn’t help but turn his attention your way, watching as the sun's light danced around you. It didn’t come to a surprise when, like every instance before, Akaashi looked up when you shot up from your seat. Only this time there was a frantic look plastered unevenly on your face, one that the warm light didn’t compliment.

“Please tell me my clock is wrong and that it’s not 4 pm.”

Chiyo leaned back in her chair, setting down her Cintiq’s pen and flipped the watch on her wrist so that the face faced her. “Yup, it’s actually 4:15.”

Akaashi was surprised to hear a not so work friendly English curse leave your lips as you rushed to save files on your computer while simultaneously packing your purse. You continued to swear as you ran out of your cubicle and toward the elevators with a quick “goodbye” being thrown over your shoulder. The office was quiet.

“Does that happen often?” Ena asked as he pulled off his glasses.

The group of artists and their editor sat in stunned silence for a few moments, minds racing over where the young translator had scurried off to. In their collaborative confusion, the team slowly went back to their respective jobs.

Himari came around the corner of the office, coffee in hand, as she chatted with her editor, who was nursing his own mug. The writer looked up for her conversation to see Udai’s team and gave them a polite nod. They were going to meekly return to their work when Himari paused her steps and looked at the empty plush chair that sat rotated and untucked in your cubicle.

“Oh, did (Y/N) leave?” to Akaashi’s surprise, Himari was not.

“Does she do that often?” he asked, setting down his pen on the counter of his desk.

Himari nodded, smiling, “Oh ya, sometimes she gets lucky and her friend can handle it but a lot of the time she has to run out of here by 3.” Akaashi’s brow furrowed slightly as Himari took a sip of her coffee before continuing waving her hand by her head, “Don’t worry too much about it though, she always comes in early to get her work done.”

Before they could question further, Himari was off with her editor sending them a knowing smile.

When the end of the workday rolled around, only 45 minutes after your quick departure, Akaashi found his eyes trailing back to his phone that sat at the corner of his desk on top of a stack of papers. Keeping watch on his phone, he swung his bag over his shoulder and shut off his computer. The device remained silent as the team began to pile out of their seats, toward the elevators and in a fit of contemplation, he reached for the phone.

Your response was quick and vague; Family thing, happens often. I’ll tell you later. See you tomorrow!

After the sample comic was released, Udai was thrown when he received an immense amount of interest for his characters and story, and he was even more excited when he received word from the magazine’s publishers that they wanted him to continue with the path he was on. The months building up to this moment were filled with constant plot revisions, reference excursions, and interviews until they came to a conclusive framework of the story, and continued introductions as new members were added to their original duo to make the workload less hefty. 

Today though was the day that the story’s first chapter would finally be released to the public. 

Akaashi tracked into the office, heading to the lounge to grab a coffee before coming up to his cubicle against the window and setting his bag down, immediately heading to the lounge. 8:40 in the morning, 20 minutes before the expected time of arrival, Akaashi, back at his desk, was just about to take a sip of coffee when a small snore overlapped the sound of the air conditioners, creating a dishonest harmony. 

On the other side of the frosted glass wall of the cubicle was you, head resting on the black mouse pad that had a small plush cushion for your wrist. Akaashi quickly rounded the desks, coming to our side to gently rouse you from your slumber before your co-workers arrived. He was to wake you up gently with a hand on your shoulder, that was the plan. The plan changed when he noticed the small picture frame on your desk, surrounded by various action figures and Funko pops.

With one hand on your shoulder and the other holding the fame, he studied the photo with a kind gaze. He was so enthralled with the image that he forgot that below his other hand, was you.

“He’s cute ain’t he?” you asked, startling the editor back to his current reality as you stretched, arching your back like a cat. Akaashi’s attention was brought back to the current situation as you reached out for another frame in the opposite corner of your desk. “His name is Naoko. Here, this photo is newer.”

The young boy in the new photo looked like you a lot, more so than the previous one where he was just an infant that carried more resemblance to a potato than a human. Akaashi, without taking his eyes off the pictures, pulled the chair out from under Ena’s desk and sat next to you. He didn’t say anything, deciding just to admire the photos he held and letting you decide whether or not he should have the pleasure of hearing a story.

You sighed and yawned, leaning over the armrest of your chair so you would see them too. “He’s six, really quiet. I moved here when I found out. Hardly even out of university, and I was already pregnant with some strangers kid,” you laughed, making Akaashi stare at your features for a moment, wanting to point out which ones could be found on the boy.

“Is he the reason you moved to Japan?” Akaashi was a little taken aback by your willingness to talk, but in hindsight, you didn’t seem like the person to keep secrets, often rattling with your co-workers about your interests. Thinking back, maybe he should have expected something like this, Himari seemed to have known after working with you for several years, happily dancing around the topic of your personal life with your new coworkers when your sudden departure was questioned.

You shrugged, “not entirely, but he sure was a good excuse. I had plans to move to Japan for years before I even got into university. When I found out, I was sort of… uh. English…. Fuck, I need a job. So I applied to be an intern here, moved in with a friend I met online and prepared to have a baby.” Your arms flew about as you talked.

“You act as though it was easy,” Akaashi laughed, placing the frames back onto the table.

You let out a happy chuckle and spun your chair to face Akaashi head-on, eyes not leaving his, “I wouldn’t say it was easy, per se, but I’m happy with how things turned out.” you yawned a bit, “I should also apologize for running out of the office early sometimes, I have to pick Naoko up from school so —”

“You don’t have to apologize for that.” The gentle smile he wore was contagious.

It was 8:50 when the rest of the team came in. Immediately catching sight of Ena, Akaashi pulled away from your side, rolling the chair back to its respective location. He heard a breathy laugh escape you as he scurried around the desks to return to his designated spot across from you, cardigan flailing about.

The rest of your team piled into their seats sending the two of you waves and morning greetings. Ena nearly dropped his ‘don’t talk to me till I’ve had my coffee’ mug as he tripped over his rubber slides just before reaching his desk next to yours.

Sending your friends a smile you quickly slid back into your cubicle to re-adjust the frames on your desk with a yawn. Akaashi gave you a nod when you looked up to his stiff, still standing, form. You made his heart feel much weaker than he’d like to admit and without saying another word, he picked up the forgotten mug filled with brown liquid and handed it over the glass, into your hands.

Naoko was much more reserved than Akaashi expected, definitely a contrast to your more hyper personality. He spent most of the day sitting in the corner behind your cubicle where a table was set up next to a row of cabinets. What the boy was doing, Akaashi wasn’t entirely sure, but there was a small tickle at that back of his brain that made him want to find out.

When you had come in that morning, the group was surprised to see the small boy trailing behind you, holding onto your hand tightly with the both of his. “PD day,” you said. Udai spent the first few minutes of the day gushing over the boy’s cheeks instead of working, only to end up being backtracked and having to cram into his lunch break. Akaashi would be lying if he said he wasn’t thankful for that though.

“What do you have there?” he asked, taking a seat next to the boy and setting down his lunch next to the younger’s bento box.

Naoko curled in on himself, bringing the phone (that was most definitely yours) to his chest. The boy’s knees had pulled up to his shoulders as his feet pushed on the edge of the chair. Akaashi sent the young boy a kind smile and waited. From the corner of his eye, he could see your chair turn around as you took in the sight of your son and co-worker. He watched as you began making large swinging motions with your arms. Akaashi tried not to laugh.

Whatever had been playing on the phone hadn’t been paused in the short time given to do so, making the familiar sound ring quietly around the two of them. 

Akaashi looked back your way for a moment, only to see you tilt your head up in a supporting nudge and turn back around.

“Are you watching a volleyball game?” he asked, rousing a more positive reaction from the boy.

Naoko’s shoulders lowered and he slowly placed the phone down between them. As Akaashi had concluded, a volleyball game played on the small screen. He put forward another question.

“Do you like to play?”

The six-year-old shrugged but nodded before scooting his chair in closer and reaching for his food. Akaashi mirrored him, slipping off his collared cardigan and pulling his lunch closer, still watching the game.

“I used to play volleyball.” This caught the boy’s attention, who turned his head to look at Akaashi, brows raised and lips pursed. “I was a setter.”

Naoko swallowed his food and for the first time, Akaashi got to hear him speak.

“I like playing setter too.”

His voice was rather meek and had a sort of authority to it, but the biggest thing he noticed made him stifle a laugh.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he called gently, making you spin your chair around in question. “Why is Naoko better at Japanese then you?”

“Hey! That’s mean!”

Naoko began to wiggle in his seat, desperately trying not to laugh at his mother’s, your, irritation. You shot a look at your son and gasped.

“Don’t you start laughing at me. I speak English better than you do.”

“You don’t need to speak English in Japan, mom.”

Kaashi continued to choke on his laugher as you pushed the palm of your hand into your forehead. “I’m being teased by my own son,” you cried quietly, turning your chair back around to face the unedited pages.

Naoko giggled and looked back Akaashi’s way. “Can you teach me?”

Akaashi didn’t see you still in your chair, listening.

“Of course I can.”

“Udai, seriously? You promised that you weren’t going to use weird industry term slang stuff on me.”

With a wide-eyed look and hair messily tied back, the man in question rotated his chair around childishly. “I never promised. I just said I'd go easier on you.” It was infuriating really. 

With a pitiful whine, you shook the rough script in your hand making an angry fluttering sound. “You’re so mean Tenma. You know that I have trouble with slang.”

Udai only laughed and waved you off, “It’s a good way to learn is it not?”

You rolled your eyes but relented, giving a wave and closing the door. Once at your seat Akaashi poked his head out, eyes visible over the top of his square-framed glasses.

“He did it again?”

“Ya,” you huffed. “I can’t blame him though. It’s just frustrating that I can’t remember what a lot of the words mean. I should buy a dictionary.” Akaashi watched as you turned your monitor on. “Oh, um, Naoko was asking about you the other day.”

“Really?”

Your hands came together behind your neck, pulling your head down bashfully. “Ya, he’s been wanting to show you how he’s doing and maybe get the chance to learn a bit from you.”

Akaashi gave you a kind smile, so small that it didn’t even crease his cheeks, and nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Your cheeks warmed as you beamed up at him before turning your head down towards your computer screen. Akaashi took a second to appreciate how the cool light from the overcast sky made you look. It was silent in the office for a moment. Just a moment.

“Udai! Another one?!”

In theory, so long as you have space above your head, you can play volleyball anywhere. Your apartment wasn’t ‘anywhere’.

The three-bedroom living space was built as housing and not an Olympic arena, and after breaking one too many of your glasses playing around, it was made clear to you, Naoko, and your sport junky roommate, that volleyball shouldn’t be allowed in the house.

“You guys can go play volleyball with Akaashi at the park, no?” Yukie asked, grabbing an onigiri of the large plate on your kitchen counter and stuffing it in her face. You made a large dinner that day, only to have your friend eat most of it, instead of leaving leftovers for Naoko’s lunch. Not that he complained about it, you sure did though.

Taking Yukie’s words to heart, when the weekend rolled around and Naoko was becoming more anxious, you invited Akaashi to your neighbourhood park to play volleyball.

“Open your elbows a bit more, make a triangle with your hand, and when the ball comes just cushion it with your fingertips before sending it out, okay?”

Naoko nodded, staring at his hands that were being moved around by the older player. Akaashi’s form was kneeled by the boy’s side, his head nearly resting on the younger's shoulder as he tried to make sure he was in the right position.

“Alright,” he said, grabbing the smaller than average volleyball off of the grass. “I’m gonna toss this to you, do you think you can get it to hit my hand right up here?”

Naoko nodded again, eagerly waiting for the blue and yellow ball to come flying his way. You watched silently from the park bench as Naoko tried (and often failed) to get the ball to touch Akaashi’s hand accurately. 

“Almost there, you got this Naoko!” Akaashi encouraged.

Earnestly waiting to see the next move, you sat forward in your seat, watching as that ball made a tall arch towards Naoko’s waiting palms. As the ball made contact with his fingertips, he bent his elbows and wrists before shooting them out into a straight line, sending into the palm of Akaashi’s hand before dropping back onto the grassy field.

Your son, as most six-year-olds do when accomplishing something, shrieked. He shrieked very loudly before sprinting directly into Akaashi’s stomach to give him a (breath-stealing) hug. Akaashi coughed as he tried to get air back into his depleted lungs. From the side you giggled, watching as Naoko’s smile grew, head buried into Akaashi’s stomach.

It became standard, going out to the park during your off days. And this day, like the weekends that have come before, the routine of going to the park, ball in hand, continued. But after spending an hour or so watching the familiar movement of the yellow and blue ball fly through the air, Naoko interrupted the serene setting with a loud request.

“Mama! Mom! Can we go get onigiri?”

Looking up from resting your neck on the back of the bench to turn your gaze onto the energetic boy that was hopping around on the grass. “I’m okay with that, but you should probably ask Akaashi along. We don't want to leave him at the park do we?” you teased, picking up your bag and walking toward the two.

Naoko spun again to look at Akaashi, whose hands were now tucked into his jeans pockets. “Please!” he wailed. “Come with us! Please, please, please, please, please!”

Akaashi let out a hearty laugh. “Calm down, I’ll join you.” without saying another word, Akaashi offered his hand out, letting Naoko clutch it eagerly.

“Udai are you sure it’s okay to bring Naoko along? This is meant to be a work trip and I’d hate for him to dis… dic… get in the way,” you gave up at the end, sighing over your tripping words.

Udai gave Naoko, who had been clinging to Akaashi’s arm since all of you had met outside the city gymnasium, a pat on the head. “It’s alright. Besides, he’ll probably be a great resource.” 

You nodded and watched as Naoko rattled to Akaashi about his school team and new things they had been practicing. You pouted. Upon their arrival, Ena, Chiyo and the others immediately began teasing you for effectively losing your son’s favour, which didn’t make your whining any less audible. On top of that, the group of artists found your sullen look to be a perfect reference, taking their cameras out.

“Keiji,” you cried, following behind the rest of the group as they waltzed through the gym entrance along with the crowd. “You’ve stolen my son.”

Akaashi paused for a moment, taking in a calm breath before looking over his shoulder. “He’s your son, I can’t steal that from you.”

Naoko threw a large smile over his shoulder, making your dragging steps falter.

When did it change? The expression on his face. When did it become so happy? Did he not smile before?

You picked up your pace, brows furrowed as you watched your son chatter happily.

When did he start speaking so much? Since when did he have so much to say? Was it something new in his diet? Or maybe the new friends on his volleyball team?

You found your gaze shifting to the hand that held his. Without thinking about it too hard, you quickened your steps to come up to Naoko’s other side. Your heart pounded as you held your closest hand out for him to grab hold of. When he finally did, immediately looking forward to dragging the two adults with him, the smile you gave Akaashi was the largest he’s ever seen coming from you. 

You looked back at all of your interconnecting hands fondly.

When did he become another person’s son?

I tried going a bit of a different direction with this one in comparison to most Single Parent aus. I’ll admit it could have more meat to it, but oh well, things to improve on. 

Question:

Do you prefer weekly one-shots that are shorter in length (like we’re doing) or longer ones with bigger plots and inconsistent updates (Sort of like “Catch Me If You Can” and “Ready Aim FIre” but longer)? 

- Bacon

Posted: 31/07/2020

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO Origins “Ramirez.”

This is what my rain wanted to write today, so this is what you guys get to read lol. I am a slave to the whims of what catches my stupid brain’s fleeting interest. This was actually pretty fun o write though, so I hope you like it :)

The sound of steel cutting over ice: it’s sharp like the scraping of a blade on concrete though much more satisfying. It’s a sound he associates with weightlessness. He imagines that if he could fly this is what it would feel like. He holds his arms out to the side cutting backwards across the ice in large sweeping strokes, his feet moving in familiar patterns so effortless he could definitely do them in his sleep. He spins in a tight circle rotating  over the ice on the tips of his toes using the picks at the front of the skates to gain purchase against the cold, frozen material.

“Yo! Angel!”

He skids to a stop sending up a wave of ice crystals against one wall.

On the other side of the rink a youth hockey team is practicing drills.

“Looking good, baby.”

If he had rolled his eyes any harder he might have been able to see his spinal column.

He could see them waving at him through the glass arms around each other like they were about to break out into the throws of passion. 

Wasn’t it so nice that both of his exes had gotten together.

He sighed, guess that’s what he got for only dating within the olympic team. HE stepped off the ice and sat down on the bench pulling off his skates and setting them to the side. The two lovebirds walked closer.

Christina Swanson and Michel Castle both up and coming olympic competitors working together on a partnered ice routine they were sure was going to win them a gold medal at next year’s winter olympics.

Both of them were super hot Christina with the body of an angel and michel with the body of a greek god, but all Ramirez wanted to do was punch Michel in the dick and slap the bitch look off of Christina’s face. He wondered if that was the way everyone felt about their exes.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Christina giggled, “Michel and I were just discussing how good you are in b-”

He held up a hand, “The last thing I want to hear is a score roster for my private performances.” He pulled on his sneakers, “So if you will excuse me, I’m out before this gets petty.”

Michel smirked, “Oh come on Angel, just a bit of friendly banter. You know you would probably skate better if you got that stick out of your ass.”

“Hmm that’s weird because I distinctly remember that being your thing.” He threw his skates over his shoulder and walked past the two of them trying to ignore their side comments. He found it very funny that they were being rude to him when he distinctly remembered it was Michel who had cheated on him with christina the second time and christina who had dumped him the first time.

Not for the first time he wondered if he shouldn't just pick one side and stick with it, at least then he wouldn’t have to run risk of being forced to watch his exes dating each other...or never mind he was sure he could find a way to make that happen. He always seemed to have the worst luck with girls, or guys. He had the worst luck dating in general.

He stepped out into the hallway walking past another group of kids at the rec center and then out into the hallway where the elderly janitor was pinning up notices to the cork board.

“Morning Elliot.”

The old man turned around, “Oh Morning Angel.” The two men shook hands.

“Good yo see you up and about. The youth seem to like to sleep in, but you know what I always say early to wake early to rise.”

“Keeps a man healthy and wealthy and wise, yeah, I know.” He glanced over the man’s shoulder and towards the new gloss holo-posters. The largest one stood out, it was a recruiting poster for the Marine Corps, “Go to space with the marine corps.” He read aloud, “What are they on about.”

Elliot waved a hand, “Didn’t you hear. They’re flying that new fangled interstellar space whachamachallit out in the next few years. Guess they are looking for marines in case they get attacked by-” He wiggled his fingers, “Aliens.”

Ramirez laughed, “Cool.” He glanced up at the sky, “I’ve always thought it would be cool to go to space.” 

Elliot waved a hand, “Don’t you have some ice dancing to do or something, kid.”

His shoulders wilted a bit, “yeah, guess I do.”

He said goodbye to the old janitor and stepped out into the Texas sunlight. It was hot out here after all the ice.

Overhead he could hear the distant roar of jet engines from one of the nearest air force bases. Seemed like they had been working with jets a lot recently. He swore he had seen about a million and a half of those M-90s fly overhead in the past few weeks.

He walked over to his car and slid into the Driver’s seat staring blankly out the windshield.

What was wrong with him?”

He had been like this for weeks.

All mopy and pathetic…. Was it because of his exes, the last breakup, nah he was over them.

He slumped down in his seat and started the car heading home  with a case of some serious moodiness. When he got back he could almost forget about his issues since he was immediately tackled by his younger sister who proceeded to beat the ever loving shit out of him in a wrestling match. But then again she was also on her way to becoming an olympian, so that didn’t surprise him.

This family was pretty talented at sports.

His older sister played soccer professionally, and his youngest brother was star of his middle school football team so something could be said about that.

“Morning Angel, how was practice today?”

“Absolute shit.”

“Hey watch your language.”

“Sorry mom, just hit a slump or something.” 

HIs father looked up from his tablet where he was sitting at the table, “Sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah yeah, fine. I’m just going to head out today maybe catch up with friends or something.”

“Alright have fun, don’t do anything stupid.”

***

He had gone and tried to do tons of stupid things, but none of those things were what he really needed. Nothing could take his mind off the increasing feeling of dissatisfaction, which he couldn’t explain for the life of him, and that night found him sitting on the roof watching the sky darken as the sun set behind the distant line of hills. The air was hot and dusty, so he only wore shorts and a white cotton shirt  where he lay against the roof’s sloped surface. A breeze rolled past him, a breeze that carried with it the sound of some pretty colorful cursing in his family’s native tongue.

He frowned and glanced over the edge of the roof.

“Abuela!”

His grandmother held up a hand to shut him up as she crawled onto the room still cursing violently and grumbling, “Why do you always have to go and mope in places restricted to old people.” Still speaking spanish.

He helped her onto the the roof to sit next to hi her old wrinkled hand gripping onto  his arm like a steel vice. People said he had a lot in common with his grandmother. He had definitely inherited her dark tan skin dark, almost black, hair and amber eyes, “What are you doing here?”

“I told you, I’m up here to see what you’re moping about. Did practice not go well today.”

“No of course it did.”

“Exes? 

“No.”

“Get rejected?”

“No.”

“Than what do you have to complain about?”

He smiled at her bluntness and leaned back watching as the first stars winked into place in the night sky, “I don’t know… I just…. You ever just feel sort of empty?”

“That’s called crippling depression.”

He snorted a smile, “No, not that. I mean like you aren’t doing something you should be doing, or that your life the way it is is meaningless.”

“Your one year away from being an olympian.”

He sighed and sat up resting his arms against his knees, “That’s the problem though isn’t it. I am a year away from being an olympian and it's not…. Well it’s not exciting. Shouldn't I be super nervous, excited or even proud.” He shuffled his feet, “I mean I have been working on this for years, I used to love skating…. But now…. I mean I still like it, don’t get me wrong, but it all seems so…. so …. Petty.”

He turned looking over to find her raising an eyebrow at him. 

He shrugged, “Never-mind.” Just me being dumb I guess.

“No keep going. I’m listening.”

“Well… I'm at the peak of my game, the best I will ever be, and I should be proud of that, but the more and more I think about it the less…. Important it seems. Like I just… It's like I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing off for praise and admiration only to get old and break down and then regret my youth. I have always been good at any physical activity I tried, and instead of using it for something worthwhile or useful, I'm doing this.”

“Isn’t the pursuit of betterment in itself a worthwhile cause?”

He shrugged, “I have no problem with other people doing it if that’s what makes them happy, but I just…. I don’t know if this is what makes me happy anymore.”

“Then quit?”

“After years of training. Wouldn’t that be wasting my life and my talent. Years of preparation just thrown in the trash”

“Better to waste a decade than three. Believe me, I am old enough to know. Besides, you're not even old enough to drink. I can hardly consider the years being wasted ”

Overhead, the stars winked down on him. 

***

He walked into the rink the next day like on any other day skates hung over his shoulder. He sat on the bench with the others listening to their coaches discussing sponsors , discussing how things were going with getting their team ready, about who was going to be doing what, but he could barely pay attention.

He looked around at the others, friends he had had for many years, watched them lean forward in their seats eyes wide with excitement. He could practically hear the eager beating of their hearts as they bounced on the balls of their feet. 

And he felt….. Nothing 

He glanced over at Michel and Christina, the two most vapid people he had ever met (yeah he was apparently great at picking them), and saw the eager hungry expressions on their faces.

Even they were ready, willing and prepared.

They looked excited.

He felt frustration, anger and hopelessness beginning to build up inside him. He stared down at the skates sitting in his lap. He stared out at the ice rink, a 30 by 60m oval of ice where he would be paraded for the rest of his short lived career until his young body degraded and he either walked off or someone younger and more talented pushed him off.

It was hopeless 

He felt meaningless.

He stood abruptly, skates clattering to the floor. He watched them as if in slow motion clatter and bounce. All eyes turned to look at him. His coach looked on in confusion.

“Angel, are you ok?”

The voices echoed in his head, and he turned walking out of the rink ice skates left forgotten on the floor. He heard footsteps behind hi, voices calling his name.

“What is he doing?”

“Why’s he being such a drama queen.”

He walked out into the hall passing by the cork board where-

He paused glancing down at the poster from earlier.

The marines.

A hand reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, “Angel,  you ok.” She shrugged the hand off and walked out into the parking lot. He could feel the eyes of the other skaters pinned to his back staring at him. They loved drama, and this was getting interesting.

He stood in the parking lot staring at the sun and swiveling his head.

Ah, there.

He began walking across the parking lot.

His coach grabbed him by the arm, “Angel, are you ok. Do we need to call someone. A hospital maybe. Perhaps you should sit down and take a breath and let your head clear.”

“My head is clear.” He heard himself say.

He stepped up to a door in the little strip mall and shouldered it open, stepping into the cool air conditioned room. The carpet was drab and grey, and nothing could be heard but the distant sound of a vacuum and some typing. The others piled in after him as he swiveled his head looking for the correct door.

He found it.

He pushed it open startling the man behind the desk whose name tag read Sgt Myers.

He seemed surprised as the odd eclectic group crammed themselves into his office.

Sgt Myers tilted his head, “Can I help you?”

Warm honey light dropped from the window onto his strangely patterned uniform.

“How do I sign up?”

“ANGEL! What are you doing!”

Behind him the others gasped. Sgt. Myers looked very confused.

“Er Well, we have some paperwork and a background check.”

“When is your next bus leaving.”

“Tonight.”

“Can you get me on it?”

His coach grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around, “Angel what are you doing! Have you gone insane! Is this some sort of psychotic break. Do I need to call your parents! You can’t just throw away your life by joining the army.”

Ramirez pointed at the wall, “Marines.

Sgt Myers sat with his mouth open.

Ramirez shrugged his coach off, “Can you get me on that bus.”

“Er…. yeah. I guess we probably could. You’d have to do a physical and….”

“Done.”

More protests raised from the back.

“This isn't about the breakup is it?” Michel wondered.

Ramirez snorted, “Not even close, but getting away from you will be a perk.”

“Angel, try to think for a moment.”

Ramirez held out his arm allowing the man to scan the implants under the skin. There was a beep as the information automatically filled out the paperwork on file. The man looked through his background check, and seeing nothing major he shrugged. “I'll send it out to be approved…. But Kid….. maybe you should think about this for a minute. No hasty decisions.”

Behind him the others threw up a ruckus agreement.

He stayed calm, “it’s my life and my regrettable decisions to make.”

He couldn’t really argue with that.

“Angel, why are you doing this. You’re too talented to be wasted in the army. Please just come back, you’ll feel better once you get back on the ice.”

He turned to look at his coach, the other members of his team who looked on in confusion. He felt surprisingly calm and collected, “You’re right.” They looked relieved, “The ice does calm me down, which is why I don’t want to make it a career.”

More uproar.

He raised his voice, “You guys are all so excited, and the fact that I’m not just proves that I shouldn’t be here.” His heart was hammering now as his body began to catch up with his mind.

He felt the beating, pounding of his heart, the rush of blood in his head, the fluttering feeling in his chest.

And he felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his nose and eyes prickling with heat.

A shiver of excitement rolled down his spine, and a grin broke out across his face.

There it was.

He hadn’t felt that sensation in a 

Very

Long 

Time 

He held up a hand against their protests, “Look I am going to miss all of you, and I wish you luck. I am super proud of all the work I have seen you guys give to this, but this is where I have to say goodbye.  Have made my decision. I am going to be a marine.” 

***

“You did what!” His mother’s voice was loud over the phone as he slouched back against the tarnished bus seat as the other young men and women filtered on.

“I joined the marines?”

“Angel Antonio Ramirez, tell me you are joking.”

“No mom. I…. I did what I had to do.”

Behind her in the house he could hear the gasps of his younger sister, “But Angel, we were going to go to the Olympics together.”

That part he did feel a bit sad about, “Sorry Izzy, but you were always meant to be the cool one in the family.”

“What is going on?’ His younger brother asked.

“Your brother joined the marines.”

“Cool.”

“Not not cool.” His mother said, “ANgel get your ass home right now.”

He sort of just smiled as -- from the background his father cut in, “Sounds exactly like something Angel would do.”

His mother was about to protest when rockus laughter cut through the background. She went silent in confusion before, “Abuela?”

“Go get em boy! See those aliens!.” She continued to laugh, “Proud of you angel, was hoping you had the balls to go and do it.”

“You knew?

“Course I knew, runs in the family. Your grandpa  ran off to join the army during the pan-asian war didn’t he?”

“Well yeah.”

“Proud of you Angel, now go get em.” She continued to laugh, and that made him smile.. Even if it was just her supporting him, he would be ok.

A sigh, his mother, “Angel, are you sure this is what you want.”

“Yes mom, I’m sure.” 

“Ok…. well call us and let us know ok?”

“Yes.”

“Love you.”

“Love you to.” 

He hung up and leaned back in his seat just as another weight dropped down beside him. He looked over, coming eye to eye with a short-blond woman with blue/hazel eyes, and a short blond buzz.

Damn she was cut.

“Sup.”she said sensing him staring 

“Nothing much.” He Said with a smile. He held out a hand, “Ramirez.”

She took his hand with a strong grip, “Maverick. So what brings you onto this ronchy ass bus.”

He grinned, “Long story.”

“I’m sure we’ve got time.” 

[marjansmarwani]

Who You Gonna Call? 

A Ghost Hunting AU - 4.9k

[Read on Ao3]

A charity event brings together the two most notorious internet ghost hunting teams: Marjan and TK of the borderline irreverent Spirit Squad and Paul and Carlos of the historically accurate Paranormal Investigators. Their task: investigate Austin’s notoriously haunted Littlefield House. The twist: they have to swap partners for the night to do so. It should be entertaining, if nothing else.

Or, The Ghost Hunting AU literally no one asked for.

I didn’t write anything for Halloween because I’ve been busy with work and have a few other projects going on, but I did write this ghost hunting AU back in May. I figured I would share it here again because it definitely has the spooky vibes, plus some excellent TK & Marjan and Paul & Carlos friendships (plus flirting Tarlos!). Some of you may have seen this the first time around, but it was a while ago so who knows! Either way, I hope you enjoy! 👻

Oh, and Happy Halloween! 👻🎃

--------

A chorus of swearing greeted Grace as she unlocked her front door. She entered the kitchen to find her husband messing around with the Keurig, which was apparently the subject of his ire. She shook her head fondly and crossed the kitchen to wrap her arms around his waist, “Struggling there, my love?”

 Judd relaxed ever so slightly at her touch, but didn’t back down, “The goddamn thing never works for me! I don’t understand why we can’t just have a regular coffee maker instead of this infernal thing.” 

 Grace scoffed, “We have that because it was a Christmas present from my parents, and because you broke the coffee maker, remember?” 

 Judd deflated a bit at this, but continued his grumbling, “I still think it’s too complicated. I just want some coffee and it’s messing with me I swear!” 

 Grace leaned around him and reached around the back to flip the power switch. The machine beeped and began to brew the pod Judd had put in the chamber. Judd turned to face her, face sheepish, “Have I told you lately how wonderful and talented you are?” he asked. 

 Grace laughed and leaned into him, “You may have yesterday, but it’s always good to hear. Now, what’s up with you that’s got you so flustered you can’t figure out a simple machine?”

 Judd’s scowl returned, “I have that job tonight, and I’m not looking forward to it.”

 Grace frowned, “The charity one? Why are you upset about that?”

 “Because it’s a bunch of kids playing ghost hunters. They’re ‘youtube people,’ I’m sure they're going to think they’re too good for this and be whiny and just annoying kids in general.”

 Grace burst out laughing and Judd looked at her, bewildered, “What’s so funny?” he demanded.

 “I’m sorry Judd, I just didn’t realize I had married a Scooby-Doo villain. You do hear yourself, right? You’re about one rubber mask away from “you meddling kids” and frankly, I think it’s adorable.” 

 Judd tried to scowl, but he couldn’t hide pleasure that his wife’s laughter brought him. “Just you wait,” he told her, “they are going to be ridiculous and needy and probably get themselves into all sorts of trouble, and it’s going to be up to me to save their asses.”

 Grace nodded with mock sympathy, “Well, I guess you’d better go before you’re late,” she said handing him the travel mug now filled with coffee, “you wouldn’t want to keep those meddling kids waiting.”

 Judd shook his head as he leaned down to give his wife a kiss, “You’re a menace.”

 “But you love me anyway.” 

 “That I do.” 

 --------- 

“We’re here at the hauntingly historical Littlefield House on UT’s campus. The house was--”

 “Cut!” Marjan called, looking up from her camera. She raised an eyebrow at her partner, “Hauntingly historical? Really TK?”

 “It’s alliteration, Marj. It’s good storytelling technique!”

 “It’s cheesy is what it is. Why don’t you try it again without the cheese factor, or I can do the intro.”

 “You did the intro last episode, we rotate these things Marjan.” 

 “But this is a special episode outside of our regular season, so our usual rules don’t apply.”

 “You’re only saying that because you like the spotlight.” 

 “No, I’m saying that because you should give the people what they want!” 

 “That hurts, Marj.” 

 Marjan’s retort was interrupted by the appearance of two men weighed down by bags of equipment approaching the house. “Hello,” the taller of the two shouted as they grew closer, “you must be the Spirit Squad, TK and Marjan, right?”

 The pair nodded and walked forward, intercepting the pair halfway down the front walk. “And you must be Carlos and Paul; the Paranormal Investigators. It’s good to meet you both,” TK said, reaching out to shake both their hands.  

 “The P.I.s for short,” Paul reminded him, returning his greeting. 

 There was a flurry of handshakes and polite greetings before they all turned to look at the building in front of them. 

 “Looks pretty imposing,” Paul noted, “are we sure there’s only one ghost in that whole place?”

 Marjan shrugged, “Only one agoraphobic mental patient at least. Who’s to say what else?” 

 They all studied the house, a stately victorian, for a few more silent moments. 

 “Well,” said Carlos, breaking the silence, “shall we?” 

 TK gave an exaggerated arm flourish and a beaming smile, “After you.”

 Paul and Carlos continued their journey up the walk and TK turned to join them, but paused when he saw Marjan shaking her head at him exasperatedly, “Two minutes and you’ve already started with the flirting,” she said mournfully, “Tonight is going to last forever, isn’t?”

 “Lay off Marj, have you seen him? How could I not?”

 Marjan took a deep sigh and looked up to the sky in exasperation, “What did I do wrong in a past life to get stuck with you?” 

 TK rolled his eyes, “Don’t even start, you know you love me.”

 “Don’t get too cocky Casanova. There are plenty of windows in this place, a tragic accident might just happen.”

 “You’d miss me.” 

 “But think about the peace and quiet I could have.” 

 ---------

Judd sipped his coffee as he watched the 4 kids enter the property. He was so not looking forward to this. He understood why the university was hosting this; he just didn’t know why he had to be the one in charge of them. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Grace how much he was dreading tonight. He just knew this was going to be a long, pointless night. As they cleared the entrance and began looking around he heaved a weary sigh and set his mug down on top of the piano he had been leaning on and walked over to them. 

 “Welcome to the Littlefield House,” he said with what he hoped was a passable imitation of enthusiasm - or at least tolerance. “My name is Judd Ryder, head engineer for UT’s campus. I’ll be your contact tonight. If you have any questions I’ll try to do my best to answer them and I’m going to go over some ground rules before you get started. Any questions so far?”

 The small group all shook their heads and Judd carried on, “Good. Rule number 1 - don’t touch anything you don’t need to. Everything in this home is old, valuable, and much of it was donated by some of the University’s very generous benefactors. You break it, you buy it. Rule 2: don't do anything stupid. I'm not looking to spend tonight pulling anyone out of a hole or anything of the kind. Follow those two rules and we'll get along just fine. Any questions?"

 Carlos nodded, “Mr. Ryder,” he asked, “Would you mind giving us a little background on the house and it’s supposed haunting?”

 Judd looked at him incredulously, “On camera?”

 Carlos nodded patiently, “That is how we tell our stories sir. I think our viewers would appreciate having it come from an expert - it makes it all seem more reliable. I’m sure as a highly respected employee of the University you must have some first-hand knowledge of the history, and may have seen some of the instances first hand. Your input would be invaluable. 

 Judd straightened, “Well,” he began, “I suppose that I would be uniquely qualified.”

 Carlos smiled warmly, “Excellent. Let’s get it set up.”

 Judd was busy flattening out the wrinkles in his shirt; he didn’t notice the fist bump that Carlos and Paul subtly exchanged or the look that passed between TK and Marjan.  

 ----------- 

“The Littlefield house was built in 1893 for Civil War veteran George Littlefield,” Judd began, “at the time of its construction it cost $50,000 dollars to build. As I’m sure you can imagine, it would cost a pretty penny more to build today.” 

 “Three guesses which side he was on,” Paul muttered and Carlos swatted at him, motioning at Judd to continue. 

 “Major Littlefield even went as far as to have a Himilayan Cedar imported and planted on the property. It is still standing today and is one of the most distinctive trees on campus. You can see it through that window right there,” he said gesturing towards the window to their left, “When his wife Alice Littlefield died in 1935, she donated the house and its property to the University, or which she and her husband had always been big supporters. These days the ground floor has been maintained in its former glory for hosting events and tours, while the second floor houses offices.” 

 “What about the third floor?” TK asked from off-camera. It looks like there are turrets from the outside, are those accessible.

 Judd looked thoughtful, “I think they might be used for storage. To tell you the truth, no one really goes up that far much. It gets real hot up there on those upper floors.” 

 “Can you tell us more about the spirit that supposedly resides here and the activity that people have witnessed?” Marjan prompted. 

 Judd nodded, “The ghost is said to be that of Alice Littlefield, the widow of Major Littlefield. People say that she still haunts this house as she never really left it even in life. Some say that she was agoraphobic, others say that her husband kept her locked in the attic. No one knows for sure, but everyone agrees that she didn’t get out much and that’s probably why she is still here.”

 “What kind of experiences have people reported?” 

 Judd scoffed lightly, “people say that they have seen a ghostly figure walking past the windows at night or wandering the grounds. A few even claim they’ve heard the piano playing when there was no one there to play it.”

 “To clarify, you mean this piano, right?” Carlos asked, panning towards the grand piano next to them.”

 “That’s the one,” Judd confirmed with a nod. 

 “What about you Mr. Ryder, have you ever had any experiences with this spirit?”

 Judd shook his head, “No, can’t say that I have,” he said evenly. 

 “Wonderful,” Carlos exclaimed, shutting off his camera, “That was great, thanks so much for your time Mr. Ryder.”

 Judd nodded as they began sorting through equipment, “Not a problem. Listen, the university has me on call tonight for y’all, so if you need anything let me know. I’ll be around. And please,” he added as an afterthought, “don’t break anything. I hate filling out that paperwork.”

 The group gave him solemn nods as he exited, sighing heavily and muttering something about kids under his breath. 

 The group watched him leave and then looked at each other, each trying their best to hide their grins. 

 “So,” TK asked, “shall we get started?”

 ---------

The deal was this: a charity had asked the two most popular ghost hunting teams on the internet to get together for a special fundraising episode, with a twist (to be decided by a vote from their viewers). A week of polling provided them with the result - the two teams were going to be partner swapping tonight. 

 According to charity’s PR rep, fans had commented that they wanted to see this partner swap because the two teams were so different. The P.I.s were very fact-driven; their show erred on the side of documentary. The Spirit Squad, on the other hand, was much more sensational. Sure they did the facts, but their show revolved a lot more around their antics than the history. Fans were eager to see what kind of dynamic a mashup would bring. 

 Which brings us back to this moment as the two teams divvy up their equipment and head to meet their new partners for the evening. TK hands a microphone pack to Marjan, humming to himself all the while. She levels a glare at him, “Would you stop that?” 

 “Stop what?”

 “Stop being so pleased about this!”

 “Marj,” TK began emphatically, “Of course I’m happy. I get to spend an evening with Mr. Paranormal Heartthrob over there. I’m fucking thrilled.”

 Marjan rolled her eyes, “Great. While you are off doing salacious things on company time, I am going to be stuck with Mr. Encyclopedia.” 

 “Come on, he doesn’t seem that bad.”

 “TK, you’ve seen their show. The dude somehow knows literally everything and can spend multiple minutes talking about the significance of various wood types in regional architecture. I might not be pushing you out a window tonight, but I might end up jumping through one.”

 Now it was TK’s turn to roll his eyes, “Give the guy a chance Marj. You know how it can be when you’re filming. He might be a completely different person off-camera. You might be surprised and actually end up liking him.” 

 Her expression softened incrementally, but her voice was still firm, “We’ll see.” 

 Across the room, a similar conversation was happening. 

 “You can’t seriously expect me to spend a night working with her do you, Carlos?”

 Carlos raised an eyebrow, “What’s wrong with her?” he asked skeptically.

 Paul seemed to falter a bit, “I mean, it doesn’t seem like she takes much seriously. She’ll probably be off-task all night. Besides, she’s the one who’s catchphrase is ‘come at me demon!’ Actually, I feel like the fact that she even has a catchphrase is telling enough.” 

 “I think you’re being unfair.”

 “Unfair? I would never!” 

 Carlos narrowed his eyes at him, “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not right now and it is honestly concerning to me. You need to give her a chance.”

 “No, I don’t think I do.” 

 Carlos sighed, “What did we say about not being a dick around people who don’t know you’re always kind of a dick?”

 Paul looked at least slightly chastised, “Fine, I’ll play nice.” 

 “That’s all I ask. Now,” he said cheerfully, snapping the last of his gear on, “it’s time to go meet our new partners!”

 “You know, sometimes I kind of hate you.” 

 “I’m okay with that.” 

 ------------ 

Marjan swung her flashlight around the grounds as she walked. She and Paul had taken the grounds and first floor while TK and Carlos would be tackling the upper floors. So far all she had seen was a lot of grass and awkward silence. 

 “So,” she began, turning to face her companion, “any thoughts on what we’ll find?”

 Paul shrugged, “Not too sure. All the lore says that if we see anything, it should be Alice so I’m hoping we’ll find some evidence of her. The reports make it seem like she’s pretty active, I’d love to catch some of that.” 

 Marjan hummed in agreement, “That would be cool. I’m a slut for some good audio evidence.”

 Paul raised an eyebrow at her. “What?” she asked defensively,

 He shook his head, “Nothing. I just figured you were more about the video evidence. You know, where you could be seen doing something crazy.”

 She scoffed, “Yeah, that stuff’s fun, but when it comes to actual evidence, I find audio to be more reliable. There are just too many factors when dealing with video evidence. Besides,” she added as she crossed to the other side of the yard, “It’s not that I don’t enjoy doing all that stuff, but it’s all for ratings. I know how to make a brand.”

 “You know Marwani, I might have been wrong about you.”

 “You can’t believe everything you see on the internet Strickland.”

 Paul laughed, “No, I suppose you’re right.”

 They continued in silence for the next few minutes, each studying their devices. After completing a full circuit of the yard Paul sighed, “Guess that was a colossal waste of time.”

 Marjan shrugged, “I guess it depends on how you look at it. I’m just glad we were able to put entire floors between ourselves and that,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder towards the second-floor window that revealed flashlight beams moving. 

 “You mean the flirt fest? Yeah, I’m not too broken up about missing out on that either.” 

 Marjan nodded emphatically, “Don’t get me wrong, I love TK like a brother, and I want nothing more than for him to be happy. But I don’t feel the need to be in the room as it happens.”

 Paul hummed his agreement, “Carlos is my best friend but when he is infatuated with someone, he is basically unbearable. I’ll take ghost hunting outside over witnessing that any day, thank you.” 

 Marjan glanced back up at the window, “How gross do you think they are being right now?”

 “On a scale of 1 to 10?” 

 “Sure, why not?”

 “11, definitely.” 

 ----------- 

“So,” TK started awkwardly, “how’d you get into ghost hunting?”

 “I watched my family die and have been determined to find their spirits ever since.” 

 TK’s eyes grew wide, “Seriously?” he asked. 

 Carlos chuckled, “No. I just liked scary movies and ghost stories as a kid and have always believed. You?”

 TK shrugged, “I guess I’ve always believed too. My dad is huge into this stuff, so I learned a lot about it growing up. Then I met Marjan and we hit it off and she needed a partner so I just kind of, did it.” 

 “Are you and your dad close?”

 A small smile spread across his face, “Yeah. He’s the best. He’s a firefighter, and growing up I always wanted to follow in his footsteps, but this came along and kind of just fit, you know?”

 Carlos nodded thoughtfully, “Yeah, I think I do. If you had told 15 year old me that I would be ghost hunting for a living, he would have thought you were crazy. But, I like it. I get to see new places, meet interesting people, and spend time with my best friend.”

 “Well,” TK said, “I think it was a good choice.”

 Carlos looked at him curiously, “Why’s that?”

 TK grinned suggestively, “Because it means we met.” 

 -------------- 

So far, the inside was not much more interesting than the grounds.

 Marjan was starting to get antsy. She knew that ghost hunting was generally a “hurry up and wait” kind of situation, but she hated the long periods of nothing. At least she normally had TK to banter with. Tonight, she was stuck with a companion who was studying an abstract painting with far too much interest.

 “I think this is an original Kelpe,” he said eventually.

 “A what?” Marjan asked incredulously.

 “A who,” he corrected, “Paul Kelpe was an American painter from about the 1930s until he died in the 80s. He was known for abstract art and retired to Austin before he died.”

 Marjan stared at him, “How in the actual hell do you remember this stuff?”

 “My mind is like a steel trap.”

 Marjan had several things she’d like to say in response to that, but before she could even begin eerie music floated down the hall, effectively ending their conversation. 

 They looked at each other, and Marjan was gratified to see her excitement reflected on Paul’s face. “Is that...” she started to ask at the same time Paul exclaimed “The piano!” 

 They looked at each other for just a moment more before they hurried down the hall, back towards the piano. 

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

It took a few tries, Carlos managed to get the door to the turret room open. He and TK walked inside slowly, shining their flashlights around the room. 

 “Wow,” TK said, and Carlos nodded his head in agreement. 

 The room was filled with the scattered paraphernalia of life. It looked like everything had been left as is, as if the resident of the bedroom had just walked out the door, ready to start their day. If that day had been about 80 years ago, judging by the dust.

 “It doesn’t look like anyone has been in here in ages,” TK noted as he gently brushed the dust off an ornate hand mirror.

 Carlos was studying the doorway, “I think you might be right. It doesn’t look like there is any kind of lock or reason it should have been stuck, but it definitely did not open like a door that is commonly used.”

 “I wonder whose stuff this is?” TK muttered as he examined the contents of the desk. “Whoever’s it is either loves antiques or it has been sitting here since it was new.”

 Carlos had halted abruptly in his own exploration, staring at something on the table by the door. When he spoke, his voice was shaky.

 “I think you might be spot on with the later,” he said.

 TK turned around, frowning. “What makes you say that?”

 Carlos picked up the item he had been studying and turned so TK could see it. It was an antique calling card, yellowed with age, but the name printed in delicate script was still legible; it read “Mrs. Alice Littlefield.”

 “Well, shit.” TK breathed. Carlos nodded.

------------- 

They reach the piano at the same time, equally out of breath. They each examine their various devices. “I’m getting some pretty strong readings,” Marjan noted.

 Paul nodded, “Me too. He moved around the piano, examining it, “I don’t see any wires or triggers, or anything that suggests that this could have been caused by another person.”

 Marjan ran an experimental hand across the keys. They played normally. She hit a few notes, but they all sounded as they should. “It seems to be working just fine too.” She lifted the lid and they each shone their flashlights inside.

 “Everything looks normal in here too,” she noted after a while. She looked around the room and gestured at one of the cameras they had set up. “Maybe the static cam caught something.”

 Paul nodded, pulling out his phone to make a note, “I will definitely look. Hopefully we got good audio too.”

 Marjan nodded, “This is so cool,” she gushed.

 Paul smiled, “It is, isn’t it?”

----------- 

Tk looked around at the contents of the room, “It doesn’t look like anything has been touched since she died.”

 Carlos nodded, gently fingering a lace handkerchief on the bedside table, “It looks like she just up and left. It’s kind of sad, actually.”

 TK looked at him curiously, “What do you mean?”

 “I mean, it doesn’t seem like she had anyone who cared enough to go through her things after she died. Once she died it seems like she just…stopped existing and the world went on.”

 TK didn’t really know what to say to that. He glanced around the room and then back at Carlos.

 “Unfortunately, I think that is generally what happens, no matter who is left behind. But if it makes you feel any better, if people are right about Alice being the ghost here, she apparently had different plans.”

 “I honestly don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”

 TK shrugged, “Me neither.”

 “I guess what really bothers me is the thought of what will happen to us when we’re gone. I don’t have much family left as it is, and not too many friends outside of Paul. Would there be anyone left to remember that I existed, or would it just be a room full of stuff that says Carlos Reyes used to exist?”

 TK studied him for a moment before speaking, “I know where you’re coming from, believe me. All I have are my dad and Marjan. But I think that it’s more a matter of what we do than what we leave behind.”

 Carlos smiled at him, “That’s pretty wise.”

 TK grinned, “I do my best.” He took a few steps closer to Carlos. They were so close now that he could every nuance of brown in the other man’s rich, warm eyes. “If it makes you feel any better,” he said softly, “I’d care if you were gone. I’d help to keep your memory around.”

 Carlos smiled at him, “Then I guess that means I should do the same for you.”

 “It’s a deal then,” TK replied, sticking out his hand. Carlos took it and the shook, but their hands lingered for several moments longer than necessary. Carlos was the first to pull away, albeit reluctantly.

 “I guess we should keep going with the actual investigation part before our respective partners hunt us down and murder us.”

 TK nodded solemnly, “True. What good is our pact if we both die at the same time, murdered by our perfectionist co-workers?”

 They exchanged a grin, but Carlos frowned as TK’s expression shifted and his gaze drifted past him. “Everything okay?” he asked hesitantly.

 TK didn’t answer right away, “I’m not sure,” he said eventually. “I thought I saw something but...I don’t know. Probably just a trick of the light.” 

 Carlos looked like he wanted to say something, but the sound of his phone alarm cut off whatever it was that he had to say. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. “That’s the 15-minute warning. We have to be out of here pretty soon. We should head back downstairs and help the others gather the equipment.

 TK nodded and began to disassemble the camera they had set up in the corner of the room. “Hey Carlos?” he asked as he worked.

 “Yeah?”

 “We make a pretty good team, don't we?”

 Carlos grinned, turning away to hide the blush darkening his cheeks, “Yeah, I think we do.” 

--------- 

A few days later, TK was walking up the sidewalk towards Paul’s house when he heard his name being called from behind him. He turned to see Carlos rushing to catch up with him. He couldn’t help the little flutter his heart did at the sight of him. He paused, letting the other man catch up.

 “Hey,” Carlos greeted as he reached him, “What are you doing here?”

 TK shrugged, “Honestly, I have no idea. Paul called me and asked me to come over.”

 Carlos frowned, “He asked me the same thing. Which, is not weird since we are friends and business partners, but you being here too is strange. No offense,” he added hastily.

 “None taken,” TK assured him. “Honestly, I was thinking the same thing.”

 They stood awkwardly on the sidewalk for another moment before Carlos shrugged, “I guess the only way to find out is to head in.”

 TK nodded and gestured towards the door, “After you.”

 Carlos let them in and led TK towards the office. When they entered the space, they were even more surprised that Paul was not alone.

 “Marjan?” TK asked incredulously, “What are you doing here?”

 Paul answered, “I called her first because I needed someone else to confirm that you two are as big of idiots as I thought you were.”

 Marjan nodded solemnly, “And I can confirm, you are the biggest idiots.”

 TK and Carlos looked at each other, baffled. “What did we do?” TK asked defensively. 

 Marjan and Paul simply exchanged a look before Paul turned his laptop around for them to see. There was a video feed paused on it. It seemed to be one of the feeds from the turret room. Carlos gave the other two a confused look, “What does that have to do with anything?”

 “Oh, just wait,” Paul said, reaching down to hit play.

 They all watched silently, Marjan and Paul watching their companions more than the video. TK and Carlos watched as they moved through the frame, getting closer. TK blushed as they grasped hands. He knew what part this was, he just had no idea how sappy they actually looked. He was just grateful there was no sound. As he watched, he saw a figure appear over Carlos’s shoulder. His eyes widened. That couldn’t be…

 “Is that an FBA?” Carlos asked weakly, looking up at Paul and Marjan. Paul glared at him, “Just watch.”

 They all turned their attention back to the screen to see as the figure became more solid. There was no denying that it was the ghostly figure of a woman. She remained there, just past Carlos’s shoulder, for a least a minute before vanishing as quickly as she had appeared.

 Present Carlos and TK looked at each other. “I guess you did see something,” Carlos said weakly. TK was still too shell-shocked to respond. They had been in the same room as a Full-bodied Apparition – the holy grail of paranormal investigating – and they hadn’t even noticed.

 He looked over at their partners, who seemed torn between amusement and frustration. He understood the feeling.

 Eventually, Paul spoke, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems to me that you two were so busy flirting you did not notice a literal ghost not even two feet from you.”

 Carlos ran a shaky hand through his hair, “Yeah, I think that about covers it,” he said weakly.

 Marjan snorted, “Actually, it looks like she yeeted herself out of there as soon as possible. Face it – you guys are so gross that even the dead don’t want to deal with you.”

 TK and Carlos locked eyes. After a moment Carlos shrugged and TK groaned, “The shippers are going to have a field day with this. We will never have another moment of peace.”

 Carlos considered this for a moment, before a sly grin spread across his face, “Maybe, or we could just beat them at their own game?”

 TK frowned at him, “What do you mean?”

 “TK Strand, would you like to go on a date with me?”

 There was a beat of silence before Paul and Marjan groaned and TK grinned, “I thought you’d never ask.”

 Marjan looked at Paul, “Our lives are ruined,” she said mournfully.

 He nodded grimly, “Let’s be real though; we never stood a chance.”

 Notes: 

I actually did a lot of research for this one and since once an English major always an English major or something like that, you can find my sources here, here, here, and here. If nothing else it's worth it for a look at the house (which is a real place) because it does give off some serious spooky vibes in my opinion. 

[Read on Ao3]

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

An Unexpected Reunion-- Malcolm Bright x Reader

oRequest; “the reader is an FBI agent who met Malcom in Quantico but they lost contact cause she went to do undercover work and now shes put in New York on. A case and they just catch up and be happy cause malcom needs happy” (anon)

Warnings; specified fem! reader, language, bits of violence, terrible writing

Word Count; 2.1k

Notes; I rewrote this like 5 times so I hope y’all like it lol

Trainees were separated into groups for various training sessions throughout the day, and a group was never the same. Everyone was rotated around. Your group for the day happened to do incredibly well in the training exercises. “Best so far,” you were told. They decided to reward the group by allowing all of you to have a paintball fight, writing it off as combat practice. Everyone darted to various corners of Hogan’s Alley. You hid behind a dumpster and readied yourself for the battle to begin. A thud from the inside caused your brows to furrow. Since the Alley was a mock town, you knew that there wasn’t any trash inside that would attract any critters. Nevertheless, you decided to check it out. You cracked open the lid, only for something to latch around your arm. “What the fuck, Bright?” He shushed you.

“Come on, this is the best hiding spot here! Anyone comes around, and you can easily take them out without being spotted. Just... just hurry up and hop in before you blow our cover.” You stared at him, blinking slowly. Was he serious? Malcolm’s eyes widened, causing him to look slightly frantic as he motioned you inside. Alright, he was completely serious. You clamored into the dumpster and hoped that no one heard the lid slam shut. Malcolm clicked on his flashlight. He raised a brow and grave you a sly grin. He started to speak, but you interrupted him.

“If you’re about to make this sexual, I swear to God I will shoot you in the crotch right now.” Malcolm grimaced, looking highly offended.

“What? No! I was about to ask if you had heard about how Johnson from the second group pissed his pants in the hostage simulation today,” he rapidly explained. Then he froze for a moment, giving you a doubtful look. “You wouldn’t shoot me this close range. You’re not that cruel.” You held up your gun.

“Wanna bet?” Malcom narrowed his eyes at you. He was challenging your capabilities. What was once a game of hide-and-go-seek turned into a game of cat-and-mouse. Either way, you weren’t losing. You leaned back and pulled the trigger. The paintball hit its target with a loud twap! Malcolm shouted a string of profanities as he curled into fetal position. You clasped a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“Bitch...” he groaned. 

“You practically told me to!” 

Fond memories of your old life were what got you through your secret life. Being assigned to go undercover for months on end was no easy feat. There were plenty of times you wanted to call it quits, but you couldn’t. So, you’d think of moments that made you happy. You were beyond relieved when you were able to return home. It was as if you could finally breathe again. You wanted nothing more than to sleep for at least two weeks straight, but, of course, you weren’t allowed such luxuries.

You had awakened too early for your liking but decided to spend the time catching up on all the shows you missed while undercover. You had just sat down with a cup of coffee when someone started banging on your door. You sighed, taking a long sip of your coffee and hoping that they would go away. Luck wasn’t on your side, as the person continued to try to punch your door down. You groaned and shuffled over towards the door. It revealed a woman with curly hair. She gave you a small grin and held up a badge. You squinted at it in an attempt to determine its authenticity. “Hi, I’m Dani Powell with the NYPD. Are you Ms. (Y/L/N)?” You eyed her for a moment before finally deciding that she was telling the truth about her identity. You slowly nodded, slightly confused as to why she was there. “Mind if I talk to you for a few minutes?” she asked, putting her badge away.

“Yeah... what’s... I’m sorry what’s going on?”

“Your neighbor was murdered last night.”

Your body tensed. Was she serious? Could a murder have seriously taken place right under your nose? You turned on your heel and hurried further into your apartment. Dani looked confused, hesitantly stepping inside. You fumbled through a drawer before returning with a badge of your own. “I’m with the FBI. Could I see the crime scene please?” Dani raised a brow at you.

“Let’s go talk to my superior first.” You nodded and slipped on a pair of shoes. Following Dani down the hall, she approached a man leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Where’s Gil?” The man furrowed his brows at the sight of you. Okay, so maybe you could have at least brushed your hair before you walked out. You probably looked like a hot mess.

“Inside. Who’s your friend?”

“Special Agent (Y/F/N). FBI. I live down the hall,” you answered. The man seemed surprised, causing Dani to roll her eyes.

“Oh shit, really? I’m TJ.” He started to say something else, but Dani interrupted him. 

“She wanted to see the scene, but I was gonna let her talk to Gil first.” You pursed your lips. Surely, it wasn’t the same person you were thinking of. There was a slight commotion from inside the crime scene before two men emerged into the hall. One was waving his hands widely, while the other looked done with his shit.

“Okay, so we’re looking for-” Your jaw dropped. Malcolm? Here, of all places? The world is quite a small place. “Cookie?” TJ and Dani’s faces wrinkled.

“Stinky!” Malcolm laughed at the familiar nickname as you threw your arms around him in an embrace. Gil smiled at the two of you.

“What am I, chopped liver?” You scoffed before giving him a hug too. TJ and Dani shared a look of confusion, which wasn’t lost under Malcolm’s gaze.

“Team, this is Cookie. Cookie, this is the team.” 

“I’m sorry-- but Cookie?” TJ asked, almost astonished at hearing Malcolm call someone by their pet name. The profiler nodded. A smirk crossed his lips.

“We’ve been friends since Quantico. During training, (Y/N) snuck out of her room to steal some treats. Everyone’s called her that since.” You rolled your eyes at the mention of your nickname.

“And you’re... Stinky?” Dani asked with a laugh. You beamed at the opportunity to share your favorite memory from training.

“At some point during your time at the academy, a handful of trainees are dropped off at random points in the Prince William Forrest Park to test your survival skills. We somehow managed to bump into each other while wandering around and decided to team up. Two heads are better than one, right? So, we were trying to figure out a shelter situation when Stinky discovered a foxhole type thing. I warned him not to go in, but-” Malcolm interrupted you.

“I’m pretty sure you said, ‘We can’t go in there because your head’s too big. You’d get stuck and die before we even get a chance to go on a real mission.’”

“Shut up, Stinky, I’m telling a story. Anyways, the bastard decided to go in. Lo and behold! There was a family of skunks living inside, and he just barged right on in. The dude stunk. Bad. No one would go near him for about a week. So, the name Stinky was born.” 

After telling the group a few more stories about Malcolm and learning a bit more about the case, you went back to your apartment to change into some actual clothes. They still required you to go down to the station and make a statement. Malcolm offered you a ride, which you gladly accepted. You hadn’t seen him since before he got fired.

As the two of you got in his car, you couldn’t help but notice how awful he looked. His hands were shaking, and he had heavy bags under his eyes. “You’re staring,” Malcolm joked, but, this time, the smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. You shook your head.

“Yeah, it’s cause you look like shit, Malcolm.” He turned his attention back to starting the car. He knew that you were being serious when you used his actual name. You watched his inner turmoil, no doubt debating whether he could confide in you. Turning your gaze away, you didn’t want him to feel like a bug under a microscope. “How long has it been this bad?” 

“It’s been bad for a while now, but it’s gotten worse over the past few weeks.” His voice was small, and it made your heart ache. Shaking your head, you got out of the car. Malcolm’s brows furrowed. You poked your head back inside.

“Well? Are you just gonna sit there like a fly on the wall, or are you going to tag along with me?” Without a moment’s hesitation, Malcolm switched the car off and appeared by your side. You linked your arm with his, tugging him along. “Don’t ask questions, just follow my lead.”

You led him to a rather posh boutique not too far from your apartment building. Malcolm seemed a bit concerned as to what you had in store for him, and you couldn’t help but laugh. The older woman working there seemed a bit disapproving as the two of you walked in, giggling over some old inside joke. “Okay, seriously, why are we here?” Malcolm finally asked. You grabbed his wrist and looked at his watch.

“You have five minutes to put the most ridiculous outfit together. Loser has to buy lunch. Go!” 

You scurried away, hoping that he would let loose and have some fun. Luckily for you, Malcolm wasn’t the one to back away form a challenge. Five minutes passed faster than you would have liked, but you thought you did pretty good. You were wearing large sunglasses, a tiara, and a jacket almost entirely made of rhinestones. You turned around and nearly fell to the ground with laughter. You hadn’t expected Malcolm to take the challenge that seriously. He was wearing sunglasses similar to your own, a feather boa, a shiny necklace, and he was even holding a single earring to one of his earlobes. What got you the most was his ridiculous hat, something you would only expect to see at the Kentucky Derby. His smile widened at your reaction. “Looks like you’ll be the one buying lunch.” 

“I lost?”

“Obviously,” Malcolm scoffed.

“Oh, but did I really?” You quickly pulled out your phone, snapping a couple pictures. “I can’t wait to show these to Gil. He’s gonna die.” Malcolm’s jaw dropped. He put his earring down and held a hand out to you.

“Gimme.”

“What? Hell no, Stinky. You’re gonna have to pry this thing out of my cold, dead hands.” His eyes narrowed, and you immediately regretted your statement. Malcolm lunged at you, causing you to shriek and dash away. He cornered you near some clothing racks. His arms wrapped around you as he attempted to wrangle your phone from your hands. The two of you were too busy laughing and fighting each other to realize that you were inching closer and closer to the racks. As you struggled to get out of his grasp, Malcolm had the bright idea to suddenly let go, sending you tumbling forward. You landed on a clothing rack, taking the whole thing down with you. Malcolm roared with laughter and had to lean on his knees for support. “Fuck you!” you called out. He held out a hand, helping you to your feet. “You’re a jackass.”

“Oh, come on, you know you love m-” He was interrupted by the older woman clearing her throat. Her arms were crossed, and she was tapping one foot.

“I think it’s best if you two leave. Now.” You both apologized profusely and even offered to help clean up, but she shooed you out of the store, after taking back their clothes of course. You gave Malcolm a hard time, blaming him for getting you both banned from the store. After the two of you fell into a steady silence, walking side by side, you prompted him with a question.

“What were you saying earlier? I know I love what?” Malcolm laughed, almost nervously.

“I was going to say that you know you love me.” You pursed your lips and hummed. 

“Maybe that’s why I’ve put up with you all these years, Stinky.”

“You’re not a ray of sunshine either, Cookie.”

“At least I don’t smell like skunk ass.”

“That was five years ago!”

~*~*~

Prodigal Son Tag List;

@ourfracturedomens​

Permanent Tag List;

@blitchen​

@blitchen-fics​

[rosegoldannie]

Tell Me no Lies Chapter 18

Sorry it’s been a while, I’ve been super sick and had schoolwork to catch up on, and my school has been cancelled until the beginning of May because of Covid19.

On the bright side, this means more time for writing, so please send in prompts and I’ll write them! And thanks to @hizqueen4life​ for kindly reminding me that y’all are suffering!

There will be one more chapter of Tell Me no Lies, and possibly an epilogue if you all are interested. I’ve been considering doing half-chapters from Rowan’s perspective, and want to know if that is something you all are interested in.

Masterlist

Previous chapter

Blood roared in his ears as he made his way through the crowds towards the bar, his mind still reeling from the events of the last hour, and his lips still tingling from her kiss.

Aelin was… She was everything. When they had finished, and she had stroked his cheek, Rowan had nearly died. His heart was so full it was painful. And her laugh… Gods, he found himself grinning, as he braced his arms against the polished wooden counter.

Tonight had given him everything.

The last gods only knew how many weeks had been agony. While he couldn’t pinpoint when, exactly, it had started, only that she had been his world for a long while. It had taken her meeting with Chaol for him to realize it, but still.

Her smile… gods, when he saw it his heart was full.

He’d nearly told her a few minutes prior, when he’d revealed how much he loved her laugh. That hadn’t been what he had initially wanted to tell her, but seeing her smile, how her eyes had lit up. 

Rowan had wanted to tell her the truth.

That he loved her.

That he had for weeks. Months, even. Since… Hell, since the day they’d met and he’d mistaken her for Aedion’s fiance and she had utterly shaken him to the core.

Even now, he chuckled at the memory, a soft smile spreading across his still-tingling lips, and he could feel her still wrapped around him. He could still feel her cool, smooth hair whispering through his fingertips, how she had sighed against him.

He would tell her, he decided.

Maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but he would. And if she rejected him, he would live with it. He would find a way. But Rowan knew that if he let things carry on much longer without confessing, he would never be able to forgive himself.

As he waited in line, his mind utterly filled by the blond beauty he loved, counting down the minutes until he could return to her, who was waiting only a short ways away, he began rifling through the possibilities they had, of a possible life with her. Possible children.

And that was why he didn’t notice the dark haired woman watching him with predatory eyes.

He at last reached the front of the line, and ordered two drinks, then returned to his thoughts.

“Well hello,” A sickly sweet voice purred.

Rowan didn’t realize she was speaking to him, until she placed her hand on his forearm. He damn near jumped at the shock of it, sending her a suspiciously angry glance.

She let out a hearty chuckle, stepping closer to him.

He matched her step, and backed up, his glance turning to a glare.

“My name is Remelle.” She purred, that hand stroking up his arm.

He jerked away from her. “I’m not interested.” He said, firmly. Slightly cold.

Remelle giggled, which sent a chill down his spine, and Rowan found himself glancing over his shoulder to see the bartender still working on their drinks. He had half a mind to simply leave and return to Aelin, but decided against it upon thinking of how disappointed she would be.

She took a step closer to him, now only an inch or so separating them.

He clenched his teeth, and pressed himself as far back into the counter - and as far away from her - as he could. 

“Are you sure? I won’t tell.” She murmured, leaning into him, and licking up the column of his neck. He instantly jerked away, and wiped at his neck.

Disgust roiled deep in his gut, and he fought the urge to heave. With a stern glare, he moved away from her and went to an area a good twenty feet away, shaking his head as fury roiled in his gut. He kept half an eye on the bartender, who was now finishing up their drinks, and the other eye on Remelle, who was still watching him, and licking her lips, those predatory eyes narrowing.

Rowan looked away, shuddering.

“What, am I not good enough for you?” A low voice huffed in his ear, strong perfume washing over him. He nearly gagged.

Stepping down from the stool on which he was seated, he turned to lean against the counter, and glared at her. “Look, I’m not interested. I have a girlfriend who I love, so go find someone else to warm your bed.”

A feline smile wormed its way across her thin lips. “I won’t tell.”

“I don’t care.” He snapped, glancing again at the bartender. “I’m not interested, so leave me alone.”

Remelle took several steps forward, pressing herself against him.

Rowan angled himself away from her, and again fought the urge to heave and gag. “I’ll be the best night of your life, baby.”

He turned his head to glare down at her. “I do not care. Leave me alone. I am not interested.”

Scoffing, she shook her head, and pressed farther into him.

He tried to move to the side, but she braced her hands on either side of him, and refused to allow him to move. Again, he glared down at her. “Let me go.”

She grinned. “No.”

Anger flared in him, as the music turned booming. “Let me go. I am not interested, and I have a girlfriend. Go find someone else.”

Something flickered in her eyes, sending a spark of fear through him. It was a look he often saw in the eyes of the less respectable men of society, and it had him clenching his jaw and leaning as far away from her as he could.

Suddenly, she was surging forward and slamming her lips against his, wrapping her arms around his neck and forcing her tongue into his mouth.

Disgust roiled through him as he shoved at her, attempting to push her away. He grunted as he finally freed himself from her. Without looking back, or checking on their drinks, he threw a twenty dollar bill over the counter, and stormed away, heading towards the bathrooms.

Once there, he emptied his stomach of its contents, and washed his sweaty face. 

Bracing his hands against the rusting sink, he looked up into the mirror and found hot tears streaming down his face, and dark red marks now blossoming across his neck and disappearing down the collar of his shirt.

Swiping at his tears, he reassured himself that he was alright, then set about washing his face, scrubbing viciously at where that vile woman had licked him.

After half an hour of rotating from the sink to the toilet, then back to the sink, he washed his face for the last time, and rushed back to their group’s table, pissed to discover fresh tears streaming down his blotchy face.

He had planned to beg Aelin for them to go home, but stopped when he realized that she wasn’t there.

He again swiped at his tears that simply refused to stop, as he approached. Aelin was gone. As was Lysandra, Elide, and Aedion. Lorcan was the only person there, and was typing furiously on his phone, eyebrows drawn together.

“Hey,” He rasped, sniffing.

Lorcan immediately glanced up, his eyes hard. They softened upon seeing his current condition, but only slightly. “You look like shit.” He stated.

He snorted, sliding into the booth. “Thanks.” He glanced around again, eyes scanning for the blonde bombshell he wanted to see so badly. “Where is everyone?” He murmured.

His friend huffed, an almost smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You mean Aelin?” That smirk disappeared in less than a second, and his expression shuttered, turning hard. “She left. A while ago.”

Rowan felt as if his heart had dropped into his gut, coldness spreading through him. His voice was painfully soft when he at last managed to speak. “She left?”

His friend turned, glaring at him with an intensity that he had never seen. Especially in regards to Aelin, of all people. 

That cold feeling only increased, now being joined by something frightfully close to fear.

“Lorcan, what do you mean she left?”

He snapped. “She left because of whatever the hell you did, asshole. She was heartbroken. Lysandra drove her home.” He paused, shaking his head. “Honestly, fuck you. I don’t know what you did, but I do know that she didn’t deserve it.”

With that, Lorcan slid out of the booth and disappeared into the crowds, leaving Rowan completely and utterly alone with his slowly breaking heart.

It took over an hour for the panic to subside enough for him to be able to stumble out to his car, and drive home in a numb fog. The entire time, he cried silently, swiping at his eyes. Panic setting his blood roaring in his ears, drowning out the sounds of the city.

When he burst into their unnaturally silent apartment, the first place he went was to her room.

He knocked, but was met with stony silence.

After several long moments, he cracked the door open, and when he wasn’t met with a barrage of screaming, pillows, and insults, he stuck his head into the dark room. What he saw nearly broke his heart.

Aelin was sprawled across her unmade bed, still wearing her jacket and shoes, fast asleep, with great streaks and lines of mascara smeared across her face.

His heart gave a painful squeeze at the sight, but he quietly made his way over to her vanity and retrieved several makeup wipes, then returned to her, settling down next to her on the bed.

Turning her head gently, he began to wipe away her makeup, taking extra care to clean off the eyeliner and mascara smeared by countless tears.

Again, his heart squeezed when she let out a small whimper, and clenched her fist. It felt as if she held his heart in her hand. Hell, she probably did and didn’t know it.

Once all of her makeup was wiped away, he began wiping her face with one of her facial cleansing wipes, then gently finished her entire skincare routine, from moisturizing to hydrating facial oils to spot treatments to night sprays. She had ‘forced’ him to learn it one Saturday night, weeks before, when he had come out into the living room to find her reclined on the couch with a glass of wine and a bright green face mask.

By the end of that night, he had been beside her, wine and all, with a facemask as they watched the news about the upcoming election. Though he would never admit it to her, he actually quite enjoyed skincare.

The memory brought a smile to his lips as he brushed through her curls, then gently removed her jacket, jewelry and boots.

He rummaged quietly through her dresser, and returned with what he knew to be her favorite t-shirt and sweatpants. He then carefully slipped the shirt over her dress, then the sweatpants, making sure she was completely covered before unzipping the dress and gently removing it, sliding the strappy sleeves down her shoulders and arms, allowing it to pool on the floor. As a final touch, he slipped her favorite fuzzy socks onto her feet before covering her with that purple butterfly quilt that she always wrapped herself in on chilly mornings, and slipped silently from the room.

He made sure to plug in her phone, and leave a glass of water and headache medication on the nightstand for her, along with what he knew to be her favorite chocolates.

A cold, numb feeling began in his chest as he settled into his own bed and drifted off to a fitful, restless sleep.

Aelin awoke to a cold, dark room. She instantly felt tears begin to fill her eyes again as memories of the previous night filled her line of sight.

Memories of her and Rowan.

Of how he held her, moaned her name as if it were both his salvation and destruction.

Fresh tears began tracking their way down her face, which she quickly swept away.

It was then that she noticed she wasn’t wearing her dress, and that her skin felt fresh, crisp in a way it never did when she slept in her makeup.

Slipping out of bed, she padded over to her vanity,where she discovered the remnants of several different wipes, and her folded dress.

She never folded her clothes, regardless of whether or not they were clean. She never bothered to change out of her clubbing clothes at night. And she never bothered to take off her makeup after a night at the club.

Which meant that he had done it.

He had come into her room sometime after she had fallen asleep, and… done this.

While part of her melted slightly at the kindness of what he had done, a much smaller, albeit louder, part of her screamed and roared its anger over his presumptuousness.

She huffed, then stuffed her feet into her deer slippers, and stomped out into the living room, knowing full well that he would be up by now.

He was, perched drearily in the armchair by the window, clad in sweats and an old Adarlan U hoodie. Something about the domesticity of that sent a bolt of pain to her broken, shattered and bleeding heart.

Dark circles sagged under his normally vibrant, green eyes. Though, at that moment they were muted and dull, along with everything else about him, she noted.

Rowan had barely even glanced up when she entered the room, keeping his eyes trained out the window, where snow was now flurrying down viciously. “We need to talk.”

Something akin to relief settled in her gut, right alongside the agony of seeing him in person for the first time since… the night before. The logical part of her rejoiced in the fact that she might get answers. 

Aelin settled warily onto the couch, keeping her Ashryver eyes trained solely on him, ignoring the pain his silhouette caused her.

“Last night…” He began, wringing his hands and not looking fully at her.

Aelin felt her heart begin to crack again, and resolved to not cry or show any signs of being hurt during their conversation. “What about it.”

His head whipped up, and he sent her an almost annoyed glance. “What happened at the club.”

“What did happen at the club?” She pushed, her voice taking on a sickeningly sweet bite. “I don’t remember much of last night.” She crooned.

The look he gave her could have crippled lesser men. “You know what.” He sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair. “I heard that you left. Crying. And I was worried. I hope I didn’t push you into anything.”

“Ohhh, that.” She hummed, ignoring the tightness in her chest.

Rowan seemed to relax slightly, and his brows began to unfurl, as a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, that. I, um, I think we should talk about it.”

“Yes, of course. Go on.” She goaded.

He glanced up, seeming to search her face. “I wanted to get your take on things, and see if you had any regrets or anything we should talk about.”

A loud voice roared in her mind to not go through with her angry urge, but she quickly silenced it. “Oh. That.” She hissed through her teeth. “Yes. I do have regrets.”

Her roommate’s face began to slowly crumble.

“I regret that we danced together. I regret that we kissed. I regret that we fucked.” His face continued to fall, and he clenched his eyes shut, bowing his head. “I regret not being enough for you.” His eyes flew open at that, and he opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a look. “But most of all, I regret falling in love with you, Rowan Whitethorn.”

He looked both completely awed, his eyes blown wide, and utterly, utterly heartbroken, tears slowly tracking down his cheeks, his jaw agape.

“But most of all, I regret every moment I ever spent with you. I regret every drive, every piece of pizza, every cup of coffee. I regret that Fen left, and you moved in. I regret the moment we met.” With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.

And that was both the truth, and a lie. She did regret every single thing she had said, and more. She regretted every single second that Rowan Whitethorn was in her life. But she also didn’t, and that damn voice of reason in her mind was screaming at her to go back and let him explain. It screamed and wailed and howled that she had to give him a chance to explain. That she owed him at least that much. 

She didn’t turn around.

She simply continued to ignore that damn voice.

It was only as her hand connected with her doorknob that she heard a low, deep whimper, then a rattling sob.

The next week was complete hell.

Rowan spent the rest of that day crying, at times so hard that if she had less resolve, Aelin would have gone to check on him, or even apologized. But she didn’t.

By the second day, they began to ignore each other, not even speaking when they were in shared areas. He had burned his finger while making soup, but she had simply ignored him, and continued scrolling away on her phone.

By the third day, he became snappy, often making rude comments whenever their paths crossed. Even going so far as to snap at her for taking a long, hot shower, when he went to do the dishes.

By the fourth day, they were fighting, and Rowan had stopped cooking for two. Worse than they had when he first arrived. It started when he left out a cereal bowl, and she grew angry at him for it. By that evening, they had had eight full-on screaming matches, which all ended the same way: with them both calling the other a selfish, spoiled, arrogant prick, and stomping off to slam the door to their room.

By the fifth day, Rowan stopped doing the dishes.

And that was how, a week after Elide and Lorcan’s engagement party, they were screaming at each other over something that Aelin couldn’t remember. 

“You are so self-centered!” She shouted, glaring ferociously at him. “You only care about yourself.”

“Oh, I’m self-centered? Says the one who spends hours in front of her mirror every day!”

“At least I don’t think I’m better than`everyone.”

“Bullshit! You think you’re so much better than everyone.”

“I do not.”

She let out a harsh laugh, shaking her head. “Yes you do. You only care about yourself.”

“I do not.” Any trace of warmth was gone from his voice.

“Yes you do.” She hissed, crossing her arms. “With you, it’s always me me me. You’re the only one who can ever do anything right. You’re the only one who can do no wrong.”

His gaze hardened. “If you really feel that way, then maybe I should move out.”

“Maybe you should!” She snapped, crossing her arms. 

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

Something inside her broke.

Three days later, she woke up early, and slipped from the apartment with a heavy weight in her pocket.

It had been nearly four months since Aelin had driven herself anywhere. Well, since she had driven her car.

She had an appointment at the hospital to check up on her, and to see how she was healing from the surgery. Rowan had promised to drive her, but given how difficult the last few days had been, Aelin simply wasn’t comfortable having Rowan drive her anywhere. 

He had spent the last few days searching for apartments, and had found one late last night. He had informed her that once the holidays were over, he would be moving out.

She had told him that was fine, and that she already had another roommate lined up.

That was a complete lie.

Truthfully, she was completely heartbroken, and absolutely dreaded the idea of living alone. More than once, Rowan had walked in on her crying, but she had waved off his most likely fake concern.

Rowan was moving out.

Their stint as roommates was coming to an end.

They would never have to see each other again.

She would never have to see the man who broke her heart again.

And Aelin could feel part of her soul dying at the thought.

She leaned back in the driver's seat, slapping the wheel with a muttered cuss.

Turning the key again, the engine let out a pathetic rumble, but still didn’t start. Great. Just great.

After several texts had been sent, which all ended in her friends apologizing, but saying that they couldn’t drive her to her appointment, she braced her head against the steering wheel for several long seconds, before venturing back up to their apartment, and banging on his bedroom door.

` He finally answered after numerous rounds of knocking. “What.” He snapped, his dress shirt half buttoned.

It took several moments for her to find the words to speak, most definitely not because of the sight in front of her. “My car broke down. I have a doctor’s appointment.”

Something, some light that had flickered in his eyes for the last several seconds, guttered. “Lysandra? Aedion? Nesryn?” He half-snapped.

“They’re all busy. I already tried.”

That light went out.

“Alright, fine.”

He slipped back into his room, and returned just a minute later in his usual suit, and led the way down to his car.

A small part of her savored the walk down, knowing that this would most likely be the last time they would be in a car together. Again, the logical part of her brain roared for her to apologize, to give him another chance. But she shut that part down, and slipped into the passenger seat.

Ten minutes later, Rowan’s crisp dress shirt was covered in grease, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he worked and coaxed the engine, looking for whatever was keeping his car from starting.

After fifteen minutes of him clanking around with his engine, and a further ten minutes of them arguing, they finally agreed to share an uber to her appointment, and he would then take the uber to his work. And now they were waiting just inside the lobby for the uber.

Rowan had his arms crossed, and was looking out the window. He let out his third huff in the span of a minute, and her patience snapped.

“What.”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t play that game with me.”

“I’m not playing a game.”

“Well then what’s your problem.”

“I don’t have a problem.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Yeah sure.”

“I don’t.” He snapped, rolling his eyes.

She shook her head, gritting her teeth. “Fine.”

He let out another huff, and whirled on her. “I just don’t see why you wouldn’t check on your car to make sure it can still run.”

“What.” She deadpanned.

“If your car is left untouched for a long time, check in on it. Everyone knows that.” The ice was so strong, it was a miracle Aelin didn’t have frostbite. “Hell, drive it once a week. Every moron knows that!”

“Well I didn’t.”

“Clearly.” He muttered under his breath.

Anger sparked in her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean.”

He whirled on her, those green eyes blazing with icy flame. “If you had simply used one brain cell - just one - you would have known that you needed to check on your car. But no, you’re Aelin. You know everything.” He hissed. “Whenever something goes wrong, it’s never your fault. Always someone else's. You think you can do no wrong.”

“I do not!” She roared, eyes narrowing and blood turning to steam. “If anything, you do.” Aelin huffed and crossed her arms, glaring out the windows. “You are so full of shit.” She muttered.

He whirled on her, his face contorted with fury. “I’m full of shit?! Really? You're the one who's been an absolute insane, crazy bitch for the last week for no reason!” Taking a step back, Rowan shook his head slightly, his voice becoming vulnerable and quiet. “And I don’t get it.”

It felt as if she had been punched in the gut, the air whooshing from her lungs. “Really.” She scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Yeah. And it hurts, Aelin. It fucking sucks.”

“Really?! You wanna talk to me about pain? You really want to go down that road?!”

He paused.

Looked away.

And swiped away a single tear.

“No.” He finally said, the words frighteningly final. “No, I don’t.”

And if her heart wasn’t already broken, that would have sent her over the edge. The pain in his eyes.... If she hadn’t seen him with that other woman, she would have run into his arms, kissed away his tears. Anything.

The next five minutes were awful. Rowan was clearly doing his best to conceal his tears…. And failing miserably. Every thirty seconds or so, he let out a small sniffle, and swiped at his increasingly puffy eyes. He was utterly pathetic. Though, she wasn’t much better, sending him furious glares every few seconds.

Honestly, who the hell did he think he was? To play innocent about this…. To act as if he wasn’t in the wrong. To act as if she were the one who had screwed up. It was infuriating, and brought her blood to a boil.

At last, Rowan glanced over at her, and swallowed thickly. “Look. If this is about what happened at the club….” He began, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“And it is.” She snapped, crossing her arms.

He paused for a moment, then continued. His words were slow, careful. “I’m sorry if what we did upset you. I thought that it was consensual, but if you view it differently, I apologize. If you feel that I took liberties, then I am so, incredibly sorry, Aelin. That was never my intention, and I promise it will never happen again.”

Aelin pursed her lips, tapping her foot. Completely and totally unsure of what to feel. “It's not about that.”

His face fell. “Then what, Aelin?” There was no bite, no hiss. 

“You know what.” She hissed, glaring accusatorily.

“No, I don’t.” He begged, throwing his hands out.

She froze, scanning his every feature. Something in his gaze broke her, and she finally allowed her eyes to fill with tears. “It hurts.” She murmured, her lip wobbling. “It feels like I’m dying. Because for the first time since I was sixteen…. I felt loved. I felt like I was enough for someone.” She held his gaze for several long, painful seconds. “But I wasn’t. And it hurts. It hurts like hell.”

He jerked half a step towards her, his face crumbling. “Aelin, what-”

“I saw you, Rowan.”

He paused, then paled. His green eyes widened imensely. “Aelin, it’s not what you think. I promise.”

“Save it. I don’t want to hear it. Really.”

Outside, a small, blue car pulled to a stop and honked thrice. They both raised a hand to acknowledge it, but remained where they were.

Her roommate sighed. “You don’t have the full story.”

Aelin pushed past him and strode out into the snow. “And I don’t want it.” She called over her shoulder.

She had one hand on the car door handle, when there was a muttered swear from behind her, then quick, crunching footsteps. “You’re wrong.” He stated. “I didn’t kiss her.”

Turning sadly, she found that there were only a few inches separating them. “Rowan…. It’s alright. I forgive you.” Her voice was filled with nothing but defeat.

“No.” He snapped, gripping her shoulder with heartbreaking gentleness. “Let me finish.” He took a deep breath, then began. “I did not kiss her. I would never. I was getting our drinks, and she came up to me, because she wanted a bedmate. I declined and walked away. She followed me, and cornered me, then forced herself on me. I pushed her away, and left to find you. And now you know the truth; I would never, ever kiss someone else, because there is only one person I ever want to kiss.” Hot tears began streaking down her frozen cheeks. Rowan began to gently wipe them away, and continued. “The only person I ever want to kiss, or to kiss me, is you. Because, Aelin, I love you. I have for a long time. What you saw…. I promise that isn’t what happened. I would never, ever do something like that, but I hope you can forgive me, because I am so, so incredibly sorry.”

Hot tears were now streaking furiously down her face, smearing the small amount of mascara she had bothered to apply. She sniffed loudly, then coughed, swiping aggressively at her cheeks. Rowan let out a huff of a laugh, and helped her in wiping them away, having taken her reaction as a good sign.

Once her voice was steady enough to speak, she cleared her throat. “You love me?” She sniffed, her gold-ringed eyes turning red and puffy.

He only smiled, dragging a finger sweetly down her cheek. “I love you. I have since the moment we met, and I will love you until this world is nothing but ashes and dust between the stars.”

She broke.

Her heart shattered and reforged itself with his words.

Whimpering, Aelin threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, she sobbed, heavy and wheezing and whimpering.

He only held her, pressing his nose sweetly into her neck and breathing her in. “I love you so much.” He whispered.

She could only sob harder, whimpering into him. Rowan simply pulled her closer and held her tighter, murmuring sweet nothings into her ear as he stroked her hair.

When they at last parted, he continued to hold onto her shoulders, gazing into her eyes as if he were searching for something. Seeming to have found it, he surged forward and captured her lips in his. Aelin instantly opened for him with a high pitched groan, making to slide her tongue over his bottom lip. He moaned into the kiss, but still pulled back a few moments later. 

Pressing his forehead against hers, he panted. “Oh gods.” He moaned, breathing heavily. “I never want to stop doing that.”

“Me neither.” She hummed, gazing into his eyes.

“Gods I love you.”

Eyes shining, she allowed herself to speak completely from the heart. “I love you too.”

His answering smile seemed to click with something in her heart, making her feel full for the first time.

Finally, he pulled away and opened the car door for her, muttering an apology to the driver. Aelin smiled at her love, and slid gingerly across the seat, smiling as he slid in after her. He yanked the door shut with a sharp thud, and grinned over at her, leaning over to place a sweet kiss on her cheekbone. Without turning to the driver, he murmured, “Adarlan General, please.”

From the corner of her line of sight, Aelin saw the driver nod, and they pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic.

Rowan gently took her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze, as they gazed into each other's eyes. For the first time, Aelin found herself imagining a fututre, though she knew it was stupid. They had only just figured out their first serious problem, and admitted their feelings, but she still was picturing what it would be like to walk down the aisle, with him waiting at the end, tears glistening like diamonds in his emerald eyes.

What they didn’t see as they gazed deeply into the other’s eyes was that they were not headed in the direction of the hospital. No, they were speeding quickly in the opposite direction.

“You both are quite cute together,” The driver mused, speaking at last, his voice not quite deep, but scratchy nonetheless. She jolted, eyes flying to the front of the car.

Rowan murmured a quiet thanks, squeezing her hand tighter in his. But Aelin remained completely and utterly frozen, horror draining the blood from her face.

It was then that he turned in his seat to face them, revealing the gun at his hip. “Hello, Aelin.” Arobynn purred, those heinous eyes glinting. “It’s been a long time. We have a lot to catch up on.”

The doors locked with a resounding, echoing thud.

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