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longdeadking · 11 months ago

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By the time Mia was done asking Larry questions, they'd actually learned a lot.

The murder weapon wasn't just a statue, it was a clock — and one that was handmade, too, with only two in existence in the world. Larry had made it himself and given it to Ms. Stone as a gift, keeping the other one for himself.

Ms. Stone had been in Paris until the day of the murder. Larry thought she was going for a photoshoot, probably, but neither of them had an international plan, so they didn't talk while she was abroad.

Larry went to her apartment after she was scheduled to get back because she hadn't called yet, even though she promised she would as soon as she got home. But she wasn't there, so Larry left, assuming that her flight had gotten delayed, or there were problems with her luggage or something.

There was nobody with motive and means to kill her, as far as Larry knew. She was private about her address and her job was pretty low-key. Ms. Stone had been gone for two weeks, so neither she nor Larry would know if anyone had been hanging around.

It was a surprisingly helpful interview.

Of course, it only started being that helpful after he and Mia had gone back to the office and pieced together the information out of Larry's dramatics and unfortunately suspicious word choice. Phoenix, having expected something along those lines, had snuck in a little recording device so that he didn't have to take notes. It was probably not legal to bring something like that into a basically-prison, but it was really the security's fault for not checking him more thoroughly.

That was his philosophy for most of the things he did. If the police were more effective, if there were actual programs in place to make sure people never had to turn to crime, if he could trust the people in charge to have the citizens' best interests at heart, then he wouldn't need to be Spider-Man. He'd just be a regular old civilian with superpowers.

They wrapped up the day with a much more substantial case file and a trial looming in the morning, but before Phoenix could grab his bag and get home, Mia stopped him.

"You said you know the client, right?" she asked. It was a leading question. Mia loved those. Phoenix sort of hated them, but he answered anyway.

"Yeah." And then he didn't elaborate.

Mia didn't scowl exactly, but she wasn't smiling. "He seemed very familiar with you. And you him."

"Oh, yeah, we go way back," Phoenix shrugged. His mouth was starting to feel dry. This was the most he'd told the Chief about his life since the first time they met.

"How did you two meet? College? He's an artist, so maybe you crossed paths with him then," Mia offered, knowing very well it was a lie. She'd met all of Phoenix's friends from college. One of them was a murderer and his girlfriend. The rest of them didn't exist.

She was extending an olive branch, but Phoenix was just too tired to file away the lie to keep up later, so he sat back down at his desk with a huff. "No, we've known each other since we were kids. We went to grade school together. He's one of the reasons I'm doing what I do today."

Doing what I do. Very smooth, Phoenix, not vague and weasely at all. But you couldn't blame him, really. He spent all his time around lawyers, the weasel supremes.

Mia raised a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. "And what is it that you do?"

"Y'know," Phoenix shrugged. "Justice."

A loaded word, justice. For Phoenix in particular. In this moment, he meant his night job beating up muggers and creeps, gathering information for Mia to pull out with a flourish in the courtroom. He was the underbelly of her high society, the stain on her perfect conscience. She appreciated him as an assistant, but she didn't love the vigilantism. It made sense. She was a lawyer. She couldn't fraternize with criminals.

Still, Mia smiled, looking half-relieved. Phoenix had talked around the point, like always, and like always, Mia caught him in the act.

"I'm glad he's there for you, then," she said.

"He won't be if he's stuck in jail."

"Then we'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen."

Mia said it with such certainty that Phoenix didn't even hesitate to believe her. She would get Larry acquitted because he was innocent. No prosecutors or police detectives or warped reflections of justice would stop her. Nothing would. She was Mia Fey, unstoppable.

Phoenix left the office with a light heart, despite the circumstances.

Night hadn't fallen yet, but the sky was just starting to go dim and orange at the edges. He had a couple of hours of down time before he had to go out. Usually, he'd spend those hours texting Larry or Googling case precedents for Mia's next trial, but Larry wasn't available and the Chief already had her case laid out. Murder trials always went by quick. Another way the system failed.

At least it meant criminals got put away quickly.

Phoenix decided to spend his free time actually stretching and warming up. He'd had a good yoga tutorial saved on his laptop for a while, but he used it less than he probably should. His body was pretty resilient, was the thing, so he tended to ignore the aches and cramps, fighting them off with painkillers and heating pads if they were making it hard to move, because by the next morning, they'd be gone.

The yoga still felt nice, though. It got his brain in gear.

Night fell as Phoenix stretched, and once the video ended, he was ready to suit up and hit the bricks.

Miles Edgeworth was still in his office.

It was dark, and nearly every other prosecutor was gone, trickling out over the course of the few hours after five o'clock.

The Chief Prosecutor was still here. Her door must have been open, because Miles could hear someone speaking to her from down the hall. The chief of police, most likely, considering the topics brought up in the few snippets Miles could decipher. Chief Prosecutor Skye seemed to never speak above a firm but close-quarters tone, but Police Chief Gant was much louder, projecting his voice seemingly by accident. As such, the conversation from Miles' perspective seemed to be rather one-sided, although knowing Prosecutor Skye, she was speaking back constantly.

The pitch and volume of the conversation rose until Miles could almost make out what Prosecutor Skye was saying, and he could clearly hear Chief Gant. It was an argument about misfiled evidence, apparently, and an attorney requesting a retrial for which no evidence or interviews were recorded. Gant was furiously defensive, but Prosecutor Skye had taken control of the conversation, and she was not going to back down. Miles respected that about the Chief Prosecutor. Like his mentor, Prosecutor Skye would not be dismissed, and her words were law, often even over those of the judge. Before she was Chief Prosecutor, she was much more timid, often letting the opposing counsel lead the trial, but since her promotion, she had developed a confidence that even Miles could not match. Were they not working for the same cause, on the same side of the courtroom, Miles would have loved to be put against Prosecutor Skye.

However, she was his superior, and more importantly his coworker, and so he pushed the daydream from his mind and turned his steely focus back to the case.

A murder trial, investigated headed by Detective Gumshoe. The victim, a model, murdered in her home with a blunt object. The key witness, Mr. Frank Sahwit, whose police interview was the central point of Miles' argument.

The accused, one Mr. Larry Butz.

That was what stopped Miles the first time. And then the next several times.

All of the defendants that he prosecuted against were guilty, as their verdicts agreed. If a criminal crossed his path in court, they would be punished for their crimes. It was impossible to empathize with them. It was impossible to think that they could be innocent or misunderstood. The evil it took to kill another human being was too great for that. It could not be forgiven.

And yet, Miles could not make himself believe that Larry Butz was guilty.

He'd tried. Over and over again, he'd scoured the evidence, spoken to Gumshoe, visited the crime scene himself, and yet, he still found himself feeling sympathy for the man. It was embarrassing. He had no connection to Mr. Butz outside of a single year of grade school that, in the face of von Karma's legacy and Miles' own success, was so small that it was laughable that he even remembered the man's name a all. He had no idea how his character had changed over the fifteen years they had been apart. Miles certainly grew more ruthless, but his wrath was trained, focused on the ultimate good of bringing justice to the world. Larry Butz, a monstrous and chaotic child, could not have been groomed into perfection as Miles had. Really, murder was the natural progression for him.

Miles repeated it to himself again. It made sense that Larry Butz killed Cindy Stone. Mr. Sahwit's account was airtight, and Butz was the exact kind of person that would commit such a violent crime. There was no reason to doubt, and therefore by doubting, Miles was being unreasonable. Imperfect. He would sit in this office and reread the file until he saw reason. That was the only way.

Miles' pen exploded in his white-knuckled grip.

Chief Gant and Chief Skye went suddenly very quiet. There was a moment of silence as they, probably, finished their conversation in hushed tones, and then two sets of footsteps departed from the office in two different directions.

One of those directions was towards Miles' office. He felt his stomach sink into the basement — a feat, considering his office was on the twelfth floor. His desk was a disorganized mess of papers, he certainly looked terrible, and his pen was still leaking ink onto his hand. He was frozen as the footsteps grew nearer and nearer, and then the door opened, and Chief Prosecutor Skye stepped inside.

"Edgeworth? You're still here? It's nearly ten," she said. When she noticed the smashed pen, she asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course everything is fine," Miles said quickly. "I simply didn't notice that my pen was partially broken, and I used slightly too much force while making a note, causing it to snap. The documents are not stained." They weren't, he'd checked. It was the first thing he did after breaking the pen, before even considering washing his hands. Legal documents were much higher priority than his own stained fingertips.

Prosecutor Skye looked down at the papers, recognizing them as the Stone case. "Is this case giving you trouble? I could have it transferred if you'd like. I think Payne has an opening."

"No, please, I have it perfectly handled. I simply lost track of time while ensuring that my case is perfect for the trial tomorrow morning. There is no need to transfer the case to someone else," Miles said, face pinching as he realized that he was very obviously begging the Chief Prosecutor. Clearly this case had rattled him very badly, if he was acting so immature.

"Right. Well, if you need anything, you can call or send me an email," Chief Prosecutor Skye said slowly. "I'm going to leave as soon as I gather my things from my office, and I would prefer that you leave then as well."

Miles nodded. It made perfect logical sense that the Chief Prosecutor would not feel comfortable letting anyone other than herself lock up the building for the night. It was yet another example of her level-headed intelligence. It contrasted terribly with Miles' overemotional outburst. He did not make eye contact with the Chief Prosecutor as she left, and he neatened his office as well as he could with one hand before practically sprinting out of his office to avoid meeting her in the hall. His hand was still covered in ink, although he'd wiped as much as he could off with tissues from a little tin container at the receptionist's empty desk. He used more tissues to protect his steering wheel from the ink as he drove home. He did not think about Larry Butz. He did not think about Spider-Man. He did not think about court.

He did not think about anything at all.

Japanifornia never slept.

Phoenix thought that was probably another city's slogan already, but it worked in this situation, and hey, what's a little copyright infringement to a superhero?

He was currently perched on the rooftop of a high-rise kitty-corner to Eldoon's Noodle Stand. He'd made a habit of stopping by for food when their paths crossed, but Mr. Eldoon was getting sick of him stealing the bowls so he could eat in privacy. Lifting his mask, even for a second, was not an option, so tonight he'd come prepared — in the tool belt around his waist, among the gadgets and helpful trinkets, was a small soup thermos.

He pulled out the thermos first, then tucked it under his arm as he used his free hand to swing down right in front of the stand's path.

Mr. Eldoon didn't even flinch.

"Mr. Spider-Man, Terror of Noodle Stands! Have you come to kidnap more of my family's heirloom noodle bowls?" Mr. Eldoon drawled, coming to a stop.

Phoenix grinned even though Eldoon couldn't see it and held out the thermos. "It's Terror of Japanifornia, actually. And nope! This time I came prepared."

"It should be Terror of Noodle Stands," Mr. Eldoon grumbled, reluctantly scooping broth into the mug. "I'll have to contact that woman from the press and make her change your tagline."

"If you're going through all that trouble, could you ask them to make it something a little nicer?" Phoenix asked.

"You don't deserve something nicer."

Phoenix sniffled, doing his best to communicate being on the verge of tears without facial expressions. "I'm hurt, Mr. Eldoon. I thought I was your favorite customer."

"You'll be my favorite customer when you start paying for your dinner!" Mr. Eldoon snapped.

Phoenix just laughed. Mr. Eldoon never let him pay. "You'll stop being my favorite vendor when you start charging me!"

As Phoenix tucked the thermos back into his belt, he felt a wavering sort of sensation behind him. His back tensed.

Trouble was always around in Japanifornia. It was everywhere, if you knew where to look. When Phoenix got his superpowers, one of the thing he'd noticed was this sixth-sense for danger — not to himself, but to others. Buildings about to collapse, muggers about to pull a gun, manipulators about to spring a trap. It was the reason he could be a hero. Without his spidey-sense (as he'd coined it when he first got his powers, a decision he regrets every day), he'd be useless.

So he waved goodbye to Mr. Eldoon and swung away, towards the growing danger.

The city looked different at night than during the day, and it looked different on the rooftops than on the ground, but Phoenix would have to be blind not to recognize the area. His spidey-sense was taking him right to Fey and Co. Law Offices.

He stopped on the roof of the neighboring hotel, the Watergate or something, where he had a good vantage point into Mia's window. The office lights were off, which was a good sign, but Phoenix could sense some movement through the glass.

A car passed by, and in the second that the headlights illuminated the room, Phoenix saw where the movement had come from.

A gigantic man in a pastel pink suit was standing at Mia's desk, apparently taking apart her office phone. His hands were covered in massive, heavy-looking gold rings (that would fucking hurt to get punched by, Phoenix noted), and as a result, his progress with the tiny screwdriver was slow. He definitely didn't look like a repairman, and it was almost midnight — even if he was a repair guy with a weird personal style, there was no reason for him to be in the office so late. Mia would never schedule something like that, and she owned the place.

The only conclusion was that this guy was bad news.

Phoenix was conflicted. He could burst through the window right now and stop this weirdo from doing whatever it is he was doing, but as Spider-Man, he had no reason to. Spider-Man didn't know Mia Fey, and had no idea that this stranger wasn't the owner of this office. Intervening would mean drawing a connection between Mia Fey and Spider-Man, and Phoenix didn't want to put the Chief in that position.

The man was definitely breaking and entering, but until he did something that would get the cops suspicious, Phoenix couldn't do anything about it. He resigned himself to memorizing the man's face, so that if anything turned up stolen, Phoenix would be able to identify him. He certainly had a memorable enough appearance.

Once he was sure he'd memorized the trespasser, Phoenix turned away from the office and followed another trail.

The night was busy, like it always was. Not many actual fights or threats, but a lot of drunk kids who needed someone to call them a cab, girls who wanted someone to scare off a creep, and shady deals that needed someone to supervise them. Plus, Phoenix swung by Ms. Stone's apartment building to see if there was anything suspicious going on. Ms. Stone's apartment was dark as far as he could tell, and after hanging around keeping an eye on it for a bit, he left, satisfied that nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

There was always trouble on the streets of Japanifornia, but as Spider-Man, Phoenix could do something about it. He could save people.

If only he'd had superpowers back then. If only he could've saved him.

Miles arrived at the Prosecutors' Office at eight a.m. exactly, parking in the garage and scaling the thirteen flights of stairs with practiced swiftness. The Stone case was organized perfectly within his briefcase, and his head was clear of any thoughts of vigilantes or innocent defendants. He was prepared to crush his opponent, whoever they would be. His argument was flawless. The previous day had been embarrassing, but he had put that behind him now. It was irrational to linger on the past, however recent that past may be.

Miles opened the door to his office to see Chief Prosecutor Skye already inside. Immediately he was on edge.

Chief Prosecutor Skye smiled sadly at him. "Edgeworth, I have bad news about your case today."

"What is it?" Miles said, trying not to let his dread show in his tone.

"I've transferred the case to Winston Payne. He requested it, and after seeing how stressed you were last night, I thought it would be for the best."

Miles was speechless.

This had never happened before. Not to him. He'd had many cases transferred to him on extremely short notice (once, notably, only ten minutes before the trial began), but he had never had a case of his transferred to someone else.

Chief Prosecutor Skye did not trust him with this case. She must have realized, somehow, that he was faltering in his resolve, and acted accordingly by removing him. It was a logical decision. Surgically so, Miles thought, like removing a diseased limb to prevent the infection from spreading. Was the case the diseased limb? Or was Miles?

"That's not the only reason," Chief Skye continued after a pause that felt much longer to Miles than it was in actuality. "I was recently made aware of who exactly would be representing the defendant, and with your history, I thought you wouldn't want to be against her again."

"Chief Prosecutor, I completely understand your decision. There is no need to justify yourself. I will pass my current notes to Mr. Payne right away," Miles forced out.

Chief Skye nodded. "Thanks for being understanding. I'm sorry about the short notice."

"You're perfectly alright," Miles said.

He turned around, briefcase clutched in shaking hands, and descended the stairs to search for Mr. Payne's office.

Usually on trial days, Phoenix would just meet Mia at the courthouse. He'd sleep in a bit, get dressed slowly, and enter the defendant lobby with a relaxed, well-rested air.

This morning, though, the memory of the man inside the office the night before had Phoenix tossing and turning, and when his regular work alarm went off, instead of silencing it, he grudgingly got ready to head to the office. The August heat was enough to kill a normal man, and biking in a full suit was nearly enough to finish off Phoenix, abnormal as he was. The lack of sleep definitely wasn't helping. Not for the first time, Phoenix was thankful that he wasn't the one doing the thinking in court — he'd be flying by the seat of his pants.

Mia was already in the office when he arrived, and she seemed reasonably surprised to see him. Phoenix stopped before he had a chance to start talking as his eyes caught on a new piece of decor.

"Morning, Chief. Cool lamp."

Mia looked behind her at the glass floor lamp balanced precariously on a short bookshelf. "Oh, that. I ordered it a while ago. It just shipped last night, so I stayed late to set it up. What do you think?"

"Looks… fragile, but very fancy," Phoenix decided. "Actually, speaking of last night, I was around and I saw something kind of weird."

"You were 'around?' Did anybody see you?" Mia asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Nope, but I saw somebody. He was big, purple hair, pink suit, a ton of rings. He was messing with the office phone." Phoenix tried to sound casual.

It didn't work. Mia's face was deadly serious. "Purple hair and a pink suit? You're sure? It wasn't just the light?"

"It could've been, but the colors weren't exactly muted," Phoenix said.

"Did he take anything? Move anything?" Mia stood and started scanning her bookshelves.

Phoenix shook his head. "No, he just did something to the phone. I think he was taking it apart. I didn't stay for long, though, and he was already there when I showed up."

Mia wasn't listening. She was pulling files off of her shelf, scanning through them with single-minded focus. The files she pulled out seemed random. A few under "W," some under "S," specific files from "F," "E," and "G." Only once she'd pulled files and folders from all over her shelf did she lean back, satisfied.

"Okay. I need to check the phone. Can you look for anything else suspicious in the office?" Mia asked.

Phoenix gave a thumbs up, but hesitated. "We've only got an hour until the trial, Chief. We should wait."

"If the intruder is who I think it is, we can't afford to wait," Mia argued. "Do you se anything? Any bugs, anything moved?"

Phoenix gave the office a quick scan, but nothing stuck out. Mia was leaning over the office phone with a mini-screwdriver, meticulously taking it apart.

The cover popped off, and Mia sucked in a breath. Phoenix was at her side in a second.

"It's a wiretap," Phoenix whispered. "A listening device. Chief, did you call anybody this morning? About anything?"

Mia shook her head. "Not yet, thank God. I don't take calls before trials."

"Right. Okay. So, we take this off and lock the doors and hope the guy doesn't come back." Phoenix felt dread rise in his stomach as he laid ut the plan.

Mia looked desperate. "Is there any chance you could stay behind and watch the office?"

Phoenix hesitated. "Larry's my friend. I owe him. Plus, I can tell when he's about to say something stupid."

Mia nodded and started gathering her case, but it was slow. "You're indispensable behind the bench, Phoenix. You know that. But if White comes back, I trust you to be there. I don't want to leave all this unattended."

"White? You know the guy who bugged you?" Phoenix asked.

"Maybe. I hope it isn't him, but… Prepare for the worst, right?" Mia gave a weak smile.

"This is the worst? Why haven't I heard of this guy?" Phoenix was following Mia out of the office. He locked the door behind them, and for extra measure, sealed the gaps with some webbing. Risky in public and out of costume, but the tension leaving Mia's shoulders was worth it. It was only a little bit, though.

"You've heard of him," Mia said. "You just don't know it. He keeps his name out of criminal business."

"But how? No one's that sneaky."

"You can be when you've got all the hush money in the world."

Phoenix and Mia made identical faces of disgust. Any other day, it would've been funny.

"I'll tell you more about White after the trial," Mia said as they approached the courthouse. "It's a lot to explain right now. I didn't want you involved, but if he's getting this bold, I might need your help."

Phoenix had a hundred more questions that he wanted to ask, but they were running late already, and Larry was waiting for them. He'd just have to be satisfied with an explanation later.

As Mia stepped into the courtroom, all of her lingering anxiety seemed to wash away. Her shoulders relaxed, her posture straightened, she walked with purpose. Phoenix loved seeing Mia like this. She looked more like a superhero than he ever did. She was saving lives in this courtroom, sparing the innocent and putting away the guilty with her total loyalty to the truth.

She was better than him. Maybe it was hero-worship, but Phoenix didn't care. He'd chase her shadow for the rest of his life, if it meant knowing that she was still saving people. He might be the superpowered one, but she was the hero.

That was all he needed to know.

ao3

#the kings decrees #ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #mia fey #aa123 #ace attorney fanfiction

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lianahayze · 2 years ago

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Shadow and Midnight Misery: Chapter 9

I need to get better at consistent updates, huh?

Chapter 9: Reaching Out

The clock on the wall is loud. Each tick reverberates throughout my body, putting me on edge. I cross and uncross my legs, staring down at my faded denim jeans. My nails, which I'd painted a few days ago, are chipped. I need to get them professionally done.

"Shadow?"

"Hmm?" I look up. Seated across from me, Dr. Norris is staring. I believe she's just asked me something, but I don't know what it was about. “Sorry. What did you just say?”

I’ve only been in her office for five minutes, and I’m already having trouble concentrating. I’ve uncomfortable, and it’s just because I’m still new to this whole therapy thing. No, I’m uncomfortable because I know she’s going to have us about the missed appointment.

As if reading my mind, Dr. Norris says, "You know, I was a bit disappointed when you didn't show up for your last appointment. Not just because I believe you need help--we agreed you need help--but also because your time slot could have been given to someone else."

Now I really feel bad. I squirm around uncomfortably. "I forgot," I mutter, looking away from her.

"Didn't we call you and leave a message?"

I sigh. She can tell I’m lying. Note to self: do not try to bullshit Dr. Norris. "Okay, I did have other things going on, but I also just didn't want to come."

"Then why didn't you just cancel?"

I shrug. I don’t say it was because I was afraid to do so, instead, I say, "Just got caught up. My band just got a new studio, so we've been focused on that."

Actually, I've been focused on it--not them. I've been the one busy moving everything and setting up the equipment. Sure, I hadn't actually tried to reach out to them, but that was because Wyatt had made it very clear that he doesn't want anything to do with me. I assume they feel the same way.

"That's exciting. What else have you been up to?"

"Nothing." Mostly, I’ve been trying to stay away from Dean. I want to hang out with him, but I know it would be a disaster. Whenever we’re together, we’re always drinking and doing drugs, and, right now—more than ever—I need to avoid that.

But I miss him.

"You look sad."

"Hmm?" I look at Dr. Norris. I didn't realize I'd been staring at the wall.

"What else is on your mind?"

"Oh." Again, I fidget. There's a lot on my mind, none of which I want to bring to the surface. Lately, my brain's been working overtime to repress things I'd spent years trying to forget. Most of the time I don't have any trouble, but this whole "sober living" thing is making it hard. "There's just a lot of band stuff."

"I bet it’s hard sometimes,” she says, “being so well-known and easily recognizable.”

I shrug. "It's nothing I can’t handle, and I know how to lay low. Besides, there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.”

"How is the journaling going?" When I don't answer, she frowns. "Shadow, we had a deal. Keeping a daily journal is going to be key to your success."

I know she's right but don't want to admit it.

"Have you at least made an attempt?"

Though it’s been hard, I tell her that I have. Taking fifteen minutes a day to write down my thoughts and feelings? Boring. There are so many other things I’d rather do. At most, I write three to four sentences before giving up. It’s an absolute pain.

“But you don't see yourself doing it long term?" she asks.

I shake my head. "Not really."

"I thought you enjoyed writing."

Yeah, I enjoy writing music. Lyrics are different from a journal. With lyrics, I can go back to redo them, warp them into whatever reality I choose. That's not something I can do with a diary. Once it's on the page, it's on the page. Do people even go back and ready their diaries? I would cringe.

"It's different," I tell her. "Lyrics are just easier." I pause. "Well, they're easy to get out on a first attempt."

"So, you're expecting your recovery to be easy, then?"

"No, I--" She's trapped me, and we both know it. I sigh. "I never expect anything to be easy," I say, "but I also don't want to spend every single evening pouring my heart into some diary that's going to be completely useless once I'm done with it."

"So, what you're saying is that you don't like to do anything that doesn't have an immediate value?"

"No? Maybe? She's confusing me.

"What I'm saying is that there are other things that are a better use of my time."

It's just like this therapy session. Do I think I need to be here? Hell no. I'm perfectly fine, but everyone else is acting like they don’t want anything to do with me until I get some sort of professional “help.”

"If you don't think keeping a journal will help you, what will?" I tilt my head to the side, not quite sure what to say. "The whole point of the journal is to give you dedicated a few minutes each and every day to reflect. The words that you put down matter, yes, but it's even more important to get in the habit of self-reflection. That's what this exercise it all about. So what can you do instead?"

I don't answer. I sort of get where she's coming from, but I also think it just seems like so much effort, having to do something every single day at the exact same time. If I'd wanted a schedule, I would have picked a normal job and work nine to five.

"Shadow, I'm happy to discuss alternatives, but you need to bring them to the table first. I can't just have you forget daily self-reflection without giving you something to put in its place." She pauses for a moment. "Would you consider yourself spiritual or religious?"

"Nope. Not really." Prayer's not my thing, if that's what she's asking.

"Do you do any meditation or yoga?"

Again, I shake my head. Being alone with my own thoughts is an absolute nightmare, and I don't even have half the flexibility required for yoga. I went through a phase where I did kickboxing regularly, but that was a long time ago.

"Would you be open to doing either? Meditation can be tough when you first start out, but there are benefits to being able to calm your mind."

"How is that supposed to help get me off drugs and alcohol?"

"The drugs and alcohol are a symptom. They're the effect, not the cause. That means there's an underlying condition that we need to treat."

An ‘underlying condition’? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

"I've still been smoking." I don't know what possesses me to tell her that, and the words slip passed my lips before I can stop them. My body grows hot, and I don't know if it's from my stupidity or embarrassment.

"I appreciate you telling me that. Have you noticed if you do it under certain circumstances?" When I don't say anything, she asks, "Are you upset before you do it? Happy? What are you doing when the urges come on?" I still don't say anything. "Have you been giving yourself the ten minutes to think before you do it?"

I groan. "Fine! I haven't been doing that, either."

"Shadow, that's okay. Try not to feel guilty or beat yourself up over it. But if you do feel guilty, know that it's because, even subconsciously, you're admitting to yourself there's something you'd like to change. Maybe it's something about yourself, how you treat others, or even something as simple as how you structure your day, but there's something that you want to change. Can you think of anything you wish were different?"

There are a lot of things I wish were different in my life. There are a lot of things in my past that I wish hadn’t happened, but I'm not ready to talk about those things. I'm not about to spill the beans to someone I've just met because they have "doctor" in front of their name.

So, instead of confessing, I shrug, saying, "Maybe it would be nice if I didn't drink so much." Mostly because the hangovers can be an absolute nightmare.

"That's a really good place to start, and I'm proud of you for admitting that. Have you been drinking?"

"I haven't been hanging out with my friends, so no." She frowns, making me say, "What?"

"Do you think your friends would only hang out with you if you're drinking?"

"No--I mean... It's not like it's all we do." I think back to the morning after the party at Lynn's place. Dean had offered to make me breakfast, helped me hunt for my purse, and had gotten me some clothes to wear. They're all small things, but they stick out so clearly. Dean actually is a good person; maybe he’ll still want to hang out with me if I tell him the truth?

"I think you should continue with the journal," she says, pulling me from my thoughts. "If it's still not working during our next meeting, we can come up with something else. Group therapy, for example."

As she types, I gag. I physically gag. Group therapy? As in sitting in a circle and discussing my feelings with a group of strangers who are probably more fucked up than I am? No thank you. If it's a choice between the journal and sharing my feelings with a bunch of random people I don't know, I'll gladly take the journal.

For the rest of the session, Dr. Norris just lets me talk. I don’t have a lot to say, but she doesn't seem to mind. Mostly, we sit in silence, the only noise coming from the clacking of her fingertips on the keyboard. When it comes time for me to leave, she gives me plans for over the following week.

"I have some homework for you," she says. She looks excited, and it worries me. "Keep up the journaling. Even if it's a headache, I promise you it will get easier. I want you to think about exercising, too."

"Exercising?" I look down at my stomach, confused. "Do I need to lose weight?"

"Not at all." I look back up at her. "But it will make you feel better overall. It doesn't have to be anything intense, and just dedicating ten minutes a day to stretching and moving your body will have profound effects. Make sense?" I nod.

"How would you say your relationships are with your friends right now?"

"Nonexistent with the band." It's brutal and blunt but also the truth.

"Okay, maybe this week you can work on reaching out to them. I'm sure you've had some conversations with them since we last spoke." Yeah, but none of them have been positive. "So reach out again.”

"What if they don't want to talk to me, though?"

"Then at least you can say you tried. Can you do that?"

Though I don’t really see the point, I agree.

"After all, they're probably wondering what's going on in your world, as well."

They're probably wondering when is the earliest they can kick me out of the band, but I don't tell her that. Instead, I force a smile and say,

"Yeah, no problem."

She returns my smile, probably not even realizing mine is fake.

After we finish up, I swing by the front desk to schedule my next appointment. After that's done, I leave and walk out to my car. I get in, buckle up, and turn the key in the ignition, but instead of immediately leaving, I sit there, my hands gripping the steering wheel. As if expecting something, I look out the rearview mirror, but nothing every comes.

I reach into my purse and pull out my phone. I start to type a text but, shaking my head, tell myself not to. Not because I shouldn't reach out, but because I should actually call.

I dial Dean's number and wait. Not going to bed until three or four in the morning most nights, it’s probably a bit early for him right now. I don't expect him to answer, so, when he does, my stomach immediately knots up.

"Yo." It's like it's the first time I'm hearing his voice in years. "'Bout time you gave me a call. I was beginning to think you switched your number or something."

I laugh, but it makes me sound nervous. Ignoring his last several texts wasn't nice, but it had been the only option I'd had.

Until now.

"What's going on?" he asks. "What have you been up to?"

"You wouldn't believe if I told you."

"Try me."

I star down at the floor. I need to vacuum, I realize.

I look back outside. "Wanna meet up later today?" I ask. He agrees, offering dinner. "But can you not bring Lynn along? Just wanna talk to you."

“Uh-oh. Sounds serious." I know he's joking, but he has absolutely no idea how right he is.

"Seven?" I ask.

"Sure. Lemme know where you want to meet up."

We say our goodbyes and hang up the phone. I didn't realize it before, but I'm shaking. My hands tremble as I stick my phone in the cup holder. I adjust my mirror; I turn my wipers on and off. I'm doing everything to keep myself from driving. It's like I don't trust myself to.

I don't know what I'm going to tell him-- only that I have to tell him something. Part of me wants to call him back--to say, "actually, never mind"-- but I grip the steering wheel, forcing myself to not reach for my phone.

I look at the time.

Well, I have five hours to figure it out.

See you at chapter 10!

#satmm #free fiction #music novel #writer #music #writing #novelist #writing life

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not-your-fucking-kacchan · 3 years ago

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OMG THE PLATONIC AIZAWA HAS ME SCREAMING ILHSM but onto the request aizawa x reader (platonic again) where reader is like really chaotic and short and constantly kicking minerals ass cause they’re tired of him assaulting them and the other students and just what aizawa would say to them abt it??

Im sorry i got to this as late as i did! How do people have hobbies with a full time job they literally expect the whole world from you :(

Anyway I hope you like it :)

Masterlist <3

Warning: mentions of disordered eating, Mineta 💀

Aizawa x Student!Reader (Platonic) Headcannons - Mineta

You were getting really pissed off now. For the third day in a row you had been sent to the principle's office for violence against another student. What bullshit. Obviously Mineta should expect a complimentary kick in the balls every time he comments on yours or Momo's boobs. She's just too sweet to have to deal with that - poor Momo didn't do nothing to nobody and she must be protected!

The same goes for every other girl in your class. And boy, for that matter. Every time he'd say something to upset one of the guys you were immediately there to back their corner and shut Mineta's closed mindedness down. Nobody could run from the protective, mama wolf in your genes. Protect the pack at all times.

You were always very protective and possessive over your friends, and it was something that lost you a lot of them, but luckily, your new friends at UA can handle you. In fact, they not only handle you, but they enjoy your company and treasure you as much as you treasure them.

But noone realises as Mineta sews the seeds of doubt in your mind. Every time he compared your body and personality with your friends', you had looked at yourself a little differently in the mirror that night. You suddenly found yourself very sickening, and it was poisoning you. Your waist isn't as thin as Momo's, you're not as busty as her either. Would anyone ever choose you over her?...

Stop. You are not about to let these stupid feelings and thoughts affect your relationship with your friends, you love them more than you could ever love yourself.

The next day, you return in baggier clothes and a slightly longer skirt, and you pull the back down and keep it flush to your skin as you walk up the stairs on your way to class. None of the girls find it wierd, because they do the same in fear that Mineta is behind them, looking up their skirts because he's been caught before for that.

But Aizawa is horrified. He's horrified, and absolutely livid when he clocks why you're always cussing out Mineta, why you hold your skirt down with fists closed so tight that your knuckles turn white and the fabric wrinkles, why you never walk in front of the purple haired boy, or group with him in a project, and why you refuse to bend down to pick something up, or go to the school's toilets. In fact, none of the girls do any of these things.

You catch his attention, though, when you collapse during training because you haven't eaten enough. You've been on a strict diet and didn't want to gain weight because of the ridicule you might get. Heroes are pretty, after all. They should be model worthy, and if people see you as bland in comparison to all of your friends, it makes you feel envious of them in ways you couldn't understand. You've never blamed or hated them for it though. You could never.

When your Sensei finally manages to ask you what's going on instead of assuming, your answer doesn't surprise him. He's not surprised at all, actually, but one thing he is, is enraged. And when he spoke to all of the girls in the class he realised that they had all been pretty much silent about their feelings, but they felt the same. Crushing guilt was the next thing he felt. How could he have not noticed?! His students are suffering and he didn't even bat an eye? Some teacher he is.

"Why are you putting your body under so much stress? It's not wise, and if you think it's going to make you a better hero, i've come to nip this in the bud. Future heroes don't make dumb decisions like this."

"... That's not it."

"... Why, then?"

...

And it's so much worse when he finds out that all of you'd had issues with your self image because of one student who just couldn't keep himself in check. When he had been told of all the borderline predatory acts Mineta had done, he may as well have been expelled on the spot.

It had taken a lot of courage to tell him about something like this, so when the class was rewarded with less homework and an icecream the next day, everyone was pleased, and everyone knew why.

Noone had anything to say about it though, so we all just let it go.

Mineta ends up being blacklisted from entering any hero school in the future, and not a soul is surprised or upset about it. And when Aizawa quietly offers free counseling for what damage Mineta had done, you politely decline with the promise that it'll get better with time and attentiveness.

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha #bnha #bnha fluff #aizawa x reader #bnha headcanons #dadzawa #aizawa headcanons #aizawa x you #mha aizawa #aizawa drabble #aizawa shota x reader #mha fluff

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harveybwabbit92 · 3 years ago

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Subway bosses scenarios: Warden Ingo & daughter! reader

[So in place of Dawn, Ingo's 13 year old daughter Y/n ends up in Hisui instead, and she is both happy and absolutely crushed that she found her dad...But he doesn't remember her, until something happens that snaps Ingo's mind back on track!]

{TW: near death experience, past character death, vomiting, blood.}

==============================================

Y/n yawned as she woke up and checked her Arc-phone to check the time 06:45 in the morning a little early start then usual, her internal clock must've reset back to Unova time... her dad would wake up the whole house at around this time, bellowing for her uncle Emmet to wake up for work. Y/n eventually learned to tune him out, but the mental reaction was still there.

Sometimes she could still her her dads voice booming in her head. "Rise and Shine! or Time to be alive Emmet!" making the tween jolt awake expecting to be in her bedroom in Unova, with her dad's Excadrill and uncle's Archeops sleeping curled up next to her while uncle Emmet knocks on her door telling her to go back to sleep. That all seems like a distant memory for the tween as she got up from the lumpy futon ingoing the way her plainly joints protested as she stood up and stretched. "I'm too young to be feeling this old..."Y/n moaned wincing as her back popped.

She woke up Zigil [pronounced; Sigil it's a Zygarde 10%] Don't bother asking Y/n where this odd dog dragon Pokémon thing came from, she's not even sure where it came from! She just found it one day while out on a hike it was tired and weak, she caught it without thinking, took it back home and nursed it back to health...

Zigil was the only Pokémon from her time that came with her, she's grateful for that, It always protects her when things get dicey, Zigil yipped as Y/n's Machoke helped her get dressed in her Galaxy uniform, the wrap was hard to get tight get around her waist, he helps her with that, after she was dressed put Machoke back in his ball, the tween was fixing her scarf when a knock came to the door.

Y/n assumed it was Rei coming to wake her up, she quickly put on a hat/ tied her hair back and went to greet the boy, only what was waiting for her outside was the last thing Y/n Trevithick was expecting, in seconds her blood ran cold and her body suddenly felt light and heavy all at the same time, because the person waiting outside her house that morning wasn't Rei...It was her father. The father that disappeared almost 2 years ago! the father she and her uncle were forced to accept was dead and held funeral for! Y/n's ears were ringing as her father spoke up.

"Good morning, good lady who fell from the sky! "

"Er..."

"Commander Kamado told me to let you know he awaits your arrival in his office."

"than..yo..."

Y/n mumbled incoherently and sluggishly made her way to Galaxy hall with Zigil following after her, Ingo looked at the young girl concerned she almost looked ill, he chalked it up to her being tired since it was very early in morning and went to the village training grounds, hopefully the girl's mood will improve later... Needless to say, Y/n's demeanor towards the poison-type warden did not change, she was like skittish Stantler around him! would keep her distance and did whatever it took to avoid him, which confused Ingo because as far as he knows he's never met Y/n before... So her behavior around him was unwarranted.

He brought this up to Laventon as the two seemed close... Which roiled Ingo's gears, don't get the Warden wrong! Laventon was good person, but... seeing him being so close and fatherly towards Y/n, It made Ingo feel confused... it felt like the professor had stolen something from him and it frustrated Ingo to no end! but yet, here the warden was! Asking Laventon about Y/n's apparent abhorrence towards him.

Needless to say, the good professor was just as lost as Ingo was! this was out of character for Y/n, then the Galarian man thought of something, children tend to act out when they've been hurt or traumatized... "Maybe you remind Y/n of someone? and they weren't good to her." Ingo's stomach churned hotly the thought of someone harming Y/n...

"Urg.." Ingo hissed as pain bloomed in his head; he started seeing flashes of a woman's funeral, there was a crying toddler wearing a black dress standing next to him, a little girl, her arms reaching out to him. Ingo picked her up and comforted her. **shh, It's alright __/__..., I'm not going anywhere, I promise...**... Ingo was pulled out by Laventon grabbing him by the shoulders keeping him steady as the warden looked like he was about to pass out.

"...den, Warden Ingo, can you hear me?" the professor asked looking at Ingo very concerned. "I..., My apologies professor, I need to make an unscheduled departure." Before Laventon could stop the dazed warden Ingo was sprinting for the village gates, his mind was swirling as he made combeeline towards direction of the obsidian fieldlands, Ingo didn't care if he had to walk all night, he needed to get to Y/n... he needed answers!

Ingo's head suddenly erupted in pain again as he had another vision, this time he was arguing with same child from earlier, but she was older now about 8-10 years old, and dressed like she was going on a long trip.

"You're not going anywhere --/-- and that's final!" he huffed slamming his fist on a table, The girl started crying and calling him unfair and told him she hated him before running off to her room! while the man who looked Ingo tried to reason with him, but he told E^T to butt-out! he was --/--'s father not him!

Then the vision went away, Ingo felt dizzy winced as he leaned against a tree trying not to vomit... he was father? Ingo let out shuddering gasp he took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

After a few seconds of composing him, Ingo continued on is journey to the field lands only to find Y/n wasn't at either base camp. "She still not back?" Ingo inquired trying not to show his annoyance that Y/n was still out in the fields this late at night! Ingo was going to send his Magnezone to go look for the tween, when suddenly "Zy-zy!" a Pokémon's bark caused Ingo whirled around to see that strange Pokémon that was always with Y/n... the warden's stomach felt like like it was full of sand as another flashed went through his head of a woman's broken body laying unmoving under cold gaze of an enraged Steelix....

Zigil led Ingo to the cave where it had dragged Y/n to, a few wild Machops and a Happiny stood around her looking concerned, one of the Machops tried to give the girl a berry, but she was into much pain open her mouth, the baby Pokémon heard footsteps and all scattered when they saw Zigil and Ingo running in to cave.

Ingo's legs felt like jelly as he walked over to the curled up teen, he collapsed on his knees and hesitantly turned Y/n over she tried to protest but coughed up purple bile, she was poisoned.... "Just relax..." Ingo said in a shuddering voice as he turned Y/n on to her side and winced when he saw the poisoned barb sticking out of her hip, he needed to pull it out...Ingo pulled Y/n into his lap, She was weakly shaking her head as she felt Ingo grasp the poison barb, the warden took a deep breath.. and yanked.

The scream that came from Y/n was push the amnesiac needed because Ingo in seconds Ingo was squeezing the tween in a bone breaking hug. "I'm sorry, Y/n, I'm so sorry. " He sobbed and pulled away from her he set her down and searched his jacket before finding an antidote, when Y/n suddenly reached up grabbed his arm. "Dadd..y." she whimpered weakly, Ingo started begging her to stay awake! before very thing black for her...

Cut to Y/n waking up to a loud crash a bellowing voice shouting "...HOW DARE YOU?!" the tween weakly looked around she was in the Galaxy hall Clinic, she saw her father being held back by Adaman and Melli while a stunned Kamado was sprawled out on the floor holding a very obvious bloody nose, Cyllene awkwardly stood by the commander. though, Y/n swore she saw anger in the captain’s eyes directed at the commander as she helped him stand up. "MY DAUGHTER ALMOST DIED BECAUSE OF YOU! SHE NEEDS BEDREST, NOT A FUCKING INTERROGATION!" Ingo snarled he glared at Kamado with pure rage he was going strangle Kamado if it weren't for Melli and Adaman restraining him.

"Glad to see we agree on something, Warden Ingo..." Adaman hissed shooting the Galaxy commander at glare along with pretty much everyone else in the room, "Commander, please...Just let her rest." Cyllene pressed squeezing the older man's shoulder. Kamado could see he wasn't going to be getting his way and sighed. "Fine, but the second she's on her feet it’s back to the fields with her..." he huffed and leaving the clinic. Anise followed after him to fix his nose. As soon as the commander was gone, some of the Galaxy members gave Ingo a nod, a few whispered "Bout time..." it was no secret that few of the members had been wanting to punch Kamado in the face for years! But never had the balls to do it.

Ingo relaxed as everyone left the room, he looked back at his daughter’s cot noticed Y/n watching was awake and watching him, before she could blink her dad was by her side in seconds grasping her hand. "Hey... how's my little passenger?" he asked pushing some hair out of her face, Y/n's eyes widened hearing her old nickname leave her dad's lips. "y..u emmber ..e?" Y/n grimaced pain and confusion as her voice and words came out a jumbled mess. "Your throat was damaged from the poison." Ingo explained it'll get better in few days.

Y/n relaxed but the scene the tween woken up to was bothering her. "M...in tromble?" the teen slurred warily as she heard the tail-end of Ingo and Kamado's confrontation. "No...no, Nothing like that! The commander was just... curious about your recovery." her father said coolly, but his jaw tightened as if he just ate something sour. "And we had bit of a disagreement about it, It's all fine now." He assured the father and daughter chatted for a few hours mainly apologies, Ingo was beside himself with guilt that he'd forgotten his family, and had missed two years of his daughter's life! Then they discussed living arrangements.

Ingo wouldn't blame Y/n if she stayed Jubilife, at least she'd be safer here, but Y/n was insistent she wanted to stay with him, she pretty told her dad everything, everyone outside of Rei and Laventon, don't like or trust her, he never experienced it due to his ties with the Pearl Clan but Y/n is ostracized and under constant scrutiny by Kamado and villagers.

Hell, Beni had threaten kill her if she even thought about crossing or betraying Commander Kamado... "Trust me, Beni won't touch you." Ingo said patting her on the head since Y/n is Warden Ingo's daughter that made Y/n part of the Pearl Clan, she was practically untouchable, So, unless Kamado wanted to lose favor with Irida, he'd best keep Beni on a short and tight leash! From then on the father and daughter were inseparable, Ingo was almost always with Y/n during excursions, which made go faster and a hell of a lot easier for them to find the way home.

Cut to couple months later back in Unova, Ingo and Y/n were cringing hard as they heard exaggerated stories of themselves being retold by clueless "Experts" on the tv, Emmet and Elesa kept laughing and shushing them, loving every bit of their embarrassment,.

#pokemon x reader #pokemon imagines #pokemon legends arceus #submas #warden ingo #subway boss ingo #daughter! reader #Dad! Ingo #clan leader adaman #warden melli #commander kamado #captain cyllene #subway boss emmet #uncle Emmet

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dojunie · 3 years ago

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ITWD [CH 1]; Wolves? Not as ravenous as one may think.

[★]; TWO BOYS. TWO UNIVERSITIES. TWO RIVALING TEAMS. And then there’s you, stuck weightlessly in the middle of it. The time left on the clock is running out— and soon, you’re going to have to pick a side.

[itwd masterlist] [next part]

sneak peek; You'd caught him staring at you quite a few times during warm up. Eyebrows always furrowed and bottom lip pulled perpetually between his teeth, watching you unreadably like he was deliberating something very hard. Had he just been oogling, you would have simply ignored it— but for some reason, you felt like whatever was running through his brain was a little more weighted than just stealing glances. "Hey you," you whisper. "01. I never got your name." The unclear look in his eyes doesn't waver when he glances at you. "...Jeno. Lee Jeno."

wc; 7.7k

warnings; none!

a/n: here's the first chapter of INTO THE WOLVES DEN! it's finally here! im probably going to make a separate post talking about update schedules and whatnot, so look out for that! thanks for reading!

taglist; @aedreamzy @grassbutneo

YOU AWAKEN TO NOISE. NOISY NOISE.

Not normal, expected sounds, like someone tromping around in the dorm above yours, or the early-bird tennis player that lives two doors down thwacking a ball around in the confines of their own room— because you can sleep through that no problem now, after all, since you've been living here for an entire week— but something closer. Something urgent and unyielding, thudding in your ears even after you roll over and pull your pillow desperately over your head.

The sun is still rising and someone is pounding on your bedroom door.

"What?" you cry. It comes out a tad ragged, like the last thing you’d done before you went to sleep last night was eat shards of glass. "What is it?"

The door squeaks on its hinges as it swings open, and your roommate Yooyoung pokes her head in with a pout so big that it can be seen even in the early morning light. What time is it?

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You told me to wake you up when I got up for practice.”

“Prac…tice?”

Being awoken so suddenly is wreaking havoc on your brain power. Practice, she’d said. Practice? Yooyoung played volleyball. You did not play volleyball. You haven’t had to wake up for practice in months. Why the hell would you—

“The basketball thing, remember? With your dad?”

She rolls her eyes after a moment, sounding exasperated. “Do not tell me you forgot today was the first day of classes, Y/N-ah. It's Monday. Are you serious right now?” And then, under her breath, “What am I going to do with you…?”

You mutter something rude in response, but now that she’s mentioned your father, the reason why you needed her to essentially beat your door down begins to form in murky clarity. First day of classes? (What an understatement. First day of your new life, more like it.)

White sunlight streams through the window of your dorm. Despite how short of a time you’ve been here, the room is already a mirror image of your personality: all your sneakers lined up messily against the closet, the signed Larry Bird jersey frame hanging behind your door (courtesy of Chenle’s incredibly expensive and completely bonkers idea of a ‘gag gift’), and a few of your favorite trophies scattered on various shelves; a dozen little peeks into your inner workings with the music posters on your walls and the pictures of your friends splattered on every blank surface.

You gaze over the photos, lingering on the newest addition— a shitty, half blurred, off-center photo Chenle took of you and Jaemin at Han River a few months ago— before turning to your dorm mate and rubbing the crusties out of your eyes.

“Maybe you should’ve woken me up with a soft, Baekhyun ballad or something then. Not your hulky volleyball punches. I thought we were being raided.”

Yooyoung just laughs a tinkling sound, blonde pony swinging as she disappears from behind the white oak.

Having succeeded in her mission of waking you up, you assume she’s off to clean up for her own early morning activities— varsity captain things that you do not envy— which leaves you to grumble and stew in the terribly bright sunlight of 8AM by yourself.

You should probably follow in her footsteps and go wash your face.

It would wake you up a little faster. It would give you something to do that isn’t sitting around and moping for the next hour before you’re actually obligated to get ready.

Washing your face would also rid you of any morning crusties that linger. It’s a good, formidable, and responsible idea…

…Which means that you only consider it for a second or two, max, before you flop back down into your mattress, kicking around until you’re completely resituated back under the duvet.

The magnetic pull of screwing around on your phone wins out over being a productive human being for a whopping thirty minutes. You spend that time scrolling through Instagram, texting stupid memes to your friends even though they’re definitely not awake yet, shouting goodbye to Yooyoung when she leaves for practice, and eventually end up succumbing to one of those stupid ads that show someone playing a mobile game just terribly enough to piss you off and make you download it out of spite.

It's right as you’re about to angrily sink five dollars into said game (cutting pixelated soap with a boxcutter), that a text swoops down from the top of the screen and allows your bank account a few more seconds to live.

[PapaPointGuard, 8:49AM] Hey, Kiddo. You mind coming into the practice court at 9:30 instead of 10? I'm in an emergency meeting w dean about scheduling. Need someone to set up drills and make sure everything is good just in case it goes over. [PapaPointGuard, 8:50AM] You sure you remember how to place the cones for through-backs? Ha Ha Ha

Very funny. You’d roll your eyes if you knew anyone besides you could see it.

[You 8:50AM] haha yourself, old man. It’s been six months, not a hundred years. i could probably set up tb's in my sleep. [You 8:51AM] i oughta report u to the labor board though for having me up at the asscrack of dawn [PapaPointGuard, 8:51AM] Language, Ace [PapaPointGuard, 8:51AM] And wear something nice, please [PapaPointGuard, 8:51AM] That means no basketball shorts or hoodies. I want the team to think of you like an extension of me, and to take you seriously as an aide to them this season. [PapaPointGuard, 8:52AM] And I know you’d never do anything to jeopardize your health, but remember our talk, yeah? Love you.

Your eyes trail over the last text one, two, and then three times, and your smile slips a little bit more with every iteration.

Of course, you think bitterly, climbing mood instantly taking a blow. Wouldn’t be a conversation with him without that, huh?

Shaking your head, you're about to petulantly toss your phone aside when the sudden ringtone makes you jump— Day 1, by Honne— and your dour mood stops right in its tracks.

Accept call from... 'Na Nana'?

Your frown slowly melts into a smile. He always has had inhumanly perfect timing.

“Oof,” Jaemin laughs. His voice is faint from how far he’d pulled the speaker from his ear after you squealed into the receiver, and you hear the distant chatter of other guys in the background too— was he at the practice gym already? “How are you so giddy this early?” he asks sleazily, a smile obvious in his voice. “It’s because it’s me calling, right? Right?”

“You wish,” you grin. “Gamdogja’s first official practice is today, so I was already awake. You’re calling me from practice too?”

“Yes ma’am. Got a few minutes before we warm up, so I thought I’d bother you. What are you doing?”

“Uhhhh. Good question?”

Putting on the clothes you piled up on your desk last night is what you’re supposed to be doing right now, considering that you’ve now got half an hour less to get ready to leave, but you’d forgotten about that instantly when the phone rang. Oops.

“I’m gonna put you on speaker so I can change, cool?”

“Icy cool. Actually, that reminds me of what Mark and I were talking about last night— we were saying how funny it would be if you wore a Yonsei Basketball shirt to their practice. Like, the brightest, bluest jersey you own, just to really rub it into those guys where your loyalties lay, y’know?”

You roll your eyes at how he cackles. “That sounds suspiciously like something you’d come up with without Mark’s help. You want me to get jumped, is that it? So I’ll come crying back to Yonsei?”

“Jumped isn’t the word for it, but you know if it meant you’d come back…”

“You’re sick, Na.”

Flinging the phone onto your pillow, you rush through tugging the GDSC Basketball shirt over your head and wiggling into your jeans. Before you can ask where Chenle is, belatedly surprised that your phone call with Jaemin hasn’t been interrupted yet by the screechy shooting guard, the universe answers that question for you.

“Noonaaaaa!” His high tone cuts through the air and makes you wince even from halfway across your room. There he is.

“Thought you could escape me, huh, traitor? Are you feeling bad yet?”

There’s a sharp smack on the line. Then the sound of muffled bickering. All you catch is Jaemin’s ‘If you wanna talk, call her yourself!’ before he’s back, huffing into the receiver.

“Anyway! Before I was so rudely cut off, I was going to ask why you're getting ready so early. I thought the wolves were on a mid-start schedule?”

“They are,” you explain as you lace your sneakers. (Do you have to start saying ‘we’ from now on, since you're technically a Timberwolf now…? Ugh. Identity politics.) “But Coach needs me to come in earlier today and set up drills because he’s talking to the dean about something or other.”

“Oh. So your official first day of coaching those brats is about to begin, then?”

“You know I’m not allowed to call them that, Jaem, and I’m not coaching them. I’m doing the same thing I used to do with you guys: Setting up drills, going over movebooks, conditioning, strategy talks…”

You easily list off all the tasks you’d had a hand in helping with when your dad coached Jaemin and the others at Yonsei. “All the regular stuff.”

“The ‘regular stuff’ for you is basically a coach’s salary worth of work, you know. Man, maybe Chenle was right— you’re totally a traitor, Y/N-ah. How are we supposed to compete when they’ve got your big brain behind their plays?”

You’re done getting ready. Realistically, you actually needed to go now if you wanted to get to the court for 9AM, but the last thing you wanted to do was tell Jaemin that. Even if it was through the phone, his voice was the most familiar thing you’ve had the luxury of bringing with you from Yonsei to GDSC— and it’s also the only thing keeping you from thinking about the fact that, in a few hours, you were going to be standing in front of a whole team of Gamdogja Timberwolves basketball players, alone— and the idea of being without him so soon brings a pit to your stomach.

So, instead of telling Jaemin you need to hang up like a normal person: you plop down on your bed and bring the phone back to your ear.

“I’m not a traitor,” you mutter tersely after a moment. “You guys act like I wanted this. To transfer here and leave all my friends behind. I didn’t.”

Even behind your half joking tone, Jaemin must sense the truth in your voice because he only makes a soft hum. “...Yeah. Yeah, I know. I said something stupid, right? I’m sorry. It’s just… weird not having you here.”

“Imagine how weird I feel. It’s like everyone here at Gamdogja is some walking, talking, sports anime caricature, Jaem. No one is allowed to just like soccer passively, or screw around with tennis for fun on the weekends— every student here is the absolute best at whatever they play. I tried to join a pick-up game of badminton yesterday and almost got laughed out of the park.”

“...Badminton? Wow. Don’t you know those freaks will take that game to the death? You should have known better, Y/N-ah, than to try—”

A whistle in the background of Jaemin’s call drags his attention, snapping you out of your grin as well. Shit. You’d gotten kind of carried away again.

Your wall clock now reads an unforgiving, blinking 9:02AM, and the reality of your situation once again hits you with unforgiving speed. You really needed to get going.

“Hold on,” Jaemin says, voice quickly solidifying, taking on a more distracted edge. From the sounds of it he must have to go too. “Coach Hyo is about to start conditioning so I’ve got to hang up soon— But before I go, you’re still coming to our first game on Friday right? The, uh… the team was asking me last night. I mean I don’t know if you remember but it’s on my birthday, so you’re kind of obligated—”

“Na Jaemin I cannot believe you just said that.”

“What! I don’t know, maybe you’ve already gone and made a bunch of cool, know-it-all private school friends. With all the new birthdays you might’ve put in your planner, who knows if you’ll remember mine.”

“You are such a baby. First of all, you know I don’t use a planner. And second of all, I’ve had your birthday basically tattooed in my calendar since we were eleven! I’ve been gone barely a week, and you’re already starting to doubt me? And you say I’m the traitor?”

He only giggles at your indignancy. Brat.

“Mmm… fine. I guess I’ll believe you, Ace. And I’ll call you tonight, alright? Don’t— Jesus, Chenle, I’m coming! You go start the relay if you care so much!— Uh… yeah, don’t let any of those snotty Wolves get you down, okay? Later!”

And without a moment for you to give him your goodbye, the line goes dead and your best friend drifts back into his own world.

Much like you should be, you suppose. But instead, for the third time this morning, you neglect being responsible and flop back onto your duvet for a moment of silence.

Just a week, right? Just a week. Actually, if you wanted to get specific, it was more like five days. You just had to get through five days before you could see him and all your friends again. It feels like endless forever right now, but that was probably because not being pasted to Jaemin's side for longer than a few days practically is forever to you. He's been your other half for half your life.

When you were sulking about the transfer a few weeks ago, your dad had tried to cheer you up by mentioning that it might be a good thing to separate you two for a little while.

"Maybe you guys need this," he'd said. "You both rarely talk to or about anyone else but each other, Ace. New perspectives is never a bad thing, and hell, maybe not being stuck to each other for 23 hours a day will teach you something new about yourselves. Try new things. Meet new people."

To which you'd so quickly replied with, "I know other people!" before he said the rest of the basketball team didn't count, and then... well.

He'd won the debate pretty quickly after that.

You look at the clock on your desk. 9:06, now. With a sigh, you finally force yourself to your feet.

Sitting around in here reminiscing surely wouldn't help your mood; and your first day in the wolves den wouldn’t start itself.

The TB is set up so quickly and so easily, that at first, you're sure you've done something wrong.

Orange cones on the half court line, white cones on the two. Three black and red, brand new basketballs on the half for whoever started the TB. That’s it, right? You'd gone over it twice to make sure you wouldn't get shunned out of the gymnasium for setting up the wrong drill or something stupid like that, but it was good. Perfectly placed.

They're all there, sitting pretty on their points for the team, but... it was only 9:35. You were already done.

And practice didn't start until 10:30.

You really didn’t think this through, and it seems like your dad didn’t either: What the hell were you supposed to do in here for an hour?

Sitting and just waiting was out of the question. All the good that would do is give your thoughts free reign. You look around listlessly and are only met with boring red stadium seats, an empty press box, and vast… silent gymnasium.

(With hindsight being what it is, it should have probably been around this exact point where your brain rumbled to life; where it realized where exactly these thoughts were going to lead. Where the brakes should have been pulled.

But, while regret is a constant in your life, common sense is not— and it should have been a surprise to absolutely nobody what you did next.)

Your hips creak as you bend over to scoop up one of the basketballs.

The dotted leather is firm against your fingertips when you spin it innocently between your palms a few times.

Truly, there’s no reason to pretend. If someone were to see you right now there’s no way they wouldn’t know what was about to happen, but feigning vague interest in the chemical make-up of a basketball makes you feel a little less guilty.

You turn and gauge the distance from here to the other backboard. It’s a little less than half court. 30 feet maybe, and you can practically hear Jaemin in your ear clicking his tongue at you in that way he knows you hate when you hesitate to bring the ball above your head.

'You know better," he'd scold. 'Your heart is pounding because you know you shouldn't be doing this.'

'One free throw has literally never killed anybody,' you think back bitterly.

Ugh. Almost out of spite now, you bend your knees and leap, watching with squinted eyes as it sinks through the net.

Swish!

Well...Alright. You guess you've still got it.

Half court has never been anything crazy to you, so you're not sure why you're so pleased that it went in; but it has been a few months after all. You hesitate a little before you retrieve the basketball, feeling like your lungs are taking up your whole chest when you walk it back a little further than halfway.

Just to see, of course, and what do you know. You make that basket too. But it could have been a fluke! A product of the wind... although you're inside a closed gymnasium, but who knows?

You'll only be sure if you do a few more test shots.

The minutes tick by without your knowledge and you lose count of how many baskets you make.

The intensity grows as well, your silent steps evolving into sharp thuds as you mindlessly go from easy free-throws to full solo attack plays... and fortunately for you, messing around like this is a great cure for boredom.

Unfortunately for you, it turns out to be a great cure for everything else, too— including self awareness.

So it's no surprise that you don't hear the sound of the double doors clicking open.

You only stop when you miss for the very first time. The luck had to run out eventually; you toss the ball wildly at the last second of your imaginary buzzer, and the warble of it cracking off the rim and off the court entirely rings out like a curse. The ball goes completely left field and at this you actually curse; breathing a little hard, you lazily watch it bounce off towards the sidelines forlornly.

Damn.

That’s about as bold a sign to cut it out as any, you think. God, you’re even sweating a little when you jog off to get the ball, returning it to it’s spot on the TB while you wipe your forehead with your wrist.

What time is it? It couldn’t have been that long, you barely—

“That last one was pretty close.”

Your eyes fly open.

Instantly, the gym shrinks. The pleasant warmth in your body turns ice cold.

You would have probably been embarrassed about the wail that came out of your mouth if you weren’t so, so startled; and when you instinctually whirl around to the source of the voice, you're not sure what you're expecting to see.

A murderer, maybe; Possibly a demon. Both would be pretty bad.

A vengeful basketball ghost might be the worst of all.

But of all the things you're expecting to be there when you turn, a boy standing on the other side of the court isn't one of them.

Just... a boy.

He’s dressed head to toe in red Timberwolf gear, but that’s the last thing you take care to notice.

"If you pull in your elbows," he starts, completely unfazed by your scream, "It’ll give you a little more accuracy—"

"What the hell, dude?!"

It comes out a little harsher than you'd intended, cardiac arrest and all, but all he does is blink. The pause gives you enough time to calm your pounding heart and drop back to reality. You’d been about to check the time before he materialized and more urgently than ever, your eyes fly to the scoreboard clock on the wall behind his head.

10:15, it reads.

But... that can’t be right, right? 40 minutes have passed?

“Oh," the boy says suddenly, slowly, and you snap back to him. “Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, I thought you heard me come in."

You didn’t. At all. How your howl of absolute terror didn’t tip him off to that you have no clue.

He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, and the movement drags you to his attire again. There’s a white ‘01’ stitched onto his sleeve under the tiny Timberwolf mascot and your eyes zero in on it. That’s a jersey number, isn’t it? That’s… a jersey number.

Oh, God. Wait.

"You’re on the basketball team?"

"Yeah,” 01 says. You hope he can’t see how you grimace.

A brief silence falls. You'd thought a lot about how your first interaction with a Timberwolf would go, and whatever was happening right now was not one of them. You stand there are stare at him for what feels like years, half embarrassed you'd been caught running around in here by yourself, and half mortified it was a Timberwolf of all people who'd caught you doing it.

You're expecting him to leave, or go sit down. Maybe even just stand there like he'd no doubt been doing for however long before he decided to say something.

None of those things is what he actually does, though, which is continue to talk to you.

“What about you?"

“What?”

"The girls basketball team," he clarifies.

“Oh, no— No. I’m not an athlete here,” you explain hastily. “I was just, uh. Screwing around. Shouldn't there be more of you?"

"They're outside," he responds simply. "One of the vending machines in the quad broke and it's spitting things out for 100 won instead of a thousand. They're trying to drain it before campus security finds out and fixes it."

"Oh," you say. That sounds like something Jaemin and Chenle would do. "You don't like vending machine snacks...?"

"More like I have no interest in getting arrested over a melted bag of Skittles."

01 doesn't say anything else after this, only pushes his hands deeper into his pants pockets.

Now is a better time than any to introduce yourself properly, right? But before you can tell him who you are, you're interrupted by the sound of an explosion. Or, wait. Scratch that— when you startle for the second time in five minutes (which cannot be good for your heart) you realize that it was not an explosion, but the sound of one of the double doors swinging open at mach speed and slamming into the solid wall behind it. Then, before you even have time to be worried about it, things get a lot more crowded.

Explaining yourself to 01 suddenly seems like the least of your problems.

Sneakers squeak onto the glaze without a care in the world. Bubbling chatter fills the air, player names and numbers flashing on the back of jackets like an out of control score keeper; The rest of the Timberwolves basketball team finally make their awaited appearance. They move in one rolling mass, a compact sea of red tracksuits and surprisingly shiny hair, nice wide smiles and boyish laughter.

The only thing that keeps your stomach from twisting into nervous knots is the fact that your father is in the group too, smiling warmly when he sees you.

"Ace!" he calls out. "There you are!"

Shit. Shit, okay. No more fun, casual conversation. It's time.

"Here I am," you call back. Coach points at his clipboard beckons you over but before you go, movement over by 01 catches your eye.

There are three others with him now. Two of them are oddly lumpy in the stomach area. The taller lumpy one, a boy with dirty blonde hair and possibly the most adorable baby-bird pout in the world, looks around suspiciously before tugging a bag of candy from the collar of his jacket and stuffing it into 01's hand like it's contraband and not... a bag of candy.

You already find the sight kind of curious before you recognize the red and rainbow packaging— it's Skittles the boy has given him— and the coincidence makes your smile only grow.

At least he won't have to go to jail over it, you think to yourself.

After Coach goes over the practice schedule with you, the sections he would have you run while he monitored other things, you’re actually feeling pretty good about everything.

(Good enough to plaster a convincingly relaxed smile on your face, at least.)

You stand behind your father when he blows his whistle to start practice officially and try to look pleasant as the Timberwolves all shuffle from their respective little groups and corners into a half circle around your dad, and consequently, you.

“Good morning, team!” Coach bellows.

A cacophony of deep, still-tired timbres croon back something illegible.

“Ah… Nothing like a bunch of babies crying to liven up my morning, huh? How about we try that again?”

Some of them snicker. “Good morning, Coach!” they shout back, much more lively.

“That’s more like it! So! As you all already know from last week’s briefing, Mr.Woobin, our beloved co-coach, had a… homely event come up recently. One that rendered him unable to participate with us for a while. On such short notice, getting a coach before the season starts tomorrow night—"

At this a few players whoop and holler, and you’re a little surprised when quiet 01 is one of them.

“Yeah, yeah. I wouldn’t be hooting if I had averages like yours, Choi.”

A few ‘Ooh’s join the mix.

“Anyhow. Like I was saying…”

Your dad turns to you expectantly, and you take this as a silent cue to walk forward until you’re line to line with him.

“I’d like to introduce you all to my daughter, Y/N. She’s going to be my co-coach until Woobin returns from his leave. Y/N?”

Showtime.

You scan over their faces as you greet them as lively as they greeted Coach— many eyebrows furrow in curiosity, and a few of the bolder ones even wink when your eyes meet theirs. You fold your arms over your chest to mirror the stance of most of the men in front of you, straightening your posture so you look a little bigger as they quite obviously size you up.

“Like my dad said, you all can call me Y/N. While this is my first official week at GDSC, Coach has told me many good things about this team over the summer. I’m excited to see it first hand, if you’ll have me.”

Unsure of what else to add, you decide to open up the floor for the inquiries they no doubt have. “Any questions…?”

Multiple hands shoot up.

Your eyes land on the same tall, lumpy blonde from earlier, though he’s now mysteriously lacking any extra curves. “You, uh… 05.”

“Hi,” the boy says hesitantly. His voice is much deeper than you’d been expecting by the innocence of his face. “I’m, uh… Jisung. Park Jisung… I’m usually small forward, but sometimes I do other stuff. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-one years old, Jisung-Who-Plays-Forward. But I don’t care all that much about honorifics and all that, so you can call me whatever you want. Just Y/N is cool with me.”

He smiles slowly and nods like he’s satiated, so you move on to the others.

“06?”

“Hey,” Number 6 says, voice a little smoother, almost melodious. “My name is Donghyuck, but everyone just calls me Hyuck. I cover power forward. Where’d you go before this?”

… Ah. Shit. There’s the first dreaded question. You hope the way your smile falters isn’t too obvious.

“I transferred here from Yonsei.”

This phrase causes exactly the ripple you’d expected it to. A handful of eyebrows shoot up. One person ‘boooo’s playfully. A few members even glance at each other, but thankfully no one outwardly scowls or spits on you or anything.

06, or ‘Donghyuck’ now, merely grins amongst his curious friends.

Tongue poking out from between his teeth, he tilts his head in innocent question. “Did you transfer here cause we’re better?”

A snort nearly rips it’s way out of your throat. Jaemin would get a kick out of that for sure.

“You can prove to me just how good this team is at the first game, yeah, 06?”

A few more ‘Oooh’s, but Donghyuck just grins even wider like the teasing has only energized him. So far, gaining their respect or appreciation or whatever seemed to be going easier than you thought it would be. You’re admittedly feeling a little giddy at how smoothly this is going until your eyes land on the less than pleased gaze of a shorter one in the front… and then to the hand he’s got up by his head. Yikes.

“…10?”

“Liu Yangyang,” he says simply. “Captain. Center. Do you even play?”

And there it is. The second dreaded question.

The obvious reluctance in your response doesn’t matter though. Because before you can even think of what to say, wanting nothing more than to shut down his obvious disbelief with a resounding ‘Yes’, your father is butting in for you.

“No,” he says factually, and you freeze.

Liu Yangyang’s eyes slide between you and your dad like he isn’t sure who to look at— and 01, who’d basically caught you pretending to be Stephen Curry in this gym not even ten minutes ago, is just straight up staring at you.

“Y/N doesn’t play. She can, however, coach the hell out of a few meatheads like you lot; which is why she’s going to run you all through a few warm-up rotations while I get the projector up for the season schedule.”

You can only blink before he wanders off towards the press box, completely absorbed in looking over the sheets on his clipboard and not at all noticing the stunned look on your face.

“What Coach means," you start, rerouting quickly to fill the awkward silence, "Is that you don’t have to worry that I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve been around this sport since before I could walk, and I’ve had years of experience with coaching and game strategy.”

Most of them merely nod.

“So!” you continue with a smile, clapping your hands together, “Uh, anyway! Until I’m more familiar with you guys I’ll probably just be referring to you by number. Is that cool?”

“You remember mine, don’t you?” Donghyuck asks sweetly, and you falter at the sudden gooey look he’s sending you. What’s with that tone?

“Yeah. Do…Hyung, right?”

He immediately looks so scandalized that you lose the façade and laugh.

“Kidding! I know you, Donghyuck. Go warm up.”

He pouts at your teasing, but he goes.

You didn’t enlist anything too cruel off the bat; just the regular gamut of jumping jacks, joint rolling and high-knees before pushing for the more taxing things like holding stretches and quick-pulls. They listen surprisingly well, which is a plus they’ve got on Yonsei; those white and blue punks couldn’t follow instructions if their lives depended on it. The projector finally descends from the ceiling right as the warm up ends.

You clap your hands proudly and direct them over to the stadium seats when you’re finished terrorizing their muscles.

You’re the last one over to the benches because you’re too busy turning the gym lights off and by the time you get there, the only space left is between Donghyuck and 01. Hyuck scoots over and pats the empty seat right between him proudly. It’s cute— so you laugh and indulge him.

Despite his obvious show of interest, though: it’s the guy on the other side of you that you find yourself curious about as you sit down.

01. Skittles, as you’d taken to calling him in your head.

You’d caught him staring at you quite a few times during warm up. Eyebrows always furrowed and bottom lip pulled perpetually between his teeth, watching you unreadably like he was deliberating something very hard. Had he just been oogling, you would have simply ignored it— but for some reason, you felt like whatever was running through his brain was a little more weighted than just stealing glances.

“Hey you,” you whisper. “I never got your name.”

The unclear look in his eyes doesn’t disappear when he looks at you.

“Jeno. Lee Jeno.”

And then almost as an afterthought, he adds, “Shooting guard. And my question is… My question is if I shouldn’t mention the basketball thing to anyone. From before practice.”

What? At first you have no idea what he’s talking about, too caught up on how cute it is that he’s still referring to the Q&A format from earlier, but then he glances over your dad up in the press booth and it hits you.

“Oh. Oh.” You feel your eye twitch. “I mean. I would really appreciate that, actually. Yeah. Thanks.”

“Okay.”

Jeno turns back to the projector screen like he’d never been talking to you in the first place, still gnawing at his bottom lip, but you can’t help but ask.

“Is that what had your mind so preoccupied during the warm-up?”

A very long second passes before he speaks again.

“Was it that noticeable?”

“A little. I could feel the heat on the back of my neck.”

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“Sorry? It was really smart of you to pick up on that, though. Why sorry?”

“In case you thought it was weird.”

Jesus. Were you talking to a saint? For him to be as tough looking as he is and still apologize to someone he just met for maybe possibly being weird…

The slides on the schedule reel are ticking by and you’re sure Jeno is only half paying attention because he’s busy talking to you, so you just smile at him and turn back to the front.

“You weren’t being weird. It was nice. Watch the video.”

“Okay,” he says again.

It’s the last thing of substance that you say to him for the next few hours, being that immediately after the slideshow ends, Coach reappears on the court to whip them into the first run of practice practice— a 5v5 on the court with five off conditioning, rotating every twenty minutes.

You’re in charge of running the conditioning and very quickly you deem your first set of players ‘The Troublemakers’.

The leader of which is a mischievous Lee Donghyuck, who you become well acquainted with through the fact that he’s probably the cheesiest, touchiest, most giggly college basketball starter you’ve ever met.

At one point the shifty bunch managed to swindle you into a deal; they'd finish the rest of conditioning without complaining or messing around if you just answered each of their curiosities about your life, to which you'd begrudgingly agreed. It was how they found out you were an avid Chicago Bulls fan (Moonbin), allergic to lemons and oranges (Sanha), loved all colors too much to pick a favorite (Felix, though he'd called you a hack for not choosing one), listened to mainly R&B (Hyunjin), and, finally, that you were single (to the smug, pleased grin of one Lee Donghyuck).

After your playful bunch get rotated out, you receive ‘The Flirts’. Choi Beomgyu, who you learn wears his emotions on his sleeve… also apparently says them outright because not even five minutes in he verbally declares his love for you. His reaction to your slack-jawed stare is a sly smile, and a shrugged ‘What? I just wanted to be the first.’

Choi Soobin bickers with him, Kang Taehyun, and Choi Yeonjun for the rest of the session on who has the better chance of winning your heart, even though you’re literally right there.

The last group you get are the quiet ones. You don’t even have to nickname them because they’re simply that easy.

Jung Sungchan is here, who utters not a word to anyone except to shyly tell you your shoe is untied at the 25 minute mark. There’s Huang Renjun, who you’re sure is some other sort of demon on the court because he’s naturally very angry looking and positively tiny, and from experience you’ve learned to recognize the type.

Park Sunghoon is here too, who you actually have to beg to do the conditioning (he gives in once you weaponize your pout though, so you know he has a heart somewhere under those long legs of his), and finally, your introspective friend comes along too. 01.

Lee Jeno merely nods when he approaches, sweaty and heavy footed, and drops into his conditioning before you even need to bug him about it.

“Don’t push too hard, kid,” you mumble to Jeno when he just blows past the fifty calf lifts with no intention of stopping. “You’ve got a game next week, remember? Sore legs last forever.”

He slows to a stop, eyeing you silently before pressing his back flat against the wall to sink into a wall-sit.

“We’re the same age, you know.”

“We are?”

He only nods. He’s still looking at you, though, so you take that as an invitation to keep the conversation going.

“You look young. What’s your major, 01?”

“Audio engineering.”

You raise an eyebrow, and his gaze slides from you to something behind your head— probably the clock to see how long he has left. Once he’s not boring two holes in your face, you find yourself finally able to get a good look at him from closer than an entire basketball court away.

Maybe you hadn’t noticed it when he’d almost scared you to death earlier, but now that he was here in front of you, it was actually almost ridiculous how statuesque the guy was. Short, neatly cut, ink black hair. A jawline that could probably shatter stone. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a mouth like his either, bow-shaped lips that naturally curled up at the edges even when the boy was completely straight faced like he was right now— and a strong, straight nose right above it.

Dark eyes that eventually found yours as you stood there and oogled him monitored his wall sit.

“You play any instruments?” you continue curiously.

“Three.”

“Cool. Which ones?”

“Guitar, piano and bass.”

You could definitely see guitar and bass, but piano? You wouldn't peg him for a sonata-type.

“Do you?” he adds.

“Do I what? Play any instruments?”

He nods and you shrug. “Played drums in my high school pep band, but I was pretty terrible at it.”

“You were a band kid?”

“Yep. And an emo one at that. Just imagine me but in all black and all tired looking, with bleached, spiked hair. I looked insane.”

He gives you a look. “So now, without the bleach?”

What. Jeno’s face cracks into a big, adorable lopsided grin when your eyes go wide— and you almost reach over to swat him before you remember that 1. you’ve known him for like two hours, and 2. You are currently kind of his coach and that’s a little weird. So you settle with gasping scandalously and kicking the side of his sneaker with your own.

“I’m kidding, by the way,” he says a moment later when he eases down out of the wall-sit. “I mean… I bet you looked pretty cool. Carrying a guitar case on campus makes me look like a douche. Drumsticks would be so much easier.”

“I always assumed people who lugged guitars around were usually super-assholes or the coolest folk around. You don’t seem like the first type.”

You’re not looking at him as you say it, you’re picking at your nails, but the steadiness of his stare tells you he’s watching you anyway.

He sure is rather bold about the staring, you think. Even when you look up he doesn’t waver.

“Are you coming to the barbeque tonight?”

It’s obvious the question catches you off guard by the way your eyebrows jump.

“It’s tradition to get BBQ on the first day of practice,“ he elaborates. "It’s not a school event, so it’s not mandatory or anything. Just a thing the team does every season. Are you coming?”

“Ah…That’s just for team members, isn’t it?”

“You’re our coach now though.”

Oh. “Okay… well, assistant coach, firstly, and I don’t know if I’d go that far—”

“You have to come!” a voice behind you shouts suddenly, and the startled sound you make is nearly inhuman. Donghyuck is there when you turn, your apparent new shadow, looking chipper and happy and completely undeterred by the sea of sweat running down his face. He plucks up the water bottle at your feet without a word and you don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s yours, not Jeno’s like you’re assuming he thinks it is, when he downs the whole thing in one go.

“No-Jam is right, you’re one of us now. Us wolves stick together. How are we gonna get to synergize with you or whatever if you don’t come and hang out with us…?”

“I mean…”

Man. Well. There’s nothing wrong with going, you suppose, but it feels a little overwhelming to be invited so easily. Ah, what are you doing? Isn’t this a good thing? You’re being invited out! Sure, the Gamdogja Timberwolves aren’t the exact type of friends you’d been intending to make today, but hell. It wasn’t like you knew anybody else yet.

And, even if most of your Yonsei friends thought they were all just stuck-up, arrogant private college kids— they’d been pretty damn nice to you so far.

“…Yeah. Yeah, okay sure. I’ll come. Where is this fabled BBQ place?”

Donghyuck whoops. Before he can answer, Coaches whistle blows from the court again, and a sea of groans and sneaker squeaking and bumbling bodies fills the air.

“Nevermind,” you laugh. “Off to the court with you two. Go. I’ll find you later.”

“Promise?” Donghyuck coos.

“Yes, Hyuck-ah, I promise. Begone.”

“Since you said it so sweetly~”

What a ham. You’re grinning as they leave though, oddly chipper, and wander over to where your father is standing when the rest of the boys reach the court. He hands you another clipboard when you get to him, 8 names listed next to a spreadsheet of sorts. He quickly goes over the plan for the last hour: splitting the team between your hoop and for 4v4s.

“How was the conditioning, by the way?” Coach asks. “I saw you got Sunghoon to do the wall sit. You’re performing miracles already.”

“Not many can say no to this face and live to tell the tale.”

He makes a knowing grunt of agreement and your groups separate. You’ve got Jeno, Donghyuck, Soobin and Yukhei, Yeonjun, Renjun, Sanha, and Sungchan in your half of the gym.

“What do you say we try a five minute scramble first, huh? First to 21 just to get the blood pumping?”

“My blood is already pumping,” Yukhei whines at you, bent over, hands on his knees. “What it needs to do is stop pumping. Be nice to me.”

“If your blood wasn’t pumping you’d be dead,” Sungchan says.

“So?”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes so hard that for a moment, you’re scared they won’t come back.

“Just get the damn basketball, pumper.”

Once they get into the groove, bickering and bantering and teasing fading into position call-outs and good-natured ribbing, you finally get your first glimpse at the true Timberwolf potential. And they’re all good. You come into this having no doubt about that, honestly.

Their technique is great, passing between each other with barely a second between one person and the next, the perfect balance of defense, offense, and speed. Even baby Sungchan, who you’d been sure was one of the tamer of the bunch, is throwing clutches and between-the-legs like it’s nothing.

They’re all ridiculously good.

But once Jeno gets to that ball, it’s like no one else is in the room.

You watch almost in a trance as he just… goes through people. He’s like a mirage when he gets the ball, and he gets the ball often— his teammates lobbing it to him at a milliseconds notice, to where he always just seems to be perpetually ready— and it’s like magic. He has the basketball for a moment, then he doesn’t, then it’s in the net and a bunch of people either groan or cheer and the game goes on.

With Jeno doing what he’s doing, his team gets to 21 points in about five minutes flat. Holy shit.

You send them off for a three minute break and try not to look appalled.

“Yeah,” someone says beside you, and you blink yourself out of your stupor.

Donghyuck is standing next to you looking smug. For what, you have no clue, until he juts his chin in the direction you were just staring as a hint— and you catch an eyeful of Jeno guzzling a water bottle down on the opposite sideline with a few of the other guys when you follow his gaze.

“He’s a monster, right? Injun and I think he used to eat basketballs when he was younger.”

You’re still too stunned to even laugh. “I mean all of you were… wow. For lack of a cooler phrase. You’re really goddamn good. I’m impressed.”

“Better than your Yonsei folk?”

This instantly gets you to break your reverie and Donghyuck howls with laughter at the sour face you pull. You're already so comfortable with this crew that you don't think twice before shoving him away from the sidelines with your elbow.

“Yeah alright, Hyuck. Way to ruin it for your buddies. Break over! Set up for lay-up drills!”

A chorus of groans meets you and you simply nod, accepting your whining and bereavement easily from your half of the squad as they shuttle back onto the court. You don’t notice the lack of one particular voice in the mix at first, the matching sharp black eyes watching you silently from the other end of the baseline— but by the time you glance in his direction, feeling the heat of someone’s gaze on your back, Jeno’s already looking away.

The rest of practice goes by pretty quickly after that and with the lot of them cracking jokes with you and actually listening to your advice and obsservations, it's actually pretty fun.

Maybe... Maybe this whole coaching thing wouldn't as dreadful as you'd presumed after all.

[itwd masterlist] [next part]

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hxlyhead-harpies · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t Call Me Kid (G.W.)

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Summary: When her soulmate’s name appears on her wrist on her twentieth birthday, (Y/n)’s heart stings with betrayal when she finds out who it is.

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst

As the clock slowly ticked towards midnight on the eve of your twentieth birthday, you couldn’t help but feel edgy. Your nerves were tingling and your stomach churned at the thought of what would be revealed on your wrist the moment you turned twenty. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to find out who your soulmate was; you just had no idea who it could be.

There was no one in your life who you felt a strong connection to. No one that gave your stomach the little tug that your parents so fondly described when they told you the story of how they met. And no one had revealed to you that you were their soulmate. You had always hoped that your soulmate was older than you. And that they would find you before you had to anxiously await for a name to be seared into your flesh. But no one had come forward yet. So you went with the assumption that you didn’t know your soulmate.

Of course, there was one person who you had always hoped it would be. It was your best friend’s older brother, George. It was a schoolgirl kind of crush, one that had you writing his last name on your school work and blushing every time he merely looked your way. As a child, you had followed him around like a lost puppy, fantasizing about your name adorning his wrist. But it wasn’t the case. His twentieth birthday had been years ago. You remembered the day very clearly.

You were spending the Easter holiday with the Weasleys, rooming with your best friend, Ginny. She was in your year and you had become fast friends the moment you sat next to each other on the train first year. You and most of the Weasley clan were eating breakfast, anxiously awaiting the twin’s arrival at the table. Fred had been up early, a wide smile informing you all that Angelina Johnson was his soulmate. Molly had clapped and pulled her son into a bone-crushing hug.

Eventually, George had stumbled down the stairs. The bags under his eyes were evident, displaying his lack of sleep, and his hair was disheveled from repeatedly running his fingers through it.

As he stepped into the kitchen everyone froze. Ron’s oatmeal dribbled down his chin as he stared at his brother, impatiently waiting for him to reveal his one true love. Molly’s hand was over her heart and her breathing was shallow as she anxiously awaited for her son to tell her the name of her future in-law.

George looked up to see everyone staring at him and just shook his head, tugging his sleeve farther over his wrist. Molly gasped before pulling her son into a comforting hug and you felt your heart break for him. George’s behavior let everyone know that he didn’t have a soulmate.

It was rare for people to have a blank wrist, though not impossible. Some people were meant to be alone. But you had never imagined that George could possibly be destined for loneliness.

You pushed the thoughts of your old infatuation and focused on the present. It was impossible for him to be your soulmate, the universe had already decided that, so there was no reason to even think of him.

Soon, your wrist began to burn. It wasn’t a terrible feeling; from the descriptions you had heard you assumed it would burn like placing your hand on a flame, instead it burnt like firewhiskey running down your throat. Your eyes watered as the name was carved into your skin, the gravity of the situation finally settling in. You were about to find out who your other half was, the person you were meant to spend your life with. The moment couldn’t be more daunting.

You screwed your eyes shut, not wanting to catch a glimpse of the forming letters until the burning subsided.

When your wrist cooled your eyes fluttered open. You took a deep breath before lifting your wrist up to your face. You read the name. Your world stopped. You couldn’t breathe.

George Weasley

Your mind ran over all of the possible explanations, confused as to how his wrist was blank but yours adorned his name. You came up with only one answer.

Your name was on George’s wrist. But he wished that it wasn’t.

Why else would he go through the trouble of hiding it? Why would he accept the years of pitying looks when he told people that he didn’t have a soulmate? Because he’d rather belong to no one than belong to you.

Hot tears rolled down your face as came to the realization. A moment that should have left you euphoric with happiness, only made you feel emptiness.

It was unfair really, that you had spent years pining after him and years feeling sorry for him, only for him to have been lying to you all along. You had been there when his mother cried for her son and cried for his life of loneliness. You had rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him when he sulked on the couch for a week. You felt like a fool.

As your mind began to remember all the moments where he had the opportunity to tell you the truth, you only became angry.

Because how dare he keep this from you. You were supposed to be his other half. You quickly wiped away your tears and apparated to the front of his shop.

It was a few minutes after midnight and the shop had been closed for hours. But you knew that he was up there in his flat above the store. You just hoped that he’d be able to hear you bang on the door from all the way up there.

After a few moments of relentless pounding, the door flung open.

“Bloody hell do you know what time it is?” Fred asked as he swung the door open. He caught sight of you and his mouth dropped.

“(Y/N)!” he said, a stunned expression on his face. You crossed your arms.

“Go get George,” you said, letting a small amount of anger to seep into your tone. Fred cast his eyes to the floor. The look he gave you let you know that he knew exactly why you were here. He had been in the same room as George when their soulmates had been revealed. He was probably the only other person in the world that knew about you.

“(Y/n) don’t be mad at him,” Fred said quietly. You scoffed and shook your head.

“How do you expect me to not be angry,” you asked incredulously. Fred just sighed and opened the door wider to let you in.

You hadn’t been inside the shop in years and under better conditions, you might have been able to appreciate the beauty in the chaos of it all. Even in the after hours inventions whizzed past your head.

“I’ll go get him,” Fred said before squeezing your shoulder and climbing up the stairs.

You nervously waited for him, suddenly regretting your decision to show up so abruptly. You hated that you could be so rash at times.

“Happy birthday,” a soft voice called out, interrupting your thoughts. You turned to see George staring at you from the top of the stairs, an unreadable expression on his face. You stiffened at the sight of him, instinctively wrapping your arms around your body as if to shield yourself from him. But that didn’t stop yourself from feeling drawn to him, as if the universe was tugging you towards him.

He slowly descended down the stairs, stopping a few feet in front of you. You stared at the floor, unsure of how to begin.

“(Y/n)...” he whispered softly, coaxing you to meet his eyes. You spoke instead.

“How could you?” you asked, your voice shaking. George let out a sigh.

“You have to understand. I couldn’t tell you,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“What is that even supposed to mean George?” you asked, “I was right there in your kitchen that day. You could have said something.” George shook his head.

“I had my reasons and you just have to trust that,” he said. You rolled your eyes.

“Am I really that horrible?” you questioned, “so horrible that’d you rather lie and say that you didn’t have a soulmate than admit that it was me.” Your voice cracked. George shook his head and stepped closer to you. He lifted his hand as if he wanted to reach out to you, but he retracted it at the last second.

“That’s not why,” he said softly.

“Then why?” you pushed, angry that he wasn’t telling you what you wanted to know.

“You were just a kid, (Y/n)!” he said, desperation filling his voice. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“What does that have to do with anything?” you asked softly.

“(Y/n) you have to understand… You were sixteen! You were my little sister’s best friend and you were still in school! And I was older and I had the shop!” he explained. You shook your head.

“You still could have told me,” you whispered. George groaned.

“No, I couldn’t! I was out fighting with the order and you weren’t even old enough to use magic outside of school. You were a child,” he explained exasperatedly. You felt your face harden.

“What about now?” you asked bitterly.

“Huh?”

“What about now,” you repeated, “I’m not a child anymore and after everything that happened, I haven’t been for a while. You could have told me at any point over the last few years and you didn’t. Why?” George froze, clearly unsure of how to answer. You felt tears rise to your eyes at his silence, taking it as confirmation of his rejection. You took one last look at him and stormed out.

Two weeks later you’re standing outside the Burrow. Ginny and Harry’s engagement party was in full swing but you had no desire to be there. Sure, you wanted to be there for your best friend, but you knew George would be there and you weren’t ready to face him. He hadn’t attempted to contact you in the time since you’d seen him and the rejection stung. So you stuck to the same lie that he had; you told everyone that you were soulmateless. You took a deep breath and fiddled with the leather band that covered George’s name and stepped inside.

The Burrow was loud and bustling with people. Family members and school friends filled the space, leaving barely any room to breathe. People shot you sad smiles as you pushed through the crowd, all of them having heard of your predicament. You ignored them as you searched for Ginny.

Eventually, you found her near the kitchen, leaning against Harry, his hand on her waist. Your smile dropped for a moment, jealousy rippling through your body. It was the kind of quiet intimacy that you wanted with your soulmate. With George.

Ginny looked up and caught your eye, making her way over to wrap you in a hug.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, “it’s not like you to be late I was getting worried.”

“Sorry about that!” you apologized. Ginny just shook her head and dragged you over to where she had been standing. She snaked an arm around Harry’s waist, jumping right back into the conversation.

Harry was talking to Fred and Angelina about quidditch when you arrived. You sent them a quick wave and Angelina sent you a warm smile. Fred sent you an apologetic look which you ignored. You tried to immerse yourself in the conversation but you kept catching yourself scanning the room for George. You felt Ginny nudge your shoulder.

“You alright?” she whispered just loud enough for you to hear. You sent her a quick smile and a nod, hoping to convince her that you were fine. You subconsciously pulled your sleeve down farther.

As the party wore on you couldn’t seem to spot George. You didn’t know why you kept looking for him, it was obvious that he didn’t want to see you anyway.

You made your way into the kitchen, hoping you could pour yourself a drink. As soon as you stepped in you froze. There he was, leaning against the countertop, a glass in his hand. His eyes met yours and his body tensed. He seemed to be in just as bad of shape as you; he had evident eye bags under his eyes and his clothes were rumpled and unkempt.

You sent him a polite smile before grabbing a glass from the cabinet. You walked across the kitchen to where the bottle of firewhiskey was sitting, which was, unfortunately, very close to George. You reached for the bottle but you were interrupted by him grabbing your wrist. You looked up, shocked, only to see him staring down at the leather band that covered his name, running his fingers over it.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, his breath fanning across your face. You pulled your wrist back.

“Whatever George,” you replied, “it’s in the past now.” George screwed his eyes shut and ran a hand over his face.

“But what if I don’t want it to be in the past,” he whispered. You stared at him, your mouth agape.

“What?” you whimpered. He reached for your hand again and you let him hold it.

“I don’t want to pretend that it never happened,” he said breathily, “I don’t want to pretend that we aren’t made for each other.” You scoffed slightly.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” you asked, bitterness seeping into your voice. George lifted your hand up so it was resting on his heart. You could feel it hammering in his chest.

“When I first found out that we were soulmates I didn’t tell you for all the reasons that I said. We were at different stages of our lives and I didn’t want to spring that on you. But then… But then as you got older I just- I didn’t know what to say. How could I tell you something like that after hiding it so long? I spent so long trying to figure out how to tell you but then time just caught up with me and it was too late,” he said, a new intensity in his eyes.

“George…” you whispered. He shook his head and spoke.

“Let me finish. Please,” he pleaded. You nodded your head. “Every time I saw you, you became more and more beautiful and more and more as I had always imagined my soulmate to be. You laugh at my stupid jokes and you always know what to say and you’re so much smarter than me… I couldn’t hope for a better other half than you,” he finished. You stared into his warm eyes, trying to decipher if he meant what he said. You could still feel his heart racing under your hand and his eyes were slowly filling with tears.

“Please forgive me,” he breathed. Without thinking you leaned up on your tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth. You stepped back, removing your hand from his heart and wrapping your arms around yourself. He stared at you, shock written all across his face.

“You’re my soulmate, George,” you whispered, “I can’t stay mad at you forever.” George smiled widely before stepping forward and scooping you up into a hug.

“Thank you,” he muttered into your hair. The two of you stayed like that for a moment. Your body flushed against his, his hands wrapped around your waist and yours slinked around his neck. When you pulled back you spoke.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me at first,” you admit, “I was just a kid.” He brushed a strand of hair from your face.

“But you’re not anymore and I should have told you sooner. I’ll never forgive myself for the years I wasted without you,” he said softly. You smiled shyly at him, seemingly returning to the schoolgirl crush that you had harbored for years.

“I’m glad it’s you,” You said. George smiled at the ground.

“I’m glad too.”

#George weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley/reader #george weasley/you #george weasley x oc #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fluff #george weasley angst #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter imagine

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pink-gladioli · 2 years ago

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part 2 of my crappy fanfiction

sup y'all, i actually made another chapater of the macy middle school au. funny name huh? anyways this chapter involves some worldbuilding and axl!! btw heres the link to the first chapter if you want to read it

so lets start part two of this shitshow!!

“And this is our Academy’s cafeteria were only the best food is made every day by our squirebots-chefs for our students!” Swordmore Brickland boasted. Despite his enthusiasm Macy and Jestro had been on this tour for over an hour, and both of them didn’t have in them to act excited. Luckily Macy was good hiding it and Brickland didn’t really care for Jestros opinion. Macy looked over at the grandfather clock, it was still an hour until the tournament. As she turned her head back to room in front of her, she noticed smoke coming from the area she could only assume was the food line.

“Excuse me Sir Brickland, is smoke supposed to coming out from the back?” She asked,

“What are yo- oh no, not this again” Brickland staring running across the empty cafeteria halfway through his sentence, opening a side door to enter the kitchen.

As Macy and Jestro ran after him, a high pitched but almost rugged voice coming from the kitchen yelled out

“Ah Principal Brickland, there’s no need to worry! Me and chefbots have it under control!”

“WHAT ARE YOU TAKING ABOUT THE PAN IS ON FIRE!”

“It’s to enhance the flavor Sir!”

As soon as Macy and Jestro entered the kitchen they saw the source of the commotion. There was a large figure, tall enough to be a fully grown man but with the face with a child, (with a mohawk? Macy had never seen that hairstyle before) adding vegetables into a pan with a giant smile that was very much on fire, with Brickland yelling at him and what to seemed like a dozen squirebots hiding behind him and a strong beeping sound Macy recognized as a smoke detector.

“O-oh my gosh, Axl a-are you sure that’s safe?!” Jestro yelled out

“Don’t worry Jestro I’ve done this a dozen times!” replied this Axl… boy? Man? Macy couldn’t really tell his age.

“Princess stay back!” Yelled out Fancypants but she didn’t think it was because of the fire. Because as soon as Fancypants yelled her to stay back, Macy saw out of the corner of her eye Brickland picking up the emergency fire extinguisher and aiming it at whatever Axl was making then pulling the pin. An explosion of white foam escaped from the nozzle completely setting out Axls fire and turning off the smoke detector.

“Ah Principle Brickland I told you I had it under control, and that was my best seer on a stake I’ve made…”

“Axl why do I need to tell you this, but creating fires on school ground, even ‘controlled’ ones, is strictly prohibited!” Macy just looked on in confusion, this Axl student was cooking in front of a fire that was taller than him without any fear is only sad that his stake is ruined.

“But Principal Brick- Oh hello I didn’t see you there! I’m Axl from Diggington! Class 151!” Axl said after noticing Macys presence. She was stunned for a second, not expecting the larger boy to introduce himself.

“Oh, thank you for the introduction. I am Princess Macy Halbert, first of the name, from Knightonia. May I ask what you were doing? It seems Sir Brickland would want an explanation” Macy replied. Axl’s smile returned after Macy’s introduction, no shock or change in demeanor appeared after learning of the girl’s royal background.

She took note of this.

“I was just preparing a stake for my culinary class when the pan caught on fire when I placed the stake on the pan, but I had it under control before Principal Brickland set it out. Well, it’s okay I can always try again!” Axl said with a hopeful smile while Brickland looked on with a disapproving stare.

“Um Axl how about you take a break? I don’t want another fire starting, it’ll set off the smoke detector and I hate those…” Jestro said warily almost like he was scared Axl setting off the smoke detector again.

“Yes, Jestro is right, it would be best if you didn’t try to cook anything for the rest of the day Axl. And I’ll be having a call with your parents’ young man!” Brickland said with the silent nods of the squirebots behind him.

“Alright Principal Brickland, but where do I go? Do I stay here?”

“Oh no I’m letting you stay here; you’re going to Knightology with Moorington, he'll keep you out of trouble” How many times is she going to hear that name before meeting him?

“Fine, it was nice meeting you Miss Macy! And Jestro I’ll see you at the tournament!” After Axl gave his goodbyes, he picked up a bag next to door before leaving the kitchen.

“Again, I am sorry you had to see that, I need to get the culinary students a human teacher” Brickland apologized, but Macy didn’t mind. It was another observation of a childher age. She rarely got to see that so she noted every interaction she had, no matter how odd. In fact ,Macy found Axl quite a bit odd, after all who doesn’t react with a fire than you right in front of you, but quite respectful. Did he simply didn’t care about her royal status, or did he not fully understand her introduction?

“It’s okay Sir Brickland, let’s just continue with the tour.”

“Ah of course Princess! Follow me, I’ll take to the History Hall.” As they followed Brickland a slight awkward tension formed

“So, Jestro, you’re part of a tournament team?” Macy asked, hoping to erase some of the tension formed after, whatever you call what they saw in the kitchen,

“O-oh yeah, I guess I am, but I’m only in it because Clay made it… I doubt I would have been able to join any of the other tournament teams.”

“Really? How long have you been in this team?”

“Clay started it our first year, he was the first person in our class to create a tournament team and because it was so early in the school year, he didn’t know that many people, so I was the first to join his team. After that Axl joined and few months later Aaron and Lance joined, but that was after a bunch of petty fights on Lances part…” Jestro and Clay seem to be good friends Macy thought

“What do you mean by ‘petty fights on Lances part’? Did he try beating your team to ‘prove he’s better’ something because that’s something he’d do.”

“Yeah actually- wait you know Lance?”

“If we’ve talking about the same Lancelot then yes, I often see Richmond at my fathers’ parties. The Richmonds are family friends after all.”

“Oh, that’s right I f-forgot you’re th-”

“And we’re here!” Exclaimed Brickland. ‘It’s rude to interrupt’ Macy thought but it was equally rude to say that out loud, so she stayed quiet.

“This is the hall showing our greatest knights throughout history. There are the great heroes like Ned Knightly, Augustin Halbert, and Reginald Brickland, but we also have the honorable staff members that ran this great academy before us!” As the group walked down the seemingly endless hallway Macy looked to the walls seeing painting, documents, or the weapons of these heroes. She recognized almost all of them, what type of princess would she be if she didn’t know her own country’s history, and the few she didn’t were wearing the Knights Academy faculty or student uniform, so she assumed they had some academic significance that she didn’t know about.

The future they traveled the more items she saw that belonged to these late heroes; she even saw Therence Richmond’s gold tooth. Okay that’s a bit odd but no harm is being done she tried to rationalize.

“And here is this academy’s most prized procession we have the honor of displaying, the first written copy of the Knight’s Code!!” They had reached the end of the hallway and in the middle of room there was a small display case only protected by some velvet dividers and four gold pillars. Inside that case laid one of Knightons most important pieces of literature, the first copy of the Knight’s Code. The book looked like it been through hell and back, which it probably has, the title was faded, and a complex drawing of a dragon took up most of the cover.

“Uh Principal Brickland, w-why is there a dragon on the cover? I-I thought the owl was the academy’s symbol…” Jestro spoke barely loud enough to be heard. Why did it sound like he was scared?

“Tsk I thought you’d pay more attention in your classes Jestro, the reason there’s a dragon on the cover is because is this the original copy of the Knight’s Code thus it the Halbert’s crest, it wasn’t until Thunderblood Brickland adapted the code for the Knights Academy a few decades later. You need to pay better attention, this is basic knowledge Jestro, do I need Moorington to tutor again?”

“N-No Sir! I’ll do b-better!” Huh how odd, Jestro was apparently friends with one of the best students in his class, yet he still struggles with basic history? It seemed like he knew that he was going to get scolded so why ask in the first place? Regardless, it was still an interesting interaction (albeit a bit confusing to understand), Macy made sure to make a mental note about it.

“Pardon me Sir Brickland, we have twenty minutes until the tournament. Should we head back?” Despite framing it as question it really wasn’t, truthfully, even though she found Jestros and Bricklands conversation interesting she could feel a wave of tension forming. She didn’t want to go through that again.

“Ah yes of course Princess, and it will give Jestro some time to practice before the tournament.” And with that the small group started to leave the hallway. Unfortunately, as soon as the made it to the end of hallway and the entrance to the rest of academy a bell rang, and students started shuffling out of their classes.

It was chaos, for Macy at least, there so many people surrounding her and she lost sight of Fancypants and Brickland. ‘Okay, no time to panic Macy you’ll be fine just wait until the students enter their classes then-’ She felt something large bump into her snapping out of her inner panic.

“Oh Miss Macy! What are you doing out here and were is Mr. Brickland?” A familiar voice asked. As she turned, she let out a sigh of relief, it was that Axl boy from the kitchen.

“Ah I was just going to the tournament arena, and I lost sight of Sir Brickland, do you happen to know where the arena is?”

“Of course, I was just heading there! Follow me!” She’s lucky she found him or else she’d have to try Fancypants wherever it was. Walking through the crowd of students was a bit hard for Macy, after all she was used to people moving out of her way whenever she got near, this wasn’t situation she knew how to navigate. Luckily Axl was practically impossible to lose in the crowd, so she tried to follow him to the best of her abilities without running into any of the students.

After what felt like an eternity of traversing the lawless land of the Knights Academy’s hallway during the transition period, she made it to arena. “Here you are Miss Macy, I’m gonna go put on my armor and practice!” Said Axl, leaving her alone in the middle of the room. The first thing she noticed is that she wasn’t in the spectator area, but in the knight’s preparation area. In front of her were a pair of glass doors that lead to a grass field with some squirebots setting up what seemed to be targets and obstacles. On either side of her there were students putting on their armor, practicing their aim on some practice targets, and in case of one lone boy, reading the Knights Code. She saw Jestro sitting next to the boy reading the Knights Code, so she decided to ask him for drictions

“Excuse me Jestro, do you happen to know how to get to the Spectator Area, I don’t want Fancypants and Sir Brickland to worry about me being lost or something more concerning.”

“O-oh it’s on the second floor, you can take the elevator to your left.” The boy reading never looked up, like he was lost in his own world.

“Thank you Jestro and good luck with your tournament.” As she walked to the elevator, she heard the voice of whom she assumed was boy reading

“So who was that?”

“O-oh um I’ll tell you after the tournament.”

****

As she walked out the elevator, she saw Fancypants prancing around with a panicked Brickland following behind him

“Oh my goodness how did I lose the Princess, the King is going to have me decommissioned and scrapped!!”

“Haute, there’s no need to panic I’m sure she’ll turn up!”

“That’s easy for you to say your life isn’t on the line!!”

“I’m here Fancypants.” As soon as she said that Fancypants went running to… hug her?

She hadn’t thought the squirebots had that emotion programed in, or at least not Fancypants

“Oh thank Augustin you’re alright!! Please don’t tell you father about this!”

“It’s alright Fancypants, don’t worry about it. Let’s just watch the tournament.”

“Of course, Princess.”

And with that Macy took at seat at the almost throne looking chair with Sir Brickland by her left and Fancypants by her right as a horn rang out and the students flooded out.

#nexo knights #lego nexo knights #macy halbert #macy halbert nexo knights #jestro #jestro nexo knights #axl #axl nexo knights

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kirishimaswife2819 · 4 years ago

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Second Choice || Katsuki Bakugou x Reader, Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Masterlist

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader, and Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Requested by @loxbbg : Hiiiii I was wondering if you can do Izuku x reader x Bakugou where izuku loves reader and Uraraka and reader is tired of being his second choice and pulls herself out of the equation only to see Katsuki was the person for her and she explores that years later Deku tries to ask her out since Uraraka left him and Katsuki steps in telling him he can’t manipulate her or something like that thank youuu!!

Summary: Izuku likes both you and Uraraka, but you’re always the second choice, so after removing yourself from the equation, you fall for Bakugou. But years later, Izuku wants you back.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/n: Thanks for requesting! I tried my best to write this, and I hope I did okay. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! -Danielle <3

“Thanks, Izuku,” you said, smiling, “I had fun tonight.” You and Izuku were standing in front of his house as you pulled his hoodie tighter around your shoulders. The two of you just got back from a walk on the beach, after spending the day in the park.

“Yeah, I had fun too,” Izuku responded, blushing a bit. You noticed the way his eyes looked to your lips, before looking right back up at your eyes, even if it was only for a few seconds.

“Hey Izuku?” You asked, “Can I kiss you?”

“You wanna what!?” He exclaimed, surprised by your sudden statement, causing him to turn red.

“If you don’t want to-”

“I didn’t say that!” He exclaimed quickly, before calming down a bit, “I’m fine with it.” You smiled, and leaned forward, cupping his cheek, before kissing him. When you pulled away, you both had big smiles on your faces.

“I should probably get inside, before my parents kill me for breaking curfew,” you said, smiling, “See you tomorrow, Zuku.”

“See you tomorrow,” Izuku said, smiling and watching as you walked up the steps and into your house.

You walked into class, smiling, excited to see Izuku today after what happened last night. You opened the door and walked in, looking for the familiar green haired boy. Finally, you spotted him, over by Uraraka’s desk, blushing really bad.

“Finally!” Mina exclaimed, “It took you forever!”

“Took who and what forever?” You asked, approaching the small group of people surrounding Uraraka and Izuku.

“For Uraraka to confess to Deku! We’ve been waiting for this forever, and he even said he likes her back,” Mina explained, but she noticed your face fall at her words, “Hey, why do you look so upset?” You ignored her and tried to hold in your tears as Izuku looked at you. His face immediately fell at the look on your face, because you looked like you were seconds away from sobbing. Mina and a few others noticed as well, so Mina spoke again, “Y/n?”

You didn’t say anything, and instead ran out. You heard a few calls of your name, and suddenly you ran straight into somebody.

“Watch where you’re going, dumbass!” Bakugou yelled, causing you to look at him with your tear filled eyes. You were now letting the tears flow, not bothering to hold them back. Bakugou was taken back by this, “Woah, hey, what the fuck is wrong? Why are you crying?”

“No reason,” you replied, fake laughing and wiping a tear, “I’m just being dramatic.”

“I don’t feel like playing any games, so just go ahead and tell me,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms.

“It’s dumb, I mean why did I even think he would like me back? It’s not like I’m anything special,” you said.

“What the hell are you talking about? Who doesn’t like you back?” Bakugou asked, furrowing his brows.

“Deku,” you replied, making eye contact with him for the first time since he noticed you were crying.

“I’m going to kill that fucking nerd,” Bakugou said, going to move past you, to which you pushed him back.

“No, wait, it’s fine, don’t do anything to Deku. I’ll be fine,” you said, trying to hold back your sobs so you could say what you needed to say, “Just go to class. Tell Aizawa I’m not feeling well.”

You didn’t wait for a response, and walked past him and continued going back home. That day, you ignored all the worried calls and texts from all your friends, wondering what was wrong, but a particular one caught your eye.

Zuku <3: please, y/n, just meet me on the beach where we were last night, I need to talk to you

With a sigh, you wiped the tears from your face and slipped on one of your own hoodies. You made sure to grab Izuku’s hoodie on your way out, to give back to him.

You left and went towards the beach. When you got there, you saw Izuku was already there waiting, sitting in the sand, playing on his phone. Izuku hadn’t expected you to come, so when you approached him and he heard you, he jumped, before realizing it was you.

“Y/n,” he said, quickly standing up. He noticed your tear stained cheeks, puffy red eyes, and even your messy hair.

“What do you want to say to me?” You asked, trying not to cry again.

“I just wanted to apologize. Look, Y/n, I’m really sorry, I didn’t-”

“No, you’re not,” you replied, raising your voice a little, “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have kissed me and then admitted to liking Uraraka the next day. You don’t care about me, and it’s obvious that you never have.”

“But I do!” He exclaimed, “I just.. I just like Ochaco more.”

“Of course, you do,” you replied, letting out a fake laugh, “Leave it to dumb old me to assume that anybody could love me more than her.”

“Wait, Y/n, I-”

“Here take your hoodie back,” you said, tossing it into his arms, “I don’t want it.” You turned and went to walk away, but Izuku stopped you, grabbing your shoulder.

“Wait, Y/n.” He tried, but you roughly pushed your shoulder back and forced his hand off of it.

“Goodbye Midoriya,” you said, walking away, leaving Izuku alone on the beach. When you got back to your room, you broke down again, and eventually you cried yourself to sleep.

The next morning, you were awoken by your alarm. Once you rubbed away the sleep from your eyes, you could see that you had so many notifications.

3 missed calls and 4 texts from Ochaco 5 missed calls and 10 texts from Mina

Along with a bunch of other missed calls and texts from other members of the class, but once again, one caught your eye. A text and missed call from somebody who you had never thought would text you unless he absolutely had to.

Bakugou: He’s a fucking idiot, don’t let him get to you

After removing all of the notifications, you got up, wiping your eyes and beginning to get ready for the day. You were aware you looked a wreck as you walked into the classroom but at this point you really didn’t care. You walked in the room, and past Izuku, who had tried speaking with you, to sit at your desk. A few people tried talking to you, but after being ignored, they gave up. Ochaco came up and apologized, and she surprisingly sounded like she was actually sorry, so you accepted her apology and told her to just go and be happy with Izuku.

The rest of the day up until lunch, you attended all your classes, trying your best to avoid Izuku or any of his friends altogether. During lunch, instead of going to sit with Izuku, like you normally did, you went to go sit by yourself somewhere, but a voice stopped you.

“Hey! L/n!” Kirishima yelled, gaining your attention, “Come sit with us!” You gave him a small smile and walked over, sitting in between him and Mina. Sero, Kaminari, and Bakugou were also sitting at the table.

“Thanks,” you said, causing Kirishima to smile.

“No problem,” he replied, and went back to talking with Sero about something. You spent the rest of lunch with them, only really talking when one of them asked you a question, or said something to you. Bakugou was the one who spoke with you the most, and every time he did, you thought back to the message he sent you.

Finally, lunch was over, but Kirishima stopped you before you got up and left, to ask a question.

“Do you want to hang out with us after school? We’re going to the arcade,” Kirishima said, looking at you with hopeful eyes.

“I don’t know,” you replied.

“Oh, well, we’re going to be there at like four, so if you’re coming, just text me so we can wait for you,” Kirishima explained, and you nodded.

“Okay, I might come. Thanks,” you said, giving him a small smile, before walking past him and to your next class. After the day was over, you went home and looked to the clock. You had managed to avoid Izuku for the rest of the day, despite him trying to speak with you multiple times. You continued to look at the clock, thinking about if you wanted to meet up with Kirishima and his friends at the arcade or not. You weren’t in the best mood, but it might take your mind off of things.

So, you took out your phone and sent him a quick text, letting him know that you were going to be coming. Then, you changed out of your uniform and into something more comfortable. You looked in the mirror and tried to look a little more presentable than you did throughout the school day. Eventually, you grabbed some money, and your phone, before leaving the house and making your way to the arcade.

When you got there, you opened the door, and entered. You looked around for a moment, before spotting Bakugou, Kirishima, Kaminari, and Mina standing a little ways away from the entrance, talking.

“Hey guys,” you said, approaching them.

“Hey Y/n,” Mina said, smiling at you. She still kind of felt bad for being the one to break the news to you yesterday, even though she didn’t do anything wrong.

“Alright, what are we doing first?” Kirishima asked, looking around at all his friends. They each said something different, so Kirishima turned to you, “What do you wanna do?”

“I really don’t care,” you said, with a shrug.

“Why don’t you go with Bakugou?” Kirishima asked, gesturing to the blonde, who was standing off to the side, crossing his arms and leaning up against the wall.

“Sure,” you said, as Bakugou stood straight up, uncrossing his arms.

“Come on, dumbass,” Bakugou said, making you follow him towards whatever game he wanted to play. You two spent a couple hours playing different games, before you all met back up in front of the arcade. Kirishima had to go home and eat dinner, and so did Mina and Kaminari, leaving you and Bakugou all alone.

“Well, I should probably-”

“Do you wanna get something to eat?” Bakugou asked, startling you.

“W-what?”

“Are you deaf? I asked if you wanted to get something to eat,” Bakugou repeated.

“Oh, uh, I guess, if you want to,” you said.

“Alright, let’s go,” Bakugou said, forcing you to follow him towards a pretty popular fast food restaurant in town. You two got in line and ordered at the counter, before sitting down at a table and waiting for your order number to be called.

“Why did you ask me to get food with you?” You asked, looking around.

“What? Am I not allowed to want to eat food with you?” Bakugou asked.

“Well, no, I mean, you are, but why just me? You didn’t offer for any of the others to get dinner with you, so why me?” You asked.

“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I like you, a lot. And I wanted to tell you.”

“You,” you said, trying to process it, “Like me?”

“Don’t make me say it twice,” he replied, crossing his arms.

“Oh,” you said, “I-”

“You don’t have to answer right away,” Bakugou said, “I know you’re upset because that damn nerd broke your heart, but once you get over him, maybe we can work something out.”

“Maybe,” you replied, giving him a small smile.

It had been a whole five years since that occurred. Katsuki and you started dating a few months after he confessed, and you had been happy ever since. You two were now engaged, and you couldn’t be happier. Everything was going perfect, until you heard a knock on the door and you opened it to be met with a certain green haired, pro hero, Deku.

“Deku,” you said, “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” he said, giving you a small smile, “Can I come in? I wanted to speak with you about something.”

“Oh, uh, sure,” you said, moving aside and allowing him to come in, “Come on, we can sit in the living room.” Izuku nodded, and followed you into the room, where he sat down on the couch.

“What kind of-” Bakugou cut himself off, as he stepped into the room. He had a different type of seasoning in each hand, “Deku.”

“Hey Kacchan, what are you doing here?” Izuku asked, causing you and Bakugou to give each other a look. How did Izuku not know that you two were together? Literally, everybody knew. Bakugou was about to tell him, but you spoke to him.

“Both,” you said, referring to the bottles of seasoning in his hands. Bakugou decided to leave you and Izuku alone, but he gave the hero one last glare for good measure, before stepping back into the kitchen.

“Alright, now, what did you need?” You asked, giving Izuku a small smile. You had managed to avoid him for the rest of your time at U.A., and even as a pro hero you managed to not have to work with him, so you were wondering what he was doing here when you made it clear that you never wanted to see him again.

“I’ve really missed you,” Izuku said, catching you by surprise. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say but it definitely wasn’t that.

“Uh, I guess I’ve missed you too,” you replied, even though it wasn’t really true. Sure, you missed him in the first few months since you had stopped talking to him, but after that, you barely even thought about him.

“Look, Y/n, I sort of regret what happened when we were at U.A. You know, when I confessed to Uraraka after we kissed. And I want to know if you wanna try again,” Izuku explained.

“You mean try again as in, be friends, right?” You asked, hoping he wasn’t suggesting what you thought he was.

“No, I mean in a romantic way,” Izuku said.

“If you really think she’s going to say yes, then you’re dumber than you look,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms.

“Kacchan, this is a private-”

“It stopped being private the second you tried to get my fiance to give you a second chance,” Bakugou said, “And don’t tell me you didn’t know, because literally everybody knows. Now, you have about one minute to get the hell out of my house before I blow your ass up.”

“I’m not leaving. What makes you think she likes you more than she likes me?” Izuku asked, crossing his arms.

“Are you fucking serious? You actually think that she still likes you after what you did to her?” Bakugou asked, “You know, I-”

“Wait,” you said, causing both men to stop glaring at each other and look at you, “Katsuki’s right, Izuku. I stopped liking you after you did that to me, and I’m not going to start liking you again.”

“But, I-”

“No, you’ve said what you needed to say, get out,” you said, standing up, “Now.”

“Y/n, wait-”

“Are you fucking deaf? She said to get the fuck out!” Bakugou yelled.

“Fine,” Izuku said, standing up and walking out. You and Katsuki followed him and watched as he opened the front door and stepped out. He looked at you with teary eyes, and he almost said something but you interrupted him.

“Goodbye Midoriya,” you said, slamming the door in his face, and then turning to Katsuki, who looked the most pissed you’ve ever seen him, “Well, that was a fun activity for a Saturday night.”

“No, it was not,” Katsuki replied, “Are you good?”

“Why wouldn’t I be good?” You asked.

“Just checking,” he replied, “You used to like Deku, just making sure you’re alright.”

“I stopped liking him five years ago,” you replied, “Trust me, I’m over him.”

“You better be,” Katsuki replied, causing you to give him a kiss.

“I am, now, do you want help with dinner?” You asked, causing Katsuki’s eyes to go wide.

“Shit,” he said, rushing over to the kitchen, “Great, it fucking burnt. All because of that damn nerd.”

“Calm down, we’ll just get take out. How about pizza?” You asked, picking up your phone, and going through your contacts.

“Sure,” Bakugou replied, throwing out the burnt food, before going back to the living room and sitting on the couch. You joined him after ordering the food. You cuddled into his side as he turned the T.V. on.

“I love you,” you said.

“More than Deku?” Katsuki asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Yes, Katsuki, more than Deku.”

#katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou #izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha oneshot #bnha oneshots #mha oneshots #bnha oneshot #my hero academia #request

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muffindaddystyles · 4 years ago

Text

KISMETS.

Harry Styles x fem!reader.

Slow burn, platonic love and jealousy clićhes.

Fluff! Fluff! Fluff!

Frenemies and dad!harry.

Author's Note: The concept's kinda weird but if you've watched F.R.I.E.N.D.S and Phoebe Buffay carrying child for someone. You've got it my pal!

MASTERLIST LETS TALK! PART 2 PART 3 PART 4

"Can ya stop breathing like, THAT!?" She whisper yells twisting to give him a sharp glare full of spleen elbow poking at his side abs, "Like what!?" He half squeaks peering down at her with doe eyes palms flat at sides to convey his surprise.

"Like a train engine whistling -- it's annoying." She mutters rolling her eyes and turning back to listen to instructor.

"Now, I can't even breath without ye' comin' fo' me throat?" He grits with a kink of brows and when she confirms with a no --- He gasps dramatically. It's gonna be a long journey of Hell for them. Harry hates her hormones. Little bitches.

Y/N is carrying a baby for Harry and his girlfriend --- but something went downhill.

Twinkling droplets of crystal rain pelts against the bricked road subsiding harsh noises of surrounding but a nettled groan caught everyone's attention ‐‐‐ stares turning in direction. Have you ever wanted to just disappear under a warm invisible cloak and enjoy the drollery aspects of life without worrying? Because this is what Y/N wants at the moment as she stands under the bus stop shelter with few people beside her and the british showers starts pouring mocking at her for not carrying an umbrella with her.

Everyone leaves when the bus didn't arrive — who remains behind's Y/N huffing and pouting wishing for rain to stop. When it didn't she muttered a 'fuck it' before risking catching a cold and stepping under the pitter patter with her books atop her head for less damage.

Trying to punch in the passcode of society's gate with shivery fingers perhaps it opens before that startling her wet-y self. Similar car drives near her and a head pops in from inside with his big goofy smile and crinkles by his charming eyes, "Ni!" She exclaims pushing away the drippy hair sticking to her lips with her pinky.

"Pet you're gonna catch a cold. Want me to drop ya?" Niall kinda yells over the rain's loudness. She sighs fog whirling infront of her. Shoves her hand in her trench coat's pocket to seek for heat instead it's all icky and drenching.

"No it's just a tiny walk away. I'll manage — call me will tell ya how my class went." She waves him looking at him from her shoulder while rushing away towards the most elegant house in the block. Niall gives her a thumbs up from before getting out of sight and she tries to hop over the puddles of water to make it to doorsteps.

The water she brings from outside pooling at the dark timber floor - it trails behind her past the pink door as she rushes jumpy-ly where the most hot's in the house and apparently it's more than she expected, "ouch. ouch my eyes!!" She screams covering them at the sight of Harry butt naked pinning his girlfriend against the wall near fire place. Her face turning into a tomato at the horrendous raid but she seems pissed and well . . displeased that Y/N ruined a mind boggling orgasm for her.

Before, they could disattach from eachother to unravel their humiliation Y/N jogged up to attic into the guest room slamming her forehead against the door to knock away the embarrassment. She always barges in Harry's house without announcing but sometimes she forgets he isn't alone everytime his girlfriend comes to live by every two weeks (it's his fault too that he never locks the main door as anytime anyone's coming at his place). Changes into clothes she forgets at her visits, tries to dry her hair with a towel that no-more smells like Harry but expensive fabric softeners and has a pep talk for a minute to show herself down infront of them.

Instinctive voices coming from the Kitchen and she pads towards it. They act like nothing happened. Like Harry wasn't dick deep into Chessie moments ago. Harry ushers her to barstool and hands her a cuppa tea moving on with a kiss to her head. It still gives her butterflies even though how many sense awakening scoldings she gave to herself at 3 ams.

"'M sorry." She squeaks with a wavering smile wrapping her palms around the mug. Harry cackles softly brushing the underbelly of his nose as Chessie cordinated the cutlery drawer, "'s okay moppet. we finished our business when ye' left." Y/N almost choked on her hot beverage gulping it down when Chessie shocked gasp throwing little socksies that were laying ontop of the counter at Harry. Are those of toddler? Adam's out of town so there's no way it could be his daughter's socks. Maybe Chessies's one of friend's?

"Should've called me t' pick y'up. Niall was loafin' around too —- wear it you're turnin' blue, pet." He comes back with a swarmy chunky knitted sweater Anne gifted him at his birthday handing it to Y/N and sitting opposite of her pulling Chessie with her wrist into his lap clearing his throat to bring Y/N's attention back from eyeing the socks on the floor. Her eyes flicker between them chest tightening at the love and glow that radiates from Harry when he looks at her.

No. She's not jealous. Mightyyyy bit yeah –- cause she could never be this lucky to have someone as Harry. He's the most caring towards her since ten years been her compass to the home she wanted, her anchor saving her from sinking and the sixth sense of a blind to her. In fact she thinks he's her soulmate and not every soulmates needs to be romantically involved some could watch them growing beautiful in love. Y/N's doing it. Admiring the maturity of his life with the person that truly makes him enough---or she thinks so.

"How was ye'r meditation class?" Harry asks (she took a semester off as she was unable to haul the burden'; Harry convinced her how her health should be her first priority) breaking a cookie in two giving half of it to Chessie who thanks him with a kiss in return, "Was good been feelin' great!" She chirps pulling the sleeves of the sweater that's drenched in cinnamon vanilla-y smell with lingers of what comes of as Chessie's scent. She assumes they cuddled shit loads.

To subside the gnaw in her brain down she finally asks the question pointing at the sock that nobody gave a heed to pick up, they stop chewing looking at eachother to come up with something. Chessie's face distressed knowing Harry wouldn't hide it from Y/N. He tells her everything and sometimes it could be too personal to share.

"Erm. . I bought 'em — 'cos. . " Harry stammers and Y/N smacks her hand atop her mouth avoiding from giving a shocked reaction, "Oh my goodness ye' guys are pregnant!?" It was enough to make Chessie flinch and hike down Harry's lap.

"No! 'S not what ye'r thinkin'." He shakes his head making Y/N confused. "Then you bought it fo' your fingers? Cause that's the only body part it could fit." She teases him to break through the insight tension around and he chuckles shaking his head grabbing Chessie's hand rubbing her knuckles how he used to when Y/N's anxious and over the edge.

"We want to have a family." His words low as he looks at Chessie but she shrugs in return as 'in it is what it is'. Y/N stomach twisted at that. The thought that one day He's gonna have a family of his own and the little bubble that Y/N would be privy to made her throat dry. Because she has no-one despite Harry and he deserves the whole world not just baby keeping Y/N everytime.

"So . .? What's the problem?" She raises her brows looking between them noticing Harry's fingers fiddle with the flower tea mats, "There are complications from Chessie's side." Chessie sighs in disappointment and Y/N ponders over the idea, clocks working and spindling wildly in her mind.

"I could do that for you guys — since I took a semester off --–" She puts the offer nervously and both of their jaws went slack Harry with an adoring grin while Chessie in hitting shock. "--Erm we could go through a traditional surrogacy."

"Are you sure?" Chessie asks squeezing her shoulder and Y/N nodded taking both of their hands, "Anything for ye' guys!" Harry's eyes glossing over and he leaves his spot sprawling his arms calling for her, "Gimme a hug pet. Life saver ye're - we're gonna take care of ye." They group hug tightly and excitedly.

Sometimes actions could speak much more than words because the lies that words hold could ruin the great bondages.

. . .

They went through the medical procedure two days after Her, Harry and Chessie being guided by their acquired doc. She was nervous and sweaty but Harry's presence beside her soothed out any negativity that was building inside her brain. By womb the babies would be Harry's and Y/N but legally Chessie's and Harry. She's just wishing that everything goes alright cause that happiness of them is million worthy to her.

People might call her stupid and brainless for going through sickness, crankiness, back pains and the pain during labour just to give those babies to someone else (she's too afraid to call them her's cause she knows her emotional attachments could be very destructive) but she loves Harry and love makes you do those thingies.

At the moment she's on the toilet seat eyes bolted shut counting threes with the pregnancy test in her wavering fingers. "Please it better work." A squeal of surprise leaves her lungs when her eyes fell over the two positive lines quickly dragging her panties over she tumbled outside where everyone's waiting for her.

"You guys are pregnant!!" Sounds dumb right? She announces loudly. Harry's and Chessie's heads perked up while everyone cheered beers spilling from the rims. She flashed grins to each one of them splitting her gaze away from Harry giving Chessie a celebratory kiss.

"Thank you. Oh my god, love! Can't belive it." Harry held her from shoulders giving her a toothy smile and it puts her off that Chessie didn't say anything just a nod along Harry. "Me too." She breathes out as he leads her to sofa sitting her cautiously. "We'll visit the doctor tommorrow." He reassures popping his head from Sarah's neck as she hugged him tight.

"We're gonna have a little Y/N and Harry running and pooping it's nappies soon." Everyone went silent. A grimace on Y/N and Chessie's face. Niall doesn't know when to shut up does he? Y/N's gonna strangle him alive. Harry laughed out aloud not caring about the thick tension in room, "I'll rip ye'r hair if you'll turn me baby into a golf freak Niall." His baby.

Niall raises his hands in defence, "No guarantees Harold."

. . .

They had a check-up and Y/N indeed's pregnant. Harry's over the moon. Kissing her forehead. Thanking her for millionth time – to the point she told him to let her watch telly in peace and shut up. Chessie bringing her organic vegan dishes that Y/N isn't a fan of but eats nevertheless under Harry's stern gaze. "'S not about them only I want ye' to be healthy too, pet. Can't be selfish now can I?" He'd insist.

When she'd be sick he'd be at her side giving her back rubs while Chessie stood at the doorframe of washroom. Y/N thinks since she's pregnant her womanly instincts has gotten more sharp as she sensed something's off between the pair.

He'd be at her flat early morning waking her up to have a morning walk with him not giving in her grunts and whines. Who'd want to leave their crispy warm bed to just be out in the cold? A fool like Harry only. Making her brekkie afterwards as a reward giggling and massaging her shoulders when she'd gobble down food like a greedy squirrel, "Easy there love. 'S all yours."

Chessie's back at LA. They had a small argument because Harry wants her to be participating in all of this as much as he's. But, her priorities are not set for this. They never were.

Y/N was at Harry's place nibbling onto chocolate cupcakes Anne sent specifically for her with a note ("my grandchild shouldn't be privy to their Nana's bakin' skills all my love to Y/N." along a winky smiley) when she spilled cold milk all over her nooked tee-shirt. Harry gave her his clothes to change into and baby wipes but she warded him with a scoff that water exists. She has become more feisty with each passing day.

Was discarding the tee when her gaze fell over the sveltest of bump in the mirror taking her breath away. It makes her realize it's all real. She never touches her belly in fear if she'd she will never stop. Now, when the pads of her fingers skim alongs the skin it strips shivers down her spine. She always wanted this. Not in this scenario though. Shaking her head of the thoughts she slips Harry's hoodie over it climbing down the stairs and it causes Harry to snap his head in alert. He stops chopping the carrots spinning to see Y/N standing feet away from him.

"My baby bump's showing." Her voice almost a whisper and it widens Harry's pupils as his hands fell in air midway between them hesitant to reach her, "Can I see?" She bobs her head shyly cheeks blazing red while revealing the bump for Harry to see. It's not like he hasn't seen her before. He has. But, this's more intimate than all of that. It made him fall on his knees. He's a sensitive person in general. Pure from heart but during this period it seems like he's pregnant not Y/N which's quite amusing too.

"She's beautiful." His gaze full of adoration. "She?" Y/N furrows her brow with a smile. He bobbed his head with a grin, "Think so our baby's gonna be she." Now that's the problem cause Y/N doesn't know which ours he's talking about.

"My pregnancy instincts says it's he." He scoffs, "Bet!?" She rolls her eyes forwarding her fist to do the hand shake they do while betting, "If you loose your pink macbook gonna be mine." They solid the deal with their traditional shake.

"Can I touch it?" Harry's asks politely. When she gives him permission he spreads his warm palms flat against her tummy tongue tied with the affection boozing in his veins for the baby that's not out in the world yet. Y/N eyes flutters and her fingers twitches by her sides from carding them into his hair. This's wrong she scolds herself. Her hormones all over the place.

"You wanna send a picture to Chessie?" At this his lips thinned and he gave her a curt nod standing up to fetch his phone, "Sure. But she might be busy..." on the verge of spitting his words in vile.

. . .

Y/N was reading a crime mystery book. Stroking the side of her baby bump carelessly. Cosy in her blanket hoodie telly murmuring in the distance. "Your dad's taste in books is shit, innit?" She peers down with a smile. It's the first time she's talking to them. "We'll read loads of good books together so that when you'll grow up – I could know what to gift you on Christmas." She tries to grab more popcorns from the bowl but it's empty. "Wanna be best aunt out there!!"

"Will you miss me? As much as I'll when we'll be separated?" Tears well up at her waterline. She huffs through her nose running her hand down her belly several times. It's coming; the breakdown she was toiling for days. "I know it sucks I cant be your mommy." Her cravings kicking in and all she want's a strawberry oreo icecream.

"Oh no. Seriously? I'm sad and ye' lil bean want an ice? Let's call your daddy and see what he got." She rings him and he picks up on the third one. Voice groggy from the sleep. She wants to feel bad but she isn't when all her taste buds could think of is strawberry flavour.

"'M cravin' strawberry ice-cream bad. . . Is it possible for ya to bring one?" He's already throwing duvets off his body reaching for his phone and wallet, "No worries pet I'll be there in tick."

"What the fuck Harry? It's three in the mornin'." Chessie groaned from beside him throwing pillow at her face. "We already stored her fridge with alot of food — " She squints about to change the side.

"She's carrying a baby for us Chess. Ye should know better since ya didn't wanted to." She sits up like bullet folding her arms against her chest.

"Thank you for throwing it at my face, H." He doesn't even spare her a glance walking outside and Chessie wants to scream at the top of her lungs. Why did she even agreed to this?

. . .

When he bought her ice-cream she throws herself in his arms kissing his cheek and he giggled in return feeling good when her bump pressed against him. They ate ice-cream with a bantering mess discussing names of the babies, the one that Chessie and Harry decided, him telling her about the little onesies they bought hearing that Y/N stood up taking out a little bag from the chests of drawers.

"I hope you wouldn't mind." She mutters showing him the lil knitted gloves and Harry slid his palm above her's wrapping them snugly, "I don't want ye' to think ya can't love on 'em 'cos after all it's ye'r womb they belong too." Her lip wobbles at his words and she stuffs her face against his chest fisting the hem. It fred away butterflies inside Harry. He sucka his lip. He shouldn't be acting like this. He has a girlfriend that he's gonna have a baby with. They're happy or atleast he thinks so.

They've been bestfriend for years and those feelings never drowned him. Is it because now she's having his babies? Maybe? Harry tries to convince himself.

When he looks down Y/N's drooling onto his shirt deep into slumber. He pecks her hair slipping his arms under her to hold her firmly against his chest. Laying her on the bed tucking her under blankets.

. . .

It sounds like multiple thuds as doctor hovered the ultrasound device over her gelled cover belly. Her belly growing way faster than it should. Her gaze glued at the ceiling fingers crossed. Harry and Chessie holding hands tight gazes fixed at the screen both of them confused at the disoriented image. They all were on the edge of their seats waiting for their turns. Y/N wished that someone could give her a huge warm hug to soothe her nerves down. But, in the first place she shouldn't be worried about the gender as it's none of concern but theirs. It's getting hard day by day.

"It's twins!" Doctor announces chirply getting a wave of silence in return. But, soon the room filled with happy giggles and gasps of Harry as he went to hug Chessie who's expressionless from shock. Y/N pouts wishing it was her. Smiling at doctor when she squeezed her hand in consolation. She's frightened though. How could she deliver two babies? To deal with the roughness that comes along them? Gonna be pretty hectic.

"We hit a jackpot, innit?" He grins down at her kissing Chessie's cheek last time before leaning down to hug her. "Gonna be super carin' with ye' now." Y/N gives a pat to his back in return awkwardly eyeing as Chessie left the room hastily.

. . .

It rakes against the wood harshly as Chessie glided keys of Harry's house towards him without a word. He puts the baby guide book aside arching his brow, "I can't do this anymore. I want an out." Dread. Seeping down Harry's bones.

Guarding himself down he grits, "What do ya mean you want an out? We agreed with full consent of yours Chessie." She shakes her head furiously.

"I didn't sign up for two of 'em Harry I could barely be there for one!!" He puts his elbows on his knees head lowering, "But you wanted to have a family with me didn't ye'?" His eyes tearing and she throws her head back in annoyance finding it difficult to make him understand.

"No. No – No. You wanted a family! Because of your continuous protests I gave in. Told you I wasn't ready for all of this bullshit now we are here." She emphasises. Harry stands up from his seat towering her pointing a finger at her.

He's rageous. Could burn this house down. How could she be so mean? Cowarding back at the last moment.

"Don't call it bullshit." He spits full of venom for the woman he mighty love and she snaps her head other way, "Congrats she finally ruined us and couldn't be more happy – now that she's having your mother fuckin' babies." He stumbles back knocking the coffee table lungs congesting.

"Don't drag her in all of this she's innocent." She laughs ironically looking him square in eyes yelling like a maniac, "Gave her your sperms now you can't hold back from fucking her. I knew it. You were fucking her behind my back weren't you?" She thinks of him like that? A cheater? He loved her and she always thought he was cheating her.

"Don't yell. I don't want to see ye'r cruel face when I come back home." He tries not to croak mustering strength to walk away from her. Exposing himslef to freezing weather locking himself in his car and crying his heart out. Sky crying along him. He punches the steering wheel brutally shouting "why's?" Head falling atlast as he thought of all his dreams shattering at his feet.

She caged him instead of giving him shelter. Replaced the butterflies he used to get from her with a burning hell in his pit, should've been mother of his children now she's just an ex.

The excruciating part is how he's gonna tell Y/N about this? She'll be crushed.

. . .

"Oh my god . . ." It was the roar of thunder that startled her but something else took her attention away. That tinsy kick protruding the taught skin of her belly, ". . . which one of you?" She was extra happy today. It's swimming in her head. It's just a thought but sharing it with Harry wouldn't kill someone. She wanna ask him if she could've one of the babies. It's just she's too much into the moment that she forgot she still have a degree to complete. A career to pursue and a life she always wanted.

When there's a knock at door she tries to stand up with the support of armrest a hand on her back. A gasp falling from her mouth at the sight of Harry's clothes soaked and another when he looks up with bloodshot eyes. Tears dried cheeks and heaving chest seeming utterly devastated.

"Pet what happened!?" She grabs him from elbow pulling him inside and he falls onto his knees smashing his cheeks against her showing tummy -- a sob recking through him, "Harry you're scarin' me. Tell me what happened is everything okay?"

"Chessie don't want these babies - sh-she didn't wanna ruin her career but atlast agreed . . . n-n now she doesn't want 'em 'n wants an out." He stutters. White noise deafening Y/N's ears and she steps back with expressions as if she's scared. Horrified of the future.

"It means she never had complications? She just didn't wanted her body to go through all of this." When Harry didn't fill in to her inquiry she flopped onto sofa from the shock shoving her face into her palms giving out a cry of hurt at her stupidity.

"God. I'm such an idiot!" He shakes his head crawling towards her with sad eyes and lil hiccups, "No please don'tcha say that. We'll figure it out yeah? Never wanted this t'happen." God. How bad he wants her to assure him that it'll be alright.

"You'll figure out what, huh!? Leaving them just like she did!?" Swear Harry felt a dagger jabbing it's way into his heart more upsetting tears spilling down his throat. "I hate you guys. They're none of your babies from now on. . ."

"Leave." She orders him wiping her tears roughly with the sleeve of her jumper. Running out of breath with each sniffle. Raises her hand stopping him to step forward and protest, "I said leave before I make you!!" He nods inhaling breath of remorse looking at the ceiling for a second then to her.

"Before, that want ya t'know. I still want 'em. They're mine. How could I not? love 'em. Hope ya'll forgive me." Then it's just sobs of Y/N taking over the buzz of telly as the door ticks. He didn't leave though. He's too afraid to. His back sliding against her door knees closing against his chest letting it all dawn upon him. His green luscious orbs hooding with sadness and the fluff of his curls.

Dunno if Y/N would be able to forgive him.

. . .

He woke up to a boot nudging to his thigh squinting up to find Niall stating down at him with consoling eyes. Poor Harry slept in the hallway. His neck sore and limbs stoned.

"Heard it 'lad. Was suspicious with Chessie long way." He helps Harry stand up patting his shoulders, "Y/N called ye'?" He grogs rubbing his eye with knuckles. When Niall confirms he quips with pleading eyes in a low whisper knowing he'll get his hair ripped if that furious little mama bunny will find him outside.

"Ye' think she'll forgive meh?" Niall chuckles to light up the situation, "'course H. Do ya think our pet's that ruthel—" He bites his tongue. Harry's gaze following the snap of his neck when the door opened revealing Y/N in a lilac chunky sweater. Puffy eyes and swollen lips. Harry feeling like a dickhead at her condition. It's all his fault. Then their eyes fall at the piping hot cuppa of tea in her hand.

With a stoic face she hands it to Harry and pulls Niall inside slamming the door at curly boy's face. So, she knew he was there sharing a door with her the whole night.

. . .

"Isn't it a good thing thou, love?" Niall smiles. He's chill in all of this. Watching it unwrap. They were meant for eachother Niall thinks so, "You wanted one of 'em and ended up havin' a whole bean can." She groans throwing her peach plushie at his chest. A smile swirming up her lips at his silly statement now that she's more stable less sad.

"You're the absolute worst, Ni!" He holds her cold hands tugging her close to make her look, "Want ya to forgive H. He did nothin' wrong, pet." When she pouts ruffling the silk strands of her rug with her feet he grabs her chin.

"Remember how happy he was? Don't go mad on him yeah?" She bobs her head not meeting his gaze. Meanwhile, there's knock at the door and Niall takes it laughing to himself softly at the box of doughnuts with a note.

"What is it?" He's already flopping beside her hooking his nimble finger around the white doughnut with rainbow sprinkles, "If I'd have known pregnant ladies gets treated this way. Would be havin' one baby every year." She smacks him in belly and unlatches the note reading it with a sucked lip.

Ye'r antenatal class's tommorrow. Don't forget to take ye vitamins :)

How gentle, calm and optimistic Harry could be needles her some.

. . .

Harry's waiting for her in the car fiddling with the radio. He isn't gonna lie. He's been going through a heartbreak. To cope with it he wants to accompany Y/N in her parent craft classes. When she waddles towards his car cosied up in a yellow baggy sweater and a cardigan Harry remembers she stole from him ages ago he mighty scrunched his nose in adoration at her cuteness.

Her nose pink and cheeks flushing as she slips into her seat, "Can you stop bringin' me stuff. I know how to take care of myself." She nips at him when he forwards her a kale smoothie. He doesn't seem to mind. Both, of them knows very well she's trying to avoid drinking it. She finds it yucky!

"Wanna take care of ya'll is all." He mumbles putting it in her side's cup holder. Ya'll .She regrets it instantly. Damn his puppy eyes!

. . .

"Mr. Styles and . . . Miss Y/N." The instructor calls them and they both raises their hand awkwardly as if in elementary school. "You're the parents of twin right?" She asks. Y/N wanted to say that their supposed to be parent ran off from the fear. But, she couldn't. Could never. It'll be like rubbing salt to his wounds. Bestfriends don't do that shit even in their most anger.

"Yes." She confirms. When Harry didn't. Scared if he might say something wrong. "Ok then! Lay your mats n' have a seat." Harry guides her with the little of his hand on her back. Her shoulder nudging his taut chest, and goosebumps pimples at her skin when his fingers brushes the side of her belly as he helps her sit down.

She takes an all rounder of the room and none of the parents looks like they're here to prepare for war unlike them. She shyly waves at the two mothers beside her and Harry twinges his lip equally flustered as her.

They start with relaxation and breathing exercises. Telling Y/N to let herself loose in Harry's arms. She fumbles with the hem of her sweater when his fingers gingerly winked at her sides and the lull of his breath hit her earlobe.

"Like a train engine whistling -- it's annoying." She mutters rolling her eyes and turning back to listen to instructor. "Now, I can't even breath without ye' comin' fo' me throat?" He grits with a kink of brows and when she confirms with a no --- He gasps dramatically. He hates her hormones little bitches.

It's gonna be a long journey of Hell for them.

. . .

"Are you hungry?" He asks turning the heat on knowing how cold her feet could get in the span of seconds. She huffs trying to buckle her belt and it squirms a fond smile out of him at her cute effort to be put in place due to her bump. If he'd coo. She'd rip him into tiny bits. It's better if he gazes away.

"Does it mean emptying your pocket?" She arches her brow sinking into her seat. "Bitso. . " He chuckles softly drumming at the steering wheel.

"Then I'd love to." She adds with a smirk. Clasping her hands atop her heart outta excitement. It makes him shake his poof of hickorey curls at her silliness.

They end up taking a takeout of onion loaded cheese burgers. Greasy fries. An iced-tea and a box of cookies from Babara's shop a block away from Harry's house.

"Wanna choose fo' ye'rself?" He asked her before going inside and she denied with a worried expression. Not knowing how she'll explain all of this to Babara who's her one of the good friends from UNI. Harry respects that. If she isn't ready to talk about it he isn't gonna pressurize her. They've been dodging the serious talk since she let him take to parental classes. Knows one day or another they've to decide how it's all gonna work.

. . .

Good food can make you more high than actual drugs. Licking their fingers off now they feel all sleepy and lazy sitting on the comfortable sofa watching telly with hooded eyes.

Harry's cheek smushed adorably against her baby bump ears tuned into what his babies are talking about.

"You know what? 'S not about winners or loosers. Bu' I won." She bubble hiccups slumping deeper with sugar rush hitting her. "Huh? Harry mumbles eyes drooping. The cotton balls of snowflakes glittering outside, collecting at the window and foging them up.

"I get to have babies of my bestfriend and this nice foodddd — 'n what did Chessie got? No babies and no happy feeling of being their mother." Harry shots up from his snooze blinking up at her and she quickly takes it back regret eating her alive, "'m sorry it slipped."

"No!!" He almost shouts cupping her cheeks making her look at him. His dimples deeps that someone could scoop them like an ice-cream. He gives her an eskimo kiss that makes her veins run with glittery blood.

"I wan' ye' to be the mother of me babies." No hesitation. No dithering. Just him asking for the tinsy bit of her heart. For her forgiveness. For the love they've kept blind eye for years. "We'll figure this out, yeah?" He murmurs their lips brushing and breaths kissing. Pulling back with a forehead kiss.

She lives for forehead kisses makes her shallow tin heart explode with glittery firecrackers.

She nods to give him the affirmation that she wants what he wants.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

Little Bones 1

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: So, I’ve made some positive changes in my life. I am working away at original work, I’m drinking more water, I’m taking my dog on big walks and being more active, and I’m doing my best. So, I was struck with an old yearning to return to Birch. I’ll be updating here and there as I feel and won’t be pushing myself like I did before because I realise how unhealthy and stressful it was on me.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: It gets so sticky down here

A city girl in a small town. What could be sadder than that?

In the city, life went fast. In a place like Birch, the days dragged by as if to remind you of how helpless you were beneath the unyielding and inevitable tick of the clock. The hand wound around and around as you waited for what would never happen. The dreams of your childhood eroded beneath the rolling years leaving trail of crumbs you could not follow back to the beginning.

A woman just beyond her prime trapped in an antiquated career. The empty aisles between the shelves full of books bespoke of a bygone era. The forgotten library at the far end of the main street rarely saw a new face and those familiar were fewer by the day. The staff had thinned to three of you; Melissa was older than you with a daughter nearly your age and Colin was close to retirement if not well past.

You got on well enough, as well as you could given Colin’s faulty hearing aid, and Melissa’s wandering mind. They meant well but they shared the lethargy of the old small town.

You weren’t nostalgic for the smog or the flashing lights of the city, but there was no life to this place. Only the impending reach of death rattling closer in the roar of the motorcycles and the rumble of the old railroad that ran through the middle of town.

The air nipped at your cheeks as you approached the library. A morning of yawning had you craving a latte from the bakery and the quiet girl behind the counter cheerfully steamed the foam before handing it over. Everyone in this town was familiar, everyone knew everyone else, and yet, you still felt like an outsider.

You felt the heat of the cup through your glove and you looked up as you sensed two figures by one of the thick columns of the library façade. Melissa stood chatting with her daughter, hugging her sweater around her as she’d left her coat inside. You peeked up at the grey sky as snow threatened at any moment with the mid-November bite.

As you thought to pass them and leave their conversation uninterrupted, your name drew you back.

“I was just telling my daughter,” Mel began as she waved you over with a chatter of her teeth. “About that podcast you mentioned. She loves those old Hollywood stars.”

“Oh,” you blew the steam away from the lid of your drink as you neared, “It’s alright. The stories are worth the narrator’s schtick.”

“Yeah? I’ve been closing at the bar and I like to listen to something once it clears out.” Mel’s daughter said. “You wouldn’t mind giving me the name?”

You told her the title of the podcast and helped her find it on Spotify to follow for later. Mel shivered and stood closer to her daughter who was bundled up against the onslaught of Birch’s blustering winter. You knew about her too.

She was friendly but you saw in her a cynicism more common to city folk. You got along but you were weary of her associations. The local club of crass bikers were neither subtle nor savoury. In the city, it was easy enough to ignore the patch and all that came along with it. The seedy figures were distilled by the broader population but not in Birch. There, the club was the town.

“Mom, you can’t stay out here.” She poked her mother’s arm. “It’s too cold.”

“Little better in the library.” You grumbled and sipped your latte. “The radiator’s broken again.”

“You mean Colin broke it trying to fix what wasn’t broken,” Melissa shook her head, “and I’m fine, dear. I’ve spent more than fifty winters in Birch and been through worse than this.”

“Yes, but you were younger then--” Her voice dwindled as she turned her head to listen to the distant roar of exhaust.

You followed her gaze and noted the way her forehead creased at the noise. She swallowed and turned to watch as a dark rider turned onto the main road from the highway. It was the man who kept her entwined with the club, the one who marked her latent authority over all others. The only one who outranked her.

She swore and looked over her shoulder at her mother. Her mother touched her arm. It was a telling and surprising moment. Her expression read of all the disgust you felt for the bikers.

At least a dozen bikes followed the first and Bucky raised his glove hand to signal the others to slow as he pulled up to the curb just before the library steps. You backed away as his breath clouded around him and he waved Mel’s daughter closer. He craned to kiss her as she bent, her fingers picking at her jeans as she did, then he nodded his greeting to Mel.

“What are you doing?” He asked tersely.

“Can’t I see my mother?” The daughter challenged and the biker scoffed.

“Of course,” he killed his engine and the others mimicked him in fine order. “I wouldn’t keep ya from her but you didn’t tell me you were going downtown.”

“You were gone.”

You listened to the conversation as you stayed close to the column, thinking of sneaking up the steps into the library before you heard too much. Your curiosity had you searching the crowd of leather jackets as their wearers tried to conceal their impatience with their boss’ impromptu halt.

Among them, a large man sat casually in his seat, his feet planted on the cold pavement as he rolled slightly back and forth. Strands of his thick blond hair were drawn back beneath his helmet into a thick braid as the rest hung around his shoulders. His patch was different from the rest, an old Norse symbol you didn’t know the meaning of. There were several others who wore the same cut, including a dark-haired woman who chatted with another golden-haired rider.

You tasted your latte again, it cooled quickly as the cold air battered the cardboard. As you sipped and sidled around the column, your eyes were caught by another pair. The very man you’d just been watching was now focused on you. You stopped, hoping like some frightened animal that your stillness would ward off his attention.

“Barnes,” the broad blonde man spoke as he finally looked away. “You’ve not even introduced me to your woman. I assume that’s why we’ve stopped.”

Bucky shifted on his bike and sighed. You hadn’t expected the man to have an accent. His voice was deep but the subtle lilt defined his tone as unforgettable. The dark-haired biker of Birch rolled his eyes before he pointed to his girl and gave her name, then to Melissa as he explained their relation.

You sidestepped around the column to the stairs of the library and turned away. You were stopped again by the same voice.

“And that one? The quiet one?”

You spun back slowly and looked at each biker, many unconcerned with conversation, as a few stared back at you or at the viking-like rider. Bucky shook his head and furrowed his brow at Melissa’s daughter. She hesitated before she gave your name coolly referred to you as just another librarian. She was trying to deflect the focus and you were thankful for it. You wondered at her own blatant spite for that breed of man.

“No one important,” Bucky grabbed his keys. “Come on, honey. I’ll give you a ride back.”

“I can walk.”

“Get on.” He said gruffly and turned the keys.

The motorcycles thrummed back to life in a cacophony. You flinched and turned back to the library doors. Your lunch was almost over as it was and the cold was starting to make your head hurt. You heard the bikes tear off as you reached the door and you turned back to watch as Melissa ran up after you.

You held the door for her and paused as you watched riders tear away. The blonde remained and watched you with a smirk. He winked as he slowly rolled after the others and pushed off. You followed Melissa inside and pulled the door shut tightly behind you.

“I’ll finish the returns,” you slipped past her, “you should try to warm up.”

“Thanks, dear,” she rubbed her hands together as she neared the curve desk you all shared, “God, that man makes my skin crawl.”

“But your daughter--”

“She handles him as well as she can,” Melissa sat and logged onto her boxy PC, “she’s stronger than me, that’s for sure.”

You sat and chewed on the thought. You just assumed her daughter leaped at the opportunity to date the most powerful man in town. What else could a girl from Birch hope for?

“She doesn’t…”

“He keeps her safe, I guess,” Melissa muttered, “I don’t say nothing against it. I won’t, for her sake as much as mine.”

You lowered your lashes and turned to the stack of unscanned books. You took the first and opened the cover.

“I didn’t mean to-- I don’t really know anything about the… bikers.”

“Hope you never do, dear,” she said listlessly. “Those men, if you can call them that, are the lowest form of humanity.”

💀

You always took the same route home. It wasn’t very far. You lived in the studio apartment above Tammy’s, the clothes shop where all the local seniors got their outdated outfits. The store itself smelled like a retirement home but you were not often disturbed by the activity below. Like everything in Birch, it wasn’t very exciting.

Your walk took you past the diner and along the stretch across the street from the town’s sentinel, The Asp. The bar was the only place in town which always seemed to be bursting with life. You had an old Chevrolet parked behind the building but you never drove to work, only on your odd trip to the city to get away from the suffocation malaise of main street.

That day as you fumbled to get your earbud back in, you heard a whistle. You got a few comments now and again about your habit of blocking out the townsfolk and the town itself with your music. In the city, you didn’t just say hi to every person you walked by and you had little inclination to change that habit.

You kept going and the whistle came louder. You heard boots hammer across the street and you stopped as the earbud once more fell out of your ear.

“Eh, kitten,” you turned to the long-haired biker. A golden hammer hung from a chain and peaked out from the open collar of his jacket. He tucked his hands in his pockets as you faced him with blatant irritation. “We didn’t get to meet properly, did we?”

You stared at him and let out a foggy breath. You leaned on your left heel and shook your head with a scoff.

“No.” You said and turned back along your path.

“No?” He repeated and his footsteps followed closely. “I’m only being friendly, kitten. I’m not from around here and I’m just tryn’ ta make a few friends.”

“I’m not interested,” you march onward and stop short.

You realised if you went any further, you’d lead him straight to your door. You didn’t need him knowing where you lived. You veered off and crossed the street, he stayed close just like your shadow. You’d stop by the liquor store and wait him out there.

“Where are you going, kitten?”

“Can’t you take a hint?” You nearly tangled your own legs as you pivoted sharply. “I’m sorry for your luck that you’ve ended up in Birch but I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you.” You grasped the handle of the liquor store door. “Oh, and my name isn’t kitten.”

“I know your name. I remember it.” He grinned and you swung open the door. He caught it behind you and you let out a frustrated sigh as he trailed you inside. “It’s almost as gorgeous as you.”

“Do those work on the women where you’re from?”

You stared at the shelf of fruit wines and tried to ignore him. You were starting to build a real thirst for the bottles.

“I don’t meet a lot of women like you, kitten.”

“Would you stop it--” You blinked and stomped further down the aisle.

“Thor. My name’s Thor.” He offered gallantly. “But you can call me whatever you wish.”

“I could think of a few things.” You bent down to read the label of a wine from the Maritimes.

“Mmm, my thoughts run wild, kitten.” He purred and you looked up at him in confusion.

You swiped the bottle from the shelf and stood straight. His eyes clung to your ass and as you turned, they swiftly found your chest. Neither were well-hidden by your jacket, even as thick as it was. Your weight often deterred the whistles and the leers, but not this time.

“How many ways can I tell you to go away?” You hissed and move to step around him. He turned and watched you pass. He shivered as you brushed against him unwillingly in the narrow aisle.

“So, you got a man?” He questioned as again he tailed you to the counter. You grabbed a small bottle of Vodka from the rack beside it and dug out your wallet.

“Does it matter?”

He bent and leaned on the counter beside you and you ignored his attempt to look you in the face. You paid and took your change as the clerk bagged your purchase.

“To me, everything about you matters, kitten.”

You shot him a sharp look and took your paper bag. You hugged it close and glared at him as he straightened. “Stop calling me that.”

“Here,” he gripped the top of the bag, “I’ll help.”

“I’ll smash this bottle over your head,” you threatened. “Now I’ve told you to leave me alone.”

He chuckled and dipped his head. His hair slid down the leather and he scratched his thick beard.

“Don’t worry, kitten, I like to play.”

He looked at you again, his blue eyes twinkling. You were startled as suddenly he ‘woofed’’ at you. You backed away and he kept close as is to chase you, ready to salivate like the dog he mimicked.

“Get away!” You shouted and raced for the door.

His barks turned to laughter and the bell announced your stagger out onto the street. You didn’t look back as you charged across the street and narrowly missed being mowed down by Linda Karling. You reached the other side as you heard the liquor store door clatter a second time. You sensed his shadow as you turned down a side street.

You walked until you were certain he wasn’t following. The cold blew up your jacket as you mapped out your way back. You could sneak around the back of the clothes shop and sneak up the metal escape. You peered back and forth, the old house just at the town limits nearly faded into the dimming sky and main street shrouded by brick walls.

“Hey,” a small voice surprised you as a woman neared, walking the same route as you. “Whatcha doing all the way up here?”

You stared at her dumbly. It was the woman who worked at the bakery. She hung out with the club too.

“Nothing, I…” You grabbed your earbuds and put them back in your ears. “I was listening to my music and got carried away.”

“Oh?” she chittered like a mouse. “No one comes this way. Only me to see my ma.”

You nodded at her and gave an awkward smile. “Mmhmm. Well, thanks. I probably would’ve wandered right out of town.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said forlornly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“For your latte. And you always get the banana loaf when it’s on special and tomorrow’s Tuesday.”

You sniffed and rubbed your neck. You hated that. You hated that everyone knew you, that everyone knew what you did, and that they assumed they knew everything else. But she was sweet and you couldn’t hate her for never being freed from the prison of Birch.

“Oh yeah,” you squeezed the paper bag so it crinkled and pulled out your phone with your free hand, “tomorrow.”

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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The Kind of Girl You Take Home to Mom | Andy Barber x reader (part 1)

summary: Jacob was finally taking his college girlfriend home to meet his family. how was she, a sheltered Harvard girl, supposed to know not to trust the famous, respected lawyer who just so happened to be his father?

word count: 3.5k

warnings: smut (dub con??), age gap, infidelity, fingering, dirty talk, a lil choking, wedding ring kink, lots of awkward conversations lmao

@donutloverxo @evnscvll @ballyhoobarnes

“They’re gonna love you,” Jacob beamed at you as you buckled into the passenger seat.

“I dunno, Jake, I’m not usually a parent’s favorite…” you mumbled nervously, adjusting to be comfortable for the drive. It wasn’t that long of a trip— just from your dorm at Harvard to the southern suburbs of Boston; your discomfort was a lot more psychosomatic, in fact. Isn’t it normal to be afraid to meet your boyfriend’s parents?

“Well, my parents are pretty chill,” he assured you. “Besides, what’s not to like?”

You still felt a little dizzy as you tried to prepare yourself for a weekend with them. You’d hoped Jacob would just have you guys meet at lunch or something but nope, he insisted that you come with him the next time he visited over a three-day weekend and you’d agreed cause you didn’t know how to say no. Now here you were, practicing ‘Hi, it’s so nice to meet you!’ in your head as if you were going to forget how to speak English in the next fifteen minutes.

Honestly, with how nervous you were, it was plausible.

The sun through the trees cast flashing light and shadows through your window as you watched the scenery roll by. Something by Bon Iver was playing through the car speakers, but the mumbled lyrics were lost to your distracted mind. You’d heard a decent amount about his parents through him— his dad was apparently quite the bigshot lawyer— but you had no idea how much they knew about you. You hoped he talked about you a lot but you also sort of hoped he didn’t, so that you’d have a clean slate to start with.

“Your destination is on the left,” Google Maps informed you both.

“There it is,” Jacob smiled as he lifted a hand from the wheel to point to the house. It was nice, really nice, and a little tinge of jealousy hit you.

You took a deep breath and gave him a weak smile as you prepared to meet Mr. and Mrs. Barber.

You went through the motions of every great introduction to people who need to like you. So nice to meet you, I’ve heard great things, you have a lovely home, all that good stuff. Laurie, his mom, was bubbly and kind, and insisted you not call her Mrs. Barber because it made her feel old, apparently; Mr. Barber was a little more stern but still seemed warm enough.

After some basic hand-shaking and introductions, Laurie had explained that she was making dinner. You offered to help but she insisted that you wouldn’t lift a finger while staying in her home. That sure did sound nice, though you felt guilty.

So, while Jacob unpacked your and his stuff in the guest bedroom, and while Laurie was cooking, you and Mr. Barber were stuck together in the living room.

“We’ve been hearing a lot about you,” he informed you.

“Oh, r-really?” you stammered. “Only good things, I hope.”

“Only great things,” he assured.

You nodded, not sure what to say but realizing the conversation was going to peter out quickly…

“You can relax,” he encouraged with a smile, “we’re not giving you the third-degree or anything.”

You let out a little laugh of relief, trying to keep from looking too rigid. “I’m sorry,” you sighed, “I just really want to make a good impression.”

“You already have,” he assured you. “You’re a natural.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you laughed nervously, “I’ve never met anybody’s parents before. I mean, of course I’ve met people’s parents, just not a boyfriend’s or anything— that’s not usually my sort of thing…”

His eyes went a little wide, and you mirrored it as you realized the implication. “Oh, I don’t mean— it��s not like I only do hook-ups or something, I don’t do that, I just meant I’ve never really had a serious relationship before—” oh god, is that a bad thing to say? Does it make me seem like I’m too immature for Jacob; or does he not think we’re serious? “I mean, it’s not like we’re serious serious, it’s not— we haven’t really— we’re not thinking that far ahead, we’re young and all that…” God, even Jacob and I haven’t had this conversation, why am I having it with his father?!

“Well, whatever it is that you two are, he seems to care for you greatly.”

“That’s… good to hear,” you sighed, hoping you could just keep your mouth shut for a few minutes. Awkward silence was leagues better than this.

“The weather’s great so I thought we could sit outside for dinner!” Laurie suggested.

“Sounds lovely, honey,” Mr. Barber nodded, jumping off of the couch at any excuse to get out of this conversation. You resisted the urge to hide your face in your hands.

Their patio was spacious and covered in meticulously-gardened plants, with a glass table that had already been set with four place settings. You helped carry out some of the food and took your seat in the wrought iron chair.

“Do you want any wine, sweetie?” Laurie offered as she turned towards you, bottle in hand.

“Oh, I’m not twenty-one yet,” you explained quickly.

“Well, yeah,” Laurie raised an eyebrow, “but we’re not so sheltered, we know what college kids get up to— just a glass won’t hurt.”

“You’re kind to offer,” you relented, “but I don’t drink.”

“Really?” Laurie questioned, looking a little incredulous.

“Really,” Jacob butted in. He laughed when his mother gave him a look of surprise. “Yeah, I know, she’s like, the one person at Harvard who’s sober.”

“Finally, a little respect for the law in this house,” Mr. Barber added as he stepped out onto the patio.

“You want a glass, honey?” she asked him, seeming to ignore his apparent distaste for her offering alcohol to you.

“Sure,” he nodded, taking a seat.

“So,” Mr. Barber addressed you as he sat down, “what are you majoring in?”

“English,” you answered with a nervous smile.

“And what do you wanna do with that?”

“Whatever lets me read as much as majoring in it allows me to,” you chuckled.

“Do you think you’ll go to graduate school, get a Master’s?” he pressed.

“Actually,” Jacob interjected, “she’s thinking of going for a doctorate.”

Mr. Barber turned back to you with an impressed expression. “Wow! Smart girl.”

Something about him calling you ‘girl’ made you feel yourself blush slightly, and shift in your seat. Or maybe it was the praise. Still, for some reason it coming from him felt wrong but wonderful at the same time. “Um, I suppose so…”

It continued on like that for a while; he and Laurie asked you questions, you and Jacob told a few stories. Mr. Barber managed to get you to open up a little and not be so worried about him judging you or assessing you all the time. But then again, you’d heard he was a bigshot lawyer so he probably knew how to get people comfortable and talking so he could go in for the kill.

Sometimes you caught him looking at you like he was about to go in for that kill at any moment.

“Do you think it went okay?” you asked with faux nonchalance as you slipped into bed, watching Jacob brush his teeth in front of the mirror.

“Okay? I fink it went greaf!” he responded, the toothbrush in his mouth making his words difficult to parse.

You laughed a little at his silliness, though you were glad to hear he thought it was a successful day.

“And they don’t mind us sharing a bed?”

Jacob snorted with a quick laugh before spitting out his toothpaste into the sink. “They’re not conservative like that,” he dismissed with a shake of his head. “I mean, we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, it’s normal for us to share a bed.”

You nodded because it was true, but you also found yourself twisting a piece of your hair between three fingers; you wondered if his parents assumed that you two did everything that was normal for boyfriends and girlfriends to do… and, as always, you wondered if Jacob was growing impatient with you in that regard. He always said that he didn’t mind and was going to wait as long as you needed, but it was still hard to believe. Sometimes you just wished he would break up with you so that he wouldn’t have to deal with celibacy and you wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt.

“You ready for bed?” he prompted, tearing you from your train of thought as he sat down on the other side of the bed.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you agreed with a nod, laying down completely and plugging in your phone.

Jacob switched off his bedside lamp, and you were ready to fall asleep, but he quickly pulled you into him.

Oh, yes, cuddling. This was normal, this was expected; you should feel relaxed right now, and not nervous and confused. You tried to force yourself to, but it didn’t really work.

He hummed contentedly, kissing behind your ear. “Goodnight, honeybun.”

Another girl would love this kind of attention. Any girl should. You smiled, but it was fake. “Goodnight, Jake,” you replied quietly. You really did like him, you never doubted that. But as he drifted to sleep beside you and you took in the surroundings of Jacob’s old room— renovated and updated, but still feeling like the graveyard of a childhood— you couldn’t help but question why you were here at all when you knew, deep down, that this relationship was missing something that couldn’t be found.

You woke up for no particularly good reason in the middle of the night, a habit of yours. Squinting as you lifted up and unlocked your phone, you read the clock: 2:16 a.m.

You sighed and realized that you weren’t going to be able to get back to sleep, at least for a while.

Peeling Jacob’s limp arm off of you and slipping out from underneath the comforter, you tiptoed out of the bedroom and shut the door behind you.

The streetlights cast faint yellow light into the kitchen, enough that you could see somewhat; enough that you didn’t stub your toe, thankfully.

You did your best to open the refrigerator quietly as you searched for a snack. I could make a sandwich but that’s a bit too much food. There’s so much weird diet food in here, is that Mr. or Mrs. Barber’s? A glass of juice probably isn’t enough. Yogurt? Hmm, maybe…

“Burning the midnight oil?” the deep and smooth voice of Mr. Barber came from behind you.

You jumped a little as you spun around, finding him standing in the entryway to the kitchen, wearing pajamas and a smug little smile. You let go of the door and it slowly closed itself; Mr. Barber turned on a dim light and you were able to see him a little better.

“I think we’re a little bit past midnight, sir,” you chuckled softly.

He seemed slightly uncomfortable with the title, shifting awkwardly and clearing his throat.

“Did I wake you up?” you asked, concerned.

“No, no, not at all,” he shook his head. “I haven’t been sleeping so well recently. A finger of scotch usually helps…”

For some reason, him telling you this felt too intimate. You cleared your throat nervously as he poured the aforementioned drink into a crystal glass.

“You really don’t drink?” Andy asked you suddenly, and you laughed a little.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard for you guys to believe!” you replied.

“No, no, I believe you…” he trailed off. “I guess I’m just surprised because Jacob seems really into the party scene. You two seem sort of opposite in a lot of ways.”

“Yeah, we are,” you admitted. “I think it works for us.”

“You keep him honest?”

“I keep him from failing out,” you scoffed, though as soon as you’d said it, you instantly regretted your brutal honesty.

“Ah, I get it,” Andy smirked. “He’s partying while you’re back in the dorm studying enough for the both of you.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he instructed, a little more stern than you anticipated. “With what I do for a living, I’ve learned to spot a lie from a mile away.”

You swallowed, thinking this was getting a bit out of hand already. “Well, I ought to get back to bed,” you realized, “and… so should you.”

As you stood up and started to walk past him, he suddenly reached out and grabbed your arm, stopping you.

“Mr. Barber, I—”

“Call me Andy,” he encouraged, stepping closer until you were pressed against the wall and he was pressed against you, finally releasing your arm but leaving you just as trapped. This close up, your height difference was staggering.

“O-okay, Andy, I don’t—”

“Has he fucked you yet?”

The question made your eyes shoot wide open and your stomach burn with embarrassment. How could he ask you something like that? But he seemed cool and collected, staring down at you as he took the last sip of his scotch and set the glass aside.

“I think as his father, I have a right to know,” he added firmly.

“I… we don’t… he and I aren’t…”

“So, no?”

You nodded quickly.

“Well, why not? Is there something wrong with him?”

No, there’s nothing wrong with him at all, and I hate that about him because I should love him but I don’t. “N-no!”

He looked you up and down quickly before responding. “I can’t imagine how he keeps his hands off you…”

You knew you shouldn’t be enjoying this kind of attention, especially from your boyfriend’s father, but something about his gaze made shivers erupt in its wake. You looked away and forced yourself to remember everything great about Jacob.

“He’s been very patient with me,” you explained shakily. “He knows I’m not ready.”

“Not ready?”

“To be with someone… that way…”

You shivered when his fingers began to toy with the hem of your nightgown. “This is nice,” he complimented softly.

“Um, thank you…”

“You’re a very beautiful girl,” he informed you, leaning in a little closer.

“I—” you began, but he was already about to kiss you. You almost melted into it, you almost let your eyes flutter shut as you tilted your head; thankfully, you stopped yourself at the last second, pushing your hands against his chest. He was strong enough that your protest would’ve been useless if he hadn’t chosen to stop in the moment.

“Andy, your wife…” you explained weakly.

“She hasn’t touched me in years,” he grimaced. “She just wants my money, and the appearance of the perfect family. You have no idea what it’s like to lie next to someone every night and still be completely alone.”

For a split second, Jacob flashed in your mind and you wondered if you did have an idea.

“I’m… sorry to hear that…” you mumbled. “But I can’t— you can’t—”

He lifted your chin with one finger, and you looked up at him with wide doe eyes. “Is he treating you right, sweetheart? Is he everything you deserve? Don’t lie to me…”

“He’s…” you whispered shakily, unsure how to respond, “he’s great.”

Andy chuckled incredulously, seemingly not believing your answer. “Listen, he’s my son; I love him, obviously. But I know his flaws better than anyone. And even though I like to think he’s smarter than a lot of boys his age, they’re all the same when it comes to one thing: girls.”

“I think he’s pretty smart in that regard,” you defended.

“If he was smart, he would be taking you to nice places, buying you nice things, treating you right. If he was smart, he would’ve fucked you already. If he was smart,” he smirked a little, “he wouldn’t have left you alone with me.”

His hand slipped under the bottom of your nightgown, grabbing your thigh.

“Andy!” you yelped, but he lifted a finger to his mouth with a soft shushing noise.

“Don’t wanna wake anybody, now do you?”

I kinda do though… you thought to yourself.

His fingers travelled higher and higher, nearly brushing against the edge of your panties; you shivered, wondering if you should stop him, and if so, how.

Your hands were still resting on his chest from when you’d tried to push him away, but instead of fighting back all they did was clench and pull at the soft cotton of his t-shirt as his pointer finger hooked into your underwear and pulled them down.

The thick, calloused pad of his finger swiped through your folds, and you bit your lip. Something about it being the middle of the night, about the forbidden nature of it all, about the way his gaze burned right through you made your entire body so sensitive. He found your clit instantly, and barely had to touch it to get you bucking your hips into his touch; you only somewhat managed to suppress your gasp.

He leaned in to kiss you again, but this time it actually came to fruition and his lips were soft but determined against your own. You reciprocated eagerly, eliciting a little smile from him as you both realized how bad you wanted this even when you shouldn’t. The moment his tongue slipped into your mouth was also the moment his middle finger slid into your tight and pulsing channel. You moaned with surprise and it mixed with his own soft groans while your tongues intermingled.

A second finger joined his first, stretching your walls and making you nearly bite down on his lip in your mouth. He smiled and twisted them within you, pushing right against a spot that made your knees weak, while his thumb stretched out to keep circling around your clit.

He broke the kiss to watch your face, admiring the way your brows furrowed together, and your eyes fluttered shut, and your swollen lip caught between your teeth. Your head fell back against the wall, the effort of supporting it suddenly seeming too much, and it caused you to look up at him and make some awkward yet sensual eye contact.

“Has he ever made you come like this?” he whispered, jealousy apparent in his tone. You shook your head ‘no.’ “Has anyone ever made you come like this?” You shook your head again. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Including yourself?”

You nodded and he laughed a little, stooping down to kiss your neck. “Always such a good girl, huh?”

His tone shifted as realization crossed over his face. “Baby… am I the first thing that’s ever been inside you?”

You bit your lip, feeling a bit embarrassed, and nodded again.

He groaned and pressed his hips forward into your hip; the hard shape of his cock against you made you gasp. “Feel what you do to me?” he smirked. “God, you’re too fuckin’ perfect…”

“A-Andy, ‘m close,” you whimpered

“Come on my fingers, sweet girl,” he encouraged. “I wanna see how pretty you look when you let go.”

It felt like a wave of sensation was about to crash over you, faster than you knew how to handle it. You reached down and tried to push him away by the forearm, an instinctive way to run from the intensity of the feeling as it started to make your eyes roll back and your toes go numb. But he was too strong; your fighting was useless as his fingers kept fucking into you and pressing against your constricting walls.

“No, baby, you can take it,” he hissed. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

Just as you were sure you were about to scream, his other hand clapped over your mouth. You could feel the hard shape of his wedding ring against your lips and just as guilt hit you, so did your orgasm. Your knees went weak; you would’ve fallen if it weren’t for the hand inside you all but holding you up.

Your moans were muffled into his calloused palm as pleasure rippled through you. You felt your channel grip his fingers at the same time as a gush of arousal coated his hand and even began to drip down to his arm.

Your breathing slowly stabilized, and Andy trusted you enough to finally take his hand away. He pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips, licking them with a smirk. “You taste like heaven, honey,” he praised. “Go ahead, clean off my fingers,” he instructed as he pressed the fingers into your mouth; it was already hanging slack from exhaustion. You closed your lips and sucked on his fingers, moaning at your own taste and at the way his skin felt on your tongue.

Once he was apparently satisfied with your work, the hand in your mouth moved back and instead wrapped around your neck as you whimpered.

“Tomorrow,” he growled against your ear. “I’m gonna get you alone, and we’re gonna finish this.”

You were a little too busy panting to respond to that. Honestly, you had expected that you would have some post-nut clarity at this point, or even just be satisfied once you’d reached your peak. But apparently not; even still coming down from it, you already wanted more. With a sigh, you realized that you were already completely addicted to Andy Barber, and you were going to come back for more as soon as you could.

“Tomorrow,” you agreed in a raspy whisper.

(part 2) // (part 3)

#andy barber x reader #andy barber smut #andy barber x y/n #andy barber fanfic #dark!andy barber #kinda...

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depressing-debbie · 4 years ago

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Squad Dad Levi Headcanons Pt 1

Squad Dad Levi has been the glue holding me together, so it’s about time I contribute.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Levi makes breakfast every morning. He knows that the squad hates getting up early, but at least this way, they have some food.

Speaking of mornings, Levi has to wake everyone up. He gets up on his own internal clock, but it quickly becomes obvious that the kids don’t have that option. If they are annoying and refuse to get out of bed, he’ll threaten them with extra chores, or even just glare at them, but for the most part, all he has to do is knock on everyone’s door in the morning. He does usually have to yell and slam on the door to get Sasha up, but he expects it now.

There’s an ongoing challenge between the 104th kids to try to make Levi laugh. Connie and Sasha assumed they could do it without a problem, but he was completely unresponsive to their jokes. Mikasa actually came the closest when she made a shit joke (which we all know is Levi’s specialty), but he didn’t fully laugh.

Everyone actually kind of enjoys the nights that they can’t fall asleep because they get to go find captain Levi. He makes them tea (if they’re not being annoying) and will sometimes let them sit with him until they’re tired. He always rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t mind these moments at all.

Levi once borrowed one of Armin’s books, and when he saw how happy it made Armin, he started doing it more often. If he really enjoyed the book, they’d discuss it, or rather, he would listen to Armin talk about it. Once, Armin even bought a new book for him, and even though Levi acted like it was a waste of money, he was so touched.

Levi cuts everyone’s hair. It started because he was tired of everyone having long and messy hair, and because they weren’t allowed to cut their own after Armin’s Disaster. But after a while, it just became a tradition. And Levi was good at it. He even braids the girls’ hair before training if they don’t want to worry about it getting caught. Nobody knows how he learned, but again, he’s surprisingly good at it.

Birthday’s aren’t a thing for the squad. Some of the 104th kids will celebrate for each other, but they definitely were never allowed to celebrate Levi’s birthday. Eventually, though, they managed to find out the date through Hange, and they left him tiny little positive gifts. Everyone cleaned beyond their usual chores, Historia made sure his favorite teacup was clean and dry, Jean and Eren agreed not to argue all day although that just meant it was worse the next day, and they all worked together to cook everything so he didn’t have to. They were so subtle that Levi never even noticed what they were doing, but it really did make his day better.

Levi squad naptime is 100% real. They all work so hard, and on the rare occasion that they get a day off, they fall asleep instantly. The only one who would ever dare to fall asleep with their head resting on Levi is Sasha, but everyone else likes to lay down near him and sleep. Levi doesn’t sleep much, but he’s more likely to drift off when there are people around him. At the very least, he finds it peaceful, and he lets himself relax a bit.

In conclusion, squad dad Levi. My favorite <3

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

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Today, Tomorrow, Always [Frankie Morales x F!Reader]

Summary: The nights were restless without Frankie by your side. He had left for South America a little over a month ago, promising he’d come back with more money to support your family. You didn’t want him to leave in the first place, but there was no changing his mind. You miss him. You’re worried about him. You just want him to come home. [Set after the events of Triple Frontier. Like, right after.]

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3000>

Masterlist

Reblogs appreciated coz this isn’t showing up in tags and I’m too tired to figure out why. xx

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

The love of your life. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and in that exact moment, you swore there was no statement truer. He’d been gone for a month and three days, your Frankie. You’d been shamelessly counting down until his return. No cell service in the jungles of South America, he’d warned you. He told you he’d be gone for two weeks max, and that you shouldn’t worry. He promised you he’d be fine.

But he was gone longer than two weeks, and you had no way to contact him. You were terrified, unable to help yourself from thinking the worst. Everything reminded you of him; the family photos scattered around your house, his cheap, tangy beers in the refrigerator, waiting to be drunk. Mostly though, your daughter. Maria was a newborn when he left, but now she was nearing two months. As you cradled her, your heart swelled with love. Same eyes as her father. Holding Maria only made you miss Frankie even more.

Religious or not, you would’ve prayed every night regardless. You prayed for his safety, and that he’d come home. You missed his warm hands and broad chest. You missed the way he’d tangle his fingers into your hair, and the faint smell of his musky cologne. Sometimes when you laid in bed, at night, you could still feel the ghost of his touch. Not a second went by where you weren’t dreaming about your Frankie.

This wasn’t the first time he and the guys would get involved in shady business. You wished he wouldn’t. He knew your feelings on it.

“I’m doing this for you and Maria.” he reminded you the morning he left. He took your hands and pressed soft yet chaste kisses across your knuckles. Everything he done, it was always for you and Maria.

Ever since Frankie had his piloting license revoked, things had been difficult. No job, no income. You had a job waitressing throughout your pregnancy but once you entered your third trimester, you were left with no choice but to take maternity leave. You, Frankie and Maria had been living out of your savings. And the savings were rapidly running out.

You knew better than to ask questions, but it was blatantly obvious that he’d accepted the mission in South America for a monetary reward. Or else, why would he go?

On a Thursday evening at around 7:30pm, the phone rang. You’d just put Maria to bed and you were sitting on the sofa, cradling one of your favourite fiction novels. Your eyes flicked towards the wall clock as you took a mental note of the time, wondering who could be calling you at this hour. Three more rings and you got up, padding towards the phone on the coffee table and picking it off the hook. The second you pressed it against the ear, you heard him.

Frankie.

“I didn’t get the money,” he announced over the phone, the line crackling slightly with the distance. No ‘hello’— no ‘how are you?’— just ‘I didn’t get the money.’ You were speechless. Not because of what he said, or what he didn’t say, but because he was alive. And safe, you assumed. Tears welled in your eyes as you processed the familiar sound of his voice. You hadn’t spoken to him in over a month, and so the low octave of his words were like the sweetest melody you’d ever heard. “I’m sorry.”

The guilt was eating him alive. He had to let you know in case you were expecting the money upon his return. He was so anxious, picking at his fingernails and anticipating your response. He had one job and he couldn’t even do that right.

He was broken. He’d done all of this, risked his life, just so he could earn a little cash to help support you and Maria. He’d left you for a month, and soon, he’d be returning with absolutely nothing. If you left him and took Maria with you, he wouldn’t even be surprised. He’d failed you. He’d failed Maria. He’d failed himself.

“Frankie,” you whispered, your shaky fingers curling around the plastic coated phone wire. He took a few breath, waiting for the worst to happen. “I’ve missed you so much.” you choked out, feeling your heart contract in your chest at the mere sound of his voice. What he was saying didn’t matter. No money? You couldn’t care less. Just the fact he was alive, speaking to you, was enough. All of Frankie’s nerves were immediately put to rest.

“I’ve missed you too.” Frankie confessed, his voice equally as soft as yours. As he marched through the freezing temperatures of the mountains and stormed through the humid temperatures of the jungles, he’d thought of you. When everyone else was camped out and sleeping by the fire, he couldn’t settle. He yearned to hold you, to kiss you and to love you. His month away from you only confirmed the feelings he’s been having for a long time.

“Where are you?” you sniffed, wiping away your tears and taking a deep (albeit shaky) exhale. You had to remain composed.

“Hawaii,” Frankie replied. “I’m calling from a public phone box and I think it’s gonna cut me off soon, but I’m catching a flight home first thing tomorrow,”

You smiled ecstatically, giving up and letting the warm tears free fall down you cheeks. Tomorrow? You were seeing him tomorrow? “I’m coming home, baby.” he confirmed, and you gasped out a sob over his good news.

“I love you so much,” you cried. “I love you Frankie. I— I love— I love you—“

“Don’t cry,” you heard him say. “I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. Is Maria okay?”

“She misses her daddy so much. Frankie, we’ve missed you so much.” you revealed, your smile now aching your cheeks. But you didn’t care.

“My two girls. I love you. I love you today, tomorrow, always. Wait for me, hermosa, I’ll see you soon.” Frankie promised before the line went dead.

He muttered out a curse word and kicked the phone box in frustration. Frankie jumped slightly, feeling Santiago rest a comforting hand on Frankie’s shoulder. He’d somehow manage to shift into the phone box to be alongside Frankie, needing the privacy. “You sure about this, bud?” Santiago quizzed, presenting Frankie with a velvet ring box. Frankie took the box and slid it into his jean pocket.

He managed to hit a jewellery store just an hour ago before they had all closed. He picked out a diamond ring, just for you. It was simple but elegant (or so he hoped. Frankie didn’t have the greatest judgement when it came to jewellery and what looked good or not). He was drawn to it because it was similar to the only other engagement ring he’d ever seen. The ring that belonged to his mother. If you didn’t like it, he’d be fine with returning it until you’s could afford a better one, but the ring was more than just something to make your finger look pretty.

It was a symbol of promise.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.” Frankie sighed into admittance.

Santiago nodded, his heart blooming over the fact his best friend had finally found happiness. Frankie had been through a lot, but you’d saved him, in every sense of the word. Santiago knew that better than anyone else.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

Frankie called you that morning from the airport, just before he caught his plane. You barely slept a peep that night, excited to finally see him again. The love of your life. Your Frankie. You had a rough idea as to when he’d return; maybe 5 or 6ish. That’s what he’d told you. And you believed him because, well, he was a pilot. He could judge these kinds of things.

‘5 or 6ish’ gave you plenty of time to plan a little something for Frankie. It was hard, but you refrained from texting his family and calling your friends because you knew they’d all want to see him. As selfish as it sounded, you didn’t care, you at least just wanted one night alone with him where he could be all yours. No one else to fuss over him, just you. You deserved that much.

You could cook his favourite meal, pick out his favourite record, blow up some balloons, light some candles and dress in his favourite set of lingerie.

You wanted to make everything perfect.

Frankie came home at 2pm, and shamefully, you were still in your pyjamas. He’d told a little white lie about what time he’d be home because he wanted to surprise you. And you were definitely surprised. When he stepped through the front door, clean shaven with glazed eyes, it was like your feet were glued to the floor and you couldn’t move. It was strange, really. You’d always envisioned this moment where you’d run into his arms and give him a big, passionate kiss, but that’s not what happened at all.

Just a few days ago, you were thinking you might never see him again, but here he was, standing before you like the angel of your dreams. And the first thing you said...

“You shaved!” you cried out accusingly, your eyes going comically wide. Frankie chuckled and your heart clenched in your chest.

“What do you think?” he laughed, walking towards you and putting his bag on the floor. You raised your hands to cup his cheeks and feel the softness of his skin.

“Oh Frankie,” you whispered, a single tear slipping down your cheek, but Frankie was quick enough to catch it and wipe it away. “It’s really you. You’re really home.”

“Yes my love, I’m home.” he said, pulling you into a warm bear hug. His big arms squeezed your body tight. If he’d gone any harder, he might have crushed you, but you wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything else in the world.

“Being away from you for so long made me realise something. Home isn’t a place, it’s a person. It’s you. Any doubts I once had are now completely diminished and I know, for sure, I love you. I love you today, tomorrow, always. And I want to promise that to you, so, if you’ll let me...” Frankie dropped down to one knee and reached into his pocket, bringing out the velveteen ring box he’d purchased in Hawaii. “I promise to never leave your side, or Maria’s, ever again. You two are everything I could ever need. Any difficulties we encounter, I know we’ll be okay as long as we have each other, and I promise to swear my life to our little family. So, my love, would you do me the honour of being mine forever? Will you marry me?”

His brown eyes were so warm, they burned you. This was a moment you had only pictured in dreams. Without even taking a second to think about it, you already knew the answer. You’d always known the answer.

“Yes,” you nodded ecstatically. “Yes Frankie, I’ll marry you.”

And the grin that plastered his face was like nothing you’d ever seen before. He was absolutely delighted and he didn’t think he’d ever been this happy in his life, apart from, maybe when Maria was born. He was pretty damn happy that day too.

Frankie slid the diamond ring on your finger and it fit perfectly. It looked good too. Maybe Frankie had a better eye for jewellery than he’d though. “Do you like it? Because if you don’t, we can save up and get it exchanged.”

“It’s beautiful,” you gasped, eventually tearing your gaze from your fiancé so you could admire the way the diamond sparkled under the lights. “I don’t want to get it exchanged. I love it. It’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect.” he cooed, swaying backwards and forwards. When you looked back up at him, his cheeks were flushed an adorable pink.

You crashed your lips into his and wrapped your arms around his body.

“I love you so much Frankie Morales.”

“I love you too,” he replied softly, his warm breath fanning over your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Today, tomorrow, always.”

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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