#so here's so words: sofa...pavement....favourite.....colour

[buckleyirondad]

Since Oliver and I are British, I’m gonna start calling the “couch theory,” the “sofa theory,” nobody can stop me.

[sunflowerryvol6]

Sweet Summer

No warnings, just pure fluff.

WC: 3.6k

Long time no see! I hope you like this! I'll try and link the songs on this page, but no promises. Leave any suggestions for stories you'd like to see! Also, do comment, and tell me what you like about these two! As always, feedback is always welcome.

Check out my masterlist

You could listen to the songs here. I listened to this while writing this.

'I know how the summer goes' softly played in the background; she was sticky with sweat. She was sprawled on the floor of their bedroom. He sat on the bed above her. She was working on an essay on summer love for her column, the deadline was fast approaching. She looked to her left, and their room overlooked the ocean. The window opened to the bedroom patio, where they would often sit and work during the summer. Today he was oiling her hair while she worked hard on her piece. He'd just wrapped up, so he offered to help ease out some stress. She laid her head on the side on his knee and looked out to the sun shining down on the beach.

Ellie could almost touch the memory of when she first realised she was in love with Harry.

4 years earlier...

They'd been dating for a few weeks now. Harry planned the first date, so she arranged the second one. She'd quickly realised that Harry loved his walks. Working as a software developer left him with little to no time to move around. So he takes any opportunity to exercise or move his body. Ellie was a freelance journalist who's spent the better part of the last two years working from home. The idea of walking around or being on her feet was too taxing because of her chronic pain. But she liked harry, didn't she. So that's what she kept telling herself. When her hips hurt a little too much, or when she pulled her back from walking around too long. It'd all be worth it in the end. It had to be.

On this particular evening, they'd decided to meet up for a gig. Harry had found this artist that was playing in a bar downtown, so they'd meet there. She walked up to him and kissed him on the lips. "Hello to you too" He smiled.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I just missed you." She smiled wide. "I missed you too." He linked their arms and walked into the bar. He asked her to go ahead, and he'd join her with drinks. She walked on and waited for the band to start playing. He found his way back to her soon enough, with their favourite beverages.

Once the gig was over, they walked out of the bar and discussed where they should go to get dinner. "So, there's this brilliant taco place just down the road. We can walk there. What'd you say?" He smiled at her.

"Oh sure, let's." Ellie knew this wasn't the best decision. She'd be in a whole lot of pain by the end of the evening. She had work tomorrow, a deadline she couldn't miss. But It had to be worth it, right?

"What'd do you want to listen to today?" She suggested. She dug into her bag to find the earphone connector and offered it to him. They'd do this a lot, listen to music together, a new genre every date, sometimes their favourite albums. The last time they were listening to Harry's 70's indie playlist. You can tell a lot about a person by the music they heard. This was quite the ice breaker during their first few dates, so they decided to make it a thing. Now they would sometimes pick certain words or phrases and listen to what came up.

"Guilty pleasures?" He asked. "I can tell you, but I'm afraid it won't make for a great romantic walk down a dark road" She smiled. "I can take it." He laughed.

So she did. They blasted an old rock playlist, with mostly Cream. "You really love Cream, huh?" He said after a bit. "More than Neutral Milk Hotel," She told straightfaced. He blinked at her for a sec and burst out laughing. "That was a terrible one. Worse than my puns, God!" He laughed.

"These tacos better be mind fucking blowing, Styles," She says. Her hips were starting to ache a little. "Yes, Ma'am. I wouldn't dare disappoint you." He smiled. Their conversation went on about things here and there. Soon they reached the taco truck, right by the side of the road. The place was packed with people. Patrons had resorted to sitting on the pavement because of the wait.

"Okay, their birria tacos are the best, but we can get something else if you'd like?" Harry asked her. "Oh, that actually sounds absolutely perfect. Do you mind if I go get us a spot while you go get the food?" Ellie asked. "Sure, you do that." He said and leaned to kiss her cheek and made his way to the truck.

Ellie walked towards the pavement and slowly sat down. The moment her bum hit the pavement softly, she knew she was in a world of pain. Only more was waiting for her the longer this night went. She quickly dug into her purse to get out her cigarettes and lit one. It set in some ease, but it wasn't enough. She needed to get home, but what'd she tell Harry? Her experience telling people about her chronic pain has always ended up in them pitying her or not entirely believing her. Now, don't be fooled. She's in pain, but she didn't want no one's pity. She just wanted someone to recognise the pain and help her find a goddamn solution to it. In contemplating her exit strategy, she didn't realise she started tearing up. She quickly stubbed her cigarette and switched on some music to distract her. She waited patiently till Harry arrived with the food.

Harry walked over to Ellie with their food in his hand. Only to find her doubled over with her head on her knees. He rushed to her, placed their food on the pavement, and nudged her shoulder. "Ellie, are you okay?" He asked her gently. Ellie looked up, and she looked like she was in a lot of pain. "Hey! What's wrong? Why are you crying?" He seemed very concerned now. "I'm in a lot of pain right now, and it flares up when I'm on my feet for too long. I'd been out all day before we met, and I wasn't expecting us to walk around so much." She all but cried. "Oh, you poor thing. I'll call a cab right now, and I'll take you home, okay?" Harry said, his hand gently rubbed her arm. She sniffled in response.

The cab arrived soon enough. Harry helped her into the car and got in after her. "Would you like to try and sleep till we get there? I can keep an eye on the map." He offered. "Thank you." She said before leaning her head against the window and closed her eyes.

"Ellie, darling. We're here." His voice broke her out of the soft slumber she'd fallen into. She opened her eyes and looked out, and sure enough, they were outside her apartment building. She got out of the cab and started walking towards her door, expecting him to follow her. Still, she turns around to check, and he's about to call out to her. "Are you not going to come upstairs?" She questioned. "I need to make one more stop. I'll be up in 10." He shrugged. "Okay, don't be too long." She says and continues walking.

Harry takes the cab to the nearest store and buys a pack of Epsom salt. His sister would always soak her feet in Epsom salt and hot water after ballet lessons. So he knew this would bring Ellie some relief.

Whenever they'd had a sleepover, they always end up at Harry's place, so he'd never really been here to her home. Her door was a dark pink, kind of Fuschia. He turned the knob, and it was open, so he walked in. The place was filled with little trinkets and plants and other knick-knacks all over the place. The centre of attention had to be her bright yellow couch. All her furniture was pointed at this showcase filled with other ceramic figurines. It was very colourful. If you look at Ellie, you wouldn't expect her to live here. Her style is muted and minimalistic, apart from her hair. That was always a bright colour. This time it was bright pink, very close to the colour of her door. He wondered if she changed the colour of her door as often as she changed her hair. But otherwise, she wore blacks mainly with an occasional cream and some other muted colours. So why the eccentricity in her décor, he wondered. He didn't ask her, though.

"So I think a hot bath would really help you, I got some Epsom salt, and you know, we could try it?" He asked her hesitantly. "A long bath can help ease your pain," he said. "Yeah, I'd like that," she said. "You wait here; I'll set it up." He ventured into her flat. She took off her jacket, walked into her kitchen and took out a joint. Holding the joint in between her fingers, she looked for the lighter and slowly lit it. Walked back to the couch, took off her pants and sweater she was wearing and laid back on the sofa and took a long drag. She knew now she could relax, and the pain would slowly ease up.

Meanwhile, in her bathroom, Harry was running a bath for her. He sat on the edge of the tub with his hand underwater to check the water temperature. Once it was hot enough, Harry walked back to the living room. He walked in on her, smoking the joint, for the first time that evening, he saw her so relaxed and quiet. He didn't want to disturb her. But she opened her eyes, "Hey you" she smiled. He reached for her. "The bath is ready. Come on," He said. She took his hand and got up. She stood on her tippy toes and kissed him, and he kissed her back, slowly supporting his palm on her lower back. He deepened the kiss, she put her arms around his neck. He smiled into the kiss and pulled away.

"I really like you, you know?" He held her in place with his arm around him and looked at her. His gaze bore into her. "I'm here for you, so you have to tell me how I can help you," He said. That's when Ellie looked away. She started walking towards the bathroom and looked over her shoulder. "Come sit with me?" She asked. "Of course." He said. "Can you bring me the ice pack from the freezer, please?" She called out. He turned around and walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge to get the ice pack. He checked the time on his phone and walked back into her bathroom.

Ellie was already in the bathtub, and there was music playing softly while she smoked. He sat on the toilet and passed her the ice pack. "Here you go," He said. In return, she handed him the joint. He gave her a small smile and took it from her. He took a long drag and leaned back on the seat to stretch his legs a bit. She had these tiny pots of creepers wound up on different pipes all over her bathroom. She held the icepack to her face and felt so much relief.

"Elle, are you feeling any better?" He asked her. She nodded. Did the day go just like you wanted? played softly as she hummed along to it. "I know you want me to tell you what's going on, but I'm afraid you'll think I'm crazy," She said, not looking at him. "Darling, try me. I'm here to listen," He offered. He was still nursing the joint, looking like some kind of greek god. Just casually sitting on her toilet and observing her so carefully, she felt safe. Ellie's pain had calmed down a bit. The hot bath was helping quite a bit.

"Okay, so here goes, I took a fall about three years ago, and it kind of fucked my knee up. So I couldn't exercise much, and I wasn't moving around much. After a few months, I tried to do a simple workout, just to get back into the routine, but I was in an excruciating amount of pain." She looked up at him and saw that he'd moved to sit on the floor closer to her. When she looked up, he reached for her hand with a smile and held it. His rings felt cold on her hands as he slowly pressed the points on her fingers. It felt perfect. So she focused on that and continued. "After that, I went to a doctor to figure why it happened, but they couldn't understand because there weren't markers on the tests they did. Over the years, I went to all kinds of practitioners to help me find a solution to this pain, if not an answer to what it is. But they just kept saying it's in my head and not really give me an answer. I went to a psychiatrist, and they tried medication for depression. It only made me very drowsy and inefficient at work. But other than that, I don't really know what it is. I'm just hurting all the time." She sighed.

"Ellie, that is not okay. You shouldn't be in this amount of pain. I'm so glad you told me about it." He said. Harry reached for a stray strand on her face and pushed it back, and ran his thumb along her cheek. "Over time, I have stopped talking to people about this, 'cause it's not going change anything, and they just end up pitying me. So I did the next best thing, I bought this flat and made my home chronic pain friendly. I work from home, so I don't exert myself and have done that for over 2 years now. It's awfully lonely, though."

"I can't imagine how that must feel. For the record, I don't pity you. I just wish you'd told me before, then I wouldn't make our dates so hard on you. But wait. Did I cause you a lot of pain when we had sex?" He worried his lip and looked at her. "Oh no! You didn't at all. I just didn't want you to think I'm somehow weak and can't take care of myself. Today was a lot, and I'd been out for a couple of meetings for some upcoming projects, and it just all ended up weighing me down." She was tearing up now. "Darling, please don't cry. I don't think you can't take care of yourself. I think it was incredibly responsible of you to tell me when you reached your limit. I'm happy to accommodate whatever you need." He said to her. She could tell he was earnest. "Thank you, Harry. It feels good to be able to tell someone and have them believe me." She said to him.

They had been listening to Sea Change by Beck while they smoked together. He sat on the floor of her bathroom, with his legs stretched out and his hand in the water, holding one of her ankles. Just as a reassurance that he wasn't leaving. They talked mindlessly. He asked her about her ceramic figurines, and she told him that her grandma used to collect them, then her mom, and now she does. She brought them with her when she moved to this city. Her favourite one was the teal coloured soapstone hippo. She used to have heart-shaped soapstone, but she gave it to an ex who threw it away after they broke up. Just like that, he told her about the first time he fell in love. How he likes to keep in touch with his exes because they all ended mutually and were lovely people. She told him about her first break-up. They exchanged sibling horror stories. He told her about his niece Willow, whom he lovingly calls Willy. She hadn't realised until then, as they listened to the saddest break-up albums of all time, that Harry was in it for the long haul. "Think you're ready to move to the bed?" He asked as he rubbed his eyes. She slowly got up, and he stood up to help her out of the bath. Pulled up a towel for her and handed it to her. She walked over to her drawer and pulled out a pair of pyjamas for herself. He undressed into his boxers and placed his clothes on the wing chair next to her windowsill. She got into bed and opened the covers up for him. Her room was decorated the same, but fewer breakable items were in there. She had a few pictures of her family upon her wall, and a dog that he assumed was her childhood pet. He climbed in. "Small spoon?" He asked her; she answered by wrapping his around her and laid her head on his chest. He slowly ran his fingers through her hair, and she sighed in contentment. "You know, when I first realised that they weren't gonna be able to find what's wrong with me, I'd listen to 'If you're feeling sinister a lot. It was kind of a constant at the time." she said.

"When Stuart Murdoch wrote the album, he was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, so he was on bed rest for a long time. He used to look out of his window and see all these people living their lives, and he'd feel so left out? So he poured all that yearning into it. One of the songs even has an overlay of children playing in the background. That album got me through some dark times." Harry was running a finger along her arm, raising goosebumps on her warm skin. Harry places a kiss on her hair, "You know when, Willow, was a little girl. I'd play this game with her during bedtime. It would really tire her out and change her mind from being upset for having to go to bed. Do you want to try it?" He says. "Sure, why not?" She smiles and places a kiss on his tattooed chest.

"Close your eyes. No peeking, okay?" He looks over to check a pokes a finger in her side to make sure, and she bursts out in giggles. "Okay! I promise." She laughs out. He holds her closer and takes a deep breath, her hair smells of berries and residual smoke, and he decides then that's his favourite smell. "We're on a hill. It's cold out. Both of us huddled under a blanket, looking at the sky. It's just us there, so it's very quiet. You can hear the birds around and the slight wind. When it touches you, you dig yourself closer to me, and I hold you a little tighter, just like I am right now." She listens carefully, picturing precisely what it would look like. She wonders if they have any pets with them, "Can we have a dog?" She asks, "Of course, whatever you'd like, pet." He says. "Okay, so we have a dog, a dalmatian puppy. What do you think her name should be?" She asks him. "You want a girl, huh?" He smirked at her. "Uh yeah, they're best, of course." She said as a matter of factly. "Um, what do you think of birdie?" "I love it." she smiles. "Birdie is running circles around our blanket. She's completely enchanted by butterflies and jumping up and down to get to them. She smells like lavender shampoo and puppy smell. She has a small spot on her nose that's shaped like a heart. That's what made you pick her at the pound. She's wearing a baby pink collar with a gold medallion which has her name engraved on it. She just saw us watching her, so now rushing to cuddle. She comes running to us and lands herself right in between, and we take her inside the blanket and settle in for a good ol' nap." Listening to him describe in such detail a life that he envisions for the two of them makes her feel so full of love.

"I feel so full and happy. A little hazy with that feeling, so much so that I can't remember what I was upset about." She smiles into his chest. "I told you, it'll help. It's tried and tested, ma'am." He says, ruffling her hair a bit. "Thank you so much, Harry. Thank you for staying and taking care of me and making sure I was okay. Thank you for listening to me and not judging me and just being here." She tears up a little.

"Hey, no tears." He says, wiping a stray tear that escaped. "And, you don't have to thank me at all. I just want you to be honest with me, so I can be there for you. You don't need to carry this all on your own. If you allow me, I'd like to ease the burden a little bit." He says as he runs his thumb along her cheek.

Now...

The loud barking from the other room jolts her out of her daydream. She looks up to see the reason behind the sound. Birdie comes running towards their bed with her toy, all prepared to jump up, but Harry stops her. "Birdie, no! Don't jump on Mummy!" "It's okay, Harry." Ellie reaches for Birdie. "You spoil her so much, she'd never going to learn." "Oh come on, sweets, it's our vacation. You have to let her get away with some things."

He sits up, and Birdie immediately places herself on his lap and whines for him to scratch her. He happily obliges. "Now, my darling wife, come here and give me a kiss before I take our baby out for a wee." You smile and lean up for a kiss. He kisses your nose once before getting out of bed and walking over to wear a pair of shorts. He turns around to Ellie, and says "Are you feeling up to a picnic?"

She smiles and hits save on the document she was typing. "Yes, I'll get the snacks ready. Give me five minutes." She places the laptop on the bed and walks over to him. She reaches on her tippy toes and grabs him by the neck, and gives him one big kiss.

[babygirlgalitzine]

two dads (are better than one) (ao3)

Lexi’s nervous. Ben can tell that from just looking at her. It’s obvious. She can’t stop moving, squirming around on the floor as she draws in her latest colouring book. Another in a long line of them, all with different themes and levels of difficulty as she gets older. She puts down the pencil she’s just been using and lets it roll across the table, pushing it back and forth underneath her index finger. There’s a pause of her childish movements, and then she looks up at Ben, who’s sitting there on the sofa, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. 

“Dad?” She asks, her voice sweet and shy.

Ben instantly puts his phone down, giving her his full attention. He smiles. “Yes darlin’?” 

Lexi looks down at the pencil once again, continuing to play with it. She refuses to look back up at Ben for the minute, too scared to share the thoughts that have been plaguing her mind for the last few weeks. She opens her mouth, and Ben can practically see the cogs turning in that little brain of hers. 

“What’s wrong princess?” Ben asks, leaning forward on the sofa to get close to her, ready for any comforting he needs to do. 

Lexi shakes her head with a precious smile and indelicately pushes the wisps of her blonde hair behind her ears. She stands up, watching as her pencil falls to the floor but she doesn’t care for it right now. Instead of picking it up, she just sits next to her dad, allowing her knees to hit against his leg softly.

Ben reaches out instinctively and curls a piece of her hair around his index finger gently. He does this at night when she’s tired, helping her to sleep. It’s a comfort blanket to her, almost, to have her dad playing with her hair. 

A sigh escapes her mouth as she manages to speak. “I was wondering.” Lexi starts. “Do you think Callum would like me calling him dad too?” Her voice comes out shy, the nerves showing on her face as she blushes.

Silence falls between them as Ben attempts to connect his mouth to his racing brain. A smile forms across his lips eventually. “Is that what you want to call him?” Ben asks, happiness and light in his voice. 

Lexi nods her head, slowly at first, but then more assuredly as time ticks on. 

Ben grins and puts his hand on the side of her head, gently pulling her in for a hug. Lexi rests her head against his chest, instantly calming her down from her nervousness as Ben continues to play with her hair.  

“Do you want me to tell Cal that you want to call him dad?” Ben asks. “Or shall we keep it a surprise?” 

Lexi pulls out of the hug and looks up at her dad. “A surprise!” She grins, giggling away at the idea.

Ben chuckles softly and presses a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. “I think it’ll be his favourite surprise ever.” Ben admits. 

Lexi looks at him with shock and happiness. “Really?” She gasps out.

Swiftly, Ben nods. “Absolutely.”

Lexi stretches out across the sofa, her tiny body not even taking up half of the space. She’s reading a book, one beyond her age category, but she’s always been a confident reader. It’s raining outside, the first day of summer and the weather doesn’t match the season. The rain collects in puddles on the pavement outside and bounces back up as it gets heavier. 

Callum’s just been out, picking up some food from the Minute Mart. He ran there and back, but still came back soaking wet through. Ben’s with him, both of them standing in the kitchen as Callum takes the food out of a plastic bag and puts it in the fridge. 

“Daaaad!” Lexi lets out, elongating her call. She puts her book down, the covers of it facing up, and she looks at the door, waiting for a face to appear. 

Within seconds, Ben appears at the door, poking his head around the frame. He smiles as he looks at his daughter. “Yes princess?” He asks.

They stare at each other for a second or two, a silent conversation happening between their eyes and facial expressions, and then Lexi giggles as she shakes her head. “Nope.” She says, loudly enough so that Callum can hear her from the kitchen. “My other dad.”

Ben retracts his head from the door frame, stretching backwards so that he can spot Callum’s reaction. 

Callum’s eyes go wide as he hears Lexi’s words. It doesn’t quite sink in, not fully. Not that quickly, anyway. He turns his face to look down the hallway, and his eyeline matches up with Ben’s. “Me?” He mouths out, pointing to himself.

Ben beamingly grins, a blush swirling across his cheeks. He nods, and bites at his lip with all the nervousness that rushes through his body. He knows that Callum’s happy, he can see it in his face. But it’s a huge deal to all of them. Even though they’re both married now, this is the first time Lexi’s ever called Callum her dad. It’s important. It’s the next step in their relationship - the next step for their family. 

Callum closes the fridge door just as it starts to beep out at him, informing him that it’s been open for too long. He shakes his head in disbelief, and then starts to walk towards Ben and Lexi with shaky legs. He wraps an arm around Ben’s waist, entwining his fingers with his shirt in a vain attempt to calm him down.

“What do you want darling?” Callum asks Lexi. 

It’s so normal, like this is exactly how it’s supposed to be. 

Lexi smiles. “What’s for dinner?” 

Callum turns his head towards Ben for a moment, and his brain rushes with memories of how he never thought that he would get this lucky, never in a million years. 

“Pizza?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Lexi grins, nodding her head and she picks up her book once more, reading from where she left off. 

Callum remains there for a second, just watching her. A hand snakes around his body, and before long, Ben’s pulling him in for a hug. Callum puts his head in the crook of Ben’s neck and breathes in. “Was that the surprise you told me about the other day?” He asks, warm breath against Ben’s neck.

Ben lets out a soft chuckle, running his hand up and down Callum’s back. “Yeah.” He admits. “She asked me last week, if you would like her to call you dad.”

---

It’s been in the works for a while. Ever since Lexi saw the first signs up in shop windows saying that Father’s Day is coming up soon, she’s been wanting to make cards. It’s one of her favourite things to do. Every birthday or holiday she creates her own little cards instead of finding some in shops. 

She makes Ben’s first, folding it over so that the edges meet, and then she opens up her special pens and draws carefully, creating the image she has in her mind on the front of the card. It takes her a while to perfect it, but when she does, she stares at it fondly, proud of her creation. The final step is to write a message inside, and with her best handwriting, she does this. The steps are repeated exactly the same for Callum’s card. 

The day finally arrives, a warm, bright Sunday. The cards are in envelopes now, with Dad and Dad 2 written on Ben and Callum’s respectively. She’s nervous, and both of them can tell. She’s called Callum her dad a few times now, but for some reason, writing it down seems much more important and real. 

Callum doesn’t think he’ll get a card. It’s not something he expects, anyway. He’s taken Lexi out to buy Ben a present a few days prior, and she never said anything, so he just presumes that he won’t get anything - and he’s fine with that. 

Lexi stands in the middle of the room, hands behind her back. In front of her are Ben and Callum, sitting right next to each other, their arms and legs touching. She moves her left arm, stretching it out towards Ben with a beaming smile on her face, handing him a card. 

“Thank you darlin’.” Ben smiles softly, taking the card from his daughter and starting to open up the envelope.

“Wait!” Lexi calls out, holding up her free hand, pointing her palm at him to mimic a stop motion. 

Ben raises an eyebrow questioningly. “What?” He asks, though a small grin appears on his face as he notices another card poking out from behind Lexi’s back. 

A beaming smile proudly appears on Lexi’s face as she moves her other arm, holding a card in front of Callum. “For my other dad too.” She says.

Callum’s eyes widen in shock. “Really?” He gasps out, taking the card from Lexi’s hand.

Lexi nods, smiling to herself. 

Ben opens his card first, both of them watching him. On the front is a drawing of them both, Lexi with yellow ringlets for her hair, and Ben with an over expressive face. Over the top of the drawing, written in Lexi’s neatest handwriting is ‘Thank you for being my dad’, and inside is a short and yet sweet message, clearly written in pencil first and then traced over in pen. 

“Thank you darlin’.” Ben smiles. “I love it.” 

They both turn to look at Callum, and with shaky hands he tears open the envelope and pulls out the card, staring at the front of it. Ben places his chin on Callum’s shoulder, watching the opening of the card intensely. Like Ben’s, on the front of the card is a drawing of Lexi and Callum. Her ringlets are the same as on Ben’s card, but Callum’s quiff is exaggerated, standing at almost the same size of his face. Above the drawing is Lexi’s neatest handwriting once again, and it seems as though both Callum and Ben read it at the exact same time, if the hitch in both their breaths are anything to go by. ‘Thank you for choosing to be my dad’, it reads. 

Callum looks at Lexi instantly, with hot tears bubbling away in his eyes. “Come here.” He lets out, opening up his arms. Lexi walks into his arms, falling into a cuddle, and Ben rests his head on Callum’s shoulder until Callum opens up his arm again, allowing Ben into the hug too. 

[henrycavillobsessed]

A Very Happy Birthday

Henry x reader

Summary: it's your birthday and Henry pulls out all the stops, with a very special surprise at the end.

Words: 1634

CW: one f-word, mentioning of nudity, talk alluding to sex, but it's mainly just absolute fluff.

Notes: this fic was inspired by the fact that it's my birthday tomorrow (September 27th) and what better way to spend it than with Henry? 😅 I hope you all enjoy!

On the morning of your birthday, you were awoken by a bear leaping onto your chest.

“What the fuck… Kal!” you laughed. The akita continued his assault by licking you all over your face, and then he flopped onto his back, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as he gave you a lopsided grin. You were giving Kal a tummy rub when Henry walked in to the bedroom. He laughed when he saw you both on the bed.

“Good morning beautiful,” he said, leaning against the door frame, “and happy birthday!”

You beamed up at him, admiring the fact that Henry looked so good despite the early hour of the morning. His dressing gown was open slightly at the neck, and his dark curls were slightly damp, giving away that he’d just had a shower after working out. He looked downright yummy.

“Thank you!” you replied. “are you coming back to bed?”

Henry replied by removing his dressing gown, confirming your suspicion that he was naked underneath. You scrambled back to make room for him in the bed. Kal sat up and looked at Henry with an expression that quite clearly stated that he was going nowhere.

“It’s okay boy, you can join the cuddle too,” Henry said, scratching Kal behind the ears.

As you lay there, with your head on Henry’s chest, encircled in his strong arms, and Kal the dog curled up behind you, you felt so content. You were just dozing off again when Henry gently released you and made to get up. You pouted, and he laughed.

“Come on princess, we can’t spend all day in bed!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s your birthday, and I have plans for you,” Henry said with a wink, before swooping down and picking you up with complete ease. He set you down and handed you your robe.

“I’ll meet you downstairs in the kitchen,” he said, kissing you before leaving the room, Kal following behind.

After a quick shower and freshen up, you entered the kitchen, your face breaking into a huge smile as you took in the scene in front of you. Henry was stood at the breakfast bar, with Kal sat at his feet. Behind him was a collection of multi-coloured balloons, surrounding two bigger balloons shaped into the number of your new age. On the counter was a small pile of parcels wrapped in shiny silver paper. All your favourite breakfast foods were laid out beautifully before you as you took a seat at the bar. You reached for the coffee, as Henry sat down next to you; Kal wandered off to his bed near the window.

“This is all so lush, Henry, thank you!” You kissed him, and felt the smile against his lips.

“You’re very welcome. Shall we eat?”

After demolishing your birthday breakfast, you opened the gifts that were on the counter. Henry’s gifts, as ever, were both thoughtful and entertaining. He laughed as you kissed him after opening each one, forever saying thank you.

“You don’t have to thank me, princess, today is your day. Consider me your faithful servant, here for your every need!” Henry bowed comically.

“Hmm, anything?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Anything,” Henry confirmed. “Although save your thoughts for the bedroom later. It’s time to go out!”

You pouted again, but only half-heartedly, before jumping down from the breakfast bar to go and get dressed.

As birthday days out went, this one was just perfect. You both went into the city, him dressed in his casual jeans, his favourite t-shirt and a baseball cap, you in skinny jeans, knee-high boots and a simple black t-shirt underneath a long cardigan. Autumn was in the air, and leaves fell in a range of colours as you strolled through the park. You then spent the day shopping for new clothes, enjoying a lovely lunch in a little café, and then wandered around your favourite museum, holding hands and just enjoying listening to Henry’s voice as he told you stories and gave you his opinions in the art gallery. The smile didn’t leave your face all day. As you waited for a cab to take you home, Henry surprised you with a romantic kiss, dipping you low towards the pavement, earning applause and whistles from the crowds walking around you. Henry laughed at your blush; he loved doing that to you in public.

As you entered your home, Henry told you to go sit down as he made you both a cup of tea. You agreed, feeling a little wiped out from your busy day. You both then spent the next hour watching Netflix, cwtching on the sofa, joined, of course, by Kal. Again, just as you felt yourself drifting off, you felt Henry move.

“Y/N,” he said gently. “It’s time to get ready for dinner.”

You look up at him.

“You mean there’s more to today?” you asked.

“Yes of course!” Henry smiled. “Go on, get ready. No need to rush, there’s plenty of time.”

“What shall I wear?”

“I want you to go all out. I’ve booked a table at your favourite restaurant, that should give you an idea,” Henry said.

You jumped up from the sofa, leapt into his arms and planted a kiss on his cheek. Your tiredness was replaced from excitement, and you ran off towards your closet.

You stared at the rails of clothes in front of you, trying to find something both pretty but comfortable enough to wear all evening and eat in. You finally found it- a beautiful evening gown, the colour of sapphires. You spent some time taming your hair into an elegant up-do, and doing your make-up, and then you were ready. You smiled at your reflection, feeling glamorous.

As you descended the stairs, your steps faltered a little as you took in Henry waiting for you down in the hall. He was dressed to seriously impress, in one of his most handsome tuxedos in dark blue. His hair was styled, and he’d shaved. Times like this you had to pinch yourself on how lucky you were to be with such a beautiful man. It pleased you to see that you were having the same effect on him.

“Y/N,” Henry walked forward to take your hand, sweetly kissing it. “You look absolutely breath-taking,”

“Thank you Mr Cavill, you don’t look too bad yourself,” you replied cheekily.

“Hmm,” Henry smiled. “Are you ready for dinner?”

You nodded, and Henry led the way to the town car waiting on the curb outside.

As you walked into the restaurant, you were greeted by a wall of noise.

“SURPRISE!”

Henry laughed joyfully at the look on your face. Inside was full of friends and family; Henry had rented out the whole place for the evening. You hugged Henry hard, and then bounded off to greet everyone.

What followed was one of the best meals of your life. The food was fantastic, and the wine was flowing. As the night went on, the conversation and the party got rowdier. Being surrounded by all of your favourite people made what already was the best day even better. You didn’t think you could love Henry any more; he’d really covered all the bases.

As you were talking to one of your girl friends, Henry joined you.

“Could I borrow Y/N for a minute?” he asked you friend.

She smiled, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,”

Henry turned to you.

“Take a walk with me?” he said, offering you his arm. You took it, smiling warmly, and Henry led you both out to the restaurant’s secret back garden.

The garden was one of the main reasons why this place was one of your favourites. It reminded you a fairy garden; there was a pond with lilies floating on the surface, and beautifully cut hedges surrounded it with marble benches spread out along them. Henry sat you down on one of the benches, but instead of sitting down, he got down on one knee in front of you instead. You gasped, one hand flying up to cover your mouth.

“Y/N,” Henry began. “You are the other half of me. I didn’t think I’d ever love anyone as much as I do you. You complete me in every sense of the word, and I can’t think of my life without you in it now. Will you do me the honour of marrying me and becoming my wife?”

He then produced a box from the inside pocket of his jacket. Inside was the most stunning ring you had ever seen; silver, with diamonds along the band and a sapphire set in the center.

Tears were streaming down your face. It took you a minute to gather yourself and reply.

“Yes, Henry, yes I’ll marry you!”

The smile that graced Henry’s face was just breath taking. He took you in a consuming kiss, and lifted you up and spun you around, both of you laughing loudly, happily.

As you both walked back into the restaurant, now as an engaged couple, you were again met by a cacophony of noise; cheers and applause surrounded you as your nearest and dearest congratulated you. Somebody popped open a bottle of champagne, and the night passed by in a whirl of bubbly, laughter and contentment.

Later, as you and Henry were lying in bed in each other’s arms, he gently placed a kiss on your temple.

“Have you had a happy birthday my love?” he whispered.

“Yes Henry,” you replied, cuddling in closer to him. “I have a had a very happy birthday.”

“Hmm,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes closing sleepily.

As you finally started to fall asleep too, you thought to yourself that you’d never had a happier birthday. You drifted off, still smiling.

[kirisaki-daichi-scenarios]

the artiste; hanamiya makoto

tags; fashion/modelling industry!au, lowkey sugar daddy!hanamiya, not telling you anything else so you gotta read these 3.8k words now

tw; unhealthy weight loss techniques

note: charon is the dude who carries souls of the deceased across the river styx - the river which connects the earth and the underworld

“Well, aren’t you pretty.”

These are the first words Hanamiya ever directs towards you, raising his champagne glass as you approach, with the same sleazy smile across his lips that you’ve seen on the face of every man who steps into the host club to soak up the atmosphere of women and wine.

“I’m flattered,” you upturn your lips - amiable but not too friendly, ladylike but not cold.

“Not you’re not,” the man’s tone holds none of its previous singsong. In your shock, you lose the smile, “you’re sick and tired of hearing the same words come out of every man’s lips, right? Nor are you particularly subtle with how you looked up at the clock.”

“I apologise-“

“Don’t. I’m not kidding when I say I’m pleased to meet you,” he stretches out his hand, takes yours and shakes it hard, “Makoto, Hanamiya Makoto. And I’m here to be your Charon.”

At first, your conversations with Hanamiya - always at the club, of course, though they grow more frequent, and soon he doesn’t even need to request you either; all the staff know that he’s only got eyes for you - are stilted and stiff. He’s charismatic but you’re not trained to talk to charismatic men.

“I’m not like the others, am I?” Hanamiya chuckles as if savouring his own sense of superiority. “I don’t work with the script your manager tells you to follow. I bet you’ve never told a single one of your customers what you actually think about them. You know, I used to work for a place like this, a common place pimp, picking up pretty girls off the street for the manager - that’s how I know just about everything you’re thinking. I understand more about your profession than you do.”

“What do you do now?” you ask, noting how the discussion is slowly falling into dangerous territory (the manager’s number one rule: never tell the customer anything they can’t just see).

“I’m a fashion designer, producing haute couture gowns for those with too much money to spend.”

It’s only then that you understand why his name sounded so familiar. And maybe Hanamiya sees how your eyes sparkle at the recollection, because the grin slips back onto his lips.

After that, conversations start getting easier. Hanamiya’s still a little too questioning, just a touch too intrusive, but you can’t avoid the questions of a man who dwells in the summit of society, which you could only dream of looking up at as a child. After all, who hasn’t fantasied about walking down the runway, being the object of everyone’s envy, being the centre of all the photos?

And that’s the worst part of Hanamiya - he keeps saying it’s possible, for you.

“It’s your bones,” Hanamiya tells you, running his hand across your cheek, his fingers pressing down gently onto what lies beneath your skin (the manager’s second rule: never let customers touch you in any way vaguely intimate - insist on boundaries). “God made you to be a model.”

Of course, you tell him you’re not interested (you’ve got a comfortable paying job now, and it doesn’t lack in glamour either, entertaining rich old men with pearls on your neck), but, every time he visits, he asks again. And it slowly gets harder to resist how sincerely he squeezes your hand, how authentic his smile has become (no longer do you feel the sensation that he’s inspecting you - he’s a friend now, more than anything), and how this could be your only chance to fulfil those childhood dreams that would have never stood a chance, if not for Hanamiya.

“I need you,” murmurs Hanamiya, staring so intensely into your eyes that it’s like he’s not looking at you at all, “you’re perfect.”

“Why me?”

“There’s this one dress... It’ll only reach its true potential if you’re the one wearing it. Just one show, just a couple steps down the catwalk, that’s all you have to do. If you don’t like it, you can leave the industry the next day.”

You glance around the club you’ve come to call a second home, at its plushy red sofas which look almost blood-coloured, dimly lit by the chandeliers overhead.

“I’m happy here.” Once, that wouldn’t have been a lie.

Hanamiya sits back, but his gaze still doesn’t leave yours. “You enjoy grandeur here, but only in the night. Don’t you want it in the light too?”

That evening, you quit your job.

It’s raining outside. As the two of you rush to his car, parked a little while away, Hanamiya holds his coat over you head.

“I thought your coat was too expensive to get wet!” you laugh, your hands still shaking with the adrenaline of your own rashness, the soles of your shoes slapping against the puddles on the pavement.

“You’re way more expensive, angel,” replies Hanamiya.

In the moment, with his raindrops glittering across his hair, and a boyish smile across his face, you can forget that this man is a multi-millionaire who now owns your future. Right now, he just seems like an ally - maybe even a friend.

“You’ll stay with me for now,” Hanamiya’s saying as he slips his key into the lock of a tall mahogany door, with his face turned away from you, “model apartments, agencies: they’re all shams. It’s tricky business for a newcomer. You’re safest with me.”

You’ve worked long enough in a shady industry to know that it’s never wise to put all your eggs in one basket.

“Why not an agency? Don’t I need someone to represent me?”

“Agencies only exist to take as large a cut of your earnings as they can, and get you in debt - that’s what the apartments they set you up with are for - and then make you reliant on them, so they can keep taking your money. They don’t care about your potential,” the light down the corridor is flickering, casting fleeting shadows over Hanamiya’s form which distort his face as he turns towards you, “not like I do.”

Something in his tone suggests to you that, firstly, you don’t know the first thing about this industry you’re stepping into, and that, secondly, you don’t need to know. You just need to stick with him.

You can trust him (you think).

After all, Hanamiya’s the one who’s responsible for your being a model in one of the biggest fashion events in this half of the year - you, someone with no experience apart from a couple hours practice with an expert (who had only agreed to it, you understood, because they were desperate to work with Hanamiya too). He’s also the one who kept you company during the dress rehearsal, when all the other models were eyeing you, mumbling together from the distance, dressed in their various shades of blacks and greys and purples like a plague about to smother you whole.

“Ignore them, they’re just envious that you’re the star of the show,” Hanamiya whispered, his lip just grazing the top of your ear, before announcing to the room, “work hard, ladies, and maybe, one day, you’ll get to be my favourite instead!”

You had asked him to not make such a big show of it. One of the best parts of working at the host club had been sitting with your fellow hosts at the end of the day, slipping off your high heels to give your feet a rest, gossiping together about that day’s customers. Making friends with these new colleagues of yours, you explained to Hanamiya, was just as important to you. You didn’t want to be the lone wolf; you didn’t want to feel like you were walking down the runway alone.

“Why?” Hanamiya had replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Looking at the mirror before you, you were convinced the other models were glaring at you. “Can’t you cope with the pressure?”

And, now, in the final hour before the first (and potentially last; now it’s so close, you’re starting to realise just how unqualified you are) show of your life, still no one’s talking to you. Even the three people working on you - two on your hair, one of your makeup (in Hanamiya’s words, the star shouldn’t have to worry about anything but the walk ahead) - refuse to speak to you, or even meet your eye in the mirror. Your only option for conversation is Hanamiya, who’s barely interested in you. His eyes keep straying to look over the preparations being performed before him, like a boy studying his ant farm.

“You’re got too much trust in me,” you say to Hanamiya, as your head gets wrenched back by one of the stylists, “I could ruin your whole show.”

“If I thought that,” Hanamiya’s eyes flicker over you, and then return to observing the other models, “I wouldn’t have offered the position to you.”

“I’m no professional model.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Hanamiya’s casual smile slips off his face. He’s displeased. You have to put more trust in his decisions, you remind yourself, as black lipstick and eyeshadows is smudged across your lips and eyelids, giving you the appearance of a banshee.

Around 10 minutes before you’re supposed to go out, you’re helped into the gown you’ll be wearing (the other models have been dashing back and forth to get changed into their next outfits, whereas you just have the one), and hairspray is once again sprayed over the crow’s nest that was once your hair (you look deranged, you think to yourself, but Hanamiya gives a satisfied hum once he sees the stylist’s finished product).

And then, in the final seconds, Hanamiya approaches you - “make me proud” - and pushes you onto the catwalk.

One step in front of the other. Let the satin skirt swing. Don’t move your arms too much. Expose the lace that attaches the sleeves to the skirt, hanging down like great wings of spider’s webs. And keep your arms raised, just slightly. Even when the heaps of black satin, piled across your biceps and forearm, make your muscles burn, keep your arms up. Look confident. But haunted too. Walk slow. Let your hips slip to the side, but don’t overdo it. Not like the other models. Remember, you’re the witch. You’re wearing the dress of the witch. You’re not a model.

You’re the star.

At the end - and it’s curious how long the runway feels whilst you’re on it, and how short it looks when it’s over - the lights dim, and, the minute you’re backstage, high on adrenaline, you race into Hanamiya’s arms. You’re shaking too much to speak, but Hanamiya holds you closely, like you could crumple any minute.

“Good girl,” he purrs, “you did exactly what I told you to.”

And then he tosses you to the side, as he goes out to greet the applause.

-----

You’re not sure how (in the photos, you look like a woman possessed - perhaps you shouldn’t have been concentrating so hard on remembering Hanamiya’s advice) but the show’s a success. More than that, you’re a success. Suddenly, your schedule starts being booked up. There’s magazines interested in this new look, photographers keen on being the ones to represent it, and even the tabloids have been writing about “designer Hanamiya Makoto finds yet another hidden talent!”

“’Another’?” you ask Hanamiya, stretched out underneath his bed’s thin black duvet - he keeps saying he’ll find you your own place to stay, but he’s yet to refer you somewhere, and you’re not sure you’d want to go, even if he did.

“There’s been a couple models in the past that I brought to the industry,” he replies, slipping off a dark grey tie, unbuttoning the top hole of his black shirt, “but none with your potential, angel.”

Your attention returns to the magazine, as you reread the article for the tenth time. There’s something addicting about seeing your name written there, seeing your photo printed into the glossy paper. Over and over, you run your fingers across the ‘truly the star of the show’ printed in Times New Roman, and, every time, the words bring a shiver up your spine. That’s you. You’re the star. You’re Hanamiya’s star.

-----

A few weeks after the show, and your days are spent on booking after booking. Today’s job involves wearing a collection of what Hanamiya deems as ‘funeral dresses’ - long black frocks, not quite ballgowns but clearly not designed for the average grieving mademoiselle. And it’s only the three of you in the studio today: you, the photographer, and Hanamiya.

(You’re not sure why Hanamiya attends all these bookings of yours. He’s a busy man, after all; just organising your schedule seems a lot of work for someone whose main job is focused on something entirely different. The one time you asked him as to how he finds the time, he replied that, “as the artist, I cannot possibly leave you - my muse. Not unless you want me to?” He raised an eyebrow, and you never asked again, knowing very well that you weren’t ready to be separated from his company).

“Hand up a little,” says the photographer now, “no, put it back. The pose isn’t working. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

He approaches you, squints, grins, and begins to adjust the positioning of your legs and torso. His hands slowly slip to your hips - you bite your lip as to not gasp - and then to the inside of your thigh, give your skin a slight squeeze.

And that’s when you slap him. Storm over to Hanamiya.

“Makoto, this man is no photographer,” you retort, filling your voice with rage to hide how your hands are shivering, “he’s a commonplace groping pervert at best.”

“Hush up, angel,” Hanamiya doesn’t even look up from his book, flicks to the next page “the plot twist is coming up.”

Just the three of you in the room, you think once more, frozen to the spot. And then the photographer guides you back to your position, and, though he’s less loose with his hands now, his grin has only grown.

“You’re being paid to be a mannequin,” he says, rubbing his thumb down the side of your torso, as if adjusting how the dress sits on you, “keep that in mind.”

Perhaps it’s due to his book, but, in the corner of the room, Hanamiya’s starting to laugh.

-----

In the evenings, the two of you return to Hanamiya’s apartment together. He cooks - you always offer to, but, in his words, you’re too good for household chores - and then, sat at opposite ends of the mahogany table, you both eat and discuss the day. Even now that he spends most of his day with you (and when you’re not on a booking with him, you’re trapped in his apartment, whose key you’re still yet to receive, not that you mind, of course: there’s plenty of fashion magazines here to entertain you, many of which now include photos of yourself), Hanamiya continues to ask you questions about your life. It’s like nothing has changed since the two of you were chatting together at the host club.

But that’s the pleasant thing about Hanamiya. He’s always so easy to talk to. He never treats you like the man who’s brought you all this success; rather, he treats you like you’re the one who’s enriching his life.

And that’s why, months later, sharing a meal together as per usual, you raise to Hanamiya your concerns as to how you’ve been getting less bookings recently.

“Of course I know you’re busy,” you twist the spaghetti around your fork, “but I’m getting more popular with each passing day. I need to keep up with it.”

“Oh, and that’s my job, is it?”

“You’ve always done it before.”

“Aren’t you getting a bit above your station, angel dearest? If you want more jobs, make a network and find them.” You can tell, from the way Hanamiya’s voice has dropped, from the way he’s placed his wineglass back down on the table, that you’re pushing your luck, “I’m no slave of yours.”

Fighting to keep your voice composed, as you wind the pasta tighter around your fork, you respond, “then at least give me a larger percentage of the payout from my bookings than I’m currently getting.”

“Do you even know what percentage you’re getting right now?”

You don’t. You’ve been relying on Hanamiya to handle the financial side of things; he always said that it made more sense for him to manage the books, since he was the one finding the jobs in the first place.

Your silence is telling and Hanamiya grins, takes a long sip of his wine.

“Just remember, I brought you into this world. It wouldn’t be hard for me to take you back out of it,” he purrs, glancing at how your plate is still full, “and that reminds me. Do be careful with what you’re eating, angel. I wouldn’t want you to lose your edge.”

That evening, you throw up the little of the spaghetti that you had eaten. It’s time for a change, you reprimand yourself. You can’t let yourself fall out of Hanamiya’s favour.

It’s with this in mind that you start swallowing down cotton balls, dipped in juice beforehand, and, as you feel them slide down your throat, you tell yourself that you’re full.

But still, the number of bookings continue to decrease. Those that you do attend are often filled with other models, so you’re just one of the crowd, one of many faceless limbs and torsos. No one speaks to you, even though Hanamiya’s not spending much time with you either. You stand in the queue, waiting for your photo, and, as the photographers criticise your inability to look natural in a pose or to even maintain it - “is your head full of wool, woman? Keep your hand there!” - you think back to your first (only, so far) fashion show. How you were the star of the show. How you’re still the star of the show.

These petty little bookings with their petty little photographers simply don’t understand your potential.

That’s what you’re repeating to yourself during your lunch break, having snuck outside to swallow down another couple cotton balls - this time dipped in chilli oil (if your mouth is burning, you can’t be hungry, right?). The sky glares down at you, painfully bright, as you run your tongue over your lips again and again, feeling the grooves in the flesh, where you’ve bitten into your lips hard enough to make them bleed.

“You’re the girl that did Hanamiya Makoto’s last show, aren’t you?”

“And what if I am?”

The woman, who’s just stepped outside to stand beside you, blows smoke into your face, before inspecting you more closely. She’s tall, and there’s something skeletal in her fingers as she brings the cigarette up to her lips once more.

“He’s losing interest in you, isn’t he?”

“How dare you-“

She glances down at the remaining cotton ball in your palm.

“Just take coke if you want to get skinny,” the woman states, looking you up and down like she’s pitying you, “it’s downright weird to eat cotton. Coke speeds up your metabolism, makes you less hungry too.”

“Coke also gets people addicted, and then killed.”

“In that man’s mind,” she leans back against the wall, as a cloud of grey trickles from her lips, “beauty comes first. So us models who hope to work for him can’t prioritise our futures. You’re not going to last long with your current attitude.”

“What would you know? I bet you’ve never been in one of his shows.” Your words come out tenser that you had wanted them to. “I’m the star of-“

“There’s nothing permanent in this industry,” she lets her cigarette fall to the floor, and grinds it into ashes with the heel of her platform boots, “but I guess you’re still new to the game.”

-----

The booking grows worse throughout the day. As the humidity increases, the photographers’ tempers shorten - and Hanamiya doesn’t look your way when you get yelled at once again. You’re spending even longer stuck in the queues, standing silently, listening to the conversations of the models around you.

One woman glances at you with a smirk, and then tells her companion, “there’s rumours he’s found a new girl, another host club adoptee.”

You don’t have to guess who the ‘he’ is.

So, that evening, when Hanamiya returns late as he has been doing for the past coupe weeks, you confront him. Dressed in the slick black dress he bought you, wearing the diamond necklace he offered you as a birthday present, you pin him between against the wall, the minute he walks through the door.

“You’ve been at the host club, haven’t you? They’re saying you’ve found someone new, that you’re going to replace me!”

Loosening his tie, Hanamiya murmurs, “you’re not my wife, you know, angel.”

“I am the star of your show,” you hiss in response.

Hanamiya pushes your torso away from his, and something about his touch, or perhaps how you haven’t eaten anything substantial since 6am this morning, makes your knees weak. You collapse to the ground, your head slamming against the wall beside his leg.

Slowly, Hanamiya rolls up his sleeves, grabs your chin and pulls it up - hard.

“Don’t tell me this is all you’ve become - a jealous, talentless bitch?” He smiles, but there’s nothing entertained in his eyes. “All my expectations for you, and yet here you are, keeling over like a donkey in a fucking third world country.”

You fight against the pressure of his hand on your chin, but his hold is too strong to go against. “The new collection, “Styx’s Allure’… I’m going to participate in that show, right? Everyone’s talking about it, all the magazines are raving about it; I can’t not be in it.”

“Sure you can,” Hanamiya pulls you back up to your feet, and now it’s you being pressed against the wall, “in fact, I’ll save you the trouble of having to wait to find out. You’re not in it. You can beg all you want, and you still won’t get it. There’s a cute little girl at your old employer’s place; she’s much more suited-“

“I thought you said I’d be the star!” you snarl, overwhelmed with an exhausted rage.

“I thought you’d be capable of being the star,” sighs Hanamiya, running his hands around your neck, like he’s contemplating just how thin it is, just how easy it would be to snap, “but don’t worry, angel, you’re not entirely useless.

Just the other day, I was talking to a taxidermist about you.

You know, some things just don’t reach their true potential in life.”

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

I can't lose anyone else

TW: mention of death/loss + panic attack

A tall elderly woman in a long brown wool coat walked down London’s gray streets, wrinkled cheeks pink in the fresh morning air. Heads turned as she passed, eyes staring after her. While she was certainly a beautiful woman, there was nothing incredibly special about her or her clothes, but she radiated a regal aura, almost...magical. Her face was impassive though unreadable, and she seemed oblivious to the awe she induced in others. Minerva was simply too grief-struck and numb to notice. She walked rapidly, hands hid deeply in her pockets, strides long and unwavering, turning around corners, swerving left and right between the throng of Londoners going to work, still unaware of the hiss of tires on the wet asphalt as people turned around to look back at her.

Somewhere between the thousands of irregular footsteps hammering the pavements, the last drops of rain dripping from the roofs and sliding off the tiles, the honks of cars, and the hushed mix of words and languages and conversations rising from the crowd, the haunting notes of a musical partition escaped a lone violin. It came from a young man, with long dark brown almost black hair, clad in black leather, a red scarf wrapped around his neck, and sparkling, youthful blue eyes full of hope. He stood under a porch, the wooden instrument resting on his shoulder under his chin. Minerva locked eyes with the musician and smiled. It was a soft, gentle smile, full of magic and kindness. It was probably the warmest smile the young man had ever seen. Despite that, he had no idea, no way of knowing, that when she turned away and disappeared amongst the sea of unknown faces, her eyes were full of tears and her heart clenched a little tighter in pain. A single thought flashed in her mind through the haze of desolation:

“He looks so much like Sirius.”

***

The building wasn’t particularly remarkable, it looked rather shabby in fact. The dull blue-gray paint was crackled and dirty in some spots, white-framed glass windows detaching themselves on it. The only splash of colours were the bright multi-coloured curtains weaving in the light breeze through the windows on the fourth floor. Minerva took a small piece of parchment out of her pocket, unfolding it.

“13, Athlone Street, London”, it read.

It was the right address. Sucking in a nervous breath, she looked left and right before taking her wand out of her sleeve.

“Alohomora,” she whispered, pointing her wand at the door.

A faint trickle of magic leaked out of its tip, slipping into the lock, gliding between the whirring cogs of the intricate mechanism, unlocking it with a small click. She smiled, satisfied. It was a very simple spell, one she could have easily executed without a wand, but the familiar weight of it in her hand was reassuring, and knowing all of her spell-work was flawless, from the basics to the most complicated skills, still filled her with childish pride and delight.

Minerva pushed the door open and found herself in front of an old, wooden staircase that appeared quite fragile and rickety. Some parts of the wood were chipped away at, splinters sticking out here and there, and others had begun to rot, filling the air with an unpleasant musty smell. Carefully, she went up the stairs, passing locked door after locked door. Finally, on the fourth floor, a single door offered itself to her eyes. It was painted bright red and a rainbow doormat lay in front of it. She knocked. It creaked open, and a tall, slim, young man dressed in a large knitted cardigan appeared. Remus Lupin. The last Marauder.

She observed him carefully: he looked exhausted, dark rings circling his honey-brown eyes speckled with green. He was very pale, and his hair had lost its golden shine, grown longer, ends1 split. He had also lost weight, his shoulders appeared bonier than ever, protruding in sharp angles under the wool, and his cheekbones stuck out harshly, giving his usually soft face a hard, cold air.

“Professor McGonagall! I can’t say I was expecting any visit, especially not at such an early hour. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He greeted her, smiling weakly.

“Merlin, Remus, how many times do I have to ask you to quit calling me “Professor” and just use Minerva?” She replied, rolling her eyes, falsely lighthearted.

“At least a hundred more, Professor,” chuckled Remus.

“Once a Marauder, always a Marauder, constantly doing it your own way,” she observed, sounding almost amused. “Anyhow, there are some…matters I wish to discuss with you. May I come in?”

“Of course, sorry,” he answered bashfully, stepping aside and letting her in, leading her through to the living room. “Would you like some tea?”

“That is a very kind offer I will gladly accept.”

She sat down on the couch, folding her hands in her lap, back straight, waiting, apprehensive, while Remus disappeared in the kitchen. In front of her, one of those new, fancy muggle boxes which showed moving pictures and emitted sounds rested on a low table.

“Televisions,” she remembered they were called.

Next to it, a record player stood proudly, surrounded by boxes upon boxes full of vinyl discs protected by their colourful thin cardboard covers. Books lay strewn everywhere, some askew in shelves, others stacked on one another on the floor. Patchwork quilts were neatly folded over an armchair, and a couple of sketchpads peeked out between the books here and there. A vase full of half-dead red tulips, Sirius’ favourite flowers, of course, ruled over the coffee table on which stood an empty coffee mug. But what captured Minerva’s attention above everything else were the framed pictures which hung by the dozens on the walls, occupying every available centimetre. There were traditional muggle photographs, still and unmoving, but there were also wizard-moving pictures. Most of the time, they showed Sirius, Remus, James, and Peter, occasionally joined by Lily, Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, Molly, Arthur, Frank, and other friends from Hogwarts. There were photos of them in the Gryffindor Common Room, others in Hogwarts’ hallways, others on the Quidditch Pitch, others near the Black Lake, some in their dorm room, and a couple from Hogsmeade. There were a few photos of Remus with his family at home and by the sea, and one of Sirius and Euphemia and Fleamont Potter. And, there was also a series of neatly ordered photographs, seven in total, hung up one above the other, displaying the Marauders in the Transfiguration classroom. She knew them all too well. She had taken those, every year, at the end of the last term, exactly an hour before the Hogwarts Express would depart. Minerva had watched these boys grow, year after year, become adults, and now…two of them were dead along with one of her favourite students, one of them was in prison, and only one remained.

“I apologize for the mess, I only arrived a couple of hours ago and Sirius seems unable to maintain any order in our apartment without me,” said Remus, interrupting her thoughts, handing her a steaming mug of tea.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, taking a sip.

“I found a box of biscuits, feel free to help yourself,” he added, gesturing to the metal tin he had brought with him in which lay golden-yellow butter biscuits. “So, what did you need to speak of so urgently?”

“I…,” she hesitated. “Have you read the news from the Wizarding World recently, Remus?”

“No, I had none available where I was and today’s newspaper hasn’t arrived yet. Why? Did something happen?”

“Merlin, I am so, so sorry, my dear boy, but—“

A sudden sob broke through her words.

“Professor,” gasped Remus worriedly. “Are you all right? Should I get you a tissue or something?”

“N-no,” she cried, “stay.”

She sighed deeply, dejected, before attempting to deliver the dreadful news again.

“I—“

“Minerva,” interrupted Remus, “while I am dreading whatever you must tell me, I need to hear it. It’s fine, I have been through a lot, I can handle it, I’ll be all right.”

“James, Lily, and Peter are dead, Sirius is in Azkaban,” she blurted out, burning tears sliding down her cheeks.

“What?”

Looking at him compassionately, Minerva took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice, and began recounting the events from the start. Remus listened wordlessly, staring at her in dumbfounded shock.

“No,” he whispered, as soon as she finished. “No, this isn’t possible, Sirius would never murder James and Lily. No, I refuse to believe this…”

He shook his head violently as she sat quietly, waiting for the outburst.

“No,” repeated Remus with more conviction. “Tell me the truth, Professor, what actually happened?”

“That is the truth, I am so sorry,” she replied softly.

“TELL ME THE BLOODY TRUTH!” He roared, standing up.

His teacup fell out of his hand, shattering on the floor. Fragments of china flew everywhere, peppering the floor and sofa. A small piece grazed Minerva’s hand, scratching her pale skin. A few droplets of scarlet blood oozed out of the thin wound. Remus looked around as if suddenly realising what he had done, and sat back down abruptly, burying his face in his hands.

“This can’t have happened, I know Sirius, I’ve known him for almost 10 years now, the man I love would never murder his best friends in cold blood, he simply isn’t capable of that. Please, tell me the truth,” he begged desperately.

At that moment, he appeared so fragile, so weak. It was almost as if he would break into a million pieces if anything so much as a light breeze would blow over him. He shook and shivered, every limb trembling brutally, as his breath quickened drastically. Sensing the impending panic attack, Minerva put her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to face her, gripping him tightly.

“Remus, look at me,” she whispered soothingly.

He did not react, staring blankly past her before shutting his eyes tightly as he began to suffocate, panting heavily.

“Remus look at me, I’m here,” she repeated, harsher this time. “REMUS LOOK AT ME!”

It was as if something inside him had switched off as if his consciousness wasn’t there any longer. At loss, she took out her wand, pressing it against his temple, and said:

“Spiritus remedium!”

A warm wight light briefly illuminated the room. Remus opened his eyes, his frantic breathing slowly regaining its normal pace.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Of course, my dear. Do you…want to talk about it?” She asked, looking at him concernedly/

“No…thank you but no. I just need some time for myself right now, be alone for a while, understand, and come to terms with whatever this is,” he replied, turning away.

“Remus,” she began hesitatingly, putting a warm hand on his shoulder. “I know we haven’t exactly been very close lately or spent a lot of time together, after all, you did know me as your teacher for most of your life. Nevertheless, it is precisely because of that that I’m concerned about you. I’ve watched you grow into the wonderful young man you are now, and…I just can’t lose anyone else, not you.”

He met her gaze glistening with tears, and a look of understanding passed between them. They both knew what was at stake here, and they both knew they probably wouldn’t survive any more loss. In some ways, they only had each other left now. Student and mentor. Friends. To some extent, mother and son. No, they definitely could not lose anyone else, especially not each other.

“Take care, Remus,” said Minerva finally standing up, wrapping herself in her coat.

“You too, Minerva.”

She left the colourful apartment and all its pictures and former happiness behind, disappearing in London’s grey streets, just another nameless human being. This time, heads did not turn as she passed, or maybe they did but she never even fathomed it, as all she thought of was the funeral.

[simsadventures]

Only Mine: Chapter 6: Just For You

Summary: Bucky comes to you with pleas and puppy eyes. There is not much you can do to fight his cuteness.

Warnings: swearing, major fluff

Word Count: 4258

A/N: Mobster  Bucky is giving me os much life, he even brought my imagination from its leave. This one has quite a lot of conversation, but you should be used to that by now. It is also the longest thing I’ve ever written, over 4K words. Crazy! 

Hope you guys will enjoy it and let me know what you want/think will happen in the future chapters. Love y’all.

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

It was 8 in the morning, and you were comfortably sleeping in your bed when you heard the buzzer ringing through the apartment. You groaned loudly and threw a pillow over your head, deciding that whoever is ringing at you so early in the morning is an idiot and doesn’t deserve to have the door opened for them. You knew Nat was already in her job, so you had no idea who could it be.

You mind momentarily drifted towards Bucky, but after ignoring all of your calls and the text messages you sent him yesterday, you were pretty sure it couldn’t be him. It was not like you were upset, or anything, because Bucky didn’t pick up. You knew that you didn’t want to be with him, and you just called to tell him that you were much better. He had to obligation whatsoever to pick up your calls or reply to your texts.

You let yourself relax again, feeling your mind drifting away once again, this time to a beautiful slumber when the buzzer sounded again. Your groans turned into swearing really quickly. You were muttering under your breath, as you got up from the warmth your bed was providing, tears almost slipping from your eyes at how much you hated to get up. Your sleeping attire was simple: a big old t-shirt and some cotton panties. You quickly put on some fuzzy socks so that your feet wouldn’t freeze and went to the door.

“Who dares to wake me up?” You grumbled and waited for the reply coming from outside. You hoped the person had a really good excuse to come to you and wake you up.

“If I said Prince Charming, would you let me up?”

You knew instantly who it was, and your heart made an involuntary jump. What was he doing there? You tried to shake off your nervousness which suddenly sat on your chest, but to no avail.

“I wouldn’t believe you, but whatever. What do you want Bucky that it couldn’t wait till I finished my beauty sleep?”

You could hear a low chuckle from the other side of the line. “I bet you’re beautiful anyway, doll. Just please, Y/N, let me up so I can talk to you.”

You wanted to tell him that you were indeed talking but decided against it. You could sass him with a cup of hot coffee that you so desperately yearned. You huffed out a breath and press the button, letting him in your building. You realised that you didn’t tell him which floor, but when you opened your door, you could hear him walking with determination.

When he reached your floor, he looked around until he saw you standing in your doorway, shivering slightly from the cold air coming to you. You could see Bucky taking you all in, and you were suddenly very aware of what you were wearing, or better, how little you were really wearing.

“Gonna stand there whole day?” You asked, trying to hide your nerves. Bucky gave you his notorious smirk and walked towards you. You let him in and left him by the door, scurrying to find your favourite sweater, which would at least reach your mid-thigh. You knew Bucky has already seen you naked, but that was different.

“Coffee?” You asked him when you finally found what you were looking for. He followed you to the kitchen where you stood so that your back was facing him. You were keeping yourself preoccupied with the coffee, and so Bucky had the time to admire you from behind.

You were a sight, and he had to clench his hands into fists so that he wouldn’t reach for you and do all the things he wanted to. He knew it wasn’t his place, not only because you were probably pissed at him for ignoring you, but because of the events of two nights before.

So he just watched you. Your hair was messy from the sleep he so rudely interrupted and chastised himself for not being able to wait a little longer. He wanted truly. But he couldn’t sleep, and when the sun got up, he became restless. He needed to see you, and he couldn’t wait another minute.

The sweater you put on was baggy, something Bucky wasn’t a big fan of. He wanted to put you in something which would show all of your curves. The same curves that occupied his dreams for so long. Your legs were bare, and he wanted to caress them and feel your soft skin on his fingertips. He wanted to slap himself. He was supposed to be the most feared men in the US, and here he was, drooling over your legs. Wow!

“How do you take yours?” You asked, and he was glad for the interruption of his own thoughts. “He looked at the box of coffee in your hand and cringed slightly. No coffee machine.

“Calm down, right boy. It’s drinkable, I promise.”

He smiled. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

You shrugged and continued your work, leaving Bucky to his sinful thoughts once again. The curve of your ass was barely visible under the wool monstrosity, but he could see it faintly, and it was enough to have him imagination reeling. What if he lifted the sweater ever so slightly to have a peak? He would actually kill for that.

You turned in that very moment, Bucky’s head cocked to the side trying to see under your sweater. He felt like a schoolboy again.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Really, Barnes, really?”

“What can I say, I can’t help myself around you.” He smirked at you, and you just shook your head at his antics. Not that it wasn’t complimenting you and making the hair on your arms stand a little from the excitement of the prospects.

When you sat down on the sofa, you turned to face Bucky, questions written all over your face. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, but what are you really doing here Bucky? I bet you didn’t come for my shitty coffee or my dishevelled looks.”

“I told you, you are beautiful even like this, a few seconds after waking up, so stop fussing about it. I came to apologise.”

You furrowed brows and looked at him quizzically. “Apologise? For what?” You tried to think of something he has done, but he literally saved your life the other day, or at least your pride, modesty and self-consciousness. You were sure that he wasn’t there because of the calls.

“I was being an ass yesterday, and I didn’t want to make you feel like I didn’t give a shit about you and your health and all. I had a terrible day and, ugh, yeah. I don’t know, just felt like I should apologise for that.”

A small smile crept on your lips. You bit your lower lip before it could widen, and even took a sip of coffee to stop from smiling like an idiot. It didn’t mean anything. You were sure of that. But he was so sweet when he was nervous that all you wanted to do was hug him and tell him everything was ok. Which it was.

“It’s alright, Bucky. I thought you were busy or something, and even if you ignored me because you were tired of me, I’d understand. We’ve been on one date, had sex one night and then you save my ass. There is no obligation, you know that, right? And I’m kind of counting on you disappearing from my life soon, I mean, I’m not giving you what all those girls used to give you, and I bet you must miss the hooking up and showcasing your girls like trophies for a month.”

You couldn’t help yourself and have to take a jab at him. He was just too easy of a target not to.

“No, sure I know that there is no obligation I just… I don’t even know, Y/N. And could you stop comparing yourself to the other girls? We both know you’re nothing like any of them, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“You confuse me, Bucky,” you almost whispered, and if Bucky wasn’t sitting so close to you, he would have probably missed it.

“How so?”

“I don’t know. I feel like there are two positions with you and I’m never sure which one am I gonna get. You’re either the big bad boss, smug motherfucker that doesn’t give a shit and won’t even wait for me to get out of the car when we go on a date. And then there is this sweet guy, who apologises for things he doesn’t have to and who tells me nice things, and I’m just confused.”

Bucky was silent for a second. He knew you were right. There was a game face, which was the most usual with him, being arrogant was part of the job. He was himself only with Steve and Sam, never with a girl, because he learned early in his life that girls liked more the bad boys than the good ones.

“And which one do you prefer?” He asked, his breath a little ragged. He so desperately wanted you to like him for him and not the power and “fame” that came with being with him.

“Is that even a question? This great man who would sit with me on a pavement, and wouldn’t hear anything before he actually drove me to a hospital, and who would text me sweet messages about how I was feeling, versus a guy who seemingly doesn’t give a shit about anything and orders for me in a restaurant. Which one do you think I like better?”

Bucky chuckled and could feel colour raising to his cheeks. You still didn’t know him, he didn’t let you, but you liked it when he wasn’t the mafia boss with you. He knew he could and would never abandon that persona, it was deeply rooted in him.

“Would you like to spend the day with me, then? I promise I’ll try to be as much of the guy you like as I can.”

You smiled, your emotions matching his. “Wait a second. Are you asking me on a second date, Mr Barnes?”

He chuckled and took your hand in his. He brought it to his lips and kiss the top of your hand, sweetly. “Would be my pleasure to do so, m’lady!”

You settled in comfortable silence, just drinking your coffees and stealing glances at each other. You really felt like you were a teenager again and you didn’t understand it one bit. You were disgusted by him at first, just the idea of a mobster was repulsive to you. But when he was like this, shy and nervous, and all that, you just could help the butterflies that erupted in your stomach.

Bucky was the first to break the silence.

“I have a weird request. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I thought I’d try it and, you know, I just wanted to-“

You placed a hand over his mouth to keep him from rambling on. You had a smile on your lips, and after his breathing calmed a little, you put away your hand, waiting for the request. You just hoped he wouldn’t destroy the pleasant atmosphere with something sexual.

“Could you ask me something personal?”

You stared at him, waiting for him to tell you that he was joking and that he wouldn’t tell you shit. But nothing came. His eyes were honest and nervous, and you knew he was 100% sure about this.

“Oh, ok. Uhm, let me think,” you said and tried to think of some personal information that you didn’t know from what you heard. You knew his dad was in the same line of business as him, and that he remarried when Bucky was a teenager. But nothing more.

“Do you have any siblings?” You thought it was a safe question. It was personal, but you wouldn’t scare him with it.

He obviously sighed and smiled at you again. You saw the relief on his brows that he didn’t have the delve into the dark shit.

“I do. I have one younger sister. Her name is Rebecca, and she is now studying to be a surgeon, actually, in the John Hopkins University. She’s doing really great, and I couldn’t be prouder at her.”

You could see that. He was beaming when he was talking about her.

“Well, at least one of you is smart,” you said and earned a jab to your ribs. Both you and Bucky laughed freely, and you watched as his face was suddenly rid of all the harsh edges and he looked much younger. And much more handsome.

“What about you? Any annoying siblings?”

You smirked and nodded. “Oh, yeah. I have younger sisters, twins, actually. Izzie and Gabby. They are 18, and totally out of control. I love them to pieces but, Jesus Christ, I hope puberty will leave soon because if I hear one more comment about how I’m so not hip, and that their lifestyles are all about them looks, I’m gonna explode. But other than that, they are actually super smart. Izzy wants to be a vet, she always loved animals of all sizes, and Gabby aspires to be a translator. She can already speak 4 languages and is learning another one.”

Bucky listened to you, and he was grateful for being able to be there, with you. Your face lit up talking about your little sisters, and even if they obviously pissed you off, you loved them. That much was visible to him.

The rest of the morning went just like this. You both shared simple things from your past, childhood and all, laughing at the stories, especially how one of his men, Steve, which you’ve seen once or twice (and was one of the largest men you’ve ever encountered) used to be this scrawny little shit and Sam and Bucky had to protect him from all the kids in the neighbourhood. Bucky loved the story when you were so sassy with your dad; he lost his patience and threw you into your pool. In your clothes and with your phone in your hand.

Morning slowly turned into an afternoon, and you were getting hungrier by the second. After an especially loud grumble of your stomach (really sexy, you thought), Bucky seemed to have realised that the two of you haven’t eaten anything the whole day. He must have admitted that he was also hungry as hell, but he was especially pissed at himself for not providing for you.

“I totally forgot about lunch, Y/N. I’m sorry. Would you like to go out and grab something?”

But you didn’t, actually. You were feeling great, sitting on your sofa, staring at Bucky and talking as if he wasn’t who he was. The thought occurred to you multiple times throughout the day. He was this big bad mobster, but here he was, sitting with you, sharing little laughs with you.

“Actually, I was thinking more like a take-out? I’m not feeling like leaving this little nest we made here.”

Bucky chuckled and looked between you. You were sharing a huge blanket on top of which was a tray with two mugs, now filled with tea and Lotus biscuits, which he didn’t consider a food worthy of soothing his aching stomach.

“Alright, leave it to me, I know the best pizza place!” He said excitedly. But before he dialled the number, he looked at you. “Wait, is pizza, ok? And what kind of pizza do you like? I mean, we can totally have something else, there is this good Chinese restaurant not far from here and-“

“Bucky, clam down. I love pizza, I could die eating it, and I’d be the happiest person. And I love fungi actually.”

Bucky smiled and nodded before he dialled and ordered for the two of you.

—-

The afternoon went on in the same fashion as your morning, and your belly ached from all the laughing. Conversation with Bucky was easy and carefree, which you didn’t imagine even in your wildest dream. Someone once told you that you’d know your person by the conversation you were having. If it was smooth and you didn’t have to worry about anything in the world, just vibing and feeling good, then it was it. The thought crossed your mind, but you tried not to dwell on it for too long. It couldn’t be possible that Bucky would be your person. You two were too different.

But the little nagging voice in your head disagreed. You could almost hear it snorting at your “differences.” When he was himself, you two were actually very much alike. You both knew what it was like to have annoying younger siblings, which was a fact you two bonded over a lot. You were both obsessed with old movies, which was rare, considering most people nowadays like only the new action/superhero things coming out so often. And there was so much more. You hushed the voice and didn’t let yourself go down that rabbit hole. This was your second date, and you didn’t want to think too much into it, especially with someone like Bucky.

It was getting dark, and Bucky leaned in your space. You thought he was gonna kiss you, but he just rubbed his cheek against yours and whispered to your ear. “Will you let me show you something?” His hot breath fanned over your ear and sent shivers down your body. You couldn’t form a sentence, so you just nodded, and he smiled at that. He carefully got off the couch and stretched his hand towards you. You grabbed it and stood up yourself, gratitude on your tongue.

He dragged you towards the door, but before you could reach it, you stopped. Bucky looked at you, confusion and worry on his face and you smiled reassuringly.

“I need to change. I’m not sure what you want to show me, but whatever and wherever it is, I don’t think this is the right clothing.”

Bucky released a breath of relief and chuckled. “I mean, I’m not complaining about your outfit, but you should probably wear something with pants, at least.”

You swatted his hand away and ran to your bedroom. You didn’t want to give up your comfy sweater, but pulled on some leggings, knowing that it would at least look more appropriate than your bare legs. You quickly put on your favourite sneakers and ran to the hall, where Bucky was waiting, patiently. He gave you a warm smile, telling you that this outfit was alright for where he was taking you.

When you got out of your building, you could see a familiar black SUV standing in front of your building.

“Oh my God! Where they here the whole time? I mean, they must be tired and hungry, and we should’ve ordered some pizzas for them as well.”

Bucky laughed and put a hand on your lower back. “Don’t worry about them, love. They were making sure we were alright. And I can assure you they ate and they were comfortable. This car is a real treat.”

You wouldn’t believe it until you heard from them, however. You both got it the car, and before anyone could say anything, you looked at the driver. The same guy who helped Bucky save you. Peter.

“Hi, Peter, hi, Mr I don’t remember your name! Have you two eaten anything while waiting? Aren’t you tired? Don’t you want me to get you some coffee or tea or something?”

They frowned, looked at each other, and then at you.

“Uhm, we ate and drank plenty, Ms Y/L/N. We’re good, really.” Peter stammered, and you looked at him, not entirely sure if he was telling the truth.

“First of all, no-nonsense like Ms Y/L/N. My name is Y/N, so please, no pleasantries like that. And secondly, if you’re lying to me and you’re starving here, Peter, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

This time, the guy next to Peter laughed out loud. It was the mountain of a man you’ve seen before. But your memory was blank. “I’m Drax, by the way. And we honestly ate and all of that, but thank you for asking, Y/N.” He smirked at you, and you winked back at him.

“Alright, enough of the flirting. Peter, take us to my favourite thinking place.”

“Yes, Sir!” Peter hollered and started the car.

You didn’t know how to act around Bucky when his men were there, so you kept to yourself, staring out of the window, looking as you passed each of the skyscrapers, fiddling with your fingers. You could see Peter was taking a route leaving the city, but you somehow trusted Bucky.

He could sense your weird fidgeting and slipped a hand in yours and squeezed. When you looked his way, he wasn’t looking at you, and it made you smile even more. He didn’t expect anything from you. He was offering you a little comfort and was just glad you were there.

You could see when you entered Jersey city, the whole disposition of the town changing suddenly. It was a few more minutes before Peter stopped the car and Bucky tugged you to his side so that you could get out of the car together. You were in what looked like a small part, right opposite to the Statue of Liberty.

It was a beautiful sight, you always enjoyed it. But from where you were standing, it was even more spectacular. It was just you and Bucky there (and Peter and Drax waiting in the car), and the Statue was as magnificent as ever, lit and standing there like a beacon of hope.

Bucky watched your every move. He hoped you would like it there, even though it was as commercial as it would get. He liked to go there when he had difficult decisions to make, or if he wanted to be alone. The wind blew your hair out of your face, and he could see the smile playing on your lips. You were happy, and just the thought that he finally made you happy and relaxed made him ecstatic.

He stood next to you, his warmth radiation off of him and going right to you. He didn’t touch you, not knowing if it was ok. You took a step sideways bumping into him and laying your head on his shoulder, not letting the panorama out of your sight.

Bucky got the message, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, keeping you close to him. It was near, damn perfect. When you finally stopped watching what was in front of you, you let your attention go to the other amazing sight. Bucky.

“Thank you so much. Not only for showing me this amazing place but for the whole day. I really enjoyed it, and you were the best company I could have asked for. So thank you, Bucky.”

He smiled and leaned in as if to kiss you, but then he stopped himself and seemed to delve into his thoughts for a second. He then caressed your cheek and whispered.

“Can I have another weird request?”

You giggled like a little girl and nodded.

“James, would you call me James? Just this time, but I need to hear it leaving your lips.”

You looked at him through your lashes marvelling at the sight. He was nervous again, biting his lip, and averting his gaze.

“Thank you, James, for this amazing day. I really enjoyed every second of it, James. I like this version of you, James.”

His movements didn’t halt this time. He leaned in and kissed your lips slowly, kind of expecting you to pull away from him. He wouldn’t push you into anything, but his real name coming out of your perfect mouth… He couldn’t help himself.

But you didn’t stop him, and you were far from doing so. You wanted to do it the whole day, but, at the same time, wanted to see if he was in it for the sex or just because of you. The kiss wasn’t rushed, and you enjoyed every second of it. The feeling of his plump lips on yours, the way his body moulded with yours perfectly into one, the way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you insanely close to him. You never wanted to stop.

He deepened the kiss, but nothing was forced. His tongue asked for permission, circling your lips, waiting for your response. And you let him in happily. It was not a battle. This was pure harmony, two people becoming one.

You let out a little whine when he pulled away to put his forehead against yours. He chuckled lowly and took you all in. Your lips were glistening, still opened a little, and if Bucky wanted, he could dive right in. He licked his lips unconsciously watching you, and you mimicked him.

“Thank you for going with my strange requests. I really appreciate it. And thank you for not giving up on me. I know I can be an ass, and I will always be, to some extent. But if you let me, I want to try and be the good guy for once. For you.”

You looked down and smiled widely. This man was something else.

“I would like that. Very much.”

/ Next Chapter >

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[maluminspace]

could you do C #15,26 with Calum? like y/n is so drunk and cal takes care of her? thank you ❤️

C15 “I’m so tired I can barely move.”

C26 “I’m not going anywhere.”

The room was spinning.

The music sounded muffled and your legs felt like jelly beneath you.

You needed to find your friends but every face that swam past you was blurrier than the last.

As you stumbled through the crowd, you thought you heard a familiar voice call your name. You didn’t really have the presence of mind to turn around, though.

You waded through the mass of bodies writhing on the dance floor until you reached a clearer space. Your vision was still blurry and you were sure your knees were about to give way under you at any second.

Just as your legs trembled alarmingly, a strong arm wrapped around your waist and helped you to tight to keep on your feet. “C’mon, sweetness.” A familiar voice said, as you were led towards the exit.

Your boyfriend Calum called you ‘sweetness’ all the time, it was his favourite pet name for you, but he wasn’t supposed to be here! It was a boyfriend-free event.

You glanced sideways, trying to get a look at the person who was holding you. Even in your inebriated state, you recognise the smell of Calum’s deodorant and the unique way that it mingled with the lingering scent of smoke from his last cigarette.

As the two of you left the main room of the club and stepped into the dark reception area, your vision focused enough for you to confirm that it was indeed Calum with his arm around you. “You’re not supposed to be here!” You slur, pouting at the injustice. “‘M with my friends... it’s a no boyfriend night!”

Calum met your unsteady gaze, eyeing you worriedly as he led to the exit of the club. “Your friends called me to pick you up.” He replied, “they’re waiting out here to say goodbye to you, then I’m taking you home.”

“No...” you whine, dragging out the ‘o’ sound for far longer than necessary. “It’s still early and I wanna dance!”

“It’s almost three am and you can dance next time, sweetness.” Calum reassured you. “Right now it’s time to get you home.”

You grin crookedly, remembering the last time Calum had taken you home after a night out. Maybe leaving the club early wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “Oh... you gonna ‘take care’ of me like you did last time?” You smirked, “‘cus I’d really like that! Just don’t break my lamp this time, I can’t afford to replace it again...”

Calum’s cheeks coloured in an embarrassed blush. He obviously remembered how he’d swept everything off the table in your hallway in order to fuck you on it.

As the cool air hit you, so did the inevitable nausea. You were pretty sure getting a cab back to your place is a bad idea but you knew it was a bit too far to walk. You didn’t have time to think about it now, though.

As promised your friends were waiting just outside the entrance to the club and as soon they laid eyes on you, you were engulfed in a group hug.

It took you a good few minutes to say goodbye to them all whilst Calum waited patiently. Faintly you thought about how your boyfriend always looked so effortlessly cool. Like right now - leaning against the wall of the club, the collar of his leather jacket turned up to protect his neck from the chill. “Okay... I’m going home to fuck Calum, now.” You laugh drunkenly. “Well it’ll probably be the other way around but...” you trailed off, laughing and shrugging your shoulders.

Your friends laughed louder than they probably would usually, a sign that they were probably almost as drunk as you were.

Calum’s cheeks were a vivid crimson colour when he came over to convince you that now was definitely a good time to leave. “I’m just telling my friends about how we’re gonna fuck when we get home.” You explained, still giggling. “I need to tell them how you broke my lamp last time!”

“No, no...” Calum urged gently. “I’m sure they don’t need to hear about that. “And I think that we’ll just be sleeping when get home to tonight.”

Your friends joined you a chorus of boo’s as Calum waved distractingly to them all and wrapped his arm around your middle again, ready to guide you to a cab.

“I don’t wanna sleep...” you whined as Calum led you down the busy Main Street. “Why did you even come and get me if you were just gonna take me home to sleep?” You said the final word with as much distaste as you could muster.

“Because I love you.” Calum replies without missing a beat. “Even when you overshare with your friends about our sex life.” He giggled a little and the way his eyes crinkled in the corners made you feel like you were falling in love all over again.

“Well you’re really good!” You replied honestly, albeit a few octaves higher than necessary. “When someone is getting good sex, they should definitely tell their friends about it!” You explained rather mater-of-factly before you turned to face Calum again. “Don’t you talk about me with your friends?”

An undeniably guilty expression coloured Calum’s face as ignored your question completely. “I don’t think you’ll survive a cab ride home without puking, so I’m gonna take you back to my place, okay? It’s only a few minutes walk from here.”

“I know where you live, Calum!” You nodded, giving into his sneaky subject change.

Another wave of nausea hit you as you turned into the side street that leads to Calum’s apartment.

“You okay, sweetness?” Calum asked, undoubtedly noticing the way your face drained of colour.

You shook your head in reply, already fighting to keep the contents of your stomach where they were.

Calum led you into a small alley behind the row of bars and clubs you’d just walked past. He bent you over slightly, trying to ensure that when you vomited, it wouldn’t be all down the front of you clothes.

It only took a few more seconds of Calum rubbing your back before you inevitably puked all over the pavement. Your boyfriend stayed with you the whole time, though, encouraging you to get it all out and promising to get you a nice glass of cold water when you got back to his place.

You tangled your fingers in the collar of calum’s leather jacket to keep him close to you, scared that he’d leave you because being sick is so gross.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” Calum promised, continuing to rub your back until you had nothing left to bring up.

When you were absolutely sure you’d finally finished emptying your stomach, Calum wrapped his arm around your waist again and led you back out onto to the street, heading towards his apartment building.

You’d always hated being sick, so it came as no surprise to anyone that you started crying into Calum’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, sweetness.” Calum soothed gently. “We’re nearly home now, then you can rest, yeah?”

You nodded in response, clinging to Calum like he was the only thing that mattered to you.

In your drunken state the short walk to Calum’s apartment wiped the last of your energy. “I’m so tired I can barely move...” you whined, as Calum led you into the elevator.

“Just a couple more minutes, sweetness.” He smiled, keeping you close to him with that ever present arm around your waist. “Then you can sleep as much as you like.”

Your boyfriend practically carried you down the corridor leading to his apartment. He even kept hold of you as he opened the front door, even though it made the small task a lot harder.

When the two of you finally stumbled into Calum’s living area, he deposited you on the sofa before he ran to get you some water, which took straight to the bedroom for you.

Somehow, you managed to get to your feet and follow your boyfriend to the bedroom. Your heart kind of melted when you saw him laying out an old t-shirt for you to wear. “You’re the cutest...” you smiled dopily as you leaned heavily against the doorframe.

“C’mon, trouble.” Calum giggled, sliding off his leather jacket before leading you over to the bed.

Your boyfriend helped you change into the t-shirt before stripping down to his boxers. “Have a sip of water for me before we go to sleep, yeah?” He asked gently, “I’m just gonna use the bathroom and then I’ll be back to cuddle you, okay?”

You nodded in response and took a small sip of the water he’d left for you on the bedside table. Even though you were looking forward to cuddles with Calum, you flopped back into the pillows and allowed sleep to take you long before he returned from the bathroom.

Masterlist

[itsmyusualphannie]

i’ve seen tomorrow (i’ve seen yesterday)

“The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.” – L. P. Hartley.

future time travel au in which dan and Phil's jobs are to fix fractures in the timeline. this particular mission will take them back to 2019, but how well will they work together when they've just had a fight?

11.8k words - (read on ao3)

written for the phandom reverse big bang. beta’ed by @phanbf, with amazing art by @maybeformepersonally. it’s wonderful and captures the mood of the story so well. and just...the colours. the design. i’m not okay. it’s also integrated into this fic, so reblog it here! milo and elle are both incredibly lovely and helped make this fic what it is now. any remaining mistakes are mine.

i’ve seen tomorrow (i’ve seen yesterday)

It was the year 2079 and yet the sound of slammed doors would still resound throughout an entire flat. The reverberations of this particular one were angry and seemed to take an eternity to dissipate.

A figure sat slumped on the sofa. “Dan?” he called reluctantly toward the bathroom. The bathroom door was still vibrating from the force of its impact.

“Fuck off, Phil!” came a voice from the bathroom. “I’m getting ready like you wanted!” A drawer banged shut and something crashed to the floor.

Phil sighed again. He climbed to his feet and reached for the glasses on the coffee table. They buzzed when he picked them up. He slid them onto his face and a notification popped up onto the right lens, a pale blue message that informed him that his ride was here. He blinked and it cleared away. “That is not what I said,” Phil told the closed door, but he doubted Dan cared. “I said that maybe we should finish this conversation later, like after work.”

No reply.

“The cab is here.”

That garnered a response. “Why don’t you just go?” Dan sounded even more irritated than he had a minute ago, if that was possible. “I’ll get my own.”

“It’s scheduled to pick up both of us.” Phil absent-mindedly shoved aside a cushion on the sofa, glancing under it for his phone.

“Fine! Just give me a fucking minute.”

Phil gave him five fucking minutes. He found his phone under a Totoro plushie and replied to a few messages while he waited. His glasses and phone buzzed simultaneously, both bringing up his work reminder notification. He swept them both away. The world wouldn’t end if they were late… probably.

Dan emerged from the bathroom with another slam of the door and Phil winced in sympathy for the doorframe. Dan didn’t usually bang things around, but their previous conversation had clearly upset him. Phil glanced up at him as he grabbed his own phone from its charging dock on the kitchen counter and then stormed past Phil.

“Let’s go,” Dan said, as if he had been the one waiting. Phil rolled his eyes and followed him out the front door, which locked automatically behind them. The little alarm light above the door blinked on, glowing solidly to confirm that their security system was active.

Phil checked his phone one last time and then went down the flight of stairs right behind Dan. They emerged onto the grey pavement and bright morning sunlight. Phil paused and squinted against the light for a brief moment before his glasses adjusted, dimming so he could see more clearly. When his vision cleared, a little darker than the actual level of light, Phil could see Dan climbing into the small two-seater cab. He hurried after him, dropping into the other seat and buckling himself into it.

“This vehicle is now in motion,” a pleasant male voice announced and then the car was moving, barely a whisper of sound or movement beneath them. Buildings flashed past the opaque windows, a few trees here and there, but Phil didn’t see them. He was sneaking glances at Dan out of the corner of his eye. It was frustrating that Phil couldn’t actually judge by Dan’s neutral expression how upset he was, but even more frustrating that Dan had refused to listen to Phil earlier. He’d only shut down Phil’s argument, insistent upon his own point of view.

Phil had been serious when he’d said they needed to talk later, though. Their job couldn’t afford any mistakes that may come by tension or inattentiveness. They would have to set aside their disagreement until they left work that afternoon.

“Dan?”

Dan’s gaze flicked from the phone in his hands to Phil. His usually soft, dark eyes were now cool and precise. “What?”

“We have to get along while we’re at work. This can’t affect what we’re doing.” Phil hadn’t been able to read Dan’s expression a moment before, but now he could. Dan was annoyed again.

“You think I’m going to let this affect my work?” Dan’s eyebrows were sharp and narrowed over his eyes. “Well, fuck off. You know I’ve never let personal shit mess up my job. What about you? How do I know you won’t fuck up because you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you!” Phil insisted, now also annoyed. ���You’re mad at me.”

Dan scoffed. “I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at what you keep doing.”

“I’m trying! You don’t get it.”

“How hard can it be?” Dan’s voice rose shrilly. “It’s not that difficult to do. Just pick up the fucking-”

The car beeped, the noise cutting him off. “We have arrived at Work,” the pleasant voice informed them.

Dan heaved a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly before looking at Phil again. “Fine. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Truce?” Phil offered. It earned him a generous eyeroll.

“Truce, whatever.”

The car beeped mildly again. Phil leaned forward and tapped his phone against the round disk in the centre of the console. It chimed instantly and the voice said brightly, “Your payment has been accepted. Thank you for driving with AutoNav Cab Company. Please be careful when exiting your vehicle.”

Dan was already climbing out the other side of the car, but Phil waited for the door to slide out of the way before hopping out. He swept his hands over his shirt, brushing away any wrinkles that might have appeared during the drive, and waited for Dan to join him on the pavement. Dan did so a moment later, stepping up beside him and deliberately leaving a ridiculously small amount of space between their shoulders. Phil was beyond tempted to lean into it, as he usually did, but instead he turned and headed for the small building that the car had stopped beside.

Phil’s glasses had adjusted once more to the sunlight, though it wasn’t as bright here. Tall trees cast the building into shadow, the greenery a stark contrast to the concrete and glass buildings all around them.

They reached the front doors in only a few dozen long strides, Dan keeping pace with Phil. The red alarm lights above the wide glass doors blinked at them as they approached, but as soon as Phil reached out to push against the door, both of their phones sent the information on their electronic identity cards to the building’s alarm system and the doors unlocked instantly. In a smooth motion, Phil swept open the door to the left and gestured for Dan to go ahead of him. He did, but Phil could sense his internal eyeroll even if he kept his face carefully innocuous.

The air inside the lobby was dry and cool, a relieving change from the warm, muggy air outside. The door locked again as Phil let it shut behind him. Empty but for a few tall plants in the corners and a simple receptionist desk, the room was stark and simple. There was a single door behind the receptionist desk, plain and uninviting.

The receptionist himself glanced up at them as they crossed the room toward him, his bright eyes keen. “Hey guys!” he said. “How’s it going?”

“Hey Tyler!” said Phil, matching his enthusiasm.

“It’s going fine,” said Dan.

“Just fine? Not great? That’s sad. What can I do to help?”

Dan seemed to consider that, stopping just before he ran into the tall desk. “You could give me one of those little bags of Haribo that I know you keep stashed behind the counter.”

Tyler’s mouth dropped open in false shock. “Why, Dan!” But he shuffled aside papers and various items to find a bag of the gummies and tossed it at Dan.

“Thanks,” said Dan, huffing a laugh. He tore open the packet and tossed a few into his mouth. Phil gazed mournfully at the sweets.

“Okay!” said Tyler. “Security questions, you know the drill. Dan, what instrument or instruments do you play?”

The questions were different every day. They were usually a random fact about the individual’s life but could range from a fact that only they would know or what was their favourite type of flower. Phil personally thought that Tyler had far too much fun getting the answers to the questions. He also, sometimes, considered how easy it would be for Tyler to take down this whole company with all of the information he pretended not to know.

“Piano,” said Dan through a mouthful of Haribo. He didn’t elaborate.

“And Phil! How many pairs of glasses have you owned in the past five years?”

Phil had to actually think about that one. “Eight?”

“Nine,” Dan corrected. “That brown pair that you sat on and crushed the first day you got it counts too.”

“Nine,” amended Phil.

“Correct!”

Phil was also slightly concerned about the fact that Tyler actually knew the right answers to these questions.

“You’re good to go!” said Tyler. He had found another snack-size bag of Haribo and was busy tearing them open. He waved Dan and Phil past his desk with a fistful of the gummies and then promptly shoved them in his mouth.

“That’s so attractive,” Dan scoffed at Tyler. Phil opened the door behind the desk and waited for Dan to catch up.

“I try,” said Tyler with a bright grin.

Dan caught up to Phil and they both left the lobby through the door. The hallway inside was dark, barely lit by the light through the closing door, but once the door had completely swung shut, lights along the top of the hallways’ sides lit up and illuminated their way. The walls were a neutral cream colour, the floor a carpeted beige. Phil thought it looked gross. It was the actual worst thing to see twice a day, five days a week, and certainly wasn’t designed to boost morale.

The crinkle of the bag when Dan crushed it between his fingers was loud and seemed to echo in the long hallway. Phil cast him a judgemental look, his stride not breaking as they headed down the ugly carpet toward the door at the far end, but his judgement was more for Dan’s decision not to share the sweets with Phil than it was for the sound. Dan gave him an unsympathetic glance back, shoving the empty bag into the tight pocket of his jeans.

The door at the end of the hallway flew open before they ever reached it. “Boys!” said a woman striding through.

“Agents,” Phil corrected her.

“Boys!” she said again. “You’re two minutes late.”

Phil exchanged another glance with Dan, but this time it was a look in which they decided not to comment on the time of their arrival. Two minutes, Dan mouthed. Phil snorted quietly in agreement and they turned back toward her. They had almost reached the end of the hall.

“Director,” said Phil, and he could hear Dan’s voice echoing the same title at the exact moment as him.

Her face twisted, unsettled, either from their disturbing chorus or from the word itself. “I’ve said to call me Bryony.”

“Director Bryony,” Phil amended. She looked exasperatedly fond. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no,” Bryony assured him. “I just wanted to see what was taking you so long. Come along, both of you, I’ll give you the rest of the details for your mission.” She turned and waved a hand for them to follow her. Her dark suit and slacks stood out in stark contrast to the unsightly hall.

“Mission?” Dan asked. “I thought that was scheduled for tomorrow.”

“We finished prep a lot earlier than we’d thought,” she said. The door she had come through was still open and she went right through it, calling over her shoulder, “We have everything ready, as long as you’re both good to go.”

Dan was first behind her, entering the large room, and Phil strode through after both of them. He glanced around the room, awed as always by the striking lines of the room, the sleek beauty of the machinery inside, and the buzz of the many people working on their separate tasks. The room was incredibly different from the bare, simple exterior of the building; it had a high, arching ceiling, brightly lit with not a trace of shadows and there were dozens of elegant machines and computers in circular rows around the centre of the room. Technicians and various specialists occupied each machine, either sitting or standing next to them while they worked. It was all arranged around the middle of the room, where a massive rectangular machine sat by itself on the stone floor. It was tall, with glass sides and gleaming metal supports.

Phil was still a little afraid of the machine. Maybe not afraid of the actual thing, but afraid that he would somehow trip and crash into it or otherwise break it. He’d almost fallen into it multiple times, but after ten years of working in this job, he’d somehow managed to avoid breaking it. It had, of course, been upgraded since its first clunky design. It’d only been big enough for one person when it was first created, and he and Dan had had to go into it one at a time.

“We’re good to go,” Dan said. Phil’s attention snapped back to Bryony and Dan, the latter of whom was frowning at him. They had all stopped beside a narrow square table that sat closest to the door and oversaw the rest of the room.

Bryony hadn’t noticed Phil’s lapse of attentiveness while he was distracted by the room. She pulled out a chair and adjusted something complicated on the table.  “Here,” she said, “sit down. We’ll go over the mission before you get dressed. I think Louise is finishing up the shirts.”

There were four wooden chairs at the table. Phil picked the one facing the centre of the room and Dan, notably, picked the one that wasn’t exactly the furthest from him, but it also wasn’t the closest. 

Bryony dropped into the one she’d pulled out, heaving a sigh. She swept a hand over the glass tabletop and the inlaid devices reacted immediately, flashing out a holographic green interface. It was lines and lights and words, and none of it made sense to Phil. Her fingers darted here and there, selecting various pieces, and the interface responded accordingly, expanding her selections until they grew to the length of the table and a metre tall. Phil could barely see Dan’s slumped form on the other side of the table through the display.

“This is case 1031 out of 2566,” Bryony said, pointing at the highlighted block of information that was slowly circling above their heads. “We’re calling it the Subway Talk, since that’s what you’re going to be doing.”

“Sorry, wait,” Dan said. A green outline of a face drifted through the interface right in front of Phil and made Dan’s outline a blurry, viridescent shape. “You said 2566? Weren’t there just 2560 the other day?”

“Yeah,” said Bryony. She looked aggrieved. “The analysts found six more fractures over the weekend. It’s not that they’re still happening, it’s just that we haven’t found all of them, even after ten years.”

“God,” said Dan, tone disgruntled. “Repairing them all is going to take forever. We’re only managing about two a week because of all the regulations and secrecy and how everything has to be perfect.”

“We’ll have a job as long as we’re finding them,” Phil reminded Dan.

Bryony was nodding in agreement with Dan when Phil glanced at her, though. “You’re right, it’s pretty exhausting. But it has to be perfect. We don’t want to cause any more fractures by doing anything wrong. It has to be researched and scheduled to perfection or we might mess something up.”

By ‘we,’ she also meant Dan and Phil. Though nothing could be done without all of the various highly-skilled techs, analysts, and specialists, the burden of perfection eventually rested fully upon Dan and Phil and the way they handled their missions. Small mistakes might not matter, but anything too out-of-place could cause disaster. Although...

“Time always corrects itself in the big ways that matter,” Bryony completed Phil’s thought. “So we’re not too worried. But if you say the wrong thing to the wrong person, it might destroy what we’re trying to accomplish.”

‘Destroy’ was a big word to bring out before lunch, Phil thought. He wondered absently if Bryony had picked up on the underlying tension between him and Dan.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Dan said. “I know. So, mission?”

Bryony’s hands darted to manipulate the interface and the information that was displayed matched her words. “You’re going back about sixty years. Like most other fractures, this one just caused a tiny jolt in the fabric of space-time. In this case, it was inside a Subway, a sandwich shop in that time period. All it did was trip a customer entering the shop. However, from our previous records, we know that the action caused a tiny chain of events that weren’t supposed to happen. The victim, who had previously been considering asking for a promotion, took that as a sign of bad luck and decided not to do it. They quit their job three months later and didn’t go on to become the director of the business, like they were supposed to.”

“So... the Subway Talk?” questioned Phil, but he could see where this was going.

“A talk at the Subway,” she agreed. “We’re going to send you both back. The rules on this one are actually a little looser. We don’t have a script for you or anything, so you’ll be relying on your intuition and reflexes for it.”

Dan snorted, probably at the idea of Phil and reflexes. Phil hoped he could feel the force of Phil’s glare through the projection between them.

“We’re going to drop you about five minutes before it happens, right down the street from the Subway. The spacial analysts have found a precise location where there are no cameras and no people so you won’t be noticed. The behaviour counsellors have recommended just stepping right inside the shop to wait for the target and then either catching the target or helping them up when they trip. Then, just... talk. Try to bring up jobs and if they mention theirs, encourage them to go for their promotion.”

“It sounds simple.” Phil was suspicious, and he had every reason to be. The ones that sounded simple tended to end up even more complicated.

“It’ll be fine.” Bryony waved a dismissive hand. “You have to finish within an hour, though. The exact time and location will be on your phones. Get there and we’ll pick you up. As usual, until we get some sort of technology worked out where we can remain in open communication with you, we won’t be able to talk to you.”

“Sounds good,” said Dan. “When are we starting?” He seemed to actually be paying attention to the bits of information about their mission that drifted with the projections, which Phil was grateful for, as he understood little of the shorthand that made up the details. The one thing he did notice and file away in his memory was the clear portrait of their target. They were slim, with a narrow face and arching eyebrows.

Bryony caught his gaze following the moving portrait and she reached a finger to catch it and hold it still. “Yes, that’s your target. Their name is Ainslie. All you’re supposed to know is that they’re vegan. Actually, I probably shouldn’t have told you even that. Forget I said it.”

If Phil knew anything more about the targets, he tended to bring up the facts in weird, stalker-ish ways. He didn’t mean to, it just slipped out of him. Bryony had stopped telling him anything but the essential facts about a target so he didn’t disturb any of the targets by announcing one of the random details about their life on accident.

“Dan!” came a call from the other side of the room. “Your clothes are ready!”

“Yeah, Louise, just a sec!” Dan yelled back. He stood, but Phil could barely see the movement through the bright lines of the display in front of him. “Anything else, boss?”

She shook her head dismissively. “You got all of this yesterday, I’m just refreshing you both. You’re good, go get dressed.”

He left, and Bryony waved away the projection as soon as he was halfway across the room. The lines and indistinguishable words blurred and collapsed back into barely-visible green lights that spread thinly across the table. Bryony’s gaze met Phil’s. “Okay,” she said. “What’s happening?”

“Happening?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Philip Lester,” said Bryony. “I know you, and I know Dan. What’s going on between the two of you?”

“We’re fine, it’s not going to affect the mission,” Phil tried, but she cut him off.

“As a friend, just for a second, okay? Not as your boss. I knew you before you even started working as an agent. It was just a coincidence that your profile was exactly what we needed for this position.”

Phil could feel himself slump in his chair. His glasses slid down his nose and he pushed them back absent-mindedly, ignoring the chirp of acknowledgement from the lens. He dropped his hand and the glasses went back to their idle state once they recognized that he wasn’t giving them a command. “It’s just... look, it’s not going to affect the mission. We just had a little... domestic, this morning. Dan was upset with me and he didn’t even try to understand what I was saying.”

“A little domestic?” she repeated. “Sorry, but Phil, if it was that little, I doubt I’d even be able to notice the obvious tension between you two. You’re usually so close, it’s like you share brainwaves.”

“Well, we obviously don’t!” Phil reigned in his snappish tone and tried again. “Dan wouldn’t even listen to me. He was only talking about how I messed up and wasn’t even trying and he didn’t want to see it from my point of view at all. And I’ve been trying! I’ve been trying really hard, but he doesn’t even appreciate it.” He was whining, and he was aware of it, but he couldn’t help it.

Bryony looked unimpressed. “I’m going to drop a truth bomb on you, mate. Okay, not quite, but listen.” She waved a long finger in his face before he could protest. “And don’t interrupt me. When the first time machine malfunctioned eleven years ago, it caused all of these cracks and fractures that were only discovered because of the former painstaking preservation of time records. We were founded by the maker of that time machine to repair what the machine had done. It took almost a year to perfect our device and get all of these different people together to work on it. That’s when we found you, one of the few whose entire ancestry had been unaffected by the malfunction, and started sending you on missions. We figured it would be better with a partner, so we found Dan a few months later. You’ve both been working together for ten years now. Ten years, Phil. And you’ve been living together for almost nine of those years.”

Phil didn’t find that brief recounting of the past decade’s events actually very helpful and so he told her as such.

She just looked exasperated. “What I’m trying to say is that you and Dan are really great together. You’ve worked out many other arguments, I’m sure, so what’s different about this one?”

“Dan is being stubborn,” said Phil.

Bryony blinked long and slow at him. “I’m sure he’s not the only one.”

Phil didn’t respond for a few seconds, feeling somewhat defensive. “This isn’t very good friend advice.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” She stood from her seat, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. “Besides, I’m not a relationship counsellor. I’m just the director of a goddamn time travel corporation.”

Phil stood as well, stretching in a small movement until his back stopped twinging. “Time Co. is better off with you as their director than as their relationship counsellor, anyway.”

She swatted his shoulder, snorting. “Oh, shut up. Go get dressed, I’m sure Louise has finished your outfit by now.”

She was Director Bryony again, strict posture and precise movements, and not his friend of over twelve years. Phil nodded in acknowledgement and slipped past her toward the far corner of the room, where he could see Dan almost towering over Louise, who looked harried as she waved frantic hands at him. From her motions, it looked like she was telling him to either take his shirt off or to do jumping exercises. It probably wasn’t the latter.

“Hey, Phil!” called one of the time machine techs as Phil made his way past their block of computers.

“Hey, PJ!” Phil slowed but didn’t stop, his destination obvious. “How’s it going?”

“Good!” said the brunet, beaming at Phil while his fingers didn’t pause their incessant typing. “We’ve got ol’ Timey Wimey powered up and ready to go when you are!”

Phil still didn’t know who had named the incredibly advanced and complicated piece of technology after a phrase from an old show about time travel. He suspected Dan, but it could have been any one of the techs who worked here. They were all nerds. “Great!” he said. “Just have to get dressed and we’ll be ready to go.”

PJ waved briefly at him, then went back to hunching over his computer, and Phil went on to the corner. There was an array of wheeled clothing racks surrounding Dan and Louise, and he had to push one aside to get to them. A tall, folded room divider was leaning against the wall behind Louise.

“Good!” Louise said upon seeing him. “Prop open the dressing screen for me, Phil. You both need to get dressed.”

Phil did as she said, reaching for the room divider and pulling it away from the wall to unfold it and arrange it in a half-circle against the wall so there was a hidden space behind it for them to change. Louise promptly shoved Dan inside, thrusting a pile of clothes after him. “Change!” she ordered, and then turned to Phil.

“I hate your legs,” she told him before snatching a shirt and trousers from one of the clothing racks. Phil might be offended if she didn’t say it almost every time before a mission. “I swear to God,” she continued, slinging the trousers over one of Phil’s arms and then beginning to unbutton the shirt still in her hands, “this is literally torment for me. I have to find the largest clothes designs in each time era that you visit and then I have to individually tailor it for you. Your legs.”

“Dan’s taller than me,” Phil said. “You should hate his legs too!”

“I hate all of your legs.” With that, she chucked the unbuttoned shirt and a pale undershirt at him and pushed him behind the divider to join Dan.

“Um, hey,” said Phil.

Dan finished wrestling the shirt over his head. Curls tumbled across his forehead as his face appeared. Phil couldn’t look away from Dan’s fingers as he dragged the shirt down over his stomach, too slow for it to be an accident. The last sliver of skin was hidden by the dark shirt and Phil’s gaze darted hastily back up. Dan smirked. “Like what you see?”

“It’s a nice shirt,” Phil retorted. He had liked what he’d seen, though, and even more so last night.

“No snogging!” came Louise’s voice from outside the divider.

“That was one time!” Dan called back.

“And it was one time too many!”

Phil could feel Dan’s gaze trail over him, and then Dan huffed a laugh and sauntered past Phil, carrying the clothes he had changed out of tucked under one arm. “Hurry up, Phil.”

Phil complied, hastily stripping his jeans and shirt and dragging on the other trousers, then the undershirt and button-up. They were snug against him in a faintly uncomfortable way, but in a way that was perfectly respectable sixty years ago, which was why he was wearing them. Wearing clothes that hadn’t even been designed yet when they went back in time would look just a little too out-of-place. It took him a few exasperating moments to button up the overshirt, something that Louise had made look ridiculously easy even with her long nails, and then he yanked on his socks. He ducked out from behind the divider as soon as he was done, depositing his clothes on a stool by one of the clothing racks and turning to fold the room divider and place it back against the wall. 

Dan was already tying the shoelaces on his era-appropriate shoes when Phil turned back around, so Phil took the shoes that Louise was waving at him and tugged them on over his socks. There were no shoelaces on these. Louise had grown tired of watching Phil unsuccessfully try to tie his shoelaces over the past years and had started selecting shoes without laces for each of his missions.

“We’re starting the sequence, boys!” Bryony called from across the room. “Five minutes!”

“Agents,” Phil muttered under his breath.

“Your hair is fine,” Louise decided, hands propped on her hips as she looked back and forth between both Dan and Phil. “I guess.” She whirled away, constantly in motion as she shoved and rearranged and moved clothes and clothes racks.

Phil didn’t know whether to be offended or not. He felt like half of his emotions today had been some kind of offence at what everyone had said. Especially Dan.

As if summoned by Phil’s thoughts, Dan stood and moved toward him. He sidled right up against Phil, his head ducked as he reached for Phil’s shirt. Phil resisted the urge to step back as Dan’s fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt.

“Undressing me already?” Phil tried to joke, but he could feel that he was too tense for it to work.

Dan’s fingers seemed to clench involuntarily. Fabric bunched in his fist, but he relaxed and smoothed it back out. His hand brushed almost tauntingly over Phil’s chest, whispering sensation against a nipple, and then he was back to unbuttoning Phil’s overshirt. He didn’t say anything until he had it completely undone, and then he started buttoning it again, from the bottom to the top. “Your buttons were done up wrong,” he murmured, so low that Phil could barely hear him. “Idiot.”

Phil didn’t know if he wanted to shove him away or kiss him. He settled for tightening his fists at his side and watching the quiet purse of Dan’s lips while he finished slipping the buttons into their corresponding holes.

“There,” said Dan once he was done. He tugged briefly at the bottom of Phil’s shirt and turned away.

“Thanks,” Phil said, but it was softer than he had intended. Dan may not have heard him.

“Two minutes!” Bryony announced. “Go ahead and load up.”

Dan was already halfway to the glass machine in the centre of the room. Phil followed, dodging the last of the clothes racks and the station where PJ sat with a few other techs. One side of the machine slid away from its body, leaving a hollow space inside about a metre in diameter both ways. Dan lifted a foot to step over the short barrier, and then he was inside, his back pressed against the glass and facing Phil.

Phil cast one more glance around the room that was now bustling with activity and, barely managing to avoid tripping over the barrier on the floor, he climbed inside. He was careful to place his feet a certain distance from Dan. However, when the side of the machine slipped shut right behind him, it nudged him further toward Dan until their chests almost collided. It was close, the air pressurized and cold, and Dan’s breath was damp and warm against Phil’s cheek. His eyes, when Phil finally glanced up at his face, were half-lidded and so, so dark.

This is not the time, Phil informed himself sternly.

Bryony’s voice came faintly through the thick glass surrounding them. “One minute! Make sure you have your phones!”

Phil checked. He had it. His glasses vibrated quietly against the skin above his ear.

“So,” said Dan, sudden in the quiet of the machine. Outside, computers whirred quietly and chatter bounced between techs, but here, in the enclosed, ever-so-close space of the surrounding glass, it was still and cool. “Are you ready?”

“Of course I’m ready. Are you ready?” As retorts went, it wasn’t the best, but Phil felt like he had something to prove for some reason. He didn’t, but he couldn’t help feeling like it.

Dan rolled his eyes. Bryony began counting down from outside the machine. It sounded muffled and insubstantial.

“We’ll have five minutes to get to the Subway,” Phil reminded.

“Yeah. I’ll catch the target, then we can both talk to them?”

It was easier this way. They always made last-second plans, even though it drove Bryony mad. The familiarity made Phil relax, just a little. “That sounds good.”

“Good,” said Dan.

“Three!” Phil could hear, somewhere outside of his focus on Dan’s coolly resolved expression and his soft breaths wafting against Phil’s lips. “Two!”

One.

The world twisted around them.

They landed on a cobbled street surrounded by tall brick buildings. Landed wasn’t an exact description - it was more that their atoms reformed into existence in this particular space, their feet forming millimetres above the ground, so they had little distance to fall.

Phil, naturally, managed to trip anyway. He flailed a hand to grab Dan’s shoulder and steady himself, and used to it by now, Dan let him. Once he’d regained his balance, Phil edged away and patted Dan awkwardly on the shoulder. “Er, thanks.”

Dan gave him an odd look.

“Right,” said Phil. “On to the Subway place, then.”

“It’s just called Subway.” Dan turned away from him and headed down the street, his shoes clicking against the cobbled path. There was no one around; as arranged, they had landed in the exact moment and place where no one in this time would be suspicious of two random, curiously tall people appearing out of nowhere. “It’s a sandwich shop.”

“I know that,” said Phil, even though he hadn’t. Whatever this business was, it hadn’t made it all the way to their time, so he had no reason to know it. He probably should have paid more attention to the briefing.

“Sorry,” said Dan to someone who stepped out of a shop and almost run into him. They muttered an apology back and moved around him. Phil glanced around, noticing the few people that he could now see walking down the pavement, busy with phones or other devices and otherwise ignoring everyone around them. He wondered if anyone would have noticed if they’d landed right in the middle of them without any planning by the spacial analysts.

Dan slowed, jostling Phil with an elbow and away from his train of thought. “There it is.”

And indeed, there it was. A squat, garishly-coloured shop with tall brick buildings surrounding it. It had tall glass windows instead of walls, open and airy, and bustling with customers. Bright signs decorated the pavement in front of it, declaring the specialities and deals. Phil squinted at one sandwich that looked like someone had sat on it. He didn’t understand how anyone would want to eat a squashed sandwich. Maybe smashed food was the popular choice in this time?

“Oh, shit.” Phil leaned closer to Dan, almost tripping over his own feet again, and whispered, “What time is it?”

The smack of Dan’s hand against his own face startled Phil. “Jesus Christ,” said Dan, muffled against his palm. “Why do you do this every time? Read the fucking information we’re given.”

Phil pouted at him, but the effect was lost since Dan was looking away from him and into the Subway that they were approaching. “I do read it! Most of it. I just forget, sometimes. That’s what you’re here for.”

“I’m here to complete the mission, not tell you about it while it’s happening,” hissed Dan, then smiled through gritted teeth at the customer who opened the door of the Subway for them.

“Thanks!” said Phil to the customer, and they walked inside.

Dan sighed in exasperation, directing Phil off to the side, next to a tall, round table that sat right beside one of the massive glass windows. “It’s 2019. It doesn’t matter, that shouldn’t come up in conversation anyway. October ninth.”

“Oh!” said Phil. “Thanks. Hey, if that was the date back in…” He paused, reconsidering what he was going to say. “I mean.”

“Just stop,” said Dan, sounding wearied. He had pulled his phone out and stared down at the screen. “We have three minutes.”

“Happy anniversary?” Phil tried.

Dan was tapping away at his phone. “I’m going to get you the fucking cheese special sub if you don’t stop.”

There was probably nothing he could be doing on his phone right now; their phones didn’t even have a signal in this time. Phil huffed at him and glanced around the shop. The table they were standing beside was one of the only empty ones, while the others had chattering patrons filling them. There was a line to the counter with about five customers waiting. It was strangely busy for a sandwich shop, Phil thought.

“There’s a university a few blocks down,” said Dan, not looking up. “And this place is cheap.”

“Oh,” said Phil. He understood the comment Bryony had made earlier about their ability to share brainwaves, with Dan’s apparent reading of his thoughts. He didn’t know how he had actually survived those first few months when he’d been going on missions by himself. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Two minutes.”

“Should I get in line?”

“No, let’s wait.”

They waited. After another few seconds of Dan tapping away on his phone, Phil decided he was probably playing a game. He sidled closer, trying to get a glance, but Dan just took a few steps back. “Nope,” was all he said.

Rude.

The door jingled as someone came inside. Phil spared them a quick glance, but it was just an exhausted-looking teenager with a green Subway shirt. The acrid scent of cigarette smoke wafted with them and Phil coughed involuntarily, suppressing it as best he could with a hand to his mouth. 

Dan watched him until he stopped, then the concern on his face collapsed into disgust. “Gross, go wash your hands.”

“You’re gross,” Phil retorted. He slipped past Dan to steal a generous blob of hand sanitizer from the machine he had noticed beside the door. He rubbed the cold gel into his palms and waved them to help it evaporate faster, going back to the table to stand beside Dan. “There, I’m clean now.”

“You smell like alcohol.”

“You smell like…” Phil trailed off, uncertain, then finished with a triumphant, “your mum.”

“You’re the actual worst person.” 

Phil grinned. His glasses vibrated against the side of his face, and he could feel his phone doing the same in his pocket. It was their ten-second warning, letting him know that it was time to be professional. He was facing the door, with Dan between him and the door with his back against it. Casually, Phil let his gaze slide over to the window so he could see the pavement outside. There were a few people walking past, but no one was - wait, there.

“Target sighted,” Phil murmured.

Dan’s fingers were still moving over the screen of his phone, but his posture had relaxed into his ready pose. This particular mission didn’t require any strenuous or immediate action, but it was hard to drop the instinct after so many others that had needed it.

Dan turned halfway, casual and smooth. The door swept open and the tiny bell above the door tinkled merrily and Phil’s stomach twisted, an automatic reaction to the split-second of time warp that had just occurred, just as their target stepped inside the door,. No one else would notice it if they hadn’t been trained for it.

The target stumbled and flailed an arm as they lost their balance, but Dan was already there. They toppled right into his side, and he snatched at their shoulder to keep them from falling to the floor. “Fuck!” he said purely by instinct, but he saved them. Phil took a few steps forward, but stayed back, and watched them both stagger a few steps to regain their balance. Dan let go of the other’s shoulder when he knew they were safe from falling.

“Are you okay?” Phil blurted, letting his feet carry him forward to examine both of them. Dan allowed Phil to brush his hands over his shoulders, his concern real but exaggerated for the sake of the target. 

“I’m fine,” said Dan. He turned toward the target, his eyebrows wrinkling. “You good?”

They blew out a breath, glancing down at themself. “Yeah, I think so. Shit, that was close. Sorry about that, I’m pretty clumsy.”

“That’s okay.” Dan waved the apology away. “So’s Phil.”

“Hey!” said Phil, but half-heartedly. He briefly examined their face for any signs of pain and was relieved to find none, but their eyebrows were drawn tightly together. They definitely matched the picture he had seen earlier, with a slender face and choppy, dark hair. A bag was slung over one of their shoulders, and they patted it urgently, apparently making sure that nothing had fallen out or been crushed in the jostle.

“You sure you’re okay?” Phil asked. “You look kind of stressed? Sorry, that’s rude.”

“I am stressed,” they said. “It’s fine, I don’t have a brain-to-mouth filter either.”

Dan snorted a laugh.

“Sorry for running you over,” they tried to apologize to Dan again, but he shrugged it off.

“It’s fine, I wasn’t paying attention either. I’m fine if you are.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Sure,” he said.

There was a moment of silence, in which Phil felt both himself and Dan searching for something to say while he could see the target glancing past both of them at the counter.

“Cool shirt,” Phil heard himself say.

They glanced down at their dark shirt and the blocky letters that spelt out ‘Vaccines Cause Adults’ and laughed. “Thanks! I actually wear it to work.”

“You’re allowed to wear it there?” asked Dan, and Phil could hear the engineered surprise in his voice. Workplaces were apparently much stricter in this time than in Dan and Phil’s own, and so Dan would pretend to be shocked.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a pretty cool place to work,” they said, eyes crinkling briefly at the edges, but then the blooming smile was lost. “I mean, usually. I’m not sure about today.”

“Work troubles?” Dan sympathized immediately.

“You could say that,” was all they offered in reply.

“We should get in line,” said Phil, seeing someone else out of the corner of his eye as they approached the door from outside. He took a step sideways away from the table, making sure he had Dan’s attention, then turned and headed for the back of the line. He avoided multiple tables full of chattering people, stopping behind the last person in the row of waiting customers. He could feel Dan come up beside him, and then the target.

“Oh!” he heard Dan say. “My name’s Dan. This is Phil.”

“Hi!” said Phil. His position in the line secured, he turned toward them.

“Oh,” they said, in a different tone than Dan. Their face was flushed. “Um, Ainslie. Sorry, again. I’m so awkward today.”

“Those days happen,” Phil told them. “I’m awkward a lot, too.”

Ainslie laughed, the tone of their dark skin cooling somewhat. “Uh, thanks. Yeah, you were right,” they directed to Dan. “Work troubles. It’s just been a shit day at work. I even took an early lunch.” They gestured toward the Subway sign and menu above all of their heads. “This place doesn’t really have good vegan options, but it was the closest fast food place.”

Oh good, Phil mused. The vegan characteristic was the only thing he’d had to worry about accidentally blurting out.

“You’re vegan!” said Dan. His posture had shifted fully toward them. “That’s cool. So am I... well, mostly.”

They both shared a commiserating laugh at the troubles of avoiding meat.

“So do you guys work close to here, too?” Their eyes were darting between Dan and Phil, clearly trying to assess their relationship. Phil let himself drift a little closer to Dan, their arms knocking together, but he went with their usual story.

“We’re actually on a business trip. We’re between boring work conferences right now, so we decided to grab a sandwich.”

“Conferences are the worst,” Dan agreed. He moved a few steps further in the line with Phil when the people in front of them edged forward.

Ainslie looked intrigued, keeping up with Dan. “Really? I kind of like conferences... like, figuring things out and whatever. Determining what to do next in the company can be fun. I mean.” Their laugh almost sounded like a cough. “I mean, not that I go to many of them. I wish.”

To Phil’s ears, Dan sounded careful, but he might have appeared casual to Ainslie when he asked, “Why’s that?”

“Oh, you know.” A flippant wave of their hand. “I’m not quite important enough to go to them. I’m trying.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” they agreed. “I’m... working on it, kind of. I was actually…” They looked hesitant, eyes darting as if what they were going to say was more nerve-wracking than Phil could understand, “actually, I was going to ask for a promotion today. I’ve been thinking about it.”

There were some things that were just... easy to tell a stranger. It was a phenomenon that Phil had encountered many times during these missions, and yet he was still always pleasantly surprised by these kinds of admissions, these words or intentions that were held so close to a person’s innermost thoughts and released when they least expected it. Strangers were impartial, brief witnesses to someone’s life and it didn’t mean anything if a secret slipped out to a person who didn’t really matter in the long run.

“You should go for it!” Dan was saying to Ainslie, his tone bright and encouraging. Their gaze dropped at his words, cheeks a dusky brown again.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“You totally should,” Phil chirped. “If you actually like conferences, you’re practically a CEO already.”

Oops, too far. Dan’s sharp gaze narrowed on Phil, warning him. They both knew that, if this mission was a success, Ainslie would go on to become one of the most successful CEOs that the business had ever seen. It was over twenty years in Ainslie’s future, of course, but a stranger’s words that seemed out-of-place could be remembered for a long time.

Ainslie did not seem to have noticed, however. They were smiling now, a small, careful thing. “Yeah, you think so?”

The line moved forward again. “Of course I think so!” said Phil, shuffling to keep up with the other moving customers.

“Go for it,” Dan said. “You’ll never know until you try.”

“Ah, well.” Something reluctant had slipped across their face. “I’ve asked twice for the promotion now. My supervisor is kind of an asshole.”

Phil wondered if saying “I believe in you” was a weird thing to say to a practical stranger. He decided not to risk it.

“I believe in you,” said Dan.

Phil frowned.

Ainslie laughed. “Thanks, Dan.”

They had all reached the counter now. Dan gestured for Ainslie to go first, but they declined. “You guys go ahead, I’m going to look over the menu first.”

The employee behind the counter looked dead-eyed. It was the exact expression Phil wore when he had a mind-numbing job as a teenager. He wondered how long this person had been working here. “How can I help you?” the employee asked.

“Um.” Phil hadn’t even glanced at the menu after he saw the squished-looking sandwich on the board outside. “Uh.” He scanned it now, squinting urgently at the tall screen above his head.

“We’ll get the foot-long roast beef on white bread,” Dan told the employee.

Rapid fingers tapped the order. “Anything else?”

Phil spotted a bag of crisps on the counter and he beamed. That was something familiar, at least. “Crisps!” he snagged two bags and dropped them onto the counter.

The employee looked down at them, expression bleak. “Okay.” They were added to the order. “Anything else.”

“Er, no.”

It was at that moment that Phil realized he didn’t have any money with him. He patted his pockets anyway, just in case he might find something inside them, and then he glanced helplessly at Dan.

“Are you kidding?” said Dan, once he noticed Phil’s pleading stare. “Louise had heaps of money and you didn’t get any? You’re horrible.” He moved to pay anyway. Phil was sure that the brief exchange wouldn’t make sense to anyone around them, but when he shuffled sideways out of Dan’s way, he spotted Ainslie’s curious stare directed at both of them. He hoped it was more of an ‘are they together’ stare than an ‘are they from this time’ stare. He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever stared one of the latter stares, actually.

Once Dan had paid, he moved with Phil down the rows of meats, cheeses, and condiments, pointing at various objects to place on the sub. The wearied employee piled them on obediently. Phil could see the other employee, the one that came in earlier smelling overwhelmingly of cigarette fumes, step up to take the place at the till.

“I’ll get the veggie delite,” he heard Ainslie tell the employee, and their order was rung up quickly as well. They moved down the line, close behind Dan and Phil, and gestured to their own selection of foods to put on their sandwich.

The bright Subway sign caught Phil’s attention again and a sudden, overwhelming desire took a hold on him. He shuffled closer to Dan, clearing his throat. “Hey, Dan.”

“No cheese,” said Dan to the employee. “What, Phil?”

Phil lowered his voice to an almost inaudible tone. “What do you call a bad sandwich?”

Dan looked aggrieved. “You don’t.”

“Subpar,” Phil said cheerfully.

Dan’s face twisted, but Phil could tell he was trying not to laugh. He snorted a moment later, despite his efforts. “God, no. You’re the worst.” He turned away, moving to take the wrapped subs from the bag that the employee held out to him. Phil just laughed.

Dan sidestepped out of the line and Phil followed him to the table by the door. By some luck, it was still empty. Their movements were casual, careful not to make Ainslie suspicious.

Dan dropped the bag onto the table. It landed with a heavy thud and Phil eyed it warily. He didn’t trust foods that made disturbing sounds when they were put down.

“It doesn’t have cheese,” said Dan, mistaking Phil’s expression.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.” Phil edged onto one of the seats by the table and Dan followed suit, sitting across from him and pulling the sub out of the bag. He pushed it toward Phil, who took it with a grimace.

“We could die from this,” Phil said morbidly. “Who knows what germs are on it?”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Dan rolled his eyes. He’d already ripped open one of the bags of crisps, crunching on a handful as he spoke. “Just open it.”

Phil opened it, but did so gingerly. At least it smelled appetizing. The folds of the meat and the limp lettuce, however, didn’t look very appetizing.

“Hey.”

Phil glanced over. Ainslie stood beside the table, their sandwich tucked under one arm. They adjusted their bag, lips tugging up at the corners. “It was nice to meet you both. Thanks for the... encouragement.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” said Dan, smiling back at them.

Phil echoed the words, but added, “Go get ‘em!”

Ainslie laughed, so he didn’t regret it. “Thanks.”

Phil sensed what was going to come next - an offer for a phone number in case they were in town again - but that never ended well, so he gave Ainslie a cheery wave. “Have an awesome day!”

They hesitated, but nodded. “You too. Goodbye!” With that, they turned toward the entrance to the Subway and were gone, door swinging behind them. The mission was complete.

Well, mostly. Phil yanked his phone hurriedly out of his pocket and surveyed the timer. They had about six minutes left to get to the alley behind this Subway.

“Oh no,” deadpanned Dan. “It looks like we won’t get to eat this delicious sandwich.”

Phil rewrapped it and shoved it across the table. “Here, throw it away.”

“No! That’s a waste of food.” Dan looked genuinely offended. “Like half of the world is starving in this time.”

“We can’t exactly teleport it to them,” Phil said. “And if we leave it here, an employee will just throw it away once they notice no one’s here to eat it.”

“Point.” Dan got up with Phil, but still looked reluctant as he dropped the bag and its heavy contents into the trash can by the door. He handed the other bag of crisps to Phil, and they both snacked on the contents as they left the shop and walked toward the location programmed into their phones.

Phil kept an eye on the tiny navigational line in the corner of his glasses lens, trying to avoid tripping over his own feet and keep track of it at the same time. He tossed another crisp into his mouth and crunched down on it, then turned where the navigation directed him. Dan was right beside him, dodging a trash can that was inconveniently right in the centre of the pavement.

“The timing on that was almost perfect.” Dan took another bite of the overly large crisp in his hand. “We’ve been given more than enough time to get to the pickup spot.”

“The behaviour counsellors plan these conversations out pretty well,” Phil agreed. “They know us pretty well, too, and how our conversations go.” He eyed the bag of crisps in Dan’s hands. It looked considerably more enticing than the one that Phil was eating from.

“There’s the alley,” said Dan. “Yeah, I guess they do. Still, don’t you ever think it’s kind of creepy how well they plan out everything so perfectly?”

Phil shrugged. “Not really. That’s their whole job, after all. They have all these computers and machines and formulas to help them, too.” He slowed as his glasses beeped at him, then they turned into the indicated alley and stopped beside a massive green bin called a... dumper, maybe. A dumpster? It was quiet back here, out of sight from the main road and little travelled by pedestrians. Despite the disposal bin in this alley, the ground was littered with rubbish. Phil kicked a crumpled can beside his foot and watched it bounce across the paved ground.

“I guess,” Dan said again. Both of their phones buzzed in their pockets - their two-minute warning.

They munched on their crisps for a few moments. Phil, after more unsatisfying bites of his own, glanced down at the bag and shook it. He tried to sneak a hand over to Dan’s bag and earned a slap on his palm for his trouble.

“Fuck off,” said Dan mildly, tipping the bag up to let the contents fall into his mouth. He crushed the empty bag and tossed it into the dumpster, then reached out and snatched Phil’s bag.

“Hey,” Phil complained.

“What? You aren’t going to eat them.” Dan started eating those, too.

Phil sulked, but he hadn’t been about to eat them. He still found it rude, though. His glasses beeped with their one-minute warning.

“Well,” said Dan through a mouthful of crumbs. Phil made a face at him but Dan wasn’t deterred. “This was a short mission. Figure we’ll get to go home right afterwards?”

Phil felt nervous, suddenly. He’d almost forgotten about their argument this morning, but the reminder that they were going to have to go back to their flat and revisit the conversation made him regret that he hadn’t been thinking of it. “Er, maybe. You know it’ll be like five in the afternoon when we get back. The machine takes forever to re-calibrate.” It didn’t matter how much time they spent in the past; the time machine that brought them here and back needed time to cool down and be reprogrammed, usually about eight hours in its actual time.

“Yeah, but,” Dan tossed another crisp in his mouth, “we have to debrief or whatever.”

“Our phones and my glasses record everything,” Phil reminded him. He wondered if Dan was picking up his bad snacking habits from Tyler. “They usually just ask us a few questions about why we did what we did.”

“They take ages.” Dan peered down in the bag, searching for any more crisps, and hurled it into the dumpster when he found none.

“I’m sure it’ll be fast,” said Phil, hoping that it wouldn’t. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to going back to their flat and an argument.

Their phones buzzed. It was time.

“Beam me up, Scotty,” muttered Dan.

~~

Bryony was on them the instant that the glass door of the time machine slid open to let them out. Phil stepped over the barrier on the floor to meet her.

“Well done!” she said as soon as both of them had left the machine. “The repair’s been fixed wonderfully!”

“Of course it has,” Dan said, mock-haughtily. “You sent us, after all.”

She laughed and urged them both toward Louise and her piles of clothing in the corner. “Go on, get dressed and we’ll have a quick debrief so you can go home. I know you’re tired.”

It took her saying that for Phil to realize that he could feel the bone-deep weariness that weighed him down. These trips, no matter how short they’d stayed and how safe it was supposed to be, still ripped apart their molecules and completely put them back together again, twice in one day. It would take the stamina out of anyone. This was another reason why they could only do two trips a week, at maximum. If they did it more often, the very cells of their bodies wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“We might as well have worked a full day,” Dan agreed with Bryony. He accepted the pile of clothing that Louise shoved into his arms. She, or someone else, had set up the room divider in anticipation of their return. Phil watched him toss his phone to Bryony and duck behind the divider to change.

 “Thanks,” Phil said to Louise when she handed him his clothes. He gave his phone to Bryony, along with his glasses, and she left immediately to download the information that was recorded on them. His vision was blurred without glasses so he gingerly made his way behind the room divider to join Dan. He could easily have his eyes fixed, but no matter the safety guarantees, he still didn’t trust sharp instruments or lasers near his eyes.

“Hey,” said Dan. He sounded warm and close. Phil regretted taking off his glasses, suddenly. The blur of dark pants and bare chest a metre from him wasn’t something he ever wanted to miss. Dan moved closer, his shirt clutched in one hand, and came more clearly into focus. The bare skin of his chest and arms was golden and looked invitingly tantalizing.

“Put your shirt on,” Phil ordered, tearing his gaze from the dusky brown of Dan’s nipples. He could see Dan’s pout, but he didn’t argue, sliding the shirt over his head. Phil shoved his clothes into Dan’s arms and shrugged out of his own two shirts, shoes, and jeans he had been given before the mission. The socks joined them a moment later. He purposefully avoided Dan’s eyes, feeling the gaze heavy upon him as he took back the clothes he’d given Dan and swiftly pulled them on.

“Hmm,” said Dan when Phil was fully dressed. His tone was disapproving.

“Like what you saw?” Phil said, echoing Dan’s words from earlier that day.

“Hmm,” said Dan again. He pointed at the pile of clothes on the floor. “No.”

Phil felt a flush overtake his cheeks and he huffed, leaning to grab them. “Fine.” He turned and left Dan in the makeshift room, giving the clothes back to Louise and heading toward Bryony, who was back at her table. He could sense Dan behind him, but ignored him.

He almost tripped over the chair when he tried to sit down, yet managed after a moment of fumbling. “Did you download everything?”

Bryony snagged the frames from her tabletop and leaned toward him, offering them back to him. “Yeah, we got everything.” She watched him slide them on, shaking her head. “Honestly, Lester. You need to get the surgery so you’ll stop tripping over everything.”

“He’d trip over everything anyway,” said Dan. He had come up behind Phil, and his hands settled onto the back of the seat. His knuckles brushed against Phil’s shoulders and Phil was instantly irritated by the shiver that rippled through him at the touch.

He leaned forward in his seat. “So you said it was a success?”

“Yes!” Bryony confirmed. “It worked just as we’d planned. From our updated records, we can see that Ainslie went on to ask for the promotion that very afternoon. They went to their supervisor’s supervisor instead of their supervisor, and got the promotion immediately. In 2039 they became the CEO of the company and remained in that position for over fifteen years. That’s what was originally supposed to happen, before the time warp. Everything was fixed exactly as it was supposed to.”

“Great,” said Dan. Phil could hear the creak of his chair’s back as Dan’s hands tightened on it. “I liked them. I’m glad we fixed it.”

“So, yeah.” Her gaze seemed to flick between them. “I think we’ll finish this up tomorrow. I can tell you about your next mission then, too.”

Phil held back his urge to argue. “Sure, that sounds good.”

“You worked great together,” she said.

“We are professionals,” Dan said. His voice was lilted carefully. Phil wanted to stomp on his foot.

“Okay!” said Bryony. “Well.” She clearly had no idea what to do with the tension between her two agents. She handed their phones back instead of addressing it. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

The chair squeaked as Phil stood. “See you.” He swiped a few times on his phone, summoning a vehicle to their location for pickup.

“Bye!” Dan offered to the room at large. Louise waved at both of them where she was rearranging the clothes and a few other techs in the room expressed farewells. Phil returned PJ’s waggle of his fingers from where he was sprawled across a machine, seemingly trying to repair it.

Dan and Phil left the way they had come in that morning, the hallway just as ugly and the lobby just as bland. Tyler wasn’t at his desk, but Phil had no doubts that he was still monitoring the room from his location. A car was idling on the kerb when they left the building, and this time, Phil got in first, sliding to the far edge of the seat and buckling in. He tensed up when Dan dropped into the seat beside him. He didn’t look forward to continuing their argument.

The AutoNav’s conversational warning about the vehicle being in motion didn’t register when Phil saw Dan’s lips purse together like he was about to say something.

“We’re not back yet,” Phil blurted before he could stop himself.

Dan’s eyes narrowed, but he slumped back against his seat and shook his head, accepting it. “Fine.”

The short ride back to the flat was utterly silent after that. Phil could see Dan, with one arm crossed across his chest and phone tucked against his elbow, tapping away at the screen. He wondered what Dan was playing, but chose to stare out the window at the passing buildings and scenery instead of asking him, like he usually would. The sky was almost the same colour as it had been that morning, but the sun had clearly travelled far, casting shadows in the opposite direction than earlier. It was obvious that over eight hours had passed since their drive in the morning.

The vehicle slowed and pulled over once they reached their destination. Phil leaned forward to tap his phone against the console and ignored the warnings about exiting the vehicle when he climbed out. Dan was right behind him.

It was still quiet when the door to the flat shut behind them. Dan toed his shoes off, eyeing Phil, and headed for the kitchen. Phil sighed and followed him.

“Well?” he said, right on Dan’s heels.

“What?” Dan didn’t look at him, yanking open cabinets and pulling out various items.

Phil shrugged, shoulders tight. He’d gotten past the point of wanting to avoid the topic and now he just wanted to get it over with. He leaned against the corner of one counter and watched Dan drop a bag of flour beside a mixing bowl. “You know what. Just because we’ve been acting normal all day doesn’t mean it’s fine. You’re obviously still upset with me.”

Dan seemed to coil like a wound spring at that, whirling to fix Phil with a harsh stare. “Obviously? Me? You’ve been tense the entire time we were at work and even Bryony picked up on it. You’re the one that said you didn’t want this,” he waved a hand between them, “to affect the mission.”

“It didn’t affect the mission. It worked.” Phil realized he had crossed his arms across his chest and made an effort to pull them down. They hung awkwardly at his sides now.

“Fuck the mission anyway,” Dan decided. “You know what I want to talk about.”

Phil felt himself rolling his eyes, not intentionally, but he didn’t resist it either. “Yeah, I know. Why can’t you just see it from my point of view? Why’s it all about you?”

“All about me?” Dan had thrown open the door to the fridge and he yanked out a carton of eggs. Phil winced as he smacked them down on the countertop. “This affects you too! Stop acting like it doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t affect me! I don’t even notice until you start complaining about it.”

“Exactly!” Dan stabbed a finger toward Phil. “That’s the problem! You don’t even fucking notice and it’s driving me insane. How do you not see it?”

This wasn’t a continuation of their argument, Phil realized. They were just repeating what they had said this morning, albeit with slightly less yelling now. He huffed and tried to re-organize his thoughts. “Look,” he said. “I’m trying, okay?”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” started Dan, but Phil threw up a hand to stop him.

“I’m trying,” he repeated. “I try to remember and I do it whenever I think about it. It’s just... it’s frustrating because you never notice when I actually do it, but you get upset whenever I forget.”

“You forget nine out of ten times,” said Dan, but he looked a little less angry and the lines around his eyes had smoothed somewhat. “Do you need fucking reminders to do it?”

Phil actually considered that. Of all their arguments about this, they’d rarely tried to bring up a solution for the problem. “That, uh... that might work.”

“Fine.” Dan abruptly turned back to his assembly on the counter. He pulled out a jug of milk and added it to the growing collection of food, movements sharp. “Make reminders. Make one for every two hours we’re home.”

“That seems excessive,” Phil stated, but was already pulling out his phone and tapping away at it.

“You’re excessive,” muttered Dan. There were a hundred innuendoes that sprang to Phil’s mind, but he suppressed them to avoid Dan’s ire. He hoped this idea would actually work. This was a constant argument, and if they could avoid it, it’d be better for both of them. His phone chimed with confirmation of the reminders he’d set.

“Good,” said Dan, recognizing the noise. He slapped a whisk down onto the counter. Phil could see him grimacing as he looked down at it. Some things were better left unremembered. “Come help me make dinner, idiot.”

Phil scoffed at the insult, but he felt a pressure ease off his chest. The insults were practically pet names that Dan used, but he never said them during an argument. The use of one was a clear indicator that Dan, though he might still be irritated, considered the conflict resolved, at least for now. Phil joined Dan beside the pile of ingredients, accepting the tin of baking powder that Dan handed him. “What are you making?”

“Pancakes.”

“But.” Phil blinked. “I love pancakes.”

“Oh, do you?” The sarcasm was clear. Dan’s dimple winked at Phil every time Dan spoke. “I didn’t know. You’ve certainly never ranted to me for hours on end about them.”

Phil couldn’t stop himself. With a hand centred on Dan’s chest, he pushed him back against the counter and crowded up against him. Dan didn’t resist. Their hips fit snugly together and Phil rested a hand against Dan’s neck, brushing a thumb over the soft line of his jaw. He didn’t know what to do with himself now that he had Dan sufficiently trapped. Emotions welled in his throat, choking him. This day had been a roller coaster of feelings. “God, Dan. You…”

“I’m the best,” Dan offered. He shifted against Phil’s weight, leaning an elbow back on the counter. “You’re a twat, we both know - oh.”

Phil leaned in closer, closer... and he bit Dan’s cheek, pressing his teeth against the indentation of Dan’s dimple. The skin was soft beneath his lips.

“Ow,” said Dan, but he didn’t push Phil away. He seemed satisfied to let Phil nip at the hollow in his cheek. Phil pushed his thumb against the dip, driving it deeper, and bit it once more, then let his tongue dart out to lick at it. He only stopped when the skin around the dimple looked flushed and wet under his touch, and then he rocked back onto his heels with a noise of satisfaction.

“You’re a fucking weirdo,” said Dan fondly. He reached up to wipe at his cheek.

“Yeah.” Phil wasn’t going to argue with that.

Dan did shove Phil back now, his expression amused. “Come on, let’s make pancakes.”

And they did.

[frospino]

Ah, but I’m flying like a bird to you now

A Klaus Hargreeves Imagine

Warning: Death mention

Summary: Klaus Hargreeves helps (a non-gendered) reader connect with a dead loved one.

Word count: 1.719

A/N: I’ve been in a bit of a slump lately, but I really wanted to write for Klaus. Let me know what you think please! :) Title is from the lyrics of Hozier’s “Shrike”. I took some liberties with the way Klaus can use his powers.

Ah, but I’m flying like a bird to you now

 Klaus Hargreeves was excited to feel the heavy rain on his skin. The way the drops made his hair stick to the side of his face. His eyeliner drawing intricate patterns on his cheeks. The splashing sounds his naked toes made on the pavement.

Klaus had been sober for a couple of weeks now. He saw no point in counting just how many, but his body wasn’t racked by terrible cramps, sweat attacks and all the other fun stuff that came with his new life anymore. Tiny moments of mindfulness, such as letting himself feel nature’s power, had become a beautiful distraction from the moaning, accusations and dark stares that followed him wherever he went.

He was aware of the irony behind using mindfulness as a distraction, but well, Klaus Hargreeves had never been someone who let rules and expectations dictate the way he did things.

“You may want to put on some clothes. It must be cold. And wet.” Ben’s voice pulled Klaus out of his semi-meditative state.

“I don’t really care, but I appreciate your concern, little brother.”

“You do know that we are the same age?”

“Ssh. You stopped aging when you died. Therefore, you are younger than me now.”

An old lady, maybe around 80, raised her eyebrows at him and made a disgusted noise. Klaus grinned at her and tipped an imaginary hat in her direction. “Have a wonderful day, Queen Elizabeth!” She didn’t turn around, only hurried away.

Klaus turned to his brother’s ghost again. “People are so rude.”

“You do make a rather strange sight. At least put on some shoes.”

“My feet are never rude to anyone. And if they were, they’d apologise.”

Ben’s laugh echoed through the deserted street, and Klaus felt a twinge of sadness that he was the only one to hear this beautiful sound. 

For a while, Ben and Klaus just sat next to each other, each of the pair following their own trails of thoughts. To an outsider, Klaus must have made a pitiful sight—a 20-something with runny eyeliner, a shirt that was at least one size too small and distinctly naked feet, soaked to the bone.

Klaus was happier than he had been in a long, long time.

---

Your day couldn’t get much worse. Your ‘favourite’ colleague had found a way to blame his mistake on you, your boss had jumped at the occasion to scream at you, you forgot your lunch on the kitchen counter, and your best friend had called earlier to cancel your date for tonight. Life had just taken one turn for the worse after another, after… the incident. You forced yourself to push the thoughts way. You wouldn’t dwell on it now.

As you stepped outside of the office, you were engulfed by the heaviest rainfall the city had seen in weeks. And you didn’t have an umbrella. Of course.

At least the rain obscured your tears to anyone watching you.

Not that there were a lot of people on the streets to begin with. Most sensible people were probably huddled up on the sofa, hiding under a warm blanket, hot cocoa in hand. You contemplated taking the bus home, but decided the rain might help to cool your temper. You absent-mindedly nodded a greeting to the young man on the pavement.

“Your sister would like me to tell you that it wasn’t your fault.”

You turned around and finally noticed the state he was in. His face looked vaguely familiar, but you were pretty sure you didn’t know anyone with a fable for rainbow-coloured shirts and leather pants.

“I’m sorry, I’ve had a shitty day and really don’t feel like playing games right now.”

“Alice, right? Around 12, long blonde hair, died in a blue summer dress? From the looks of her, run over by car, poor thing. Ah yes, no, tact isn’t really my thing. Say, does your sibling punch people? Ben shut up, you’re not helping.”

You clutched your bag and took a step towards the stranger. Hot fury bubbled up in your stomach, and indeed, you wanted nothing more than to punch that stupid grin of the guy’s face.

“What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want.”

He got up and took a small bow in front of you. “Klaus Hargreeves. Number Four. Umbrella Academy. You may have heard of me, we’ve been all over the news lately.” The stranger—Klaus—offered his hand in greeting.

Ah. That’s why he looked familiar. You remembered something about a family trying to stop the apocalypse. After Alice’s death, your life really had been one apocalypse after the other, so you hadn’t cared much.

Klaus or Number Four or whatever the fuck he wanted to be called let his hands drop to his side again. “Alice tells me you’re not big on strangers. Understandable. She’s worried, you know? You really need to eat something. There’s a nice place just around the corner. Wanna grab a bite?”

“You’re the one who can talk to the dead.”

“I probably should have led with that. Yeah, I guess that’s me.”

“Alice is—Alice is here?”

Klaus looked at the empty space next to you for a while and laughed. “She’s witty. I like her. Yes, Alice says she’s been following you. Says someone has to look after you, since apparently you’re bad at it yourself.” Klaus held up his hands in defeat, giving you a good luck of the words ‘Hello’ and ‘Goodbye’ tattooed onto his palms. “Her words, not mine.”

The tears started again, heavier than before. Sobs shook your body, and you felt your knees give out. Klaus caught you before you could hit the ground.

“Can you—can you tell her that I miss her? And that I’m so, so sorry?”

For a second, Klaus looked as if he wanted to give you a hug, but he opted for an awkward pat on the back instead. “She can hear you. And she says it’s not your fault.”

“But I—I should have looked after her better. I should have—should have—“

You didn’t manage to finish the sentence as your grief held you in an iron grip. You were shaking like a leaf in the wind, and if not for Klaus’ hand on your arm, you would have fallen down again.

“You know, in the last weeks, I’ve learned that hot cocoa is very comforting. Let’s get you out of the rain, and then we’ll have a nice chat, you, Alice and I.”

---

True to Klaus’ word, there was a nice café just a few walking minutes from where you met. You were very conscious of the wet trail you were leaving on the floor, but Klaus moved as if he couldn’t care less. His wet, naked feet made quiet splashing sounds with every step he took. There was only one other customer in the café, but his sigh was loud enough that it could probably be heard at the other end of the city.

“How about you sit down over there—the table with the four chairs—and I’ll get us something? Chocolate cake okay?”

You only nodded in response, pondering why Klaus would point you towards a table with four chairs. Up until now, you hadn’t really thought about the physicality of the dead. Did they need chairs to sit?

One or two minutes later, Klaus set a cup of hot cocoa and a slice of chocolate fudge cake in front of you.

“So,” Klaus looked at you with as he wiped eyeliner smudges from his face with a napkin. “Alice here tells me you’ve hardly eaten anything. That’s not good for your health, you know.”

You sighed. “Thank you. I know that.”

“She says you need to stop being so hard on yourself. And that your boss is a dick.”

You poked at your cake, unsure of what to say. “How would—how would she know?”

“Oh, she’s been following you around since she died.”

“She—what? She’s been here all this time?”

“…not when you go to the bathroom, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You shook your head, trying to process this new information. This whole time, Alice had been there? She had been with you when you cried over her dead body, during the funeral, during everything?

---

Two hours later, the barista informed you that she would close the shop soon. You were amazed by how calm she took in the whole situation—as if it was normal that two people had conversations with their dead siblings. Maybe she recognised Klaus, or maybe she just had an amazing poker face. Either way, you thanked her with a big tip.

Once outside, you gave Klaus a long hug. If you had any tears left, you thought you might have cried again; the conversation with Alice had taken all the shame and guilt away, but the sadness of her passing would stay with you forever.

Klaus slung his long arms around you, and so you two stood there for a while, a comfortable silence engulfing you.

When you eventually let go, Klaus looked at you with serious eyes. “Promise you’ll take better care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“If you need to talk to Alice again, you can always find me, okay?”

“…have you considered becoming a therapist? That power of yours could come in handy.”

Klaus smiled at you and shook his head. “Not all ghosts are as positive as your little sister, you know. Some are… better left with the dead, where they belong.”

Klaus waved at you, his tattoo telling you “goodbye”. Perhaps that was the only thing left to say. You felt a pang of regret as you watched Klaus Hargreeves go—regret that you did not get to know the man who spoke with the dead better. He turned a corner, and you were left wondering whether you really just spoke with your dead sister.

The only proof you had of what just happened was the sound of naked feet on the wet pavement.

  And Klaus arguing with who you guessed was Ben—

“I know man. I should get that line tattooed somewhere. What? Nope, not asking them out. Yes I saw that. Yes. Just—shut up, will you?!”

[hollandandi]

“come on, have a bloody heart.” “i do, i’m holding one.”

———

type - angst

tom or peter?

au? - mobster tom (mob!tom)

word count - 3.4k

warnings - swearing, gore (sorry about it! but he is a mobster.)

w/n - honestly, thanks so much for the positive response i received on my first imagine that wasn’t a chapter to a series yesterday. i am so glad people enjoyed it. if you haven’t seen it, feel free to click here.

————

It was a ordinary, simple-minded Thursday. The trees were hit with bursts of hot wind, knocking dying leaves from the branches onto the pavement throughout the city. You gripped the blush pink strap, attached to your bag, and pulled it closer to your neck from your right shoulder as you slowly breathed in the summer air racing past you. After finishing your shift at the local book store, you decided to take the longer route home due to the warmer weather and clearer skies that blossomed above you - you walked swiftly, but made sure you fully appreciated your calm surroundings during the journey; unknown to you, however, that would be that the last peaceful memory for a while.

Even after a week passed from that journey, all you could remember was the feeling of red once you returned home that day. Red was the best colour to associate to the memory; blood, confusion and danger were the best words to use. As you reached your house, which usually oozed love, tranquility and safety, you realised the front door was unlocked, and gently pushed inwards. Though strange and entirely unusual as it was unlikely this was intentional by your parents, your mood was carefree, quiet and absent-minded, so you proceeded to enter the house that was beginning to no longer feel like home. You took slow, careful steps into the main living room - but even with a newly-hesitant outlook on the situation, you could not escape the picture immediately painted into your mind in seconds.

Bursting your eyes back open with a familiar panic, you sat up immediately from your best friend’s sofa-bed, clutching the grey, fabric duvet that covered you strictly in your hands. It had been a week, but you were still having the recurring, yet simple nightmare. It was a straight-forward, complete re-enactment of the moment you desperately tried not to think about throughout the day - though this was often unsuccessful, one thing that was always guaranteed was this reminder as you attempted to gain at least a few hours of sleep.

Across the city, however, it was also not a calm day for many. As the days grew colder, the area’s crime rate was rising - from dodgy drug deals, to manic murders and sickening sexual assaults, it was proving difficult to escape the increasing fear many people were beginning to feel. Like you, many people were no longer feeling at home; instead, many were anxious to return to their houses and apartments that were supposed to be their comfort spot after a stressful day at work. Of course, the situation was not helped by a certain arrival in the city - known to many, but not all, was a quick, but heavy movement into an incredibly expensive building of offices and work-rooms that had been very recently renovated. Though the move-in was widely noticed, only few were aware of those featured in the arrival.

“Tom, she is a family friend. We knew her parents incredibly well, they were very good to us. Always.” A female voice uttered to her stubborn and cocky son, who was sat comfortably behind a large, glass desk at the very top of the skyscraper.

“Mum, I already told you - I don’t care who she is, she could be the fucking reincarnation of Jesus for all I care - she is not staying at our home. You’ve already mentioned that she is staying at a friend’s house; I am sure she is perfectly fine there.” The suited, straight-faced boy responded abruptly, looking up to make contact with his mother’s eyes. In response, there was a gentle scoff from her, before a hard glare met his face. “I didn’t raise you like this.” She hissed, before turning swiftly on her heels and making her way out of the modernised office, as the mobster, named Tom, shook his head and huffed. He couldn’t believe his own mother wanted to bring a stranger into his home - the home he designed and bought, but most importantly the home he made safe for his family.

To his relief, his thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing sound from the delicate desk in front of him. A text had come through his phone, and as he roughly picked up the device, he began to bite his lip while reading the message. Only three words lay on the screen, but that was all it took for a smirk to emerge on his face, his body to rise from the chair he was originally seated in and his legs to start moving towards the exit of his office. “We got him.”

As you wiped back the loose hairs that had fallen onto your face during your panicked wake up, you took a long, breathy sigh as you glanced down to your hands, now in your lap. Your fingers brushed over each other as you closed your eyes carefully, still sat up - and remembered how much scrubbing you were compelled to do on the day of the accident. There was so much blood you started to think it was seeping through the first few layers of your skin, and you could just not feel clean afterwards. Before hot tears took their opportunity to emerge within your eyes, you quickly shot your head up and made your way from the sofa, pulling down the legs of your pyjama pants softly so they were back in the appropriate place on your hips. Beginning the kettle, you saw a lilac-coloured post-it note on the counter, telling you that your friend was at work and would be back tonight after her shift. You smiled softly, but it was still fairly weak, but grew slightly stronger as you poured the hot-water into your favourite mug. It had been a small Christmas gift from your dad in the past; a huge, cream coloured one with “You’re Brilliant!” enscriped onto it in large, skinny letters. Just the memory made you smile truly, but it was accompanied with a sharp, quick jolt to your heart, so you quickly finished your tea and began to walk to the kitchen table that you kept your laptop on.

However, as you walked, you heard a muted shuffle of feet, before a crisp sound of paper sliding underneath your door frame. Slightly alerted, you froze with the mug within your hands, but as the feet underneath quickly ran away, you began to feel a little more at ease. Placing the heavy cup on a cork coaster, you swiftly walked towards the doorframe and carefully picked up the envelope that was resting on the hard-wood floor. Your hands began to shake a little - you didn’t really know why, but I’m sure no-one would blame you for little bursts of worry every now and then. Your fingers moved swiftly underneath the envelope’s opening, before pulling it upwards and revealing the blank card within it. Once slotted out, you anxiously separated the two sides, before glancing upon a scribbled message on the right-hand side.

“Y/N, it’s Nikki and Dom. We heard. Please come stay with us and the boys - you are family to us and we all want to make sure you are safe.

If you take up my our offer, which we hope you do, come to the fourth office of Holland Incorporated any day of the week.”

Well, to say the least, that was definitely not what you were expecting.

While you were taking a breath of relief in the small apartment across the city, Tom was taking a breath of pride. Sitting in a dark, cherry-red pool of blood was an unlucky traitor, that had posed a threat to the business for several weeks - spooled out along the floor, major organs carefully removed or toyed with, sat a clear example of what would happen to those who chose to disrespect a powerful mobster of England. However, the glory did not last long for Tom, as his powerful glee was interrupted by his Dad, Dominic, trying again to convince the boy of an important decision.

“Right, now that’s over with - you need to listen to me, boy. Like your mother has already told you, she is like family to us. And one thing I am sure I have drilled into that stubborn brain of yours is that you help family - always.” The father spoke harshly, standing at the back of the room with a full view of the events which took place minutes before.

Instead of giving an immediate verbal response, Tom simply scoffed, turning around to look at the man that stood before him with dark, cloudy eyes. “The important word you used right there was ‘like’, she is not my family.” He expressed, using his free hand to point at his chest. “She may be yours, and Mum’s, and the other’s for all I care. But she is not mine - family means more to me than words and titles.”

An eye-roll ensued, followed by a head shaking and a raised voice. “Come on Tom, have a bloody heart.” Dom spat - he was in disbelief that his own son would disrespect his wishes like this - right in-front of his own face.

“I do, I’m holding one.” Tom responded in an equal tempo and tone, before dropping the bloody organ that once was beating, to the concrete, tiled basement floor of the building. “At-least I was.” He chuckled to himself, taking out a handkerchief from his front pocket to attempt to wipe some liquid from his bloody, bruised hands. When he glanced up, however, his father Dom was only a metre or so from his son, his eyes slightly softer as he parted his lips to retaliate. “Well, it’s a shame you don’t agree, but your mother has already invited her. So it’s up to Y/N if she wishes to take up the deal.”

“For fucks sake!” Tom yelled, clenching his fists within the silk handkerchief before passing his father and heading for the steel door that marked the difference between beatings, murder and interrogation, and that of business, meetings and phone-calls. “You’re a bunch of bloody cunts, I fucking swear.” This was all Dom heard before his son stormed out of the room, and towards the elevator which opened almost immediately - almost as if an inanimate object could feel the tension within the air.

“Jesus Christ, it’s not like she’s staying in your bed.” Dom uttered to himself, before shaking his head and choosing the stairs instead.

Days passed by quickly, including the weekend separating July and August, and soon enough, it was Monday again. Four days had passed since you received the letter, and it was only until the morning of August 2nd that you finally made up your mind. The choice was concluded from various factors - one, you were beginning to feel like a true burden to your friend, especially when she began to bring guys home at nine o’ clock, which was unfortunately a peak time for your hot, salty tears to begin flowing down your cheeks. Two, you didn’t think that distancing yourself from everyone else was helping, and although you had received a few texts from friends; curious about your wellbeing, you honestly felt a rush of protection when you re-read the letter. It sounds ridiculous, but even through handwriting, the choice was consistently playing on your mind. Two reasons were enough for you - you had always told yourself that if you only had a single excuse for something, it wouldn’t be strong enough to hold you if it went wrong, and as you learnt that the hard way recently, once natural, easy reasons were flowing off your tongue for running across the city, you wasted no time packing back up your chosen belongings, leaving a lilac-coloured post-it note and making your way from the small apartment block you had stayed for almost two weeks.

After a short walk, a long bus ride, and another short walk, you made it to the fairly intimidating building on the other side of town. It must have been at least twenty floors high, and at certain angles, you couldn’t even see the top of the construction. “I wonder who got that unlucky office.” You laughed lightly to yourself - it was the first one in a short while, and perhaps it was because you were actually in an area, standing in front of a building that didn’t trigger deadly memories for elongated periods, that you could. Seeing other people enter through the main doors, you made your way through the first before seeing at least a hundred different guards standing next to numerous security machines. “Brilliant, fucking brilliant.” You sighed to yourself before beginning what was only going to be a tortuous hour or so.

Twelve security measures, three full-body scans and five bag x-rays later, you were finally allowed access to the sacred building that the family, once like family to you, stayed throughout the days of each week. Pulling your cross-body bag strap closer to you, you stood in front of a marbled desk that spread across the entire room. Behind it was a blonde, fairly young girl wearing a fairly revealing uniform, if you can even call it that.

“Hi, my name is Y/N Y/L/N - I was hoping to see Nikki or Dominic?” You bit your lip after expressing the request, before smiling softly to the receptionist who seemed unamused, glancing you up and down with judging eyes. Your hair was down, and you had dark blue jeans with a black blouse tucked into the top of them. A ring hung securely on your middle finger on your right hand, and blue Converse sat underneath your feet. “They’re busy.” She smiled sarcastically back to you, before looking back down to her computer and beginning to type something into the screen. “Oh, erm, do you know when they will be available?” You asked gently, cocking an eyebrow slightly at the hostility expressed to you so quickly from the woman, but all you got in response was a chuckle and continued obnoxious typing. “Am I missing something here? Aren’t you supposed to be a receptioni-,” you began to retaliate, before being interrupted with a cheery welcome from a familiar female voice behind the counter.

“Y/N! I am so glad you came!” Nikki practically yelled, before nodding towards a final security guard by the entrance to the open space behind the counter, causing the receptionist that had ‘greeted’ you to freeze and begin squirming in her seat. “Nikki, it is so good to see you.” You smiled towards her - which although was still weak, warmed Nikki’s heart as she wrapped you in a tight embrace. “I was actually just leaving, come come! We’ll take you straight home.” Your lips parted in surprise, but relief - this building was incredibly intimidating, and you could not wait to get to a house with a comfortable bed again. “Is anyone else coming with us?” You softly exclaimed, nodding in agreement to her previous idea and beginning to exit to a black car towards the side of the metal building. As you climbed into the seat gestured to you, she shook her head gently before uttering, “Not yet, the boys will meet us later once work is finished.”

Although you smiled towards her and nodded once again, clicking in your seatbelt and sitting back against the head-rest, you couldn’t help but gulp at the thought of Tom, Harry and Sam returning home tonight. You were looking forward to seeing Paddy and Dominic, but the others were a little nerve wracking. It had been years since you last properly encountered with the brothers, almost a decade with Tom specifically, and an adult reunitement was replaced with hushes, dangerous whispers and terrifying stories as the power was passed on through the family. You had no idea what to expect - what he looked like, what he sounded like, but more importantly, what he acted like.

Your thoughts, though, were quickly interrupted with eager chit-chat from Nikki about your life. Hobbies, aspirations and friends were a few of the topics quickly brought up, and soon enough, the car stopped and the car door beside you was being opened. As your shoes hit the pebbled floor, your eyes immediately hit the sight before you. A house, a mansion, laid before you, placed behind an extensive arrangement of flowers, plants and a breath-taking fountain. Before you could even fully capture and grasp the beauty of the exterior, Nikki was eagerly pulling you inside to show you the sights behind the entrance. Just when you thought you could not possibly see something prettier, you did. Firstly, the hallway was bigger than your parent’s home, and the bathroom was bigger than your friend’s apartment. The guest room - which Nikki now insisted was your room - took your breath away for the fourth time since arriving. A king-sized bed stood against the back wall, with oak-wood furniture, designer rugs and a dazzling chandelier surrounding it. You could definitely get used to this.

Tom had finally calmed down at the office, and was somewhat civil with his father after the argument earlier that day. However, Dom was yet to confess the sight he would see in the guest room later tonight, but as the brothers were laughing amongst themselves in the car-ride home, he decided against it. “You should have seen his face, Sam. Practically begging me to kill him quickly - they’re hitting a new low I tell you, they don’t even bother begging for their life anymore.” Tom laughed, before resting his hand behind his head and allowing the journey to return him to his safe space. The windows were heavily tinted, so only people who knew the official address to the residence could find the house, but Tom felt the car begin to drive over pebbles, alerting him he was about to reach home. Once he felt the car stop gently, he opened his door and began making his way to the entrance, his brothers and father following behind him, still smiling and joking amongst themselves over several topics. After greeting his Mum, grabbing something quick to eat and washing his hands briefly afterwards, he expressed he was going to change before making his way up the wooden, oak stairs which led to the variety of bedrooms on the upper floor.

As you used the following hours to slowly un-pack your bag; carefully hanging your clothes on silk-covered hangers and slotting them gently into your one, of many, wardrobes, you set out a pair of pyjamas during the process. After arranging the clothes and other essentials you brought with you, you realised how much everyone else in the house must own if they fill the space provided, before slipping on a pair of blush-pink pyjama shorts and a white t-shirt and brushing multiple knots that had formed in your hair during your arrival to the Holland home. As you sat with quiet music playing out of your phone speakers as you performed your nightly routine for sleep, you faced the wall, miming lyrics of your current favourite song, pulling the brush down in several areas.

Tom’s room was the last of all rooms, against the back wall of the floor. In a swift route towards it, he almost walked directly passed the guest room on the left side of the arrangement, but quiet music hit his left ear for a second. As soon as he heard the sounds, his feet halted, as he turned quickly to face the room that should have been empty. His mind immediately flew to the previous conversations he had uttered with his parents, and as his eyebrows raised and jaw tightened, he stepped closer to the doorway to get a better glimpse of the intruder in his home. As you were so in-touch with the song playing, specifically the lyrics being spoken, you initially overlooked the quiet footsteps that were now making their way into your room, one step at a time. After several steps onto the grey carpet, he could finally see the stranger in his home, and as his lips parted, with his fists clenched, ready to yell and shout, he quickly stopped his actions. His grip loosened, his eyebrows softened and his lips curved into a slow smirk.

“Well, shit, love. If I knew you looked like that, I would have carried you in myself.”

[callumturncr]

A Different Path [Sirius Black AU] - Part 6

Summary: Post-graduation AU in which the reader, Lily and The Marauders have just joined the Order of the Phoenix. As tensions are at its highest in the First Wizarding War, the reader, who likes Sirius Black more than she would like to admit, is framed for the murder of Marlene McKinnon.

Parts:  1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8

Author’s Note: Sorry for the looonngg wait but here it is, slightly longer than usual :) I had to start this about four times before I got anywhere decent with it so I hope you like it!! Feel free to ask if you want to be added to the taglist.

Gif is not mine. Words: 3.2k

It was a cool Saturday, with the sun running in and out of the clouds and a light breeze floating through the streets. Y/N walked slowly. There was no rush to get home today so she took her time, noticing the little things. How hot of a summer June had brought about, the spidery little cracks in the pavement, King’s Cross station and the bustle of passengers rushing to board the trains, the high pitch of a child’s laughter. Azkaban had made her forget these things; forget what it felt like to be surrounded by life.

On some days though, she was overwhelmed.

It was either too loud that she wanted to shut herself away again or too quiet that she wanted to scream and fill the silence. As much as Y/N had yearned for an escape from Azkaban and its desolate cold, she was dismayed to find that she didn’t completely belong in the world outside of it either, a world that had once been so familiar. She cherished her freedom but at times, the myriads of colour swirling in her vision were such a stark contrast to what she’d grown accustomed to; the greens too lively, yellows too bright and blues too fresh.

Her new apartment was bizarrely, situated in a Muggle street that was usually very busy. Dumbledore had insisted this was safer, in case there were still any lurking Death Eaters waiting to attack. After her release three weeks ago, it had been distributed by the Daily Prophet that Y/N Y/L/N was a key element to Voldemort’s downfall. Only through her information had the Potters been safe and so all of a sudden, everyone regarded her as the hero. Some people even stopped her on the streets, people who had not so long ago been convinced that she was the traitor. Now, they sang her praises.

Y/N wanted none of it.

Over the past three weeks, the visitors had been many – Dedalus Diggle being the first, to Y/N’s surprise. She’d opened her door to find his eyes red and before the shock even registered on her face, he’d pulled her into a hug, not noticing the way she flinched.

Full of apologies, Dedalus had stayed to help her unpack some of her things. After Y/N had assured him that her imprisonment was by no means his fault and that Crouch Jr. was an immensely talented wizard whose Forgetfulness charm would’ve been impossible to deflect, he had told her everything regarding the Ministry after the Dark Lord’s downfall. The last of the Death Eaters had been rounded up although a couple, namely Lucius Malfoy, had gotten away with some plea of being under the influence of the Imperius curse.

Y/N knew it was a lie – Malfoy had been a topic of great discussion in Azkaban, among the first few Death Eaters caught after the fall; Y/N knew many of them despised him for lying and taking the easy way out. It made her uncomfortable that she would be seeing him around the Ministry from now on.

Moody was the second visitor. Never one for small talk, he’d come to check on her, grumble about Crouch and his knack for holding long trials before going on his way. More members from the Order had visited too, some bearing small gifts, intended to be housewarming. Y/N smiled at them politely, accepted their condolences and spoke only when necessary. It was foreign to have to pretend in front of them, wizards and witches she’d known and been friends with once but Y/N didn’t know how else to act.

Today, her visitor was none other than Lily Evans.

Potter, Y/N corrected herself. Spotting the redhead sitting on the steps to her apartment, she stopped in her tracks. Lily wasn’t the only one there either. She had brought a different sort of gift – an infant who was seated in her lap, his head resting against her shoulder. With untidy tufts of black hair, his likeness was his father’s but his eyes, so blue that Y/N could see them from where she stood, were Lily’s entirely.

It was Harry Potter.

Lily sprang up once she noticed Y/N. Walking slowly forward with Harry peering curiously at the newcomer, a small smile broke out on her face.

“Hi.”

Y/N took a moment to respond.

“Hey.”

None of them said anything after that, using the time to take in each other’s appearances. Y/N looked incredibly haggard, thought Lily. While her old friend had spent the first week of her release in St. Mungo’s (she knew this because Moody had told her), Azkaban’s traces were still fresh on her face. There was a slight tremor in her voice too, and her shoulders were stiff with tension. Lily’s face fell a little – this visit was perhaps doing Y/N more harm than good.

On the contrary, Y/N didn’t think she’d ever seen Lily look healthier, happier. Though those two things weren’t out of the ordinary for Lily, she knew that much of her newfound radiance was due to the little boy in her arms, who was now cooing softly at his mother. Dumbledore had informed her that the Potters were safe the minute she’d gotten out of Azkaban but seeing them in person made Y/N feel a little better.

“Do you want to come in?”

Lily looked relieved and nodded eagerly. She was grateful Y/N hadn’t brushed her off; Lily had much to thank her for.

Her new apartment was sparsely decorated. A few plants here and there, Y/N’s favourite coat flung over the nearest sofa, beams of sunlight filtering through the windows. Lily followed Y/N into the kitchen and took a seat on the dining table, opposite her friend. After a few minutes, she broke the silence.

“Oh! I forgot – here,” she rummaged in her bag and pulled out a wand. Y/N froze.

Confiscated ever since she’d gone to Azkaban and now lying in front of her, was the wand that had killed Marlene McKinnon. It was a miserable reminder and Y/N wanted to snap it in half and throw it as far as she could. Instead, she picked it up gingerly and thanked Lily, knowing full well Moody could’ve brought it when he’d come last week.

“Did Dumbledore ask you to bring it?”

“I offered actually,” Lily’s voice was small. “I… I wanted to see you.” After a beat she continued although quite hesitantly. “Sirius wanted to come too.” Stopping once she saw Y/N’s face fall further, Lily cursed softly and rushed to amend herself. “I told him you might not… that you might–”

“Not want to see him?” Y/N finished for her, finally meeting her gaze. Her voice had a stiffness to it like Lily had never heard before. It was so unfamiliar, so unlike the girl she knew that Lily could only nod. Y/N said nothing more, keeping her gaze on Harry. He stared back, the curiosity still lingering on his face.

“How are you?”

The minute she’d said it, Lily wanted to snatch the words back. It was such a stupid question to ask, after everything that she opened her mouth to apologize but Y/N beat her to it.

“Fine,” she replied quickly. The mask she’d donned in front of all her old friends from the Order when they’d come to visit was slipping back on. It pained Y/N to have to pretend in front of even Lily, but there was no other way about it. “Everyone still stares though.”

“Do they say anything to you? Anything rude?” Lily asked. “Because if they do you can tell Dumbledore. He’ll shut Rita Skeeter up.”

“That’s okay. The last thing I need is Rita writing that I’m incapable of handling things myself.”

Lily’s voice was quiet once again. “You’ve gone through more than enough, they would understand.”

“No they wouldn’t,” replied Y/N, her voice equally soft. Lily had always been extraordinarily kind, always seeing the absolute best qualities people had to offer but it still amazed Y/N how she could be so trusting, so understanding after all that had happened.

Harry had grown desperate for some form of entertainment and was reaching eagerly for the flowers in the centre of the table. Without saying anything, Y/N moved a small blossom out of the vase and it floated in the air momentarily before drifting over. Harry, with his eyes alight in excitement and mouth open in awe, happily clapped his hands and let out a tiny shriek as it tickled him on the nose, apparently out of its own accord.

A small shadow of a smile peeked out of Y/N.

“Do you want to hold him?”

Without waiting for a reply, Lily reached over to place him in Y/N’s arms. He was very small and soft, the warmth radiating off him seeping into her too. He wriggled around a bit to make himself more comfortable before turning back to the enchanted flower, still twirling in the air. It slipped out of reach of his tiny fingers as he tried to grab it, making him squeal again.

“I heard you defied Voldemort three times,” Y/N said, changing track. “Did you?”

There was a small spark of triumph in Lily’s eyes as she replied. “Yeah. Only made him more desperate to come after us.”

“Didn’t succeed though, Harry’s still here.”

Her face darkened a little. “Because the Longbottoms paid the price.”

This was news. Lily saw the confusion on Y/N’s face and continued.

“Voldemort knew who the prophecy referred to but he had no hope of getting to us because Sirius was Secret Keeper,” she exhaled slowly and her voice shook when she spoke again. “Dorcas was the Longbottom’s, she was the closest to Alice.”

“She was captured a week before it happened. Voldemort personally killed her after he’d tortured out what she knew. He… he thought even if Harry was the boy in the prophecy, he would eliminate Alice’s son from the equation all together just to be sure and take us later.”

Y/N held her breath, dread sinking into her bones.

“He told Alice she could live if she surrendered her son.” Her eyes were downcast and shrouded with pain as she talked of Alice Longbottom. Lily too, it seemed, had ghosts of her own. “She refused.”

“Granting the son sacrificial protection,” murmured Y/N.

“Yes. The curse rebounded and Voldemort was destroyed.”

Lily watched Y/N’s brow furrow, nonplussed.

“That can’t be.”

“What do you mean? You’re saying he didn’t die?”

“He couldn’t have. Not if Harry is the chosen one like you say. The curse only rebounded because of Alice’s sacrifice, not because of the son.”

“The chosen one,” Lily repeated. She shook her head. “But he still vanished.”

“He was the most powerful Dark wizard, knew all sorts of magic. Probably knew of ways to preserve yourself even if your body was destroyed.” At Lily’s stare, she shrugged. “They talked in their cells a lot, his supporters. Never shut up about how great he was.”

Silence enveloped them for a while.

“What about Frank Longbottom?”

Lily’s face contorted again. “We thought he was safe,” her voice was barely above a whisper. “Then they got him and tortured him until he went insane.”

Y/N knew exactly who Lily was talking about. She remembered all too well the effects of the Torture curse and the blinding agony that accompanied it. She also remembered the day Bellatrix had been brought in to the cell adjacent to hers, face devoid of the triumphant smile she’d worn that day. It haunted Y/N more than she liked to admit, that smile.

“Bellatrix?” Y/N asked. Lily gave her that look again. “Her cell was next to mine after they brought her in.”

“Oh.”

Sirius had told her about what he’d seen in the Pensieve. Chest heaving with sobs, he’d described the night Marlene had died in excruciating detail, as if reliving the experience. Lily had felt sorry for him then but it was nothing compared to how she felt now as she imagined Y/N’s sorrow.

“What of the boy?” asked Y/N.

“Neville lives with his grandmother now. Frank doesn’t remember him,” Lily’s voice was thick. “He doesn’t remember his son.”

There was nothing to say to that. Y/N could sense that Lily had never openly talked of this before, how much it had affected her. This little boy, who could’ve so easily been Harry, would grow up an orphan, grow up alone. Even if Y/N had managed to save the Potters, she’d been of no use to the Longbottoms. She had never known Alice and Frank that well but it was enough to let loose the tears gathering in her eyes.

“You blame yourself,” Y/N said. “I get that. Above everyone else I get that. But it wasn’t your fault.”

Reaching out across the length of the table, Lily clasped Y/N’s hand. It broke her heart to see the girl flinch a little before squeezing back.

“I should be saying that to you. I don’t deserve your sympathy,” she said. “It’s only that I never thought I’d lose all four of them. First Marlene, then you, then Dorcas and Alice.”

“That’s not true,” whispered Y/N. “I’m still here.”

It was more of a reminder to herself than anything else but a relieved gasp escaped Lily. She reached over the table and pulled her old friend into an embrace. It was slightly awkward, with the table and Harry in the way but Y/N appreciated the gesture all the same. Lily knew it wasn’t forgiveness but it was more than she could’ve hoped for. Pulling back, she tried to smile despite her watery eyes.

“I came to thank you. For everything you did. I know you gave up your memory for Harry, to protect him. I can’t ever repay that but just know how grateful and how sorry I am,” she seemed to reconsider and added on. “We should’ve done something sooner. All of us, to get you out.”

Y/N didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure her voice would hold. Lily didn’t push her for one either.

“It’s Harry birthday soon. I wanted to ask if you would come.”

At that, Y/N protested. There was no way she could face a room full of people, people she’d once worked with, all of whom would spend half the time goggling at her. Not to mention she’d have to see Sirius and James too.

“I don’t think that’s–”

“You are the reason my son is alive. The reason I’m alive,” interjected Lily. She was nearly pleading. “Please come. It would make James and I so happy. It would make Harry so happy.”

Y/N looked down at the child in her arms once again, now fast asleep. Lily’s son, who’s existence had made her last days in Azkaban somewhat bearable. She’d dreamt of him sometimes, when Marlene’s dead body didn’t plague her nightmares. This boy, who she had never known then, had been a light at the end of the tunnel, an escape from her cloaked jailers.

Y/N was sure that there was nothing she wouldn’t do for Harry Potter.

“Alright,” she answered. Lily’s smile was as radiant as the sun beams shining through the panes of glass in the kitchen. “Only for a bit though.”

-

By the time Lily had left, the sky was a patchwork of pale pink and violet, the sun long gone. Y/N sat at the dining table still, running her fingers down the length of her wand. In truth, she had avoided using magic at all costs, preferring to walk instead of Apparate and do everything by hand. The Priori Incantatem version of Marlene sprouting from her wand tip was still a fresh reminder and having it back only made the burden heavier. She placed it away and out of sight.

Ready to start working on dinner, Y/N was about to unpack the groceries she’d brought earlier when the doorbell rang. Frowning, she walked to open the door but no sooner than she had done so, felt the overwhelming urge to slam it shut.

The very person Y/N had not wanted to see stood in the hallway. Sirius Black took her in with wide eyes, moving a few steps forward but she was glaring at him with such intensity, he felt as though he would shatter.

“I thought Lily told you not to come.” Y/N’s voice had taken on that cold edge again.

“Lily was here?”

“Just left.”

Sirius opened and closed his mouth, lost for words. She still hadn’t moved from the doorway; it was obvious he wouldn’t be let in.

“Is it fine if we talk?” His voice was shaky, the confidence that Y/N was used to nowhere to be found.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Her gut should not have wrenched the way it did as his face fell but Y/N ignored it. She owed him nothing.

“Y/N please,” she flinched as her name escaped his mouth. “I’ll just be a few minutes, I swear–”

“I want you to leave.”

“Please listen–”

“Listen?” Y/N hissed. It was his turn to wince. How ironic it was that he was begging her to listen when he’d turned her away when she’d come to him, imploring him to do the same. Sirius gave her a pained glance before continuing, spewing words desperately now.

“You have every right to be angry, I don’t blame you for it at all but I just want you to know that I’m so, so sorry,” he stopped for breath, reaching out a hand. Y/N moved out of his grasp, face set in indifference. “I saw you in the Pensieve.”

“And now you believe me,” she said. “It took you three years and seeing it with your own eyes to believe me because my word wasn’t enough.”

She said it with no particular malice, but Sirius felt the words pierce him. His eyes had glossed over and Y/N, for a fleeting instant, faltered in her stance. Her hesitation disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“He was my friend,” his voice broke. “I didn’t think he was capable–”

“But I was?” It was the smallest slip in her demeanor but Sirius heard the anguish in her voice all the same. He shook his head fiercely but his words had escaped him again – what was there to say? How could he even begin to apologise?

“I was wrong. I made a mistake,” he was pleading now. “Please let me talk to you–”

“I want you to leave,” she repeated. Y/N held his gaze, waiting for him to do so but when he didn’t, she stepped back. Sirius let out a choked sob and moved to follow her but she shut the door with a firm thud.

For the longest time she stood there, rooted to the spot and as unmoving as still water. On the other side, Sirius seemed to be doing the same. She thought she heard him sniff a few times and at last, there was a pop, signaling he’d Apparated away.

Heart heavy and hating the remorse filling her insides, Y/N trudged back to the kitchen. You owe him nothing, she told herself again. She moved about blindly, barely noticing what she was making and all the while, her mind kept wandering back to him and the crestfallen look on his face. Seeing Sirius again had undoubtedly opened a fresh wound that she’d never given a chance to heal in the first place.

It was only halfway through eating her dinner that Y/N realised she too, was crying.

Tag List: @knowledgeisthebomb @siriusement @kendratheweird  @emi-loser @i-think-i-am-adorable @avengersassemblee @movokepwc @blackloveangel13 @misunderstood-sinner @vvytran @all-throughthe-night @ashkuuuu @thepuffyeyedpuff @annino112 @love-dria @five-seconds-of-fab @moremoony @ilovelyai @giddybeater @basically-hayley @misfitinfinity @sjriusblck @megzdoodle @siriuslyimmoony @mikariell95 @nadinissavage @sly-vixen-up2nogood @swim-deep-or-die @whymalu @biatheintrovert @thanos-strikes-back 

[leswansong]

Marichat May - Kitty Cats & Ballet Shoes

Day Eleven: Masked Ball

[ A03 ]                                            2k words

  Marinette stared out across Paris from the balcony of the penthouse apartment, watching as the sun slowly set across the rooftops causing the sky to turn a brilliant shade of both pink and orange. The warm cup of tea sat snuggly in her hands, Chat had spoilt her by buying her expensive teas after all they were going to be here for a while according to him; she took a sip and her mouth burst with flavour, they were better by a mile compared to her cheap supermarket tea that she usually bought.

  She wondered when Chat would be back, the large penthouse was extremely lonely without someone there to talk to; he hadn’t said where he was going or how long he was going to be, in her half-asleep state she didn’t even ask him, he just said that he needed to get something. She hoped it was more food, the small amount that was in the apartment wasn’t something she could cook with and she could only stomach two-minute noodles for so long.

  She raised her cup only to find that it was empty, she sighed and slowly wandered back inside towards the kitchen to raise her cup and to look through the cupboards again for the umpteenth time.

  The sound of keys being slid into the lock caught her attention causing her to frown. Chat preferred to use his baton to enter and leave the apartment; she had learned that was a baton after calling it a metal stick one too many times and Chat wouldn’t stop teasing her about it the night before. Marinette quickly spied the knife block and pulled out one from the centre of it, she gripped the knife tightly in her left hand and approached the door carefully.

  A sigh escaped her lips when the familiar blond mop appeared through the small crack in the door, she dumped the knife on the large rectangular dining table and ran for the door to quickly unlatch the chain lock keeping the door in place. She took the dress and suit bag he was carrying from him and placed them on the sofa.

  She looked at him confused, “Chat?” she queried, “What did- Why?”

  “Well the Gala is tonight and I thought… That maybe you’d like to see the fruits of your plan,” he replied passing her an envelope.

  She slowly took it from him and opened it, her eyes quickly absorbed the information printed on thick heavy paper. She looked back at Chat then at the paper.

  “How’d you-”

  He shrugged, “Connections.”

  He said it as if getting invitations to highly secretive events was the same as getting concert tickets to your favourite band.

  “Now open the dress, I want to see if you like it.”

  She rolled her eyes but replaced the invite in her hands for the gown, she opened it to reveal a long-sleeved winter black dress with delicate pink floral embroidery on the bodice that was made with the same pink threading that her mask had been made with. It also had a high collar just like his suit and white fur had been sewn into the dress to try and keep her warm. She looked down at the skirt to get a better look at the embroider that was hidden on it only for a flash of pink to catch her eye; the underside of the skirt was completely pink meaning that it would be seen when the dress flicked up with every step she took. It was clear that the mask and dress had been designed at the same time, she could only wonder how much it must have cost him because they were obviously custom made for her.

  “Chat I-” she was effectively speechless, “I- I love it- I- Thank you!” She exclaimed tossing the dress aside in exchange for throwing her arms around his neck.

  It was so out of the blue that he stumbled back in shock and had to use the sofa beside him as support.

  “I’m glad you like it, Princess,” his arms wrapped gently around her returning the hug, “But… You better start getting ready, the gala starts at seven and it’s-” his voice trailed off so he could look at the time on the tiny screen of his baton, “It’s almost five.”

  She nodded and picked up the dress as well as the other bags with things that Chat had also brought for her, she went straight for the large en-suite bathroom to get ready.

  The black car slowly came to a stop next to the curb, she looked through the dimmed window to find that no one was there. Chat rounded the hood of the car and opened the door for her, he held out his hand and assisted her out of the car. White snow fell heavily from the sky above, she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to try and keep herself warm; her heels clicked along the tiled pavement, Chat wouldn’t let her wear her winter boots even if she tried to sneak them out by wearing them but Chat could tell pretty quickly and made her switch back to the heals so now she was stuck with her legs being slowly eaten by the cold.

  Her anxiety grew with each step the closer she got to the building, her only solace was Chat, the man seemed to radiate confidence compared to her. She wrapped her arms tightly around his elbow to try and steal some of that confidence.

  “You okay Princess?” he whispered down to her, his free hand rested gently over her hands.

  She swallowed and slowly nodded, “Yeah, just… nervous.”

  “Walk and act like you own the place,” he replied, “Works for me all the time.”

  She looked ahead at the giant oak door they were obviously going to be entering through, a man in a suit stood in front of it, she could see the faint outline of the man’s gun on his belt, he seemed to be a part of some sort of private security maybe even the same one that was ‘protecting’ the Opera House the night before.

  She took a deep breath as Chat led her up to the man, he already had the invite in his hands. The man inspected it carefully and shined a blue light on it to make sure it was authentic before he handed it back. He said something to Chat but she was panicking a little too much to hear it.

  The large door opened for them to reveal an elegant hallway lined with several smaller doors that lead off to rooms that she couldn’t see, there were sculpted marble statues and paintings that hung off the wall. The sound of distant muffled music reached her ears, Chat seemed to know where they needed to go as they walked down a bright red carpet that had been rolled out to keep them off the white marble tiled floor. She glanced up above her to see a chandelier made from crystals hanging from the cream coloured ceiling.

  They paused in front of the door at the end of the hall, she looked over at Chat a little confused as to why they had.

  “You okay Chat?”

  He took a deep breath, “Yeah…Let’s do this,” he whispered to himself.

  He adjusted his mask and knocked on the door, it opened and the sound of soft joyful music filled her ears. Her eyes scanned the sea of people, dresses of all different colours floated across the ballroom. The younger side of her resurfaced at that moment deciding that she had to inspect all of the dresses to see how they were made, she wanted to run her fingers of each of them to feel how soft the fabric was.

  Her hand being squeezed tighter ultimately pulled her from her excitement, she looked up at Chat again, he didn’t look so thrilled to be there. His face although partly hidden by his mask was riddled with panicked anxiety as he stared out across the crowd, it was strange to see him like this so… uncomposed.

  She squeezed his arm in an effort to reassure him, “Chat? Are you sure you’re okay? We don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.”

  He shook his head, “I’m fine, I assure you but I was wondering did- did you want to dance?”

  Smiling and laughing she shook her head, “Shouldn’t we… I don’t know… talk to people?”

  “Don’t have to, I never have.”

  He took her hand and started to lead her towards the area where couples were dancing.

  “Chat, wait!” she hissed causing him to freeze, “we’ll stand out if we go out there,” she gestured to her almost completely black dress then at the wall of coloured ones.

  His mouth formed an ‘o’ and he looked around, “right… I know somewhere else we can go through.”

  He led her up a flight of stairs to the balcony above, no one was up there, they had the entire floor to themselves. She leaned over the balustrade to look at the floor below, nobody seemed to notice that they were up there.

  “I don’t know how good the lighting is but I think we can get away with dancing up here.”

  She nodded as he pulled her into a starting position but she pushed herself away from him, “I can’t dance,” she admitted.

  “A ballet student that can’t dance?” he replied but he was laughing through his sarcasm.

  She lightly punched his arm in retaliation, “you know what I meant.”

  He smiled but still pulled her closer back into the starting position for a waltz. A new song started and her nerves climbed as did her what if’s; what if she stood on his toes one too many times and broke something, what if she ripped her dress, what if-

  Slowly they started swaying side to side before he started taking her through the steps. She wasn’t used to having someone do all the work in a dance, eventually, she settled into a rhythm and started to learn the steps. When she was confident enough she diverted her attention away from where her feet were going.

 “Chat about yesterday-“

  “Marinette, I told you last night, it’s fine. I was once like you, a giant ball of nerves and unable to control them enough to think clearly. I don’t blame you.”

  “Last night you said you did something risky to get me out of there.”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Chat,” she warned, “what did you do? Don’t think you can get out of this line of questioning.”

  He sighed, “Fine… I triggered a line of car alarms to draw the attention outside.”

  “And where did the explosion come from?”

  “Um…”

  “Chat?”

  “The first car that I triggered- I don’t know what exactly happened but it kinda… went… bang…”

  “Well, I honestly wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t either.”

  She laughed out loud at his response causing them to stop dancing so she could recover.

  She slowly walked over to the balustrade, leaning against it she looked back down at the crowd below. The entire scene reminded her of the princess movies she watched religiously throughout her childhood.

   “How many of these do you go to?” she asked.

  The question had plagued her mind ever since they had arrived. Chat seemed at ease once she got over whatever was scaring him at the start but he acted like it was normal to attend events like this and his little comments throughout the night had only fueled her suspicions.

   “This year? Eight maybe nine so far, there’s about another five for the Christmas season; most of the ones I go to are charity events but ones like this…” he gestured to the crowd below, “ones like this are mainly to show off how rich and powerful they are to everybody else all while they plan ways to screw over everyone else. They all act as they care but really they don’t.”

  She stared down at the people below, it was like she was looking into another world and she was suddenly filled with disgust; she hated them probably just as much as he did at that moment, the people laughed and seemed to be enjoying themselves but she could hear the fakeness behind it now.

  Chat tapping her shoulder quickly pulled her from her thoughts, he pointed over to an elevated stage on the floor below. She looked straight at it then back at him.

   “Watch,” he whispered.

  She looked back at the stage. The crowd bellow her slowly quieted down, their attention drawn to the stage.

   “What’s happening?” she whispered back.

   “Your revenge and my heist. Why do you think I had fakes made? They’re going to reveal the fakes to the entirety of rich and powerful.”

  Her eyes widened as she finally realized what was about to happen. She watched the stage eagerly and a man, the director of the Opera House, got up on stage and addressed the crowd with a rather long and boring speech before he finally got to the point and called Lila to the stage. The girl looked extremely happy to be there, her dress was Marinette’s favourite pastel pink, it had been designed around the pink diamond heart of the necklace and Marinette couldn’t stop grinning because Lila was about to get the shock of her life. A man walked on the stage with a familiar black box and she held her breath in anticipation.

   “Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you… ‘Le. Grande. Gazelle. Blanche.’” The announcer articulated each and word in his sentence.

  The man holding the black velvet box slowly opened it revealing its contents to the crowd. The crowd gasped at the sight of the giant emerald green stone at the heart of the necklace, at first the announcer and the man thought it was just the crowd’s reaction to the stone but then one of them noticed. Lila’s face fell so did the announcers than the man holding the box. Panic ensued on stage, the box and the fake necklace was quickly rushed off stage, the crowd below were engaged in loud excited conversation. Marinette ignored all of that and kept her eyes on the downtrodden girl left in the middle of the stage as armed guards rushed back and forth across the stage. All the years of pain she had been put through all for Lila’s entertainment had led to this and now the debt was paid.

  The one thing Marinette didn’t understand was why the fakes, wouldn’t it be easier for them to reveal an empty box?

   “Why the fake?”

   “The necklace is scanned and weighed for any discrepancies.”

   “How’d you get that information?” She knew she wasn’t going to get a straight answer.

  He smiled, “We best follow the crowd out.”

  Well, she wasn’t expecting any answer.

  He took her hand and led her down the steps. The people below were pushing at each other to get out of the building faster, Chat pulled her in front of him and guided her out of the large ballroom through the door they had entered too. They reached a certain point where the crowd dispersed into the empty rooms in the hall, Chat forced her to pick up her pace, her arm had been threaded back around his elbow again. She really wanted to take her heels off so she could keep up with his fast pace.

   “Adrien,” an older man’s voice split through the silence.

  Chat froze and slowly turned to face the man. Marinette didn’t recognize the older man until he removed his own mask. Chat took several steps towards the man leaving Marinette where they had stopped.

   “I didn’t expect to see you here,” the man, Gabriel Agreste, took a step towards Chat.

   “Father I don’t have time for this,” Chat turned back to her and grabbed her upper arm to escort her from the building.

  She looked back to see Gabriel walk away dejectedly, she looked at Chat but didn’t say anything as he walked her out the front door and back to the Black Mercedes they had arrived in.

  Her mouth stayed shut the entire short drive back to the rented apartment. She didn’t know how to approach the situation.

  Her bedroom was warm when she entered the room, it made her miss her actual bed but she really wanted to stay in the large apartment. She looked at the dress one last time before she slipped it off and got ready for bed, she’d find a way to approach the subject in the morning.

Made For @marichatmay

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[philbyte-fanfic-blog]

Red letters and Love confessions

so I spotted this prompt on @phanfic and decided to give it a go.. so here you go @nightphans ( if you see it) I hope you enjoy it!! 

Summary: Dan has been writing letters to Phil for many years, so what happened when Phil comes across one.  Rating: PG Tags: Friends to lovers. 

When they first met, Dan had expected it to go a little different. He had expected sparks to fly, love confessions, cuddles on the sofa and sweet kisses… but sadly the reality was that he and Phil were just friends, and that’s all they would ever be. Sure they flirted a lot online and posted slightly suggestive messages but it was all just a joke, two boys playing around and having fun.

Their friendship grew closer over time, Dan moved to Manchester for uni and then they moved in together, their YouTube careers got stronger and their fan base slightly crazier. It became a lot harder for Dan over the years, especially when the fans started speculating about their relationships and pushing their ideas on to them. The constant stream of ‘are you dating’ ‘please kiss’ ‘they are totally together’ at first pushed them apart, but once they got over that period they were stronger than ever. Though there was one problem, Dan loved Phil… but he was scared to tell him.

Ever since they first met, through all the laughter, tears, fighting and make ups Dan had been writing letters addressed to Phil. Letters Phil would never see. From a young age Dan was always writing things down, it was his escape from reality, his way of writing down his emotions so he didn’t accidently spill it to other people. So when his feelings for Phil started to manifest, the only way he could keep it away from Phil was to write them down.

Days, months, years worth of letters had started to pile up in a black box that he kept in his draw, sure they joked to fans about this box, but Dan knew Phil wouldn’t go in that box so he didn’t have to worry about him finding a letter as long as he kept it locked away. Sometimes when he was feeling down, he would go sit in his room and read some of the letters, they were colour coded for different emotions so he always knew which one to reach for.

It was nearing the time they would be leaving on their second world tour and Dan honestly had no idea how he was going to cope this time. Last time he almost confessed to Phil but bottled it last minute, and he feared this time he would do something stupid and slip up. They were supposed to be packing their suitcases but Dan decided to use this as an opportunity to flop down on his bed and look through some of the older letters. The first one he pulled out was in a green envelope, on the front it had ‘Mr Philip Lester’ and their old Manchester address on it. Green was Phil’s favourite colour so this type of letter was just Dan appreciating something Phil had done.

‘Dear Phil, Today was so surreal… you took me to meet a few of your old friends that you had met while doing the ‘YouTubes’ Little did you know but these people had been people I have looked up to for many years, so thank you so much for giving me the chance to meet them one on one without it having to be an awkward ‘fan’ experience… Though I’m sure it was defo an awkward Dan experience. When I tripped over the pavement and then you tripped yourself up so it looked like you had tripped and dragged me down so I didn’t have a giant cringe attack… that meant a lot to me. Also I can’t believe you you have such a good memory when we played those memory games... that some talent right there. God, I wish I could just tell you how much I admire you, and how smart and funny and creative you are… but sadly I can not so this letter will have to do. Thanks again for today, later Dan x’

After reading over the letter he laughed and put it away, he remembered that day pretty well and it was one of his favourite memories when looking back at that time period. He had met some of Phil’s friends who soon became both of their friends and Dan really had appreciated that.

“Dan?” Phil called out.

Dan could hear him getting closer so he scrambled all the letters together and threw them back in the draw before opening the door to Phil. “Yeah?” he leaned against the door frame and peered his head out of it. “Your phone keeps going off.” He pointed towards the living room where Dan had left his phone that morning after eating his food. Dan nodded and headed out of the room and down to the living room to grab his phone.

Phil was just about to leave when he caught glimpse of something red on Dans bed, he was going to shrug it off and walked back to his own room, but curiosity got the best of him and went to check. Once he made it to the bed, he noticed it was an envelope, snorting slightly he assumed It was another ‘cringy love confession’ from a fan that had sneaked in through their letter box but upon closer inspection he saw it had his name on it. Curiously he picked it up and inspected it noticing it had their old flat address on it, shrugging he put it in his pocket assuming Dan had packed it during the move and he had just found it now.

He headed back out of Dan’s room and made his way back to his own, so he could finish packing for the tour. He passed Dan on the way and informed him that he was going back to pack his suitcase and that they had to leave that night to travel to Brighton for the first show. Once he made it back to his room he pulled the letter out of his pocket and sat down on the bed. After looking over the letter a few times he turned it over and opened it up. ‘Dear Phil’ He rolled his eyes, so it was a fan letter, he was going to put it to the side, but curiosity got the best of him ( again) and he decided to read it regardless.

‘Dear Phil, It’s been one of those hard days again today, you looked so sad but wouldn’t tell me why.’ He stopped for moment, did this person know him? Was it after a live show or something? Or had it been one of those days he went for a run. Shrugging it off he decided to continue. ‘I knew from the moment I saw you that something was up, I tried to ask but you just ignored it and continued to talk about the anime show. I thought maybe I had done something wrong but so far I cant think of what it could possibly be. Later that day you started to cheer up, we did some baking and thought I would throw some flour on you and you laughed that made me so happy.’ Phil had to stop reading again. He put the note down on his lap and looked over at the door. He then looked back at it… this had to be Dan, but why would Dan be writing letter addressed to him. He bit his lip slightly and picked the letter back up, he felt like he shouldn’t be reading this, but again his curiosity got the best of him even though he was sure this was suppose to be private. “the way your tongue sticks out when you laugh is so endearing and cute… Fuck sake you are making this so hard for me!! Every day the NEED to tell you gets stronger and stronger but how would you react… would you laugh it off… would you accept it? Or would you hate me and never talk to me again… If only we didn’t have all these eyes on us then maybe I wouldn’t be so scared… Phil” He gulped and  put his hand over his mouth, what was Dan trying to say. “ I love you… “ He dropped the letter on the floor and completely covered his mouth. Sure at one point he though maybe Dan had liked him, but he had pushed that aside after all that fighting that happened and was sure Dan had just liked him as a friend after that. He crossed one leg over the other and placed both hands on his head as he looked down at his lap, was this really happening? He hadn’t realised how long he had been thinking about this, to him it felt like minutes, but his thoughts were interrupted when his bedroom door opened and a small ‘ Phil?’ echoed in his room, and his head. “Oh no….” Dan spotted the envelope on the floor and the paper near it, he knew what it was he could tell his horrible writing from a mile off… he backed up slightly and grippe the edge of the wall. “Please… say you didn’t read that..” he continued. Phil slowly looked up at him, he hated seeing the way Dan went all stiff when he was scared, he wanted to tell him it was okay… he didn’t mind, but no words would come out, he just continued to look at him. “ No no no no no no” Dan kept repeating it over and over again, he placed one hand over his face and kept a hold of the door with his other hand, he couldn’t believe this was happening, Phil wasn’t suppose to see this and yet here he was … reading one of his letters.. and a red letter at that.  “I am so sorry…” he started Phil got up off his bead and walked closer to Dan, he knew Dan would walk backwards so he just had to get to him before Dan had the chance to turn around and run to his room. “I’m so sorry Phil.. I’m so sorry… you weren’t suppose to read that…” he was panicking, he could feel his heart race, he could feel his mind slipping to a dark place. He could see Phil getting closer, he feared Phil was going to push him out of his room, out of his life… but he really didn’t expect what Phil was actually going to do. Phil reached out and grabbed Dan’s hand pulling it from his face and then neither of them knew who did it first… but soft lips pressed against slightly chapped lips and stiff hands slowly wrapped around each other. After a moment they pulled back and Phil looked into Dan’s eyes. “How long have you been hiding this.. “ he laughed lightly and placed his own hand on Dan’s face. “of course I wouldn’t reject you… you mean a lot to me” he pecked his lips one more time and then held him close

[itscooltobefanficy]

Feeling Alive- Part 9

Summary: Dance school!AU (or the Step Up/Pride and Prejudice mash up nobody asked for). Bucky Barnes is forced to take twelve hours of commercial dance classes to pass the year- and that just happens to be your regular weekly dance class.

Introduction

Part 1 (Slow Hands)

Part 2 (Stay)

Part 3 (There Will Come a Time)

Part 4 (Weapon of Choice)

Part 5 (Came Here For Love)

Part 6 (Where the Sky Hangs)

Part 7 (When Can I See You Again?)

Part 8 (Manhattan)

Skip To The Good Bit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Chapter 10/?: Skip To The Good Bit

Word count: 3718

WHAT. The last chapter-? So many people-? Liked it-? Reblogged it-? I’m just an incoherent mess of half-formed sentences tbh THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH I DO NOT DESERVE YOU. This chapter is long and fun and hopefully you will finish with a smile on your face ;) Read on!

You huff out a breath and roll over in bed. It’s no good. Your brain simply won’t switch off. All you can think about is the last few hours: Bucky smiling; Bucky dancing with you around the kitchen; curling up on your tattered sofa and carefully tucking yourself against Bucky’s side… And the tiny matter of the incident on the porch. The miniscule, insignificant fact that Bucky had leaned forward in the weak yellow glow of the outside bulb and pressed his lips softly to yours.

Yeah, that.

Even just thinking about it makes you grin into the darkness. Fizzing bubbles seem to have filled your chest cavity, exploding against your ribs in glimmering sparks of colour.

Bucky kissed you.

It was just a dry press of mouth against mouth- you would even go so far as to call it chaste- and yet it nearly exploded a bomb in your heart. You had frozen on the steps; and it had only been after a few seconds had passed that you’d realised your eyes had slid shut. When you had opened them again, Bucky was smiling like he had swallowed a sparkler, but he was already retreating down the path to the street.

“Guess I’ll see you on Wednesday, Y/N.”

A frantic, weightless giggle had burst out of your mouth. You bit your lip to combat the smile unfurling across your face, before finding your voice again.

“Guess you will.”

There’s nobody here to see you now, so you allow your grin to grow, spreading in concert with the joy that’s singing in your heart.

~~

“She looks happy.”

“Far happier than anyone on a Sunday night shift has any right to be.”

You drop your bag onto your desk and roll your eyes (although, OK, you do look happy). “I’m right here, you two.”

“Indeed you are,” Nahid eyes you beadily. “So tell all!”

You consider trying to throw them off, but your traitorous brain just keeps making you smile. Lola nearly crows with delight.

“Yeah, yeah, fine! It went well.” You can’t help the tiny laugh that bursts out of you. “Really well.”

“Friendly conversation well? Or get laid well?”

“Nahid!” You exclaim, then realise you’re going to have to give them the truth- otherwise they’ll assume a whole lot worse. “Yes, we had friendly conversation. And we danced.”

“You danced?” Lola frowns sceptically. “I thought you did that anyway?”

You can feel your face heating up. Yeah, you and Bucky have danced together- but swaying together, pressed against his chest, as Blossom Dearie sang wistfully about love and joy feels like something far more intimate and indescribable than just attending a class together. “Not the routine we do on Wednesdays,” You settle for, and Nahid immediately raises a suggestive eyebrow.

“That’s an innuendo if every I’ve heard one.”

“No!” You yelp, throwing a balled-up scrap of paper at her. “I don’t know why I tell you anything.”

Lola breaks off laughing. “Don’t tease her, Nahid, otherwise she’ll clam up.”

You try not to look self-righteous, and probably fail- but Nahid seals her lips together and dials down her smirk.

“OK,” You take a deep breath, and decide to just say it, “We kissed.”

“Yes!” Lola holds up her hand to high-five Nahid. “And?”

“And nothing. He went home. I’ll see him again on Wednesday.”

Lola and Nahid exchange a look.

“What?” You hammer a few keys on your computer pointedly. “We’re not in a hurry. At least, I don’t think we are.” Even as you say it, you think of their upcoming auditions and feel your stomach drop. You hurriedly shove the thought away. Just live in the moment, right?

“Fine,” Nahid sighs. “I call an end to gossip time. Can you take the front desk?”

You nod and jump to your feet. Through the window that looks out over the library, you can see several students beginning to drift in, and you pull your focus back to your work. They deserve nothing less than your full attention.

~~

The trouble with the night shift is that there’s actually very little activity for you to focus on. Apart from a minor drama at ten to midnight when one of the printers jams, the hours slide by in peace and relative quiet, and several times you catch yourself beginning to drift. Part of you wonders how Pepper and Wanda will react to your news. Of course, you’d told them about your alternative Saturday plans, and they’d both wished you luck- but neither of them knew exactly what had occurred between you and Bucky. You almost want to hold off telling them, just to avoid the inevitable smug looks and barrage of teasing you’ll have to endure come Wednesday, but then you remember the feeling of Bucky’s lips against yours and decide that climbing up to the library roof and starting to declaim might not be overkill.

Hear this, o people! Bucky Barnes kissed me!

“You’ve got a silly face on,” Lola whispers, as she heads out to do some re-shelving, and you hastily wipe your expression blank. Before you can retort, however, she’s out of ear-shot. Sighing, you sink back in your chair and resolve to start checking the late returns list, just to keep yourself distracted.

~~

B: hope ns wasn’t too bad

B: rly looking forward to seeing you on weds

It’s Monday evening and you’re smiling at your phone as you lie in bed.

Y: Only just woken up but it was fine

You hesitate briefly, then add:

Y: Had happy memories to sustain me

B: well wreck-it ralph is one of the best movies of all time

B: ;)

You roll your eyes. Idiot.

Y: You’re incorrigible

Y: How was your day?

B: p good

B: had happy memories to sustain me

It’s verging on ridiculous how one line of text can make your heart start performing a happy jig.

Y: Smooth ;)

B: also true

A small involuntary squeak escapes you. Your lungs are suddenly somehow filled with sunshine.

B: Steve’s threatening to confiscate my phone if I don’t go to sleep

B: talk to you tomorrow?

Y: Like I have anything better to do ;)

Y: Sleep well J

Still chewing back your grin, you throw back the duvet and go in search of food.

~~

Monday and Tuesday pass in much the same way. You endure a three-way grilling from Wanda and Pepper over Skype (losing track of how many times Wanda says I told you so) and cave in to telling your mum about the non-specifics of your date. Of course, she bubbles over with excitement (“Oh, how nice for you!”), and, to your surprise, you find yourself carried along with it. Optimism has infected you when you weren’t looking, and now the world has taken on a burnished hue that glows brighter with every happy tick of your heart.

On Wednesday you are, for possibly the first time ever, ten minutes early for the bus. Nerves tickle the pit of your stomach. You stare fixedly at the curb and try not to fidget as you wait.

“Y/N!”

Your head shoots up and you look round to see Steve waving expansively. When he realises you’re looking, his expression melds into one of faux-shock. “You’re early for the bus?!”

“Oh, shut up,” You laugh, then blink as he draws closer and engulfs you in a hug. It doesn’t make you uncomfortable in the slightest- you’re just a little surprised.

And then you lay eyes on Bucky, and you’re suddenly very distracted.

It’s a strange sensation, to have a memory so strong it presses up against your eyes, tugging at the corners of your lips, forcing a flush to bloom across your face: but that’s how it feels just to look at him. That one, brief, barely-there kiss is seared into your mind like a brand, and it flares with colour at the sight of his sharp blue eyes.

Before you can make an utter fool of yourself gawping (or drooling on the pavement) Sam steps forwards and also draws you into a hug.

“Nice to see you, Y/N.” His voice sounds strained, as though he’s trying to hold back a laugh, and an instant later you realise why. “Missed you on Saturday.”

When he pulls back, you catch the tail end of the death-glare Bucky is sending to his three friends simultaneously, and fight back the hysterical urge to giggle. Instead, you look away and fix Steve with a stare.

“The three of you are absolutely not allowed to use this as ammunition,” You tell them, looking to Sam and Nat in turn, your voice firm. Steve, at least, has the grace to look contrite.

“I was trying to be helpful,” He says. “I just thought you might feel uncomfortable if only Bucky hugged you!”

Before you can finish rolling your eyes, Bucky heaves an equally exasperated sigh.

“I don’t need your damn permission, Rogers.”

And before you know what’s happening, you’re wrapped up in Bucky’s arms with your face pressed in his shoulder. Unfortunately, before you can fully enjoy the experience (how is it possible for one individual to smell so good?) there’s a pointed cough from behind you.

“They’re so cute.”

“I may throw up,” Nat mutters, delicately.

You sigh, and bury your face further into the soft fabric. “Where’s the goddamn bus when you need it?”

Bucky laughs, and releases you. He has that smile that means happy, yellow, joy tickling the back of your throat: the kind that seems to be pressed upwards on his face. It might be your favourite kind.

“Your prayers are answered, Y/N!” Sam jokes, and the sound of an engine rumbles closer. Nat presses a hand to her eyes.

“Yes, please, let’s get on the bus before there’s any more hugging.”

Bucky reaches out to tousle her hair. “Drama queen.”

Nat shoots daggers at him. “You’ll pay for that later.”

“Let’s just get on the bus,” Steve grimaces, and, smirking, you do exactly that.

~~

Nat immediately ushers you into the window seat and promptly sits down beside you, effectively blocking you off from Bucky. You snort, but decide it’s not worth a battle. Instead, you lean around and engage Nat in conversation.

“You survived the networking then?”

She grimaces. “Somehow.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Steve laughs, “She charmed them, as usual.”

Nat purses her lips primly, but you can see the smirk she’s holding back. “You can talk. One look at your pretty face and they’re falling over themselves.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Romanoff.”

“Yeah,” Sam objects, “What about my pretty face?”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky leans back in his seat and shoots you a smile that warms up your insides by half a degree, “They were actually concentrating on your dancing.”

“So you’re saying there’s nothing to distract them? Oh, thank you, thank you so much.”

Steve pats Sam’s shoulder consolingly. “I’m sure there’s a career for you in salsa.”

Sam throws his hands in the hair and huffs. “I don’t know why I’m friends with you guys.”

“Honestly?” You chip in, “I have no idea. They don’t deserve you, Sam.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Sam laughs, “I’m glad somebody appreciates me.”

You look over at Bucky, and he raises his eyebrows slightly. You feel a giggle well up in your chest (another one, what is with you?) and tilt your head slightly even as you raise your eyes to the grimy ceiling of the bus. It’s the best way you can communicate Yes, of course I still like you best.

“Steve, intervene!” Nat cries. When he looks at her in surprise, she adds, “They’re making faces at each other.”

“Don’t panic, Nat,” Bucky snorts, pulling himself to his feet, “It’s our stop. We won’t impose on you any longer.”

“Thank god.” She shifts to the side to let you out into the aisle. You step past her and laugh.

“See you later, Nat. Bye, Sam!”

“Have fun,” Sam sniggers.

“Make good decisions!” Nat calls to you, just as the doors hiss open. Frankly, you’re glad to hop down onto the pavement just to hide your blush.

~~

Things only get worse when you enter the studio. Across the room, you can see Wanda’s expression lighting up at the sight of you; she immediately cracks a grin even as you try to hush her with a glare.

“Why is she staring?” Bucky mutters, eyeing her.

“Because she has no chill,” You reply, straightening up and marching over to where Clint and Pepper are chatting. “Hey!”

“Oh, hey!” To her credit, Pepper’s eyes only widen slightly. You decide to hold back on the warning glare.

Clint, however, is less restrained.

“How was your date?”

Thankfully, he signs it- and although he bursts into snickers when you frantically reply with the negative, Bucky and Steve simply look confused.

“Ignore him,” You say, both aloud and with gestures, glaring at Clint, “He’s being an idiot.”

“Rude,” Clint replies, but before the argument can escalate Wanda cuts across you.

“Come on, kids! Let’s get started!”

You stick out your tongue at Clint and stride out onto the floor. Honestly. You love your friends dearly, but sometimes they did like to embarrass you a whole lot more than was necessary.

A point which Wanda seems to prove half an hour later, when warm ups are through.

“New routine today gang! I was going to teach the guys their segment, but I got bored and decided to do this instead!” She grins at you, and you immediately guess her intentions. It’s all you can do not to bury your head in your hands. “We’ll get the moves down separately, then see if we can go through it partnered up. If we get time, we’ll do hand-in at the end! Let’s get to it!”

It takes maybe three beats for you to recognise the song; you laugh, because otherwise you’d probably run and hide. When you look at Bucky, he has his head tilted to his side and a confused smile gracing his mouth.

“Didn’t this come out in high school?”

You nod, even as the Pussycat Dolls begin to sing.

“I’m tellin’ you to loosen up my buttons, babe,

But you keep fronting.

Say what you’re gonna do to me,

But I ain’t seen nothing…”

“This is going to be fun!” Wanda shuts off the music and bounces back to the front of the class. “Now, do as I do, and we’ll learn the routine.”

~~

To your relief, you don’t actually get any further than blocking the new moves. Wanda has devised a combination of incredibly raunchy poses, but it proves fairly complex to knit them all together and the class runs to time before she can ask you to partner up. When Bucky isn’t looking, you stick out her tongue at her, and she rolls her eyes.

“We will be partnering up next week!” She calls, smiling sardonically. “So be ready!”

You’re the worst, you think, glaring at her, before turning around- to find Bucky standing expectantly in front of you.

“Stretching?”

You’d almost forgotten. “Oh, yeah. Alright.”

Bucky smiles crookedly. “No need to sound quite so enthusiastic.”

Sighing, you sit down on the floor and make a start on the butterfly stretch.

Over Bucky’s shoulder, Clint attracts your attention with a wave of his hand and signs, “Hurry up!”

“One minute,” You reply. Bucky’s watching your gestures curiously.

“One minute, was that?”

“Yeah!” You smile at him. “Have you been practicing signing or something?”

“We do what we can,” Steve calls, wryly.

Clint pats him on the shoulder consolingly, then signs, “You’ll get there.”

“Having fun on the floor, Y/N?” Wanda says. It’s only because you know her really well that you can hear the hint of teasing in her tone.

“Just done, actually,” You say, briskly, jumping to your feet. Bucky raises his eyebrows, but gets to his feet, too.

Wanda snorts. “Alright. I’ll lock up after you.”

“You do that.” You fetch your bag and head towards the door, Bucky, Steve, Pepper and Clint trailing behind you. “See you later, Wanda!”

“Bye, guys!”

Outside on the street, the evening sun is attempting to pierce the clouds. A breeze ruffles Bucky’s messy hair. Clint and Pepper say goodbye, then the three of you begin the now-familiar walk home.

“Now, I don’t know what you had planned for Saturday,” Steve says, “But I’m afraid there’s no film night this week. Everyone’s prepping for company auditions.”

“Oh,” You say, your stomach swooping. “I know you’re both going to be great.”

“Thanks,” Steve replies. Bucky just hooks his arm round your shoulders and grins at you.

“So what happens when you get accepted?” You say. You hope the strained note in your voice isn’t too obvious.

“If we get accepted, we stick out the year- it’s part of Fury’s agreement with the companies- then pack up and ship out.” Bucky says it like it’s nothing, and you try not to react.

“And it’s still a long shot,” Steve adds, “Buck and I are much older than companies normally look for.”

You swallow down your discomfort and smile encouragingly. “Well, I’ve seen you both dance and they’d be mad not to have you.”

Bucky’s grin grows wider. “Thanks for the support.”

The frozen, sick feeling in your chest dissolves a little, and you move on to lighter topics.

When your road is in sight, Steve clears his throat. “You know what? I’ll just head back by myself.”

Before either of you can protest, he waves innocently and sets off down the pavement, humming a cheerful tune. You stare after him, speechless. Bucky just snorts.

“I love the idiot,” He pronounces, after a moment of silence, “But…”

“He’s about as subtle as a bull in a china shop,” You finish, slowly breathing out. This is fine. Bucky is going to walk you home, and your nerve endings absolutely aren’t tingling with electricity at the thought.

Bucky nods. “That about sums it up. Shall we?”

You nod. Managing anything else is well beyond your capabilities right now.

It takes maybe two minutes to walk the last street corner, cross the road, and come to a standstill in front of your front door. For each and every second that ticks past, your heart seems to beat a little harder. The wind is picking up, stealing the weak warmth of the sun from the surrounding air. For an uncomfortable moment, you stand side-by-side, awkwardly holding on to the companionable silence that had sustained your previous steps.

“Well-” You start, just as Bucky opens his mouth to say something. You break off and gesture for him to go ahead.

“Sorry,” A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, “I was just going to say… It seems a shame to waste Steve’s sleuthing skills.”

The breath is suddenly gone from your chest. A tiny voice somewhere in the back of your brain is asking Is sleuthing even the right word? The rest is just the tingle of static; the spit of sparks off a bonfire.

“Yeah,” You say. Your voice is embarrassingly squeaky. “Yeah, it would-”

Bucky is suddenly very close to you and that’s it, all mental processes shut down. All you can focus on is the shimmering, liquid pools of his blue eyes, the slight shock of his hands on your waist…

And then you’re kissing, and you’re not entirely sure anything will ever function outside this moment ever again.

Because, God, has kissing anyone ever been so soft? There’s a wildfire scorching through your mind, front to back, and there’s gasoline slipping down your spine that catches and flares in a series of clattering heartbeats. Your mouth is open, when did that happen? And still Bucky is somehow taking, still pushing for more, his lips moving in a way that is surely precisely calculated to make you melt. You fasten your hands into the fabric of his jumper to hold yourself down, or maybe closer, you’re not sure. His breath hitches-

And then he pulls back, and the world moves once again.

For a moment, you just have to exist for a moment. Anything more is absolutely beyond your mental faculties. You find yourself leaning forward, resting your chin on your hands, pressing your hands into Bucky’s chest. Almost automatically, his arms fully circle your waist, holding you closer. His breath tickles the top of your head.

“OK?” You can feel his words rumbling up through all the places you’re touching. The bonfire has settled, banked down: now it’s more of a contented glow, suffusing your veins. You breathe your reply into tickle of fabric against your lips.

“Yeah.”

Although you can’t see his face, you can feel Bucky smiling. You huff out a breath and dare to lift your head.

Yes, he’s smiling. Your heart feels like it’s growing, filling all the way up to the top.

“Steve should sleuth more often,” You murmur, and Bucky’s laugh booms out of him. He ducks his head to press a kiss to the top of your hair.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” He chuckles, and your heart skips in excitement- but he straightens up slowly and lifts his hands to rest on your shoulders. “But for now, if I don’t head back I’ll have to ring Steve to let me in, and that’s not a humiliation worth suffering.”

You snort, and ignore the little curl of disappointment in your abdomen at Bucky’s words. “Couldn’t have that happening.”

“I’ll see you at the weekend?” He turns it into a question, so you answer with the affirmative.

“Of course.” You tilt your head and let loose the smile that’s threatening to take over your whole face. “We’ll do something fun.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Alright then,” You say, reluctantly stepping back and dropping your hands. “Off you go. Otherwise you’ll never leave.”

Bucky dramatically claps a hand to his heart. “You wound me, Y/N!”

You roll your eyes and force yourself to make the short walk to your door (otherwise you’ll probably stay on the pavement, trading insults and kisses, forever). “See you, Bucky.”

“See you,” He calls. As the door swings closed, you can still see the corner of his smile sneaking round the edge of his face.

AN: I’m just sat here with a smirk on my face at this point. I rly hope that was satisfactory ;) I have a friend coming over for the next few days ( @justkeeplaughing-nevergiveup I’m looking at you) so we’re going to be off gallivanting. No update probs until Friday. Plus I need to finish fourteen to maintain my buffer! But yeah THANK YOU to everyone who’s engaged with this story so far, you are all amazing <3

Tag list:  @learisa; @vintagesaph; @debzybrazy; @madeofstarsdust; @beingcrushedbysociety; @plumsforbuck2016; @buckybabybaby; @seb-styles; @youtube-obsessed-duh; @casdoesntunderstandthatreference; @sunnycolors; @imthemishamigo; @themarvelousmaximoffs; @blonde0n; @smaug-the-homedog; @gabby913; @sexyashmike; @fuckinxqueenx; @velociraptorinae; @frnkensteingrl; @tattooideasforthefuture; @inlovewithnovels; @ipaintmelodies; @whimsicaldreaming; @olicia-leeshy; @xxamix; @xxblackteabinchxx; @v-ickie; @imnegativetillbepositive; @lilythelionflower; @witchinghour24; @hollycornish; @lucyvaughan-omg-; @thel0stpr1ncess; @kur0k1tsun3-blog; @siobhanrebecca; @thighs0fbetrayal; @ur-an-indiana-boy-sonny; @fungk17; @da363; @sorryidontspeakgrounder-world; @burtheimperium; @fandom-writes; @farawell; @dorisagent101; @ghostwriterfanfics; @avengers--marvel; @the-creative-lie; @ms-brown10; @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme; @marvelsavengersforever1227; @winchesterforever12; @stomachfilledwithbutterflies; @fictionwillneverdie; @basicwhiskeyprincesss

Part 10

[venusrosepetal]

Our Girl. (Modern Military!AU) Intro.

Summary: (Modern!AU) Not long into your job as an army medic, you find yourself being deployed to Afghanistan on a six-month tour. You’ll find yourself in a whole new world of trouble while trying to adapt to your new normal, and maybe even find love along the way.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes - Reader x OC

Warnings: War, angst, blood, gore, death, PTSD, stereotypes, sexual indications, SO MUCH SWEARING, cockney, a little offensive maybe?

Word Count: 2,260.

A/N: This is based off a UK aired TV program called Our Girl. It’s a brilliant show and I highly recommend it to anyone who likes military themed shows. I know a fair wack about The British Military but NOTHING about American Military, therefore this will be British based. The fic will include British slag and Army slang which ill try to keep it to a minimum, but be aware some might slip through. Also, although this will be a “Love” story, it will focus heavily on the Afghanistan war and soldiers, so the ‘love’ might not always be obvious. Please, if you don’t agree with the military or war or any of that, just keep it to yourself and move on from this fic.

If you have any advice, concerns or anything please let me know!

This guy below, is Dylan ‘Smurf’ Smith. You’ll meet him in this chapter. :)

October 2013.

“Zero. This is Charlie two-one. Contact fatal.” your rushed voice pushed through the comms over your ear as your trained eyes struggled to see the three fatalities barely fifty-metres away. Hunching over, your boot-clad feet stomped hurriedly through the wet sand towards the first, of the three, severely injured soldiers.

Sergeant. Your eyes lingered on the three stripes stitched proudly to his chest as two fingers pressed firmly to the side of his throat. Pulse - weak. The racket from the battle around, filtered through your ears once more as you moved to the next victim.

Private. No stripes adorned this newbies heaving chest. The screams ripping from his throat would convince any sceptic he was possessed and the sight of his mutilated, bloodied, limb-less lower thighs could make the warmest blood run cold.

“That’s it Private! Keep shouting at me!” Your voice demanding and controlled despite the explosions happening less than 30 meters away. Your bare hand’s fumbled with two tourniquets, tying them painfully tight above the jagged flesh that used to be knee-caps.

“Keep looking at me Private! I’m gonna get you out'a here!” you finished strapping off the second tourniquet and whipped your head over your shoulder to the third whaling soldier. Moving quickly on your knees, you scattered over to him. Two Stripes. Corporal.

“Alright Corporal, I know your chest says otherwise, but right now, I’m the boss.” you yell sternly at the man before you, his chocolate eyes bursting with agony and he nods at you. “I’m gonna need you to man up OK?. Man the fuck up!” you shout over the explosions and rifle fire spread around you as you grab his right calf and cut the circulation a few inches above his now blood-soaked, fleshy ankle. “Stay low boss! I need to save the Private!”

Pressing the radio attached to your chest as you crawled back to the barely-continuous Private “Hello Zero! This is Charlie-two-one-T-two! Emergency evac requir-”

“INSURGENT!”

Dropping to your stomach skilfully and pressing the but of the rifle firmly against your solid shoulder, you fired off three rounds towards the enemy before crouching to your feet above the Private’s head.

“I’m getting you out Private!” gripping his webbing straps around his broad shoulders, you pull his trembling body to the safety of the troop Land Rover before ducking your head and sprinting back through the shower of bullets and explosions to do the same with the Corporal.

As you pull the one-footed-Corporal out of harms way, this whistle blew. Your eyes scanned the dead bodies that’s decorated the red washed battle-field as they rose to their dirtied feet, picking up the men with ‘lost limbs’ and walked towards the now fully conscious Sergeant.

“Good work Private L/N.”

“Thank you Sergeant.”

“So, why’d you pick the Private?”

“Well, he lost both legs and was losing a lot of blood. The other lad lost a foot, but he was fully continuous. I had to make a decision quickly.” you answered breathlessly.

“Thanks lads, go get some scoff and pick up your Oscars while you’re there.” He called laughing, now addressing the rest of the troop before bringing his green eyes back to you. “You know, you don’t just go to who screams the loudest.” his Mancunian accent thick.

“No, boss. I wanted to tourniquet the Private before I jumped on the Corporal.”

“Well, what about me.”

“ Took full impact to the blast, assessed, unable to survive.”

He looked at you for a second, his lips slightly turning up at the corners before nodding his head at your appraisal and sending you to scoff with the others.

After dropping off your kit to the block and showing, your found yourself sitting on the plush, brown leather sofa in the canteen with the Private from earlier.

“Honestly, the way you were screaming, I thought you caught yourself on one of them phoney IUD’s.” he just laughed at you as you praised his acting skills, shovelling more of his sandwich into his mouth. Shaking your head your eyes grazed over his shoulder at a Clerk walking in with her eyes set on you.

“Private L/N, the OC wants you in his office.”  

With a simple nod, you excused yourself from your fellow soldiers and made your way to your OC’s Office. Rounding the corner you walked up to the open door, pulling your head back, spine straight and chest puffed, bracing up to the older, red-headed officer.

“At ease, L/N.” you relaxed at his command and made your way over to the large, mahogany desk. “Bit cold out there today, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes sir. Absolutly boultic sir.”

“Well, you better pack your sun cream,” he smirked as you raised an inquisitive brow “You’re off to Afghan L/N and its 47 degrees.” (116F)

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as a jaw-aching smile was plastered over your face. Finally. Finally someone was telling your you’re good enough.

“You’ll be section Medic and replacement casualty. You’ve done well in you mission training, so you have tonight to say goodbye to your family. It’s not going to be easy L/N, you’re surving your country, do it and yourself proud. Brize Norton, tomorrow, eleven-hundred hours. You are to report to a Corporal Kinders , then to Sergeant Barnes of the USA and attach to his section under Captian Rogers . First impressions are important. Good luck Private .”

London 8:00pm

Saying goodbye to your family wasn’t as horrible for you, as you assumed it was for others. You lived in a run-down, three-bed, east London flat with your heavily pregnant mum, dead-beat dad and your four younger brothers and sisters. Your mum was a kind and loving woman, polar opposite to your controlling dad, who only cared for himself. He had been against you joining the army since the day you voiced your plans over a full-english in a grotty café.  You knew he was only peeved because you’d no longer be there babysit while he went to the pub or because he couldn’t ‘borrow’ (and not return) money from you.

So when you arrived home that night, you received the exact reaction you’d expected.

Your mother cried, nestling her face in her swollen hands, but quickly turned blame on being hormonal, and your dad, he just huffed. He literally huffed. You sat on the floor and announced that, by lunch-time tomorrow, you’ll be on plane, to war, for six months and he huffs. His exaggerated breath causing his long, dark fringe to blow up, away from his eyes.

As for you younger siblings, only Lucy, who’s twelve, understands where you’re going. She promises to write every week and send you care packages with all your favourite nick bits, as well as making you promise to come home safely because she “couldn’t live in this nut house without you.” The others, who are all under five, scribbled you colourful picture and hugged your knees as your taxi pulled up to the pavement.

Giving one last wave to the balcony full people, you close the door to the cab and prepare for the journey.

. Brize Norton. 10:30am

Clad in your desert-camo uniform, brown boots and navy beret, you make your way across the large car park of Brize Norton RAF Airport. Daysack situated on your back and your plain black duffel bag hooked over both elbows you push open the door, passing your passport to the Clerk at the front desk.

Your wide eyes panned over the room, bodies dressed identically to you littered the walkways, chairs and some were even laid up the floors. You shimmied through the wall-to-wall soldiers, with your hand raised to a dark-skinned man calling your name .

“Private L/N.”

“Yes Corporal.” He passed you a bullet-proof vest equipped with a medic pouch strapped to the front and your circular dog-tags.

“I’m Corporal Kinders, welcome to the under five’s.” You followed his lead through the double doors and onto the airfield . “Right L/N, you’re with two-section.” He pointed to the small group of men on the far left using all four finger. ”You’re half the size of an average section as you’ll be joining Sergeant Barnes and a few US troops on the other side. So double in and join ‘em.” he announced nodding to the rowdy men. Around thirty soldiers stood in three haphazard lines in front of a fancy-looking camera laughing and joking. Dropping your kit by the door, you jogged over and stood with your section, looking at your booted feet.

“ Does it really take you massive cock-wombles this long to get in your sections for a bloody photograph!” Your eyes flickered up at the booming amercian voice, only to meet a well-built, extremely attractive, blonde Captain. His ocean blue eyes shot to yours when you let out an involuntary snicker.

“What’s are you laughing at Medic?” He boomed again. His authoritative tone and serious gaze making it harder to contain yourself.

“Cock-wombles sir.” you laughed.

Rolling his eyes and furrowing his blonde brows, he scanned the group again, raising his voice slightly. “For the benefit of our alleged new medic, who are we?”

“THE UNDER FIVES SIR!” the thirty-something soldiers all shout in sync, causing you jump slightly and roll your eyes at their enthusiasm. They probably practice in their bedrooms after hours. Twats.

“And why do you think we’re called that Medic?”

You peered your head forward and looked at your fellow comrades. No one here looked beyond thirty. “Because they’re all so young sir?” you questioned.

“And everyone of them is in my charge, So if you can’t hack being our medic and part of the team, I wont hesitate in throwing you out of that plane. Is that understood?”

“Yes Sir.” Nodding your head, all evidence of a smile was now void from your complexion. Captain Rogers walked forward into the centre of sand-coloured bodies for the photograph, but not before briefly giving you the stink eye. Great. Foot-in-mouth.

“I love a Medic me…”

“Yeah that’s because you’re sick in the head mate.”

“Nah I’m not. Fuck off Mansfield.”

Walking back through the airport , you were surrounded by men. You didn’t know you would be the only female in your section before coming here, and it wasn’t exactly a present surprise. Sitting down on one of the squeaking, collapsible chairs, you pressed the heels of you hands into your eyes, trying to dim the headache that was starting to come on.

“Well, if it isn’t my 'round the back of the Indian take-away in Guildford.’” a loud groan escaped your dry throat when you heard the voice behind you. As if this day could get any worse. You’d know that Welsh prick anywhere. Jumping up and spinning on your toes, you were faced with a small framed lad with bright blue eyes and medium brown hair. He was wearing the biggest shit eating grin you’ve ever seen that somehow manages to get even bigger when he sees your glum expression.

“We were bound to meet up again at some point. That’s the army for you.”

“Is that actually what you call me? Round the back of the Indian?” you question.

“Only for short, hm.” He shrugged, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I was going to text you back, but, we weren’t allowed phones in Catterick.” the pasty Welshmen commented.

“Oh yeah?” you retorted “You’ve got a little something on your chin.” His blue eyes widen slightly as he wipes quickly at his chin. You snort, batting the air with your hand.

“Oh no, it was just bullshit.” nodding with a sarcastic smile. He breathes out a short laugh before continuing with his taunt.

“I bet you don’t remember what they call me.”

“I do actually. Smurf. Because you look like one.”

“No I don’t!” He argued, feigning offense. “I’m gorgeous. Could'a had any one in you’re section that night, but I chose you.”

“But I chose you.” You mimicked causing a smug smirk to appear on his face. “Look don’t say anything too the others please. You know, first impressions and all that. It was just a once off and I don’t want this lot-” you point to the four men all sitting down laughing at each other. “-to think I’m some sort of slag.”

Smurf sucked a breath through his teeth, narrowing his eyes as they jump from you to the group of man-boys in front.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable keeping the truth from my comrades.”

“Well, I’m a comrade now too , so you better not let me down.”

“Look, I’ll just say, I was on my phase two, went to pirbright for the rugby. Met you and a few girls and had a laugh-”

“That’s the truth.”

“-round the back of the Indian take-away.”

“No, Smur-” he laughed, stepping ahead of you, making his presents known to the group of man-children. Four sets of eyes staring at the two of you.

“Lads. A mate of mine-” he nodded to you, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “-Cockney,” a round of cheers erupted from the men. Usually you would have laughed, but you were currently in a state of panic. Giving Smurf your best impression of a sad puppy he continued. “-We’re alright, be nice to her. Happy?” he asked, turning to you.

“Ecstatic. You Welsh wanker.” He laughed, his blue eyes crinkling around the edges. You couldn’t fight toothy grin making it’s way to your face. Maybe this wasn’t going to be too bad after all.

TAGS: @beccaanne814-blog @just-call-me-mrs-captain @charlesgrey1875 @avengerofyourheart

@viollettes