#so they’d probably see her style and be like oh yeah. you’re allowed here

[myst1xx]

hhhhh this just popped in my head WHAT IF MONSTER HIGH BEETLEJUICE CROSSOVER??? HMMMMMMM??? i love this idea im FGSDf

like imagine lydia and bj get transported to monster high somehow (probably through some sort of portal/door since we know those are real in both mh and bj soooo) and then lydias all interested in everyone and like taking notes and bj is just like "this is all normal" or something IDK THIS JUST CAME UP IN MY BRAIN AND IM FVGSGDJFH

no this is actually so real and true … lydia would be so fascinated with everyone and would wanna learn about all the different types of monsters and how they work, she’d probably be especially interested in the ghosts & zombies of MH and how they function

and beej would be right at home just stirring up shit and scaring students he’d have the time of his life. especially since they have monster food and snacks there? oh he’d go crazy for some jellied newt eyeballs

i’ve been meaning to draw some #autism crossover art moments from my brain but this is just spurring me on … need to draw them being beasties

[teamluxx]

i was never cut out for prom queen.

a luxxcia fic

READ HERE ON AO3

A/N; for all the queers that have been loving luxxcia recently, this ones dedicated to u

C/W; there is a short scene where someone is grabbed without consent ! just wanted to put that just in case

Balloons, a huge teddy bear, a massive sign, the whole nine yards. Written in horrible calligraphy on a dollar tree posterboard: “PROM?”

Luxx fakely smiled at the sign, mastering the art of it for years now. She was asked by a guy she didn’t even know the name of, and didn’t really care to know. He was attractive, well, not to her, but probably to everyone else. A jock type, obsessed with his looks, but not in a charming way.

She only accepted his proposal for popularity reasons, not knowing him but not caring. As long as her status was elevated.

It was only 3 days before prom, and she was worried she would have to go alone, but she was glad someone finally pulled through and asked her, even if it wasn’t someone she wanted.

“I got a prom date,” Luxx said plainly as she sat down at her usual seat in the back of the class.

“Really? Oh my gosh, Luxxie! That’s so exciting!” Marcia beamed, her head leaning on her hand as she turned to face Luxx.

Marcia was Luxx’s best friend. They’d been friends since middle school after Luxx moved to New York from New Jersey. Luxx had loved how bright and bubbly Marcia was, and she perfectly complimented her over-the-top personality. So they instantly clicked.

“It’s whatever,” Luxx responded, setting down the huge bear she had been gifted behind her seat. “Do you want this? It’s not really me,” she asked, pointing to the candies, pink flowers and the aforementioned stuffed bear.

Marcia smiled, nodding quickly. “I’d love them,” she responded, reaching out to take the chocolates off her hands. Marcia had a sweet tooth, always saying that the sugar “helped her keep her sweet personality.”

Luxx, for the 2 days left before prom, spent all her time practicing her makeup and her hair so she would look perfect when the day came. Her best friend would be going as well, so they would both get ready at her house. Luxx always spent a lot of time at Marcia’s, thinking of that more as her home than where she actually lived.

The day of, Luxx had finally picked what she was going to wear. A long, dark blue, crushed velvet dress that had a slit down her right leg and a cut out on her sides. Of course, being as smart as she was, though, she wore a large white coat to cover all the holes that the school definitely wouldn’t allow.

Marcia’s pink babydoll dress was exactly her style, a huge 60s style hair bump adorning her head with white vinyl gogo boots on her feet. She looked like she was ripped straight out of Hairspray.

Marcia was the designated driver of their friendship. Luxx gets far too angry on the road, and it was always hilarious to see Marcia have road rage.

When the girls had arrived, they were about 20 minutes late, because Luxx always had to be “fashionably late,” which actually meant she had horrible time management and was never ready when she was supposed to be.

The first hour was boring, and Luxx’s date was nowhere in sight. She had searched every inch of the gymnasium, but all hope was inevitably lost. Luxx didn’t want to spend any time with him, anyways, so it wasn’t really a fuss.

“This sucks,” Luxx yelled to Marcia over the music. “I wish I would’ve smoked a blunt before this.”

“Yeah… But hey, at least we’re here together, right…?” Marcia replied, smiling weakly.

“You’re right. We haven’t been to a dance together since middle school.”

When Luxx had finished her sentence, she felt a hand wrap around her waist as she was pulled towards someone. She instantly turned around, smacking the arm of whoever it was that had touched her and pushing them away. She looked at them, pissed expression plastered onto her face. It was her date that just decided to show up.

“What is your problem?” He asked, clearly upset by her actions. “You’re my date.”

“I might be your date, but that does not give you the right to touch me,” she retorted, pushing him back once more

Before she knew it, a cold, bright red liquid was spilt onto her front and all over her coat. She gasped, loudly screaming as she looked to see the boy smiling at her. “What is wrong with you?!” She yelled, staring up at him, enraged.

She looked at him once more, scoffing as she walked away, deciding not to fight with him. Marcia looked at him, shocked, quickly following behind Luxx, assuming they were probably heading to her car.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Luxx huffed, taking the coat off and flipping it inside out. “The one fucking time I go somewhere where my reputation is important and someone ruins it for me. I can never have anything.” Marcia doesn’t respond, assuming Luxx just needed a moment to let her emotions out.

“And to think that I thought he wasn’t going to come. To think that I was going to be safe from shitty boys for one fucking night.”

Marcia had already unlocked the car door before Luxx made it there, practically throwing herself inside. Marcia made her way quickly towards the drivers seat. “Do you want to go back to mine…?” Marcia carefully asks, followed by a nod from Luxx, who had thrown her coat into Marcia’s backseat.

The drive to Marcia’s house is silent, only about 10 minutes away from their school. When they arrived, Luxx sifted through her purse, having a key to Marcia’s, unlocking the door without thinking as she made her way up the stairs.

Following closely behind, Marcia triple checked that her car and the front door were locked before making her way up to her room. Luxx was sat in front of Marcia’s vanity, staring at herself. Marcia tentatively sat on the edge of her bed, brows furrowed as she looked at Luxx.

“Is there just something wrong with me?” Luxx asked, breaking the silence. “Do people want to make a joke out of me? To use me because I would do anything to just fit in somewhere?”

“Luxxie…” Marcia started, getting up from her spot on the bed, standing behind her and wrapping her arms carefully around her neck. “That’s not true. You’re beautiful. And you do fit in somewhere,” she quietly assured.

Luxx looked up at Marcia in their reflection, offering her a weak and small smile, appreciating her words. “Thanks, Marsh. I just… hate that this always happens to me. I can never have anything. Something always goes wrong and people do something to me just for the fun of it. I don’t have anyone.”

“You have me,” Marcia says weakly, smiling at her in the mirror. “And you’ll always have me. Because I love and care about you and I never want anything bad to happen to you. You’re important to me. And you deserve everything good in this world.”

It takes Luxx a moment to realize that Marcia was right. She did have her. Through everything that had ever happened. Through shitty boyfriends, bad haircuts, panic attacks. And the more she thought about it, Marcia was the only person she needed. Marcia was the only person that Luxx wanted.

Luxx lets out a breath, turning her body on the chair. “Can I kiss you?” Luxx asks, seemingly out of the blue in a hurried tone. Her eyes look at Marcia’s, face plastered with worry.

Marcia’s lips curl into a small smile, nodding. “I’ve been wanting you to ask me that for years.”

[angryschnauzer]

Pitching Tents

Summary: Ooof... *insert breathless spongebob meme here* Okay, so your co-stars Chris and Henry invite you along for a long weekend camping trip, and in the wilds of nature they let their inhibitions be set free.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Female Reader x Henry Cavill (MFM)

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Oral Sex (female receiving), Oral Sex (male receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, threesome, spit roasts, fingering, grinding, handjobs, vaginal creampie, sloppy seconds, cockwarming, sex outdoors, anal sex, unprotected anal sex, anal creampie, anal sloppy seconds, degrading talk, zero inhibitions, no refractory period, aftercare, crack fic, utter filth, you. have. been. warned., and the worlds best camping table.

Only the finest free range, organic typos, allowed to run wild and free.

I do not run a tag list, but if you follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, you will get an alert every time i post something new. Masterlist got too big for tumblr, so past works can also be found at angryschnauzerwrites or on my AO3.

A/N: Don’t @ me yelling about RPF. This is utter fantasy. You know that, i know that. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. However i do feel i have included enough of each actor to satisfy both sets of fans. Enjoy the filth you dirty sluts.

Pitching Tents

Sitting in the dressing room having your makeup removed you laughed and joked with Chris and Henry, your co-stars. Finally you were prosthetic free and your FX makeup artist left, leaving you to listen as the two men chatted away;

“So all set for our camping trip this weekend Chris?” Henry asked as he wiped off fake blood from his cheek

“Can’t fucking wait Henry, three whole days of beers, fishing, and doing fuck all” Chris turned to you and smiled; “So, whata’ you doin this weekend?”

Sighing you took a sip of water;

“Probably just bingeing Netflix with a family sized bag of chocolate”

“Why don’t you come camping with us?” 

Henry suggested lightly, and at his suggestion your head snapped up;

“Really? I’ve never camped in my life! I’ll just cramp your style for your boys weekend. I’ve never even pitched a tent”

“Oh don’t worry, me and Hen have got all the equipment you could need for that” Chris assured you, but you missed the sly wink he shot to Henry.

-

The campsite was beautiful. On private land it was amazing what being one of Hollywoods biggest stars could get you into, and as Chris had pulled his truck over the gravel both you and Henry were impressed with the stunning location. You’d had little to do as they put the tent up, and as the sun had started to set the beers had been cracked open and the campfire glowed. Whether it was the fresh air, the beer, or the busy work schedule you all had, you were turning in just as the sun had fully set. Curling up underneath the pile of blankets and quilts that’d been thrown on the air mattress, you were quickly fast asleep before either of the men had climbed in beside you.

-

The bright morning sunlight shone in through the thin fabric of the tent waking you, and as you pulled yourself from sleep you smiled at the two men seemingly still fast asleep either side of you. As much as you wanted to stay in the warmth of the blankets you needed to pee, so carefully and silently you pulled yourself out of the cocoon and slipped a discarded flannel shirt on, unsure if it was Henry’s or Chris’s, either way it swamped you and covered your panties and cami you’d worn to sleep in.

As soon as they’d heard the zipper of the tent close Chris had cracked an eye open to glance at Henry, a smirk on his face as he was greeted with an identical grin.

“Do you think she’ll go for it?” Chris whispered

“Yeah, you’ve seen her eyeing each of us, i think she’ll be up for some fun”

“You ready?”

“Dude, i have woken up with the biggest morning wood” Henry grinned

“Me too… so how’re we gonna do this?”

“I’m thinking the sleepy roll and cuddlespoon method ”

“Yeah that’ll work” Chris paused as he heard your heavy footfalls approaching the tent, winking at Henry before the two of them feigned sleep.

With your teeth chattering from the chilly morning air you reluctantly pulled the flannel shirt off before silently sliding back under the blankets, shivering as your body attempted to warm up until suddenly a warm chest pressed to your back and a heavy arm was draped over your waist. Your eyes sprang open and breath caught in your throat as you processed Henry spooning behind you, quiet snores coming from his lips. Before you could think any more on what the man behind you was doing, Chris let out a sleepy sigh and rolled towards you, his face resting on your chest as his legs pressed against your own. With your lower limbs crushed between both mens you shifted a little, lifting one leg slightly only for Chris to hum in appreciation as his hand rested on your thigh and lifted your knee over his hip.

For just a few minutes as the shock and tension had subsided you relaxed into the warmth of being sandwiched between them, but as the temperature started to rise under the blankets you shifted and started to wriggle, and that’s when you felt the first one. The first nudge as Chris pressed himself to your core and you could feel what the internet had lost their collective minds for. A rush of breath left your body as you fought the dilemma between a friend unknowingly grinding against you with the feeling of just how good it felt. With just the thin cotton of your panties and his boxers separating your bodies, you screwed your eyes shut and ignored the guilty feelings for just a moment as Chris rubbed his impressive hard on the length of your slit. When one particular rub grazed against your clit you let out a gasp and without realising arched your back, pushing your ass into Henry and discovering he was having the same bodily issue Chris was. A sleepy murmur greeted you as Henry’s hot breath danced on your ear, before he pressed closer and you felt his fat dick rut into the crease of your ass.

Was either man aware of what the other was doing? Should you say something? As these thoughts plagued your mind they were interrupted as two pairs of lips started to find their way around your body, Henry softly kissing your neck as Chris hooked one finger into the neckline of your cami to allow him to gently suck a hardened nipple into his mouth.

“Oh fuck…”

Two sleepy ‘hmm’s replied, bodies starting to move in unison as they all sought friction, and when you felt Henry’s warm palm smooth over your thigh and ass you let out a groan as he dipped his hand between your legs from behind and his fingers found their way beneath the elastic of your underwear;

“Chris, she’s fucking soaked”

“Lemme feel…”

Suddenly another hand slid down your stomach and the front of your panties, an appreciative moan rumbling from the Bostonian’s chest as he used your slick juices to coat his finger before rubbing circles again your clit;

“So she is… that’s good, gonna need to be real wet for us Babe… Hen, how many fingers you got in her?”

“Two at the moment” the Brit said as he pumped those two thick digits into your velvet cavern; “She’s so fucking tight…”

“Give her another one, need to get her ready”

You felt Henry pull his hand out before adjusting his fingers, only to feel the delicious stretch and burn as he carefully inserted three of his thick digits into your tight entrance;

“You ready?” he asked Chris as he worked his fingers in and out of you, and with a fluid movement Henry had pulled his fingers from you and your panties down your thighs. Chris’s hands were on your hips, lifting you to straddle his waist before he pulled his boxers down and positioned his dripping cock at your entrance, waiting for you to take the final step.

With your fingers splayed against the hard plains of his chest you sank down on him, feeling the wide head of his cock split your walls apart, the stretch almost too much despite Henry’s fingers working you open just seconds before;

“Oh fuck… Chris…”

“That’s it Babe, ride me, let me feel you fuck yourself on my cock”

Letting your head fall back you closed your eyes as you started to ride Chris, lost in the moment until you heard the sound of Henry spitting on his hand. Looking over you saw how he had pushed the blankets back and was now fisting his angry red dick, watching you ride his friend. Whilst continuing to ride Chris you reached for Henry who wriggled close enough that you could wrap your hand around his hot shaft. He sat up and kissed you, his tongue pushing into your mouth and dancing against your own before he sat back with a contented sigh just as Chris started to fuck up into you;

“Feel so fucking good Babe”

“Chris… oh my god…”

“Gonna fill you up with my cum, wanna see it dripping out of you before it’s Henry’s turn”

At the mention of his name Henry grunted, licking his lips;

“Mmm sloppy seconds… gonna need it to fit me in that tight pussy”

As Chris’s thrusts started to get sloppy you rubbed at your clit, your orgasm washing over you before you felt Chris push his hips up and stutter, the twitching of his dick deep inside you prolonging your orgasm.

Only vaguely aware of Henry moving behind you, it was when his strong hands grasped your hips and lifted you off of Chris did you let out a squeal of surprise, before he set you down on your hands and knees and ran a thumb through your folds;

“Chris, you gotta see this”

With a groan Chris moved, looking at his thick white seed dripping from you before he settled back down beside you, arms behind his head. 

Henry pressed his hand to your shoulders, pushing you down as he settled behind you, swiping the bulbous crown of his fat dick through your come soaked lips. You felt that notch as he lined himself up, and with a grunt he slowly pushed into you. 

“Oh fuck…” Henry cursed; “From the way Chris fucked you i thought you’d be loose, but fucking hell you’re tight…”

You were panting with the overwhelming feeling of being stuffed full by Henry, your words punctuated by breaths;

“You’re… the… one… hung… like… a… fucking… horse… OH FUCKING HELL… SO GOOD”

Where Chris had length and an impressive curve, Henry had girth and a lot of it, the sucking sound of him plugging your pussy from behind filling the tent and audible over your yelps and moans. 

“Love it when a girl is loud” Henry grunted from behind you, his hips digging roughly into your his as he punctuated each smooth thrust with a hard and deep halt, before doing it again. In front of you Chris moved, swinging one leg over your shoulders until your face was inches from his crotch and you felt his knuckle underneath your chin;

“Open up Babe”

Looking up you took in the sight of Chris sitting in front of you, his chest patterned with tattoos and coarse hair, his stomach firm yet soft now he no longer had to push his body to the limits of dehydration for Marvel. His dick was hardening as he watched Henry defile your body, and as he cupped your chin he guided your mouth open, gasping as your tongue and lips sucked on the mushroom head. 

Just then Henry started to thrust in harder, his hips harsh as they snapped back and forth and you were reminded that even though he was 250lbs of solid muscle he had the grace of a ballet dancer with his agility. With each push it sent you forwards to take just a little more of Chris into your mouth, before both men were grunting as they spit roasted you like a spit roasted pig at a county fair.

Your senses were overwhelmed, from touch to taste to smell to sound, the atmosphere in the tent was overwhelming and your mind could barely process it through the pleasure that was coursing through your veins. Henry was pulling a fierce orgasm from you and fucking you straight through it, Chris getting close as he cupped his balls and with a groan unloaded thick streams of cum into your mouth. You swallowed what you could but there was so much some dripping down your chin with a steady trail of spit. 

As Chris slipped out of your mouth Henry also pulled out, his strong arms flipping you over until he was on top of you, his mouth catching your own for a fierce kiss, no doubt able to taste Chris on your tongue but he was unbothered by that as he speared your body again. He widened his stance, his legs wide on the mattress as he ground his length into you, and you were completely surrounded by him as his teeth found your neck and he found your pressure points;

“That’s is Darling, let me feel you fall apart for me… felt so good squeezing my cock just a few moments ago, you can do it again, you feel so good…” he praised you as his hips worked serpent like magic between your thighs, the slow grind and push of his pelvic bone against your clit making you roar as your orgasm coursed through your body. You were thankful that the peak of your orgasm had passed when Henry finally reached his peak as to watch the man come undone was a sight of beauty; head thrown back, his mouth open as he let out a groan-come-howl, and you felt the violent spurts of him filling your womb with his cum.

When he was finally spent he bent down and kissed you, tongues and teeth before with a groan he pulled out and rolled to your side;

“You were amazing Darling”

“She was… and is” Chris added as he rolled towards you a kissed you softly, his beard tickling your face and making you smile; “I don’t know about you guys but i’m fucking starving now”

-

Having claimed the flannel shirt you’d worn earlier, that was all you wore as you curled up in a camping chair as Chris lit a campfire and started to make breakfast. Henry approached holding a steaming mug of coffee for you which you eagerly took, your teeth chattering as you started to regret not putting more clothing on;

“Cold? Scoot up and sit on my lap, i’ll keep you warm”

Quickly standing you let Henry take a seat in the camping chair before you sat on his lap, his body like a furnace even though he was just in sweats and a t-shirt. Sitting sideways on him he had one strong arm around your back, the other casually resting on your bare thigh as your legs were swung over the other side of the chair. 

You sat and relished the warmth from his body, the three of you chatting about work when you felt Henry’s hand slide between your thighs. Glancing at his face his attention was trained on Chris, his poker face only cracking when you saw the corner of his mouth tug up in a tiny smirk, glancing at you as Chris turned away and cocking an eyebrow as his fingers found your slit. 

“Shh” he quietly whispered as he slid two fingers into your soaked channel as his thumb found your clit, before he nonchalantly returned to the conversation with Chris. Soon you were writhing on his lap and you could feel the insistent nudge of his cock hard against your ass, so when Chris disappeared to the truck to grab stuff from the chiller Henry grinned at you;

“I need to be inside you… quickly…”

You stood and he pulled his sweats down just enough so his angry red cock sprang free, pulling you to sit on his lap, your legs closed as you stood between his outstretched thighs, and you slid down onto him, spearing your narrow channel with his girth. Chris wandered back holding the supplies;

“Eggs? Breakfast sausage?”

You heard Henry snort back a peel of laughter, and Chris paused, frowning;

“What are you two up to?”

“Chris, she’s already getting her breakfast sausage…” Henry lifted the shirt you wore and you parted your thighs, showing Chris what he was missing. The unmistakable twitch inside Chris’s sweats told you he was growing hard, and as you started to bound on Henry’s lap Chris simply leant and sat on the edge of the small camping table, squeezing himself through the fabric as Henry thrust up into you.

You let your cries and gasps drift on the wind as Henry slid one hand down your front and rubbed firm circles on your clit, his other hand cupping your chin and turning your head so he could kiss you, his stubble brushing against your cheek. He started to grunt and you could feel your orgasm sparking like electricity coursing through your veins, you were now so cock hungry you were begging for him to fill you up with another load of his cum as your body milked him. 

With weary limbs you lay prone across Henry’s lap, a smile on your face as you glanced at Chris who’s eyes were dark with lust as his sweatpants were obscenely tented. Groaning as you pulled off of Henry, your legs wobbled as you closed the distance between you and Chris, kissing him fiercely as he held your body to his so you could feel his hardness pressing against your stomach;

“Betcha getting sore now…” he mused

“Kinda”

“Bend over the table, let me make you feel better…”

Stepping around the table you bent over it, pressing your chest to the smooth surface, grinning at Henry who was now sipping his coffee as he watched you and Chris with interest. 

You heard the click of a bottle lid just as Chris flipped the shirt you still wore up so your naked ass was exposed completely, the cool trickle of oil over your buttocks followed by his warm palms smoothing the cooking condiment into your skin like a goddess at a Greek temple. His thumbs ran over the swollen lips between your thighs and the deep timbre of his voice resonated through you;

“Look at that, so much cum dripping out of you, our little fuck slut”

He slid two fingers into your pussy, before pulling them out and tracing them over your asshole, the oil helping the way as he breached your body and you let out a groan as he slid in easily. Moving his hand he managed to get his other two fingers into your pussy, stuffing both your holes before he grabbed the oil with his other hand and poured more onto your asshole, lubricating you for the inevitable. 

You felt him pull his hand free and he quickly yanked his sweatpants down, the wide bulbous crown pressing against your oiled rose before with a grunt he pushed in and breached your body;

“So fucking good, gonna pump your ass full of cum then Henry can do the same… if he’s got another round in him” he shot a glance to Henry as did you, the Brit raising his coffee mug as he watched his friend plunder your asshole.

“Gonna finish my coffee, and if you’re not done by then Evans you’ll have missed your shot”

With the challenge set by Henry, Chris started to rail you hard, balls deep in your ass as the quiet sounds of nature seemed to come alive as it fed off the carnal energy in its presence, until finally with a scream you came, an intense anal orgasm making you squirt and cover Chris’s thighs, before with a guttural cry he pushed in balls deep and unloaded a thick stream of cum in your bowels. 

You lay prone on the table, your body seemingly on fire as your mind was high on serotonin, watching through heavy lidded eyes as Henry stood and came round to stand behind you beside Chris.

Sucking in a breath Chris carefully pulled out, and the two men watched as a thigh glob of cum slowly slid from your gaping hole. Henry rubbed his thumb over your stretched ring as he pulled his sweats down;

“Gonna enjoy this… don’t normally get to fuck a girls ass, but if she’s already lubed and cum soaked i can just about squeeze in”

The blunt tip of his dick breached your body, and even though Chris wasn’t small, your body had to stretch even more to allow Henry’s girth into your dark passageway;

“So good… doing so well Darling…” Henry muttered as he smoothed his hands over your cheeks; “Fuck this is tight… not gonna last long…”

His powerful hips started to thrust into you, the suction of your body pulling him back in as he railed your asshole with you bent over the small table. 

“C’mon Henry, fill that little slut up”

“Almost… fucking… there…” he replied through gritted teeth, before pushing forwards one last time, filling you with another load.

“Did you…”

“Nah, just getting to that…”

You were hanging on the precipice, your orgasm so close as Henry pulled out and flipped you over, getting to his knees as he buried his face in your pussy, sliding two fingers into each of your cum soaked holes as his wide tongue lapped at your clit and be brought you to one final mind blowing orgasm. 

With everyone completely fucked out and sated, Henry wrapped his arms around you as he pulled you off the table and settled you on his lap, your body and mind overloaded from being fucked so well for so long. You quietly snoozed on his chest as Chris served breakfast, both men eating quietly as you slumbered, before an hour later you finally roused enough with your rumbling stomach to eat some toast.

Finally as they were clearing up you stood and stretched your limbs, before you quietly shed the now rather soiled borrowed shirt, and as naked as the day you were born you slowly walked into the lake, the cool waters lapping at your skin, soothing your muscles and washing away the evidence of your sin filled morning. 

Floating and looking back at the two men as the finished up and started to undress, you smiled to yourself; for your first time camping it was certainly a trip to remember.

[azucanela]

bakugou/todoroki reacting to their s.o. who usually wears long sleeves and pants wearing a casual dress? please feel free to include anyone else! also if it's ok can you add a bit of spice or smth 👉👈

REACTING TO S/O WEARING A DRESS HEADCANNONS + SCENARIOS

[ft. bakugou katsuki, shinsou hitoshi, todoroki shoto]

SUMMARY: for the first time, the boys witness you in a dress and... it ends pretty well for you. 

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS: make out session, kissing, insecurities, SPICE, implications 

A/N: THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS IT MAKES ME HAPPY TO WRITE IT <3 also this is as unholy as it gets [for now] a lil spicy hehe, just a tad 

BAKUGO KATSUKI

OKAY SO

he’s taken you on dates, and normally you wear jeans and a t-shirt, and he’s fine with it, he doesn’t care, your clothes your business, you wear what you want and look good no matter what it is. sweats? hot. sweatshirt? hot.

dress? probably hot, he hasn’t seen you in one yet.

UNTIL NOWWWW

it’s getting warmer, and pants are for losers, so naturally, you wear a pretty lil sundress for your upcoming date with bakugo

he comes to get you in your dorm room, and you text him that the doors unlocked and he’s like AIGHT BET

not the type to knock before entering, but you have thankfully already been dressed and as he enters he realizes that his hypothesis was in fact correct

you are very hot in a dress

very pretty

beautiful

he’s confused though, like since when is this a thing, why are you being so casual about it? did he forget something important? when was your anniversary? 

“what the hell?”

you’re like ??? because nothing has changed

so he’s like “you’re.. in a dress.”

“OH,,, haha... yeah.”

now he’s made you insecure, you suck katsuki

once he passes the confusion he is checking you out, your thighs are exposed, and so are your arms, so he’s a lil distracted and doesn’t realize he’s distressed you

when he finally comes to he goes to compliment you, “you look-”

“bad? i should change-”

“NO.” he shouts, and it is a little too quickly and aggressive, so his cheeks flush at this outburst, “you look pretty.”

then he realizes he was too nice, “idiot.

you smile at him, and move to the door, only for him to kick it closed

you’re like ???

he’s like

!!

Katsuki tries to avoid the looks he gets from the rest of his classmates as he makes his way to Y/N’s dorm room, hands shoved into his pockets as he walks. They had a movie to get to, and Katsuki wanted to make sure they had time to get snacks before the movie started, so he intended to begin rushing her. Removing one of his hands from his pocket, he turns Y/N’s door knob, shoving the door open.

He pushes it slightly behind him, but not enough that it closes since he doesn’t intend to be here long, Katsuki looks up and turns to her, “oh hey Katsuki.”

She’s putting some things in her purse, which is on her bed, so she’s slightly bent over as she shoves some cash inside it. Meanwhile, Katsuki can’t help the astonishment that washes over his features as eyes her. “What the hell?” He can’t help but exclaim at the sight before him. This was the most skin he’d seen since... since ever.

Not that he was complaining. 

Y/N’s brows furrowed at his comment, standing up and bringing her purse onto her shoulder she looked at him and tilted her head in confusion. “Excuse me?”

Katsuki opened and closed his mouth once or twice, trying to find words as he let out a noise of frustration, gesturing to her, “you’re wearing a dress!” Exasperation clear in his tone, confused as to how she hadn’t seen this as an abnormality. Had he forgotten something? An anniversary perhaps?

Y/N, on the other hand, felt her cheeks warm at this. It hadn’t really crossed her mind that she didn’t wear dresses often, much less clothing that revealed her skin, which was littered with scars from the training and all the incidents there had been in the school year thus far. She couldn’t help the thought that rushed through her minds as she responded rather lamely, “yeah. I am.”

Katuski collected himself, “well, you look-”

“Bad? I should change-” Y/N began, preparing to go to her closet to find another outfit.

Only for Katsuki to call out, “NO!” His cheeks flushing red as he realized how ridiculous his outburst must look, Katsuki looked away. “You look nice... idiot.” 

Y/N beamed at him, moving towards him and the partially open door that he stood by, she grasped his hand, “let’s go then!” 

As she brought her hand to the knob, she was yanked back by Katsuki, who released her hand when she was close enough pulled her to his chest, pressing his lips to hers. Y/N’s free hand came up to hold his jaw, while his hands dug into her hips as he kicked the door behind him closed before shoving Y/N onto it. 

Gasping at the sudden movement, her other hand came to his hair and tugged harshly on it. In response, Katsuki released her lips and brought his mouth to her neck, one of his hands coming to the bare skin of her thigh and pulling it up to hold against himself. Pressing open mouthed kisses onto her neck, Y/N let her head fall back onto the door, giving him better access.

Exhaling deeply, Y/N spoke, “Katsuki we’re gonna be late.” As much as she wanted to disregard the movie, they’d already paid for their tickets, and she wasn’t in the mood to waste money.

In response, he bit down on her neck, causing her grip on his hair to tighten before he looked back up at her, swollen lips baring a cocky grin, “I don’t mind being late, babe.”

SHINSOU HITOSHI

he’s so cute ugh

anyways, i feel like his range in terms of style is trash bag or finest man in the room so he doesn’t care how you dress and if you switch it up on occasion

this does not make him immune to the S H O C K

anyways

you’re going out with friends, but he doesn’t know this so he comes over

you open the door for him like ? but then a light bulb goes off in your head like yes! your bf! he can help! surely!

so you let him in and now he is in shock

like wow you are always hot but WOW

dresses 4 life in shinsou’s book

AND THEN YOU TURN AROUND AND HE CAN SEE SO MUCH SKIN BECAUSE YOU NEED HELP WITH THE ZIPPER AND-

rip shinsou 2020

he’s dead

look what you did

who gonna help you with that zipper now huh

very respectful gentleman though

he looks RESPECTFULLY and TOUCHES respectfully

and he really wants to touch 

“HOW CAN HE BE SO HOTTT AND RESPECTFUL” tik tok audio

helps you with your zipper tho

because he is a good boy

but you lowkey noticed his change in attitude and well...

hahaha....

Shinsou was bored, so naturally, he was going to visit his lovely girlfriend at her dorm. It was odd, not receiving the cruel glares from his fellow students for his so called ‘villainous’ quirk. Then again, his girlfriend was the most powerful student in her dorm, and the people there either already liked him, or were forced to get over themselves when the two had started dating.

Nobody wanted to face the wrath of Y/N L/N.

He made his way to your door, smiling briefly at those he passed, a small wave to one student he knew particularly well. Shinsou knocked at the door, and the sound of shuffling came from inside, before the door peeked open slightly to reveal Y/N’s head, a smile making its way onto her face as she saw Shinsou.

“Oh, Shinsou! Perfect, come in and help me.” Cute.

His brows furrowed in confusion as he looked at her, and a small laugh left him, “alright.” Y/N. was sure to hide her body behind the door as she let him in, only increasing his confusion as he entered and she closed the door behind her. “Babe, what are you doing?” 

When she closed the door, he finally got a full view of her body and realized she was wearing a dress. Shinsou couldn’t help the moment of shock he had as he looked her up in down. “You look beautiful.” He commented, coughing as he averted his eyes. He was looking, respectfully until his eyes trailed a little too low and-

“Would you mind zipping me up?” Y/N asked, turning around, exposing her naked back to him, save for the clasp of her bra. 

Oh god you were trying to kill him.

Inhaling sharply, he nodded, “yeah, yeah, sure.” He replied. Moving closer, he brought his hands to her hips, allowing them to linger momentarily. He tilted his head as he noticed a scar running up her back, and couldn’t help but trace it upwards. Y/N felt her cheeks warm at this action, a shiver running up her spine being all it took for Shinsou to break contact entirely, “sorry.” He mumbled, embarrassed, his hand coming to the zipper and pulling it upwards.

She simply shook her head, turning around to face him, his cheeks burning red. “It’s fine.” Y/N brought her hand under his jaw and pulled him into a kiss, her other hand going to his arm.

Shinsou hummed into the kiss, allowing his hands to trail up his back once more, he finds himself regretting that he helped her zip of the dress as he presses her closer to him. 

Y/N pulls away momentarily, much to Shinsou’s dismay, before pressing another peck to his lips and shoving him backwards. The backs of his knees hitting her bed frame, causing him to fall into a seat on the bed. Shinsou raises a brow, watching her figure come between his now spread legs and tilt his head up to bring him into another kiss. 

His eyes flutter close as he finds his hands gripping her thighs, pulling onto himself before the other followed, allowing Y/N to straddle him, “what’cha doing, kitten?” He mumbled against her lips. She released his lips only to bring her own to his neck, as his hands hands went under her dress and up her thighs until-

“I have to go meet my friends.” She mumbled into his neck, exhaling deeply.

Shinsou groaned in annoyance, falling backwards onto her bed, “tease.” He grumbled under his breath, looking to her as she slipped off of him and amended her appearance, he couldn’t help but smile. “Have fun.”

TODOROKI SHOUTO

SO CUTE I LOVE HIM MARRY ME

ahem anyways.

shoto always looks nice, its in his nature and how he was raised, so he could be the wearing the best fit in the room and you could be wearing sweats but he really does not care

he doesn’t really notice what you wear tbh, you’re pretty to him no matter what so

bb boy is just sitting at the bench, you two had agreed to meet up at the mall, and he intended to SPOIL you, per usual, not that you knew this

you did not approve of his spending habits

you are his spending habits

he’s on his phone, preparing to text you, and he sees a figure appear in front of him, white dress with flowers on it is all thats in his vision

he’s about to be like stranger danger what do you need until he looks up and sees

GASP its you!

and you look MIGHTY FINE 

you always look mighty fine, no matter what you wear, but the fact that this was something new made it even better. shoto didn’t particularly care what you wore but WOW

he kinda just cannot speak, like his mouth gapes open, you have left him speechless, good job

he’s definitely eyeing you, and he isn’t very subtle but you look so GOOD like what the hell who allowed this

insert anime nosebleed from todoroki

you are going off on a tangent about bees or smth idk and he’s like not paying attention your words but he certainly is paying attention to how nice the upper half of your body is looking rn

iykyk

he does not understand the feeling he is having but he does understand he really really really wants to kiss you

several times

and he wants to touch

you are there like “shoto???”

and hes like yes, anything for you my sweet love, what do you need

“yes love?”

ugh shoto and petnames just

a simp

anyways you guys go to the mall and he’s holding you closer than normal, and even if todo is an oblivious bb, if he happens to come across someone look at you the way only he can look at you?

its over lol burn down the mall

what was SUPPOSED a lil intimate lunchtime behind the mall in a more empty area turns into spicy todo

Sighing as he shifted on the bench, phone in hand as he prepared to text his fashionably late girlfriend, Shoto realized someone was approaching him, a white dress spotted with pink flowers filled his vision and his brows furrowed. Shoto opened his mouth to speak to the stranger, looking up only to realize it was no stranger.

It was his fashionably late girlfriend. 

Shoto couldn’t help but straighten his back at the sight of her, mouth gaping open as he eyed her appearance. This was... abnormal. He rarely took note of her outfits, however he’d never seen so much bare skin, that much he knew. 

Y/N simply pressed a kiss to his cheek, as though nothing was amiss, she began to speak of the difficulty she experienced on the way to the mall. Shoto failed to pay attention though, his eyes lingering on her upper body as he nodded along in the midst of his shock.

“Anyways, would you mind if we ate first?” The breeze blew her hair slightly, and Y/N basked in the sun, “maybe we could eat outside.” She suggested.

Snapping out of his trance, Shoto nodded rapidly, “of course, love.” 

Y/N beamed at him, extending a hand for him, which he accepted, pressing a kiss to it before sitting up. 

This was also... abnormal. Shoto never deprived her of affection, but in public it was rare for him to kiss her and he just- Y/N tried to shake herself of these thoughts, but couldn’t help the warmth that she felt spread across her cheeks as they began to head inside the mall. When they made it to the food court Y/N selected a soba place, bringing a smile onto Shoto’s face, though when she tried to pay, Shoto had already been tipping the person at the cashier $100. 

As Y/N had previously suggested, the two made their way outside, and as Shoto suggested, they found a more desolate space to enjoy their food. They had ended up behind the mall in a small, unbothered, field. He’d stopped by a store to purchase and blanket, and Y/N couldn’t help but get excited at the concept of a makeshift picnic. The pair sat down on the blanket, placing the bag of food down. 

Shoto couldn’t help the smile that found its way onto his face as he looked at her, “you look beautiful.” He complimented, crossing his legs.

Y/N beamed up at him, “thank you, Shoto.” She leaned forwards, on her hands and knees as she pressed a kiss onto his lips. Shoto pulls away momentarily,  only for his hands to find their way onto her face, deepening the kiss.

Pulling away, Y/N raises a brow, “you’re awfully affectionate today.” She points out, moving to sit down closer to him as she brings a hand to play with his hair.

“Well, I want to touch you.” Comes his response, and in that moment Y/N contemplates cursing Shoto out for his bluntness, though she’s distracted when one of his hands comes to her thigh, “may I?”

Oh god.

Y/N nods, enjoying this side of Shoto as he brings his other hand under her other thigh, pulling her into his lap before pressing another kiss to her lips. Shoto sighs contentedly at this, and Y/N’s hand remains in his hair, tugging gently at the bicolored locks. Meanwhile, his hands wander her body in wonder as he breaks the kiss to place his lips on her neck. Y/N can’t help but lean her neck further back. 

“Happy?” She mumbled as he pressed a kiss to her collarbone.

Shoto looks up at her to respond, “very.”

A/N: this is my favorite thing it was literally so fun to write omg

[pinkteapotwriting]

Sub James and sub reader with dom Sirium and dom Remus.

The doms are out and come home to see James and reader fucking without them!

Two subs together and then a punishment from the two doms!

Also. Love your writing.

This is my first ever request!

Marauders x fem!reader

Yes this is everything thank you so much for this request. I’m honored to fulfill your first one you absolute doll <3

Warning : Smut minors dni, sub!reader, sub!james, slight pet play, degradation and spanking

Word count : 2088

---

James’s cock was throbbing, completely pulsating with desire and no matter what he did, he couldn’t get it off his mind. He couldn’t get off at all actually, at least not without permission. Remus and Sirius ran a tight ship, and he knew he’d have to wait until they got home. But they were going to be much longer, and even if he could wait, they’d probably tease him for hours being in this state, just laugh at him while he begged. No. He needed his desire satiated right now. He wandered down the hall to find the shared bedroom to search for you, who had also been left behind while Remus and Sirius were off doing god knows what. 

He peered in to find you reading a book on the large king size bed. Looking oh so inviting in Sirius’s t-shirt paired with your shortest sleeping shorts. He watched as you chewed on the end of your thumb absentmindedly, wishing your lips would be doing something else. He crawled up on the bed beside you and spooned in behind as close as he could get. You wiggled back into him to get comfy, and acknowledge him at the same time. But to your great surprise he whined softly behind you. You closed your book and turned so you were chest to chest, creating more torturous friction for your bespeckled boy. 

“Jamie what’s wrong?”

He just whined again and instead of explaining himself he rolled over you, resituating it so he was on top of you between your legs rubbing against you, while kissing your neck. You just giggled, despite the instant feeling of pleasure of him rubbing against your clothed clit.

“Okay okay, I think I get it now, but we can’t. Remmy and Siri didn’t give us permission and they’ll get mad.”

You were much better at following the rules, but it was easy for James to get you into trouble. Tears, literal tears were forming in his eyes as he continued to grind into you, burying his face in your chest.

“Please, please y/n need it so bad. Need you so bad. It hurts, I know they could get mad but I can’t wait any longer it hurts. Please.”

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head and rubbed his hair soothingly.

“Okay Jamie, it’s okay. We have to be quick though so they don’t find out, alright? Come on baby lie down for me and let me help.”

He was relieved as he flopped on his back, hopefully Sirius and Remus would be gone away long enough.

---

“Y/N? James, we’re home!” 

Remus was shedding his coat, eager to find you two so he could get some relaxation.

“Puppy? Prongs? Come on, we brought you something.”

Sirius’s eyes furrowed in confusion. Normally you two would rush down to meet them, this was odd. 

“Come on Pads, maybe they’re just napping and can’t hear us.” 

As they got closer and closer to the bedroom the answer became much more clear. They paused outside the door and shared a look, both expressions reflecting the features of anger, of dissatisfaction. Between the sound of the creaking bed, your whines were barely audible, while James sounded like he was getting the fucking of his life. And when they opened the door that’s exactly what they found. 

Both of you being completely naked, James was over top of you missionary style, resting on his forearms, biting your shoulder, pounding into you like he’d never get to make you feel good again. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, hands in his hair, gripping it like gravity would stop working, pulling you away into the room’s atmosphere of desire and elation. 

That atmosphere however, quickly turned into a different one, of tension, nervousness and guilt, when you both heard Sirius clear his throat. You both scrambled and pushed away from each other, but the damage was done. You two were in for it now. The worst part was Remus’s neutral face, his cold eyes. Sirius was the first to break the silence.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

 You were sitting up now, but James was lying face down, hiding his shame against your thighs. You tried to coax him out, scratched lightly at his scalp, knowing if he kept this up he’d make the punishment worse.

“It’s alright Jamie, why don’t you just show them.”

He lifted himself and moved to the edge of the bed, now displaying his aching cock, with an angry red tip that was dripping precum as you all spoke. It was clear he hadn’t come yet, but was very very close. He swallowed thick as Remus knelt before him, terrified at what was about to come. Remus’s pointer finger drew a feather light straight line against James’s swollen member. James couldn’t take the dreadful silence anymore.

“Moony I’m sorry, it’s my fault. It hurt so much so I made Y/N feel bad so she could make it go away. I was desperate, just wanted it to go away, I’m sorry.”

Remus smiled a little before rising to his full height. If James was blubbering now, this was going to be a long night.

“James, we both know you’re not supposed to touch things that aren’t yours, right?”

“Right.”

“See, that’s the thing. You were being greedy and selfish. Touching what didn’t belong to you. Touching me and Sirius’s puppy. Such a needy slut, couldn’t even wait and when Pads and I were only out to bring  you and Y/N a present.”

James looked at Sirius (who had his arms crossed and jaw clenched) then back up at Remus.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, but you will be.”

You were playing with your fingers nervously, mentally preparing yourself for your punishment as Sirius approached you. Your jaw was placed between Sirius’s thumb and fingers, pulling you closer to his lips, but instead he moved past your face to your ear.

“You’re supposed to be a good puppy, for me and Remus’s pleasure. Not for your own and certainly not for James. That clear pup?”

You nodded as much as his fierce grip would allow.

“Good, now lie down on Jamsie’s lap.”

As soon as he released you, you quickly did as you were told, shaking with anticipation as both Remus and Sirius undressed completely. You could feel James’s cock throb against you, it being pressed upright between your hip and his stomach.

Sirius joined you so he was beside James, your head close to his lap. While Remus was on the opposite side rubbing and kneading your ass. 

“You’re gonna suck my cock bubs, while Remmy spanks your ass okay?”

You stuck out your tongue and opened your mouth wide for him so he could angle himself and slip past your lips.

“Moony how many swats?”

“15, only cause I wanna see her squirm while your dick is in her mouth.”

“Okay bubs, 15 hits and you’re done. 15 swats and you get to be our good puppy again. James you count. This alright love?”

You bobbed down on his dick in response. 

“There’s the good girl we trained so well.”

Smack. “O-one.” “Two.”

At first it seemed like you were the only one being punished, but at closer inspection one could tell that with every jolt you made, James was right there with you. Because every movement reminded him of how over sensitive he was as your hip brushed against his length.

Smack “T-te”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You’re so pathetic, Y/N is being such a good girl for us and you can’t even handle her being spanked. If Y/N wasn’t being so obedient I’d make you restart. We’re at ten.”

You just hummed around Sirius as the rest of your punishment ensued, feeling like you got off pretty easy. Not that you would tell them that. James on the other hand, well, poor James. He looked at you longingly, wanting it to be his throat that Sirius was cumming down. Sirius held your cheek in his palm so he could soothe it with his thumb before running it along your bottom lip.

“Such a good pup sucking my cock so well. Need you to do something else yeah.”

You just looked up at him and nodded, peering up at him with your doe eyes. He groaned at the look of innocence you could portray so easily before taking your hand and turning you towards Remus. He pulled you in for a kiss, holding you tight as you melted into him. You were immediately interrupted by James’s needy whines, so reluctantly, Remus pulled away. 

“You’re eager to be punished now, are you James? Alright then, move to the middle of the bed and lie on your back, now.”

As he did what he was told Remus guided you to straddle his waist.

“Okay Puppy you can sit on his cock, but no moving understand?”

“Yes Remmy.”

James through his head back in frustration as you sank down on him. 

“Please, please I’ve learned my lesson please.”

You stayed rooted, not exactly eager to piss off your boys again, while Remus stood off to the side of the bed with his hand guiding Sirius up and down on his cock, staring with nothing but malcontent. James cried some more, tears rolling down his cheeks, heavier than before.

“Please it hurts please!”

Your eyebrows knit together in pity. You did everything you could to soothe him but it was no use. You would stroke his face, pepper kisses across his face, rub his chest, but the only thing you could to solve the problem was the one thing you weren’t allowed to do. 

“It’s alright Jamie, it’ll be okay.”

You took a deep breath, risking punishment again as your heart broke wiping away his tears.

“Remmy, Siri, please let him cum. He didn’t mean to, it was hurting him please. He knows he’s yours he’s learned his lesson. Isn’t that right Jamie?”

Remus gripped Sirius’s hair tighter, fucking his throat with vigor as he got closer to gis own release.

“Alright pup you know what to do.” You started moving up and down on him as he thrust up desperately into you. “Tell me James, who do you belong to?”

“Y-you Moony. You and padfoot.”

“Good boy, you can cum now come on, do it with me.”

Sirius’s mouth and your pussy were painted white simultaneously not much later. James’s face finally relaxed, thrilled he finally was relieved of the torturous tension. That was until Sirius cut in.

“Puppy, Remus didn’t say you could stop did he? Keep going.” 

Sirius moved to hold down James’s chest as he writhed underneath you 

“Pads no it’s too much, it’s too much.” 

“Y/N was so nice to beg to let you cum and now you won’t return the favor? You really are a selfish whore.”

Remus approached James from the other side and slipped his middle and pointer finger past his lips.

“There, that’ll shut him up. Keep going bubs you’re doing so good.”

With his other hand he reached to thumb your clit, letting out the prettiest noise Sirius and Remus had ever heard.

“It’s okay Jamie, m’close, so close. Can I cum. Please?”

Remus circled his thumb faster.

“Go ahead darling make a mess.”

You really didn’t understand how James had waited so long. It didn’t matter anymore though as you pulled out and collapsed against his chest. But Sirius was pulling you off of James completely while Remus soothed James.

“It’s alright Prongs, you can be our good boy again. Here, let’s show you what we bought.”

You and James sat against the headboard as Remus and Sirius each handed you a little box. When you opened them you found two matching delicate chains, the kind with a horizontal rectangle in the middle. But the best part was seeing the engraved initials S.B. and R.L. on the pendant.

“It’s so pretty can you put it on for me Siri?”

Sirius grinned at your excitement while clipping the necklace in the back, while Remus did the same for James. Sirius was kissing up and down the side of your neck, wanting to provide extra proof of who you belonged to while Remus fondled the pendant on James, appreciating the color choice against his flushed skin.

“There we go, now it’ll be a lot harder to forget who you belong to now huh.”

And you would never want to.

---

@sunny-bunnny @quindolyn @weasleyposts @accioweaslcy

[atlafan]

The Tutor - One Shot

a/n: based off this ask! I��m real happy with this one y’all. I’m happy to present tutor!Harry x hockey player!y/n, a nice little college au. Friends to lovers if you wanna categorize it. Enjoy! Reblogs and feedback are always super helpful. (semi-proofread, sorry in advance for any mistakes) 

Warnings: fluff and smut, partying, alcohol consumption

Words: 24.5K

Part Two Part Three

“This psychology professor is out to fucking get me!” Y/N groans as she plops down on her couch. “I don’t understand the books we’re reading, and he doesn’t even lecture from the powerpoints so I never have any idea what to write down.”

“Y/N, who the fuck told you to take a psych class anyways?” Amanda says to her.

“I thought it would be an easy gen ed for my science requirement. I didn’t want to take a fucking lab science, that would have been worse!”

“It’s only the beginning of the semester.” Gina says. “You should sign up for a tutor now before it gets so bad that coach benches you.”

“Goddammit!” She yells as she gets up. “I’m headed to the tutoring office, I’ll be back in a bit.”

Why there wasn’t an online form for tutoring she’ll never know. Y/N couldn’t risk getting a bad grade in her psych class. Hockey was her life, and she was a sophomore now so that meant she had more of a chance for playing time. Not to mention she worked her ass off over the summer, and her coach has been noticing her improvements at the few practices they’ve had.

She enters the tutoring office and the woman at the front desk gives her a form to fill out. She has to put down the class, who’s teaching it, and what she’s specifically having trouble with.

“Thanks, Y/N.” The woman smiles brightly. “We’ll email a student that received a B+ or better in this class, and then they’ll email you to coordinate a time to meet. You can meet in here, or the library, or wherever works best for you.”

“Okay, thank you.” She sighs and leaves to go back to her student apartment.

She felt lucky not to be in a dorm this year, but Y/N couldn’t wait to get an off campus apartment with the other hockey girls next year. For now, the on campus apartment will do. Her and her friends change to go to the gym, make dinner together when they get back, and head to the library to do their homework. This was another thing that Y/N liked about being on the hockey team, no one was ever left behind.

//

From: Harry Styles

To: Y/F/N Y/L/N

Subject: Tutoring

Hello Y/N,

My name’s Harry, the tutoring office sent me an email saying you needed help with Mind, Brain, and Evolution. That’s definitely a tricky class! I’m more than happy to help, I managed to get an A- in that class somehow. When works best for you? I’ll do my best to work around your schedule.

Best,

Harry

Harry Styles

Sociology Major/Applied Ethics Minor

Student Senate

Y/N rubs her eyes to check the time the email came through. 6:30AM. Who the fuck wakes up that early to send an email, and what normal student had an email signature? She rolls her eyes when she sees he’s on student senate. Curiosity gets the better of her, so she looks him up on Instagram. His account was private so she heads over to Facebook. She could only see his profile picture. It looked like it was from over the summer. He has a huge smile on his face, sunglasses on, a white t-shirt and short, yellow swim trunks. He was holding up a fish he caught.

“God help me.” She groans.

To: Harry Styles

From: Y/F/N Y/L/N

Subject: Re: Tutoring

Hey Harry,

I’d like to start ASAP. I’m on the hockey team, so I have ice times early in the morning, and evening work outs. I’m usually free from 2-4PM most days. We could meet at the library at 2 today if that works for you. Also, just feel free to text me, I’m not always great with email, tbh. xxx-xxx-xxxx

Thanks!

Y/N

Y/N stretches and gets out of bed. Her, Amanda, and Gina all head down to the ice arena for their early ice time. Once that’s done the three shower up, and head back to campus for their first class. Luckily, they were all business majors, so they were able to sign up for a lot of the same classes.

“Hey, did your tutor reach out to you yet?” Amanda asks.

“Yeah, it’s Harry Styles. He emailed me super early this morning, like right when I woke up for practice basically. He’s on student senate, so I’m not surprised.”

“Well, at least he reached out already.” Gina says.

The three sit down, and Y/N checks her phone before throwing it in her bag

Unknown Number, maybe Harry Styles: Hey Y/N! It’s Harry. I got your email, so I wanted to text you like you asked. 2PM works great for me today. Wanna meet in the café first and then we can find a spot?

Y/N: hey, yeah, sounds good, see you then!

The day goes by mostly normal. Y/N gets through her couple of classes, has a large lunch with the team, takes a quick power nap, and heads to the library café to meet Harry. She could certainly use an afternoon pick me up to get through the tutoring before her evening workout.

When she walks into the café she smirks to herself seeing Harry already there. He was wearing a pair of khakis and a blue t-shirt. His hair was a little longer than in his profile picture, Y/N could really make out his soft curls. He was wearing a pair of glasses and looking down at his phone.

“Um, Harry?” She walks over to him and he looks up. He gives her a warm smile. She takes a moment to notice he has a number of tattoos on his left arm. Much more prominent now than in the one photo she was able to view.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah.”

“Great to meet you. Your first coffee’s on me, what can I get you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that?”

“I insist.”

“If anyone should be buying coffee it’s me. You’re gonna have your work cut out for you with me.” She sighs.

“Nonsense, I think it’s great you reached out for help. Now tell me, what’s your drink?”

Y/N tells Harry she’ll have an iced coffee and he nods. He gets them both an iced coffee, and he gives her a moment to add her cream and sugar.

“You seriously drink that black?”

“Yeah, it’s how I have it at home, I’m just used to it.” He shrugs.

Right, he was an international student from England. She follows him into the main area of the library and they find a table to set up at.

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

“Be my guest.” She says flatly.

As he sits down she’s able to get a whiff of his cologne, and it actually smelled good. Like vanilla, but spicy? She now sort of wished she wasn’t in her workout clothes, and dressed a little nicer.

“So, what’s your major?” He asks as he pulls his laptop out.

“Business…I saw that yours is Sociology?”

“Mhm.” He smiles and opens his computer.

“What is Applied Ethics?”

“Oh! Glad to know you actually read all the way to the bottom.” He chuckles. “It’s just ethics, but with practical ways to apply it. I just picked it up this year so I’m taking a class called Creative Problem Solving in Ethics, and then I can take classes about business ethics or medical ethics or whatever else. I like it a lot.”

“What made you want to add that?”

“A lot of the classes double count in my major so I just figured why not?” He shrugs. “Enough about me. Why business?”

“My mom owns her own business and I’m hoping to take it over when I’m older.”

“What type of business is it?”

“It’s just bar.” She shrugs. “But she’s owned since I was a kid, and we want it to be a family business. I have a couple of younger siblings in high school and they feel the same way. I work there on breaks.”

“You’re allowed to work in a bar?”

“You can be eighteen to serve alcohol. I’ve only got another year and a half to go until I’m twenty-one anyways.”

“You’re a sophomore?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool, me too.” He smiles. “And you said you’re on the hockey team?”

“Yup.” She squints at him. “You’re on student senate, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What is with you guys always going to the men’s hockey games? You guys never come to ours. It’s a little annoying, to be honest. I noticed it last year.”

“Well, to be fair, I never go to hockey games, I don’t really care for the sport.” He runs a hand through his hair as her mouth forms into a straight line. “But I can certainly talk to the group to see if they’d be willing to go to your games too. Everyone deserves spectators.”

“Do you like any sports?”

“I don’t mind soccer…but other than that, not really. Oh! I love the Packers, but I only watch their games.”

“You seem to be a fit guy, so you must do something to stay in shape.”

“I run on the treadmill at the gym.” He blushes slightly. “And then I’ll lift a few weights, nothing crazy. Do you, uh, have your books with you? We should probably get started.”

“And here I was thinking I could distract you with small talk.”

Y/N takes her books out and sets up her own laptop. She explains that everything just feels confusing, and that it’s difficult to follow along in class. Harry listens and tries to give her some tips on how to deal with the professor. He takes out his old notes, and she sees the units are the exact same. He explains what he found helpful to remember for the tests.

“Now, I can’t just give you these, but we can use them to help you study. He may have updated the tests since I took them, but we can use my answers to give you an idea of what he’s looking for.”

“How were you able to do so well?”

“I have to take a couple of psychology classes for my major, so I took this as a gen ed. I already knew a ton of stuff about the brain, and the rest wasn’t too difficult, but I know psych isn’t for everyone, so I hope you don’t feel…stupid or anything because you’re not.”

“How do you know?” She smirks. “I could be a real buffoon.”

“To make it through this school’s business program I’m pretty sure you need a brain.” He nudges her. He checks his watch and sees it’s ten of four. “Wow, I can’t believe we used up the two hours.”

“Sorry.” She mumbles as she packs up.

“No! It’s great, actually. I get paid by the hour so it’s no skin off my nose. When do you want to get together again?”

“Maybe we could do this on Tuesdays and Thursdays?”

“Works for me, I’ll put you in my calendar so it’s a standing thing. I can send you the calendar invite too.”

“You’re very…professional, Harry.”

“Thanks.” He smiles and stands up.

She didn’t exactly mean it as a compliment, but she wasn’t going to correct him. They walk out of the library together and then go their separate ways. Harry was nice enough, and he was a decent tutor so far, so it wouldn’t be totally painful to meet up with him. It just annoyed Y/N that a fucking gen ed was stressing her out so much. 

//

A couple of weeks go by, and Harry puts in the hours with Y/N. She had her first big test coming up, and her first home game. Harry was a great study partner, he really helped put her at ease.

“You’re going to do great, I can feel it.”

“Thanks.”

“So…your first home game, are you excited?”

“I’m super excited! I’m starting this season. I just hope we have some people in the stands to cheer.”

Harry hums his response and nods.

“Well, I hope it’s a good game.”

The next day, Y/N takes her test, and she was surprised to see that she actually knew her stuff. For once she left the classroom feeling good. This helped pump her up for her game. When the team leaves the locker room they’re all stunned to see the arena packed. It was never like this for their games. Y/N looks around and sees all of the kids from student senate, including Harry, cheering for them. The arena was full of their school colors and signs. It was quite a sight to see.

Needless to say, the girls won. With all that support and cheering, who wouldn’t be able to play their best? The older girls on the team say there’s going to be a victory party at their apartment tonight. Y/N couldn’t wait. She changes quickly in the locker room, and heads up to campus with Amanda and Gina to get ready.

“I love when Ashley hosts parties, she invites the hottest girls.” Amanda says.

“Oh, is someone hoping to get lucky tonight?” Y/N teases her.

“Don’t I deserve it? I did score a goal.”

“You sure did, with help from me.” Y/N grins.

“Alright, so then maybe you deserve to get some head then.”

Y/N and Gina burst out laughing.

“Right, because guys are just dying to get on their knees for me.” She rolls her eyes.

“Oh! You should invite Harry out. He must have had something to do with why so many people were there, right?”

“I have no idea. I only mentioned once that it annoyed me, but now that I think about it some girls from the soccer team said they had a lot people at their home game the other day.”

“Same with the field hockey girls.” Gina says. “I hope some of them come out tonight. There’s this one girl, Leigh, oh my god I wanna wife her up.”

Y/N laughs and shakes her head. She puts on a black, short pencil skirt and pairs it with a black lacey crop top. She straightens her hair and does her makeup. Amanda and Gina make noises and tell her how sexy she looks. They do a couple of shots, and then make their way to Ashley’s. Once all of the hickey girls are there, they cheer and do shots together.

The apartment was getting more and more packed. Y/N notices the senior class president talking with Ashley, and it made her wonder if anyone else from senate was there. She ends up slamming into something hard. When she looks up she sees Harry in front of her. Although, he looks much different. No glasses, an almost see through white t-shirt so the tattoos on his chest and stomach were more visible, and black jeans with some tan boots.

“Hey, Y/N! That was a great game!”

“Thanks! I was surprised to see you there!”

“We…! Hold on!.” He grips her wrist and tugs her into the kitchen where it was slightly less loud. “Jesus, could barely hear myself think.” He chuckles. “Anyways, yeah, you sort of inspired me to start an initiative.” She watches him grab two red cups and go into Ashley’s freezer. “Want some vodka? We brought our own.”

“As long as there’s something to mix it with…”

“Cranberry juice?”

“Works for me.”

She watches him carefully as he makes the drinks, and hands her a cup. They clink them together and they both take a sip.

“Tell me about this initiative.”

“Well, I sort of felt bad when you said no one ever comes to your games, and it made me think of the other women’s teams. The senior class president is a girl so I brought it up to her first, and she told me it would be a great idea to try and get other clubs to come cheer on the teams. It took a lot of planning in a short amount of time. We definitely had the largest turnout at your game, I think it’s because you can actually sit down and get snacks.” He takes another sip of his drink. “Were you surprised?”

“Very, that was really nice of you.”

“And we’re going to keep doing it too. Definitely wasn’t a one time thing. I actually enjoyed watching you. Um, all of you.”

“Right.” She smiles as she takes a sip. “Can I ask…how did you get an invite here?”

“Kelly made it happen. She spoke to your captain…uh, Ashley? She sort of filled her in and asked if we could pack the arena if senate could come to the party.” He looks out to the living room full of people. “Are there usually this many girls? I’m not complaining, I just figured the hockey guys would be here.”

“They usually show up later, a lot of them end up in the basement where the beer pong and dancing is. There’s a lot of girls here because more than half the team are into girls.” She laughs and takes another sip. “Damn, you really know how to mix a drink, this is good.”

“Thanks.” He takes another sip of his own. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Into girls.”

“Not in that way, no. Although, sometimes I wish I was.”

“Why’s that?” They’re closer to the wall near the doorframe, and Harry places one of his hands on the wall so he can stand a little closer to her. People were walking by them so it’s not like they were the only people in the kitchen.

“Because guys always assume I’m a lesbian or something because I play hockey, so they don’t even bother looking at me.”

“That’s too bad.” He looks her up and down. “You’re quite a sight to see, and I don’t just mean because you’re all dressed up tonight.”

Y/N blushes slightly. She was suddenly painfully aware of how close Harry was to her. Was he flirting? Making a move? Did she want him to? Was he just drunk? Was she drunk?

“You…you look nice tonight too.” She tugs on the hem of his shirt. “You have a lot of tattoos.”

“Does it surprise you?”

“A little. I’m even surprised to see you out like this.”

“Just because I take school seriously doesn’t mean I don’t know how to have fun.” His lips curl up as the song changes. “Do you wanna go downstairs and dance?”

“Yeah.” She smiles.

She leads him down the stairs to the stuffy basement where a ton of sweaty people were dancing and playing pong. Whoever had the aux tonight was a genius, playing bop after bop after bop. Traphouse was just starting to play. Y/N was hoping for less of a slow grind to start off with for her and Harry, but oh well. She downs the rest of her drink and tosses the cup somewhere. Harry’s eyebrows raise, but he does the same. If she didn’t care, why should he?

Harry easily was a foot taller than her, especially with him wearing his boots. His hands find her hips and hers hook around his neck. He steps to put his leg between hers so she could grind on his thigh. He clearly knew what he was doing, and she was sort of impressed. Even though he was right there in front of her, it was still hard to think of Harry as someone who partied.  

She presses her head into his chest as they get going, and his head dips down to rest against hers. Getting to smell his cologne this close was making her feel even more intoxicated then she was. The song fades into Shake It by Metro Station and they both start giggling. Y/N steps away and starts singing the lyrics and so does Harry, not that they could hear each other. They dance like idiots and laugh a lot. That songs fades into Acquainted by The Weeknd. Y/N turns around and grabs Harry’s hands to put on her hips. He presses his pelvis to her ass, bending slightly at the knees so they were lined up. She moves her hips in perfect rhythm to the song and he follows right along with her. He feels himself growing tighter in his jeans, but he doesn’t do anything to suppress it, and she doesn’t mind one bit. If anything, it makes her press back harder on him. That song was just too powerful. Her head rolls back to chest as they continue to grind, and he hides his face in her neck. In a moment of bravery he starts kissing on her. One of her hands hooks around him so she can tug at his hair. He bites down and a slight moan leaves her lips. He pops off her and she turns around to face him. She presses her body close to his and keeps her arms around his neck. His hands are low on her back, just above her bum. He looks down at her and she leans up further so their lips can touch.

He tastes like the vodka cranberry that he was drinking earlier as she licks at his bottom lip. He opens up for her and she licks into his mouth. His tongue meets hers and he pulls her as close to him as he can. Things were getting heated quickly, especially as they continued to grind on each other. When the song ends they stop to look at each other. He leans down to her ear.

“Do you wanna go back to my place?”

“Yes.” She nods and he smiles.

He takes her hand in his and they both go upstairs. Y/N finds Gina and Amanda to let them know she was going over to Harry’s. Now, not that Y/N was living a lie, but she was definitely still a virgin. She had made out with plenty of guys, but that’s all. Her friends knew this so they both ask to make sure she was certain she wanted to go back with him. She assured them that she did. As they leave, Harry puts his arm around her shoulders, and she puts hers around his waist.

“I don’t live too far from here.”

“You’re off campus?”

“Mhm.”

“How?”

“I live with some of the other international students. Some of them are older, it just worked out.”

“Must be nice, I can’t wait to get off campus next year.”

“The privacy is definitely nice.” He says as he pulls her closer.

They walk up the steps to his apartment and he keys in. He pulls her up a set of stairs and down a hall that leads to his room, and he unlocks that door as well. Just as she thought, his room was neat and tidy. Even his bed was made. It was a decent sized bed too, a full, way better than her extra-long twin.

“Wanna listen to some music? I have, like, every record you could think of.” He walks over to his record player and she crosses her arms.

“Of course you have a record player?” She rolls her eyes.

“What? The sound quality is better.” He side eyes her. “Come here, come pick out what you want to listen to, I’m gonna grab us some water.”

“Okay.”

He slips out of the door and she hears him do down the stairs. She flips through the various records, rolling her eyes once in a while, and then she settles on Marvin Gaye.

“Subtle.” He smirks as he comes in with two glasses of water.

“What? I didn’t like anything else.” She takes a glass from him and takes a decent sip.

“Sure.” He chuckles and sets his glass down on his desk, she moves to do the same.

One of his hands finds her hip, and the other cups her jaw. He leans in to kiss her and it was like they never parted in the first place. She tugs him back towards his bed and they both fall onto it. She gets herself back so her head is on his pillows. He kicks his boots off, (her flats fell off when she got on the bed), and he hovers over her. His lips find her collar bone and he starts to suck on her skin. She gasps but lets him continue. He plants wet kisses around her upper chest and throat. Her hands were running through his hair. What’s Going On was playing in the background, and Harry’s hands were running up her thighs.

Her legs are parted, and Harry grinds himself against her. She pulls his face to hers so they can kiss. She didn’t know how many roommates he had so she didn’t want anyone to hear her moan out. He sucks on her bottom lip as his bulge continues to press against hers. How was he so good at this? How much action did he get? He was a sophomore like her, but how old was he actually?

“How, how old are you?”

“What?” He laughs.

“How old are you?” She repeats. 

“I’ll be twenty in February, why?”

“Just wondering…um, you said some of your roommates are older so…”

“Y/N, I promise if I were a lot older, I wouldn’t be trying to fuck some nineteen year old.” He smirks. “You are nineteen, right?”

“Yeah.” She smiles.

A wave of relief covers her body as he starts to kiss on her neck again. She couldn’t believe the guy that’s been tutoring her was doing this to her. She could feel how wet she was getting. He groans into her neck as he grinds into her again. She feels his hands go up under her pencil skirt and grab onto her panties.

“Harry, wait!” She gasps. “Don’t!”

He lets go immediately and sits back on his calves so he can look at her. She closes her legs and sits up against the wall.

“Sorry, was I moving too fast?”

“No, it’s just…I thought I was ready for this, but I don’t think I am.”

“Oh…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Well, that’s okay. We don’t need to do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“Are you sure? You’re not mad?” She chews on her bottom lip. He was probably hoping to get laid tonight and she just ruined that for him.

“Mad?! I’d be pissed if we did something you didn’t feel comfortable with. I’m not mad, Y/N. It’s really no problem. Do you want me to take you home?”

“No, I wanna keep making out.” She mumbles and it makes him smile. “I like the way you kiss.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He sits next to her and pats his thighs. She swings her leg over so she can straddle him. She pecks at his lips as her hands tug at his shirt.

“I wouldn’t mind if your shirt came off either…if you wanted.”

“Sure.” He stretches to get it off and he tosses it aside.

She runs her hands up and down his torso, tracing his tattoos, as his hands clasp around her back. She presses her lips to his neck and he sighs. She sucks on the spot just below his ear and he pulls her closer. He presses his hips up to hers so their grinding against each other again. She kisses along his jaw until her lips are on his again. He sucks on her tongue and it makes her moan against him. She tugs at his hair again and he has all he can do to not lose it in his pants. She was rubbing herself on his bulge in just the right way, she could feel the knot in her stomach growing more and more.

“Oh god.” She grunts and hides her face in his neck.

“Almost there?” His hands move to her hips to help her move on him.

“Y, yeah, I think so.” She was panting. “Shit, H, Harry.”

“Don’t fight it, it’s alright.” He grunts as he presses her down as close as possible on him.

She cries out into his neck and she slows her own movements as she works through it. She twitches on top of him during her aftershocks and then she just clings to him. He rubs her back to soothe her. He wasn’t sure if someone else had ever given her an orgasm before so he didn’t want her to feel freaked out or anything.

“Kiss me.” He whispers.

She presses her swollen lips to his and she whimpers. He was incredibly hard and he needed to go relieve himself before he got blue balls.

“Y/N?” He says against her lips.

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I just go use the bathroom quickly? And then I’ll come right back to you.”

“Okay.” He gently lifts her off of him and her eyes grow wide when she sees his bulge. She was also slightly embarrassed because even though he was wearing black jeans, she could see where her wetness got onto him. “You can wear this if you want…” He rifles through his drawers for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

“Oh, um, thank you.”

“Be back in a sec.”

He quickly leaves the room and she changes into his clothes. She really needed to pee herself, but she didn’t want to walk around his apartment alone. She patiently waits for him, scrolling on her phone, and he returns. There was a new sheen of sweat on his chest, and his bulge was gone. He goes into his drawer for a new pair of boxers.

“Would you care if I just stay in these? It’s a little hot in here.”

“Yeah, I don’t care. Um, would it be weird if I asked you to walk me to the bathroom?”

“Not at all! Come on, love.”

She smiles at the pet name. He used it a couple of times when he was tutoring her, but now it felt especially good. Harry thought she was cute. His big bad hockey player had gotten all soft around him. He walks her down to the bathroom and he changes in the hallway quickly, feeling relief from his clean pair of boxers. He also couldn’t help but smirk to himself thinking of how large his clothes were on her. Y/N uses the toilet and then uses some of the mouthwash on the sink before opening the door.

“All set?” Harry whispers.

“Mhm.”

She tries not to stare at his almost naked body as they walk back to his room. He flips the light off as she crawls into bed, and he grabs his laptop. She watches as he opens up Disney Plus.

“I’ve been watching Hannah Montana, do you feel like watching that?”

“Are you serious?” She laughs.

“Yeah! I’m fucking sick of people making references and me having zero idea what they’re talking about. Her songs are all over tik tok and I never understand.”

“Well, lucky for you I love this show, so I’d be happy to watch.”

“Good.” He smiles and hits play. He sets the laptop up at the end of the bed, and throws an arm around her. He strokes her arm lightly with his fingers that she noticed he painted black tonight.

“So…that wasn’t weird?”

“What?” He asks without looking at her.

“Um…me…doing that on you?”

“You mean when you came from grinding on me? No, it wasn’t weird.” He smirks and looks down at her. “It was pretty hot actually.”

“Did you…take care of yourself?”

“Yeah, is that weird?”

“No.” He kisses the top of her head. “You’re okay that I didn’t offer?”

“You pretty clearly said you weren’t ready to do that, so it’s fine.”

“I’ve never, um, taken my pants off for someone before…my top either.” She blushes. The alcohol in her system was making her a little too honest.

Harry sighs and reaches forward to pause the show. He sits back and looks at her.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. Whether you’ve had sex before or not, you didn’t want to tonight and that’s okay. I should have asked first before grabbing at you like that, so I apologize.”

“No! No, it was okay, I just got nervous. I thought…I mean…when we were at the party I really thought I wanted to, I don’t know what happened. It got real all of a sudden and I panicked.”

“I like you, Y/N, I don’t mind waiting.”

“What do you mean you like me?”

“I mean I’ve had a fucking crush on you since the first time I tutored you. I didn’t know if you’d feel the same way, so I just kept it to myself.”

“Oh.” A boy had never liked Y/N like this before. Sure, she had found random drunk guys to make out with at parties before, but a boy had never openly said they liked her. “This is all so surprising, I’m a little overwhelmed.” She looks up at him and kisses his cheek. “But…I really liked what we did tonight, so maybe when I’m more sober we could talk about these feelings of yours more?”

“I’d like that.” He smiles and pecks her lips.

“Hit play, this is a good episode. She thinks her dad wrote a song about a bunny that stole his money.”

“Do hijinks ensue?”

“Oh, yes, many.”

“Fantastic.”

He leans forward to hit play, and she cuddles up with him.

//

The next morning, Y/N wakes up with Harry’s arms wrapped around her. It was early. She squints and sees his clock says 7:15. Her head and stomach didn’t feel great, but she easily could have felt worse so she wasn’t complaining. She adjusts against him and turns over to lay on her back. His hand moves to the side of her neck, and he gives her cheek a few smooches, making her giggle.

“Morning.” His morning voice ripples through her. Harry was sexy, it was official.

“Morning.” She whispers.

“Wanna go to the dining hall for breakfast?”

“Could I stop by my apartment first?”

“Sure.” He gets out of bed and looks for something in his dresser. “Here.” He tosses her some sweatpants. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower.”

When he comes back she’s wearing her crop top paired with his sweats. She put his other clothes in his hamper. His towel was hanging low on his hips. He grabs some clothes and changes in his closet. He comes back out in a hoodie and joggers. He cleans his glasses and puts them on.

“You won’t be cold?”

“Nah, it’ll be fine.”

They leave his place and walk to hers. Campus was always interesting this time of morning. There were other people walking back to their dorms and apartments. Y/N felt lucky she wasn’t walking alone.

“This is me.”

“Oh cool, you have student app. I’ve been to a couple of these, they’re nice.”

“Yeah, I have my own room, it’s just annoying that we still have to follow all the rules.” She unlocks the door and he stands outside with his hands in his pockets. “You can come in if you want? You can come up and wait in my room.”

“Alright.”

They both go in and head up the stairs. She was thankful her room was mostly clean, but her bed certainly wasn’t made. She grabs another shirt to change into and tells Harry she’s just gonna be in the bathroom. He sits on her bed and looks around her room. All of her hockey gear was piled up in a corner, she had posters of different teams she liked, and she had a poster of Dylan O’Brien from when he was on Teen Wolf.

She comes back shortly in a sports bra and his sweats, and her hair up in a messy bun. She throws on a hoodie of her own, and smiles at him.

“Okay, I’m all set.”

“Great, I’m starved. Definitely need a coffee too.”

“Oh, for sure.”

Just as she opens the door to go outside, she sees Amanda.

“Wait, I thought you stayed at his place.” She says.

“I did, we just came back here so I could change.”

“Those aren’t your pants.” She smirks. “Hi, Harry.” She teases.

“Hi, um, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Amanda.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Where’s Gina?” Y/N asks.

“Passed out in her bed, I think. I made sure she got home before hooking up with this girl from the soccer team. My god, Y/N, she-“ Amanda stops herself. “I’ll tell you later, I need to shower. Where are you headed?”

“Dhall.”

“Okay, see you later.”

Y/N smiles and shakes her head at her friend. Her and Harry walk to the dining hall and swipe in. They decide on where to sit before going up to grab food.

“So, what other Disney shows are you going to catch up on?” She asks as she sips on her coffee once they’re at their table.

“I think That’s So Raven is up next.”

“Oh, excellent choice.” She smiles. He rests his elbow on the table, chin in his palm. He can’t stop smiling at her. “What?” She asks, shoveling eggs into her mouth.

“Nothing, I just think you’re cute.”

Y/N nearly chokes on her food, and takes a large sip of her iced coffee. He gives her a concerned look as she calms down.

“Oh, yeah, you have a thing for me.” She blushes. “Still need to get used to that.” 

“The real question is, do you have a thing for me? I mean, you must a little bit with how you were kissing me last night.” He gives her a coy look before biting into his toast.

“You’re…I mean, yeah, I have a thing for you. I like you, I like when we get together for tutoring. I even started looking forward to it.”

“How’d your test go yesterday, by the way?”

“I think it went really well…he said we should have our grades Monday.” Harry hums his response. “You’ll still tutor me, right?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know…I just feel like I made things weird…”

“Would you stop with that? I had plenty of fun last night, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then.” He shrugs. “I really don’t care that I didn’t get my dick wet, Y/N. I care more about you being comfortable.”

“But you could have taken someone else home and-“

“I didn’t want to take anyone else home. Just wanted you.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you.”

“But…why?”

“Well, for starters, since we met you’ve just been utterly yourself. You’re not afraid to say what���s what. I like when people speak their minds. I’ve tutored a lot of athletes, and I’ve never seen one work as hard as you. Usually they want me to do everything for them, and I don’t because I can’t be there to take the fucking test for them, but you genuinely wanted to understand the material.”

“I just always look like such a schlub when we meet, though.”

“See, what you call schlubby, I call sporty. You usually go to the gym after our meetings, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then. I like all people, but I’ve never really been attracted to frillier girls. I like when girls don’t feel the need to impress others all the time. You’re just comfortable, and I like that.”

“I dress up for class sometimes, I just-“

“You don’t need to justify anything, Y/N. I mean, you looked insanely hot last night, but even if you had shown up to that party in sweats, I still would have wanted you to come home with me.”

“So…you wanna, like, date me? Is that it?”

“Date, hang out, whatever.” He shrugs. “I’m not picky about labels.”

“And you’re not talking to anyone else?”

“I haven’t had the time. I’ve been tutoring this really needy girl that has to see me twice a fucking week.” He smirks at her and she nudges him.

“I may be small, but I could beat the shit out of you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, babe.” He winks and takes a sip of his coffee. “I have some stuff I have to do today, I like to get my homework done on Saturdays, but are you free tonight?”

“Yeah, we have the weekend off since we won. I don’t think the girls are doing anything, if they are I could always skip out, why?”

“My roommates and I are having a movie night if you’d like to come over.”

“I wouldn’t be crashing?”

“Not at all. They bring dates all the time.”

“Okay, yeah, that sounds nice.”

“I can come get you too so you don’t have to walk alone.”

“What movie?”

“We haven’t decided yet. Nothing scary, I can tell you that.”

“Works for me.” 

//

“Spill it, bitch, let’s go.” Gina says as she pins Y/N down on the floor of the living room.

“You guys are annoying.” Y/N giggles from Gina tickling her. “Okay, okay!”

Gina gets off her and helps her up. She gets on the couch and lays her head in Amanda’s lap. Amanda strokes her hair and she sighs.

“We went back to his place, we made out, and then I got nervous so I didn’t take my clothes off, but we ended up dry humping, and things didn’t stay dry very long.”

“Oh my god, did he jizz in his pants?” Gina asks.

“No, but I did. I can tell he’s big, and we were grinding really hard on each other and I came.”

“Oh my god!” Amanda squeals. “What did he do?”

“He took care of himself in the bathroom, and gave me some clothes to wear. We ended up falling asleep watching Hannah Montana. God, and he likes me, like he really likes me, and I think I like him too. He invited me over for a movie night with his roommates later.”

“You know what was a good sign? The fact that he wanted to get breakfast with you, and walked you to and from the dining hall. That’s a man right there.” Amanda says.

“No, what makes him a man is that when Y/N said stop he stopped.” Gina remarks. “I like him already.”

“He was seriously so chill about it, I was honestly shocked. I appreciated it, but I wasn’t expecting him to be so okay with me not wanting to go further.”

“That’s the shitty thing about college. Good people are a dime a dozen.” Amanda says 

//

Y/N straightens her hair and puts a little makeup on. She settles on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt with the school’s logo on it. She takes a shot with the girls just to take the edge off, and hears a knock at the door. She grabs her jean jacket and opens the door.

“Hi, Harry.” She beams.

“Hey, love, how was your day?”

“Good.” She giggles and leans up to kiss his cheek, taking him a bit by surprise.

“Now, young man…” Amanda says, walking over with Gina. “What time can we expect our girl home?”

“Who said she’s not spending the night again?” He raises an eyebrow at them. “Quite liked waking up next to you.”

“Oh my god.” Y/N says, clearly flustered. “I’ll text in the group chat so you know what I’m doing, bye!” She pulls Harry out the door. “Don’t add fuel to their fire.” She nudges him.

“I was just being honest.” He throws his arm around her. “I hope you’ll stay again, but if you don’t want to I’ll bring you home, no big deal.”

Instead of going right up the stairs when they get to Harry’s place, he leads her down the corridor, passing by the kitchen and a hall bath, and into the large living room. There was a giant sectional sofa and even more giant TV across from it. There were a couple of guys sitting down already.

“Oi, there you are.”

“I said I was stepping out to get my girl, didn’t I?” He rolls his eyes. “Y/N, this is Louis and Niall.”

“Hi.” She says, trying not to melt into a puddle from being called his girl.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’m gonna get some popcorn made. Do you want a beer or anything?”

“Beer’s fine, thank you.”

She sits down on the edge of the sofa and leans against the arm rest.

“You’re on the hockey team, right?” Niall asks.

“Mhm…you look familiar, are you on the soccer team?”

“We both are.” Louis says.

“Oh, cool. Is it just the three of you here?”

“No, we have two other roommates, but they practically live at their girlfriend’s places.” Niall explains. “We have some other friends coming soon, though, it’s good for you to claim your spot now.”

“Yeah, some of the other senate kids usually join us.” Louis says. “So you’re the girl Harry’s been tutoring, huh? He won’t shut up about you, it’s pretty cute.”

“Oi! Don’t embarrass me or I’m not sharing the popcorn.” Harry says, tossing them each a beer, and handing Y/N one. He sits down next to her with the bowl of popcorn in his lap.

A few of the student senate kids show up and Harry ends up pulling Y/N into his lap to make room on the couch. She didn’t mind one bit. They had settled on Napoleon Dynamite for a movie, which was perfect. There was one girl, though, that had sat right next to Harry, and she had sort of been flirting with him. Take the hint, I’m in his lap, not you, Y/N thought to herself. Harry notices Y/N finish her second beer.

“Want another?”

“I can get it.”

“You’re my guest.” He kisses her cheek and lifts her up so he can get up.

“How long have you known Harry for?” The girl asks.

“Um…like a month? What about you?”

“We met last year.” She flips her hair.

“Here we are, a fresh beer.” He hands one to Y/N and tosses a couple out to his friends. He lifts Y/N up and plops her back in his lap, making her giggle.

Everyone was having a good time, laughing at the hilarious movie. The lights had been dimmed when the movie started, so Harry was able to discretely kiss on Y/N’s neck once in a while. When the movie ends, Louis and Niall let Harry know there’s a party at the soccer house and he can swing by if he wants, and out the door they go. That leaves Harry and Y/N with the senate kids. They get into a game of Cards Against Humanity, which ends up being pretty fun. It was starting to get late, though, and it was clear that Harry wanted to be alone with Y/N.

“One more round.” The girl says.

“Nah, come on, Ari, we should go.” A boy, Billy, says.

“Yeah.” Another boy, Andrew, agrees. “I’m beat, and we need to walk you home.” They both stand up, and he extends a hand to her. She groans, but stands.

Harry walks them all to the door and says goodnight. He walks back over to Y/N who was cleaning up the living room.

“You don’t have to do that, I can clean up, love.”

“It’s okay, it’s just a few cans.”

“Follow me, we have a recycling in the kitchen.”

She follows him in and he opens the door for the pantry where the kept a bucket for empty cans.

“That girl has a crush on you, yeah?”

“Who? Ari?! No way.”

“Come on, Harry.” She scoffs. “If I wasn’t sitting on top of you I’d say she was.”

“Aw, it’s cute your jealous.” He wraps his arms around her waist.

“I’m not, I’m just saying.” She wraps her arms around his neck. “I picked up on the vibe.”

“Well, even if she did it doesn’t matter because I don’t like her like that. I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“I should fucking hope so.” He chuckles. “Wanna come up to my room?”

“Yeah.”

He pecks her lips and then leads her up the stairs. He flops onto his bed and she crawls on top of him. His hands find her hips and she rids him of his glasses, gently putting them on one of his pillows. She leans down so their chests are pressed to each other and they start kissing. One of his hands moves to the back of her head so he can tug at her hair.

“Can I…touch your butt?” Y/N laughs against him and nods yes. His hand slides further south and he squeezes her right cheek. “You’re so fucking perfect, you know that?”

She sucks on his bottom lip as her answer and he pushes his hips up to hers. They grind against each other just as they did the night before. Both of his hands knead her cheeks as her hand slide up under his shirt. They were both starting to sweat. She sits up on him and lifts her shirt off. His eyes grow wide as he sees her breasts practically spilling out of her bra.

“It’s hot.” She whines and tugs at the hem of his shirt. He sits up so she can pull it off him.

“Let me turn the fan on, yeah?”

She nods and lets him get up to turn his fan on. He snatches his glasses and puts them in their case on his desk, and then he gets back on the bed, sitting up against the wall, and she crawls back into his lap. He kisses on her necks and down her chest, biting on the fleshy parts of the tops of her breasts. She tugs at his hair and rolls her hips down on him.

“You…you can take it off if you want.”

“Are you sure? Is that what you want?” He looks up at her. “Last night…”

“I was really drunk, I have more of my wits about me now. I’m okay if my bra comes off.”

“Okay, but if you wanna cover back up just let me know.”

“I will.”

He reaches around and gets her bra unhooked in a couple of swift movements. He tugs it down her shoulders and tosses it to the floor. He gazes at her bare chest and licks his lips. His large hands cup both of them and he kneads them at first, just getting a feel. His thumbs rub circles into her nipples, getting them nice and hard. He kisses down her chest again, and just uses his tongue to lick and swirl around her nipple. Who was he? Y/N’s head was swimming. She thought Harry was just a stuffy, studious college kid, but fuck, he was almost…devious. He blows on her now wet nipple before wrapping his lips around it to suck on.

“Oh!” She gasps and presses his head closer to her. She grits her teeth and closes her eyes, loving the new sensation he was bringing her. He pops off and does the same to the other one.

“So,” He says, kissing his way back to her neck. “No one’s ever had the privilege of seeing you like this?”

“No.” She swallows.

“I feel really lucky then.” He nips at her bottom lip. “You like the way it felt?”

“Mhm.” She nods. “Felt really good.”

“Good. I always wanna make you feel good.”

He puts his face between her breasts and press them around his cheeks, making her giggle. He mumbles something.

“What?” She laughs and he looks up at her.

“Just feels so nice, they’re so big.”

“Sometimes I have to wear two sports bras so I’m not bouncing around on the ice.”

“I bet.” He starts kneading them again.

“I feel like I just wanna do everything with you.” She says as she rolls her hips on him again.

“God, I feel the same way, but only when you really feel ready, Y/N.”

“I know, you just make me feel so comfortable.”

“Have you…I mean you said you’d never taken your pants off for someone before, but have you ever seen someone else?”

“Um, no…”

“So you’ve never gotten a guy off before.” He doesn’t ask, he’s more so confirming.

“Right.”

“Okay.” He smiles and kisses her. “Think we should cool it for the night then before I get a little too excited.”

“Oh, alright.” She was hoping to maybe come again. He lifts her up and sets her down. She crosses her arms over herself as he gets up, he looks over his shoulder at her.

“No need to cover up, babe, I’m just changing outta these pants.”

“I just feel a little exposed right now.”

“Want one of my shirts?”

“Yes, please.”

He tosses her a t-shirt and she puts it on. He strips down to his boxers and gets back on the bed. He furrows his brows at her leggings.

“You’re not gonna sleep in those, are you?”

“Well…I’m only wearing a thong underneath, so I’m not sure what else to do…”

“Christ.” He blushes and gets up, searching for a clean pair of boxers. “You can wear these if you want.”

“I feel like I’m going to own all of your clothes at some point.”

“I like the way they look on you, so I don’t mind.”

She stands up and turns around to change while he lays on the bed. He wants to respect her privacy, but he’s nineteen, so he sneaks a peak. She climbs onto the bed with him and snuggles up. He falls asleep before her, and she can’t help feeling restless.

“Harry.” She sits up nudges his shoulder. “Harry, are you awake?”

“I can be.” He says softly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…I just…um, would you…take care of me?”

“Y/N…” He sits up and caresses her cheek.

“It’s so hard just laying here next to you, I want you to touch me or something. You made me feel so good last night, and you got me all riled up before.”

“Left you hanging?”

“Yeah.” She pouts.

“What do you want me to do specifically? I only wanna do something you wanna do.”

“I don’t want to have sex, but I do want these boxers to come off, and I think I want your head between my legs…if you’re up for it, that is.”

“Oh, babe.” He smirks. “I’m more than up for it. Just tell me to stop if you get nervous.”

“I will.”

He shifts to get between her legs, and he tugs on the boxers, slowly sliding them down her legs. Once they’re gone he gently opens her legs up for him. She was shaking slightly.

“Hey, hey.” He leans up to kiss her. “You’re alright, yeah? Do you not want to do this?”

“No, I do, please it’s okay. I really wanna feel you on me.”

“Okay.”

He gets back between her legs. It was dark, so it was a little hard to see, but it wasn’t rocket science, so Harry licks up from her center to her clit. She gasps, and he does this a few times.

“Doing alright?”

“Yeah, keep going.” She bites her bottom lip.

He licks and sucks around her folds and then he sucks on her clit. This causes her hands to fly to his hair. He flicks the tip of his tongue on the small bundle and then sucks again. Y/N tries to stifle her moans by biting her lip, but it’s starting to hurt.

“No one’s home, love, just let it out.” He says against her. “Can I use my fingers?”

“Please, yes, need it.”

He smirks up at her, not that she can really see. He sucks his middle finger into his mouth before slowly inserting it. She gasps out a moan. He’s slowly lapping away at her clit while his finger goes deeper, to his knuckle. His hips press into the mattress, trying to get some relief of his own. She was so warm and inviting, and it was killing him. He was taking it slow with her, not wanting to hurt her, but he couldn’t help himself from twisting and curling his finger. He was looking for that special spot.

“Oh my god.” She gasps. Bingo. He’s got it.

“Right there?” He rubs his finger against it again.

“Yes, oh shit.” She groans.

Harry sucks on her clit while continuing to use his finger inside her. She can’t help the way she’s breathing and panting, it just makes him work faster and harder.

“H, Harry, I think I’m going to c….oh my god!” She throws her head back as she feels her release.

He retracts his finger and laps away at her center. He kisses her inner thigh to help calm her down. He sits back up slowly to look at her. He couldn’t tell, but her cheeks were flushed.

“Would you, um, walk with me to the bathroom?”

“Of course.”

She doesn’t bother putting the boxers back on. The shirt she was wearing covered her plenty, and he was just nose deep in her crotch so she didn’t need to be shy. Once she’s done he tells her to go wait for him in his room. He needed to take care of himself.

“Think you’ll be able to sleep now?” He teases as he gets back into bed with her. 

“I feel bad…”

“About what?” He pulls her close to him so she can rest her head on his chest.

“I should have taken care of you.”

“One step at a time.” He kisses the top of her head. “When you feel ready we can do that. I feel happy that you trusted me enough to do what we just did.”

“I feel happy too.” She yawns.

It didn’t take long for either of them to fall asleep after that. 

//

Monday, Y/N got her test back from her Mind, Brain, and Evolution class. Her eyes grew wide when she saw her grade, an 88%! She was ecstatic, and couldn’t wait to tell Harry. She didn’t get to chat with him too much Sunday. He walked her home, kissed her goodbye, and then had to get some things done before his student senate meeting. Why they met on Sunday evenings was beyond her.

It was just her luck that he was at the dining hall for lunch at the same as her. She sets her food down and snatches the test from her bag.

“I’ll be right back ladies, gotta go tell my man how well I did.” She grins.

They all cheer her on as she struts over to him. She was clad in a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, but she still felt cute. She’s felt incredibly cute ever since Saturday night. Harry was deep in conversation with his friends Y/N goes right over to him and wraps her arms around him, shaking the paper in front of his face. It takes him completely by surprise. He snatches the test and he looks up at her.

“Oh my god!” he nearly squeals and stands up to hug her. “This is amazing! I knew you could do it.”

“A B+, I couldn’t believe it! I still can’t, and it’s all thanks to you.” She wraps her arms around his neck, not giving a fuck that his friends were watching, especially that girl Ari.

“It was all you, I’m so proud of you.” He kisses her forehead.

“I better get back over to them so I can eat, but I just couldn’t wait to tell you.”

“I’m glad you came over here. I’ll see you tomorrow at two, right?”

“Mhm.” She smiles.

“Great, celebratory coffee on me then.” He smiles back and kisses her cheek before she walks away.

“So, you’re, like, dating the hockey girl?” Billy asks.

“There’s more to her than that.” Harry says as he sits down. “We’re hanging out.” He shrugs.

“What class are you even tutoring her in?” Ari asks.

“Mind, Brain, and Evolution. She’s actually really smart, she’s a business major. This class is just tricky.”

“I remember taking that last semester with you!” Andrew chimes in. “Think I only passed because we sat next to each other.”

“Now that she’s got a good grade you don’t still need to tutor her do you?” Ari asks.

“No, I’m definitely going to tutor her.”

“Why?”

“You know how when you go on antibiotics and you start to feel better, but you may have like half your pills left to take? You don’t just stop taking them until you feel better, right? You have to take all of your medicine.”

“Yeah, and Harry’s for sure gonna give her that medicine.” Billy teases him.

“Oh, stop. I like her, and she likes me. Thank god, thought I was going to explode from it being one sided.”

“When’s her next game?” Andrew asks.

“Wednesday. We have to make sure we go again. 

//

Harry already has the iced coffees ready to go when Y/N meets him in the café of the library Tuesday afternoon. She was clad in her workout clothes, hair up in a messy bun.

“Thank you.” She smiles and takes the coffee from him.

“I even put the cream and sugar in it for you.”

“I noticed, how kind.” She smirks.

They find a table to go study at and set up. She goes over the new unit and what’s already sort of not making sense to her. Harry goes over his notes, and does his best to explain things to her. After an hour or so, they take a break.

“How have you been feeling?” He softly asks her.

“About what?”

“What we did Saturday night…we haven’t even texted about it, so I didn’t know if you were avoiding the conversation.”

“Oh! I feel really great. Um, I guess I just didn’t know what to say. I’m glad we did it.”

“Me too.” He looks down and then back to her. “It’ll be nice to do it again, right?”

“Mhm.” She smiles and a slight blush covers her cheeks. “Um, I don’t know if you’re coming to the game tomorrow or not, but-“

“I’ll be there.” He cuts her off. “Go on.”

“When we have games during the week we can’t exactly party all night, so we usually go downtown and order a bunch of food. Some of the girls invite their significant others, and, well, if you don’t mind being out a little late I was wondering if you’d wanna come too.”

“I’d love to.”

“Really?!”

“Sure.” He smiles. “Gotta be there for my girl.” He clears his throat. “Let’s get back to it, I don’t wanna make you late for the gym.”

Y/N liked that Harry was always so serious, she may not have before, but now she just thought it was cute. He lets her do some reading for class while he works on his own homework.

“This is nice.” He speaks up.

“What is?”

“Just doing homework together. We could do this more if you want. I’d obviously still tutor you on the clock, but we could get together sometimes to do other homework.” He stops typing and looks at her. “Then we could, uh, see each other more…if you wanted.”

“I’d like that.” She smiles. “I end up doing homework with the girls a lot, but you’re more than welcome to come over and join.”

“Sounds like fun.”

She looks at the time and sighs, closing her laptop and packing up.

“I have to get going.”

“I’m gonna stay here a bit longer, otherwise I’d walk you out.”

“That’s alright.” She leans down and pecks his lips before slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the game?”

“You will.” He smiles brightly. “Bye, love.”

“Bye.”

Y/N had butterflies. This was a dream come true.

//

The ice arena wasn’t as packed as the first home game, but there were still a lot of people there. The thing about women’s ice hockey is that you aren’t allowed to fight, so it’s less exciting than men’s ice hockey. Or, that’s what people say. It was annoying that they couldn’t fight. There were plenty of people that Y/N just wanted to deck while she was out there.

She looks out to the stands and sees Harry with the student senate crew holding up a sign for her. It had her number on it and everything. Harry looked cute in his beanie and sweater. Y/N played great and she loved looking over to see Harry cheering, not that she let it distract her. She was able to assist two goals, and the team won 4-1. It was an incredible game.

After the coach goes over what their next practice will consist of, and his congratulations, he leaves to let the girls change.

“Dinner down at the pub in twenty ladies!” Ashley yells.

Everyone runs to the showers to clean themselves up. Y/N throws on a pair of jeans and a black top. She grabs a light windbreaker and puts some product in her wet hair so it dries nice.

“Is Harry coming down?” Gina asks.

“Mhm, he’s going to meet us down there.” She smiles.

All of the girls walk down together. Ashley called ahead so there were a ton of tables pushed together. Harry was waiting outside the pub, along with some of other significant others. Y/N practically jumps on him.

“Great game.” He says into her neck.

“Thanks! I loved seeing you out there. It’s nice to actually have people cheering for us.” She kisses his cheek and lets him go.

Everyone finds their seats. Ashley and some of the other older girls order different pitchers of beer for the table. It was a college bar so no one was really double checking ID’s, especially on a Wednesday, so Y/N poured herself and Harry a glass of beer. They all cheer and clink their glasses.

Nachos, mozzarella sticks, chicken wings, fires, and anything else that could be thought of were ordered for everyone. Harry fit right in with everyone, already having a small report with Amanda and Gina.

“I still can’t get over this.” Ashley says. “Our little baby Y/N bringing a guy to dinner.”

“Didn’t you come to the party at our house?” Megan asks. “Is that how you two met?”

“No, he’s been tutoring me for a class.” Y/N explains. “He just happened to be at the party last weekend.”

“Well, Harry, you can come anytime. I know it was your idea to get more people at the women’s games.” Ashley says.

“Y/N told me how much it bothered her that senate goes to a lot of the guys’ games, thought it was only fair to support the girls too. Your games are way more fun to watch. You’re really fighting for it out there, you can feel it.”

“Oh, he’s a keeper for sure.” Megan says.

Y/N leans in to Harry and he puts his arm around her. She looks up at him once the attention is off her a bit.

“Do you want to come back to my place for a little bit?” She asks.

“I would, babe, but I have an 8AM, I need to go home after all this, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I have an early practice anyways…”

“I can hang out tomorrow night, though. I usually go to the soccer house with Niall and Louis, I’m sure they won’t care if you come.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” She smiles and so does he. Damn him for being so responsible.

“Plus, I’ll see at two for tutoring, right?”

“Right.”

“I could come to your place for that.”

“I don’t think we’d get much tutoring done if we do that.” She winks at him and it makes him laugh.

Amanda and Gina give a few minutes to kiss Harry goodbye before they need to part ways.

“Sorry.” She tells them, wiping the corners of her mouth. “He’s such a good kisser.”

“Apparently on both sets of lips.” Amanda teases her.

“Stop! I told you that in confidence.”

“I still can’t believe it didn’t make you want to fuck him right after.” Gina says.

“Believe me, I think I’m getting ready for that, but I’m nervous to see it.”

“His dick?” Amanda asks.

“Yeah, I’ve never really seen one before, and I can tell his is big. What if it breaks me in half?” She jokes.

“I bet he’d love to hear that, ask him to break your back.” Gina bursts out laughing.

“You two are annoying.” Y/N groans as they continue their walk to their place.

//

It was hard to get through tutoring for both Y/N and Harry. She wanted him, and he could tell. Every time she looked at him he could see it in her eyes. She was being especially pouty and touchy and it was getting to him. Somehow, they both made it through, and he told her he’d pick her up around nine to bring her to his place to pregame before going to the soccer house.

She gets her workout in, showers, and then makes dinner with Amanda and Gina. The three all get some more homework done before going upstairs to get ready.

“Alright, what am I wearing? Jeans and a crop top?”

“What if you wore like a bralette and some high waisted mom jeans?” Gina asks. “That’s always a look.”

“I don’t know what the vibe is at the soccer house, I don’t want to be too exposed.” She pulls out her mom jeans and a black short sleeve crop top. “I think this could be cute, and I’ll put some waves in my hair.”

“I like it.” Amanda asks. “You’re going to his place first, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Assert your dominance and pack an overnight bag. Bring your own toothbrush and pj’s. Show him you’re not afraid to get comfy.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. I feel like I’ve been stealing his clothes.” She snatches a string backpack from the floor. “Plus, my drinks won’t clink the bag with some clothes in there. What are you two up to tonight?”

“I think we’re going over to the field hockey house for a bit, and then we’ll see how it goes from there.”

“Nice! That’ll be fun, they always throw great parties.”

The three all finish getting ready, and Y/N packs her hard seltzers into her bag. Harry knocks on the door right at nine, and she flings herself onto him. He chuckles as he kisses her.

“Hey.” He says.

“Hi.”

“Ready?”

“Yup, bye girls!” She yells as she swings the door shut.

When they get into Harry’s she moves to go right up the stairs to his room, but he clutches her wrist.

“Pregame is in the kitchen, babe.”

“I know, I just wanna put my bag in your room first, is that alright?”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” He goes upstairs with her and he watches as she pulls out shorts and a t-shirt, her toothbrush, and her hairbrush.

“It’s okay I brought this stuff, right?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be? I want you to be comfortable.”

“Just making sure.” She grabs her bag and they both head downstairs.

She cracks open a seltzer and they all listen to music while they get a little buzzed. Niall and Louis were funny. Harry leaves her down in the kitchen with them for a few minutes while he goes upstairs to put his contacts in. He didn’t like wearing his glasses to parties because one time someone pushed him, they fell off, and broke. His mum wasn’t too happy when she had to ship him a new pair.

“Did you all live together last year too?”

“Nope, I met Harry from class, and we were already on the soccer team together.” Niall says. “They have these mandatory international student meetings, so the three of us sort of just started hanging out. Lou’s a couple years older so we were able to get off campus. The other two, who are literally never here, are international students too. It all sort of just worked out.”

“Harry’s a great roommate too, he cooks a lot.” Louis chuckles.

“Because if I didn’t.” Harry says as he comes back in. “You two would waste your money on shit all the time.” He throws his arm around Y/N’s shoulders and finishes off his drink.

“We ready? It’s ten, gotta get there before they start turning people away.” Louis says.

Everyone agrees, so Harry loads up Y/N bags with some drinks, and out the door they go.

”I have to warn you, the soccer house is gross.” Harry says. “Those guys leave it a mess. It’s huge so it’s great for a party, but you’re better off having a wee in the bushes than using one of their bathrooms.”

“Well, I’m glad I went before we left then.” Y/N chuckles.

They all get inside, and music is already blaring. Y/N recognizes a few of the guys and she gives them hugs. They congratulate her on her win from the night prior. The house packed already, it smelled like various types of smoke, the floors were sticky with god knows what, and there were a fuck ton of guys.

“Y/N you need a drink?” One of them asks.

“No, I brought my own, but thanks!” She follows Harry into another room where things were a bit more chill. They each take a drink out of her bag and crack them open.

The party was fun for the most part, good music was playing, and Harry looked fucking hot. Y/N liked that he clearly had outfits for partying and outfits for school. Tonight he was wearing a blue short-sleeve button up with the first few buttons undone paired with a black pair of skinny jeans that had a few rips in them. He had rings on his fingers and his nails were painted a pastel purple.

Y/N wished she hadn’t been drinking so much because she desperately needed to pee. She wondered if what Harry said was true, if the bathrooms were really that gross. She searches for another girl and leaves his side.

“Hey, this is random, but you wanna go to the bathroom with me?”

“OMG, sure!” She says brightly. The girl had long blonde hair and a tight dress on.

“Thanks!”

That was the one good thing about drunk girls, they were always willing to be a bathroom buddy. The girl tugs Y/N up a set of stairs.

“Less people using this one!” She says over the music.

She was right, no one was upstairs. It was nice to take a break from the loudness. Both girls go into the bathroom and grimace.

“I don’t get this, boys need to sit down to shit, wouldn’t they try to keep it clean?” The girl scoffs and checks her makeup in the mirror.

“Guess I’ll be squatting.” Y/N sighs, and unzips her pants. She squats over the toilet and pees. “Thanks for coming with me, I wasn’t about to ask my…uh, my date to come with me.”

“No problem girl! I need a pee break myself.”

Y/N flushes and stands up all the way, switching spots with the girl so she could pee. Y/N washes her hands and checks her own makeup.

“Who are you here with?” The girl asks as she pulls her panties back, moving to wash her hands.

“Harry Styles.”

“Oh! I’ve seen him around, he’s cute.”

“Very.” They both giggle. “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Karina.”

They smile and both head out and down the stairs. They wave goodbye to each other as they make their way back to their people. Y/N walks right up behind Harry and wraps her arms around him. He’s surprised at first and then relaxes when he sees it’s Y/N.

“Where’d you go with that girl?!”

“To the bathroom! We used the one upstairs!”

“Did you know her?!”

“Nope!” She laughs and so does Harry.

As the night goes on, Y/N starts to feel dancey and notices other people dancing in one of the larger rooms, so she tugs Harry over and wraps her arms around his neck so they can grind front to front. His hands go right to her hips, and his lips find her cheek and then her neck. One of her hands slides up to his hair to rake through. She noses his jaw to get his attention and suddenly her tongue was in his mouth. He pulls her closer and backs them up towards a wall, pressing her up against it. She wondered, briefly, how many girls Harry had made out with at a party. She knew he had to have fucked a lot. No guy could be that good at eating out without some practice. The jealousy she feels seeps in and she bites down on his lower lip a little too hard. He winces and pulls away for a moment. He catches his breath and looks down at her, moving some hair away from her face.

“Alright?!”

“How often do you do this?!”

“Do what?!”

“Make out with girls at parties! Take those girls home and fuck them!” She wasn’t sure where this was all coming from. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was starting to sink in that she gave up a part of herself to someone that she had only known a few weeks.

“Hey! Whoa! Where is this…” He leans in to speak into her ear. “Where is this coming from?”

“I’m just feeling…weird all of a sudden. You have so much experience, and I don’t have a lot, so-“

He moves back to look at her. He cups her jaw and leans in to kiss her. He gives her a few kisses before moving his lips to her ear again.

“Let’s get out of here, then we can talk more, okay?”

She nods yes and he takes her hand. He leads her out of the house, and the chilly night air hits her like a ton of bricks.

“Can you walk alright?” He asks her.

“Can I? Yes. Do I want to? No.”

“Alright, well hop on.” He crouches in front of her.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, all aboard.”

She giggles and hops onto his back. She rests her chin on his shoulder and nibbles on his earlobe, making him giggle.

“Thought you were upset with me for a second.”

“I got jealous.”

“Of what, babe?”

“Anyone that’s ever been with you.” She shamelessly admits. “I know that’s dumb.”

“I haven’t been with that many people.”

“It’s none of my business.”

“It is if it’s bothering you, Y/N.”

“You’re just really good at it, and it made me think that you’ve had a lot of practice. Not to mention that everything you do surprises me. I’m still shocked that you’re the type of guy to make out openly at a party.”

“I mean, yeah, I’m a nice guy, but I’m like any other guy sometimes. I’m respectful, but I still wanna have fun.”

He gets to his place and sets her down so he can unlock the door. They both go straight to his room, and they sit on the edge of his bed.

“We were having such a good time, walk me through what happened?” He asks as he gets up to take his contacts out.

“I don’t know, it was like while we were kissing it made me think of how many times you’ve done that sort of thing before. Doesn’t that happen to you with me?”

“Not really.” He sits back down next to her, running a hand through his hair. He kicks his boots off and looks at her. “I’m more or less just lost in you.”

“I think I’m just feeling vulnerable since we haven’t been alone since I was so exposed to you.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I should have stayed with you last night when you asked me to come home with you.”

“No! It’s okay, we both had to get up early. I’m being dumb and needy.” She shakes her head.

“You’re not being either of those things. We can wait a while to do something like that again if you want.”

“No! I don’t want to wait. I really liked it. I guess, I mean…”

“Are you worried that you’re not the only one?”

“Maybe a little…”

“Babe, I’m not talking to anyone else, I thought it was pretty clear. I’m not in a rush to put a label on anything, but I’m not fucking anyone else, I swear.”

“Okay…”

“I’ve only ever fully been with like six people if that makes you feel better.”

“Harry, I really don’t need to know.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m some sex maniac. I had sex in high school, and then there were a couple of girls last year, and then a couple people this past summer. If I seem good at it, it’s only because I’m vocal and I ask to make sure things feel good, that’s all.”

“Alright, I’m sorry for being so stupid. I ruined the entire night.”

“You’re not stupid, and you didn’t ruin anything, okay? I’m gonna go get us some water, feel free to change and then we can just watch TV or something.”

“Oh.”

“What?” He asks as he stands up.

“I just thought, you know, you’d want to take my clothes off for me.”

“I mean, I do, but I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. We both had a lot to drink, Y/N.” He gives her a soft smile and leaves to go downstairs.

She sighs heavily and then changes into the pj’s she brought. He comes back and hands her a glass. He starts unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way.

“I really like what you have on tonight.”

“Yeah? I liked your outfit too. Although, you look pretty cute right now.” He smirks and drags his jeans down his legs and gets onto the bed with a sigh. 

“Oh, do I?”

“Mhm, very cute.” His eyes trail down her body and they grow wide when they get to her legs. “What happened here?” He points to the various bruises on her thighs and shins.

“Oh, it’s just from going to the gym and games and stuff. I always have bruises on me.” She shrugs. “No big deal.”

“Poor thing.” He rubs his hand over one of her thighs.

“It’s really not a big deal.” Goosebumps raise on her skin from his gentle touch. She lays down fully next to him, rolling onto her side to face him. “I like you.”

“I like you too.”

She nuzzles into his chest and he rubs her back. They stay like that for a while, and she starts to hear her breathing level out. He carefully gets up to turn his light off, and goes back to the way he was.

//

The next morning, Y/N wakes up pressed into Harry’s side. He was out like a light. She gets up and grabs her toothbrush and pads out to the bathroom. She gets in and locks the door behind her. She splashes some cool water onto her face, and brushes her teeth. She tip toes back to Harry’s room, and crawls back into bed.

“Where’d you go.” He mumbles as he moves to spoon her.

“Just to the bathroom.” She whispers.

He nuzzles into her back, pressing his pelvis to her ass. He pushes a leg between hers to get especially cozy. She adjusts against him, and things sort of just sped up from there. He started moving against her and the second she whimpered, he was dipping his hand into her shorts.

“Is this okay?” He asks, kissing on the exposed part of her neck.

“Yes.” She breathes.

His fingers rub on her clit at first before going between her folds. He groans when he feels how wet she is. He drags it up to her clit to rub circles on her. She turns over onto her stomach and he follows her, continuing to grind himself against her ass, and rubbing on her clit.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

Hearing him moan her name was doing things to her. She moves her hips along with his, and she starts to feel warm all over. She was moaning into his pillows, and he feels her writhe under him while she comes. He takes his hand away once she’s done, and she rolls onto her back.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I…give you a hand job?”

“You really want to?”

“Yeah, I really do.” She bites her bottom lip and he moves to lay next to her.

“You’re positive?”

“Yes.”

He starts to lower his boxers and he looks at her again. She nods and he gets them of all the way. Her eyes widen. He really was big, and thick too. She sort of knew what to do. She had seen enough porn to know she at least needed to make sure her hand was wet, so she spits into it, and carefully grips him. He hisses from her touch.

“Wanna know what I like?” He asks her.

“Yeah.”

“While you do it, put these fingers over my tip.” He moves her fingers he wants them and then she moves them back and forth while her hand works around him. “Shit, just like that, it’s perfect.”

Y/N can’t help but look at Harry’s perfectly sculpted happy trail that leads down to the small tufts of hair right at his base. His balls weren’t hairy, he clearly did a lot of manscaping. In a bold move she uses her other hand to cup his balls, and his head rolls back into the pillow.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, just, like, massage them a little, but not too hard.”

She nods and gives him gentle squeezes while her hand continues to work on him. This wasn’t so bad. She wasn’t sure what she was so nervous about, it was just a penis. She licks her lips and looks at him.

“Can I…put my mouth on it?”

“Fuck, yeah, please.” He grips the sheets as she wraps her lips around his tip. “Just no teeth!” He reminds her at the last second and she pops off.

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that? Unhinge my jaw?”

“No.” He chuckles. “Just try to keep your lips around your teeth or keep your mouth wide. Use your tongue more than anything.”

She nods and goes back down. He has to fight to buck up into her. She only keeps her mouth around his tip, not wanting to go crazy. She pumps the rest of him, drool dripping down her chin.

“Y/N, I’m getting close.”

She keeps sucking on him. When she looks up at him, making eye contact, he loses it. She spurts into her mouth and her eyes widen at the taste. It didn’t taste bad, but it certainly didn’t taste good either. She takes it all, but she sure as shit wasn’t going to swallow. She looks around his room for his trash and when she spots it, she gets off the bed and spits into it. She grabs the glass of water from his desk and swishes it around her mouth before spitting again.

“Sorry.” She breathes. “I just-“

“You’re apologizing? Get your ass over here.” He smirks. She gets back onto the bed and he holds her close. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to swallow it unless you really wanted to. I know it’s a lot to get used to.”

“So, you’re not offended?”

“You just gave me a blow job, I’m not offended at all.” He kisses her forehead. “I’m just gonna go use the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” He grabs his boxers and slips them on and leaves the room.

Y/N snatches her phone and texts in the group chat letting Amanda and Gina know what just happened. She couldn’t wait to get home, she needed to talk about it now. When Harry gets back she nearly throws her phone. She puts her phone down gently and cuddles up to him when he lays back down. He kisses on the top of her head a couple of times and rubs her back.

“That felt really good, by the way.”

“You’re not just saying that?” She pouts up at him.

“Not at all, I’ve been dreaming about you doing that. It was nice to feel the real thing.” His lips curve up as he looks down at her. “You’re a natural, sure you’ve never done that before.”

“Never, I swear.” She giggles. “I’m glad it was good for you.”

“It was fantastic.” He sighs.

After snuggling a little longer, they both decide to get up. Harry makes Y/N some eggs and toast for breakfast before walking her home. They get to her door and he has trouble saying goodbye. His lips just won’t leave hers.

“You have practice today?”

“Mhm, and then an away game tomorrow. We leave early in the morning. I’ll text you when I get home, maybe we can meet up.”

“I’d like that.” He smiles. “So I won’t see you at all tonight?”

“No, we’re not allowed to go out the night before an away game.”

“Fair enough.” He sighs. “Alright.” He kisses her against, sucking on her bottom lip before letting her go. “Can’t wait to hear how the game goes.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

She goes inside and runs upstairs. She knocks on Amanda’s door before going in and they both squeal. Gina comes in and squeals with them. 

//

It was a rough game. They lost by one goal. The bus was quiet at first, but the coach ended up farting and it made everyone laugh, lightening the mood. They wouldn’t be going out to celebrate tonight, but Y/N knew a few of the girls would be getting together. She was pooped and didn’t feel like drinking. She was sitting in the window seat on the coach bus next to Gina, who was turned talking to one of the other girls, so she takes the opportunity to call Harry. Now that she thinks about it, they’ve never spoken on the phone before. She puts her headphones in and dials his number.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Hey! How was the game, babe?”

“We lost…by one goal.” She sighs.

“I’m sorry, that must not feel great. I watched the live stream, but I was only able to catch the beginning.”

“You…you actually watched part of it?”

“Yeah! I wanted to support you. I had to tutor this afternoon so that’s why I wasn’t able to watch the whole thing.”

“Well, thanks for watching a little…”

“Of course, babe.”

“Um, we should be back to campus in an hour. I need to shower and stuff, and I don’t really feel like going out, but would you wanna come over and cuddle?”

“I’d love to. I’ll bring my laptop so we can watch Disney movies.”

“That sounds amazing. I’ll text you once I’m all set.”

“Sounds good, see you soon.”

Y/N hangs up and taps Gina on the shoulder. She tells her that Harry’s gonna come over and she nods excitedly. She takes the second shower once Amanda is done, and then puts on a pair of comfy sweat pants and throws on a t-shirt. Harry comes over, and she takes him right up to her room.

“What are your roommates up to tonight?”

“Not sure, they’re probably just hanging out too.” They both get onto her bed. “Sorry there’s not as much room as your bed.”

“Are you kidding, this is going to be a great cuddle.”

He sits up against the wall, and has her sit in front of him, placing the laptop at the foot of the bed. They decide on The Goofy Movie. Although, Harry is being very distracting. He rubs Y/N’s shoulders and neck, and then his arms wrap around her waist. He gets up under her shirt, one hand kneading one of her breasts, and the other dips into her sweatpants. He starts kissing on her neck and her head rolls back to his shoulder. She bites her bottom lip as his fingers get inside her underwear and start rubbing at her clit. His middle finger slips inside her and she gasps.

“Alright?” He nips at her earlobe.

“Mhm, don’t stop.” She bites her bottom lip. They’ve both forgotten about the movie, almost thankful it’s just background noise to help muffle things. “M’getting too hot, Harry.” She whines.

He nearly rips her shirt off, exposing her full chest to him. She gets up and wiggles out of her sweatpants. He gets his own shirt off, and then she straddles him. She kisses down his neck and sucks where she pleases.

“I did some thinking last night while you were gone.” He says between pants.

“Oh yeah?” She rolls her hips down on him.

“Yeah.” He grips her hips and moves his up to meet hers. “If I’m only seeing you, and you’re only seeing me, then I think I should just cut the crap and ask you to be my girlfriend, don’t you think?”

“You…I thought the labels-“

“I was being stupid about that. I wanna be your boyfriend, Y/N. Can’t risk anyone else scooping you up. I need you to be mine.”

“I’m already yours.”

“Like, officially though.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I want you to be my boyfriend too.”

He grabs his phone out of his pocket and goes to change his Facebook status when he realizes something.

“We’re not even friends on here…”

“We’re not?! Could have sworn that happened when you started tutoring me.”

“No, I guess not. Think that was just insta.” He sends her a friend request, and she accepts, and then they both change their statuses. “There, now there’s no question about it.” They both set their phones on the floor, and get back to it.

Their tongues slide against each other as he gropes various parts of her body. Things were getting hot and heavy fast.

“Want you, please.” She whimpers against him.

“What?”

“Please, Harry, fuck me.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m ready, I swear. We’re both sober, I want this. Please, Harry, please fuck me, don’t make me beg.” She pouts. “Fuck, I don’t have any condoms.”

“I…have some in my backpack.” He blushes. “I just keep them in there, I didn’t think anything was going to happen tonight.”

“Well, I’m glad you have some. Do you wanna do this?”

“I do, but only if you’re really sure.”

“I am.” She smiles and he nods. She gets off of him and lies down on the bed while he searches through his backpack.

“Do you want me to finger you some more?”

“No, I really just want your dick.” She slides her underwear down her legs and tosses them to the floor.

His mouth was watering. He strips himself of the rest of his clothes and snatches a condom. He makes sure her door is locked, and closes his laptop before getting on top of her. He opens the foil packet, and rolls the rubber down his length.

“You’re positive?”

“Yes, Harry, I swear.”

“I’ll stop at any second, okay? You just need to speak up.”

“Okay.”

She spreads her legs apart for him, and he leans down to kiss her. He rubs his tip against her clit and through her folds, making sure she’s wet. He starts to push inside her, and all she feels is pressure and stretching. It sort of burned a bit as he did it. She takes a deep breath and digs her nails into his shoulders.

“Almost all the way in, can you take it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can take it.”

He groans once he’s all the way in. He was so fucking snug inside her, it was a miracle he didn’t nut right then and there.

“You feel so fucking good, Y/N. Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah.” She had a couple of tears in her eyes.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t hurt?”

“It hurts a little, but not enough that I want to stop. I’m just getting used to you. Try moving.”

“Okay.”

He slowly rocks in and out, watching her face to make sure she wasn’t in too much pain. It was crazy, it was a like a switch went off because as soon as he got going with a good pace, it started to feel good. Even the stretching, she liked how it all felt. One of his hands kneads her breast and tweaks her nipple and his lips attach to her neck.

“Okay, babe?” He says into her ear.

“So good, Harry.” She wraps her legs around his back and digs her heels into his ass.

He couldn’t do much with her tonight, he knew that. He couldn’t fuck her from behind or even let her on top, but he could make her feel amazing. He snakes a hand between them and rubs her clit.

“Oh!” She gasps.

“Like that, baby girl?”

“Yes, oh my god, yes, Harry.” She arches up into him. She’s breathing heavily and scratching at his back. She almost felt like she needed to pee, but she knew it was just her orgasm getting ready to wash over her. “Shit, oh fuck, shit!” She cries out as she comes around his cock.

He spills into the condom shortly after, not being able to hold on much longer himself. He pulls out of her slowly, not wanting to hurt her and she winces.

“I know, baby, I know.” He feels terrible, he knew she had to feel sore. He gets up and throws the condom out in her trash and gets back over to her quickly, caressing her cheeks, applying kisses all over her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She smiles and practically melts at his tenderness. “I really need to pee.” She chuckles.

“Alright, let’s getcha to the bathroom then.”

“I can go on my own. Just need a shirt.”

“Take mine.” He grabs it off the floor and hands it to her. He slips his own boxers back on, and helps her stand up.

He watches her waddle out of the room. She winces as she uses the toilet, and she grimaces at the toilet paper when she sees a light pink color. He was so careful with her, extremely gentle, but she was still a virgin at the end of the day. Well, not anymore. She just gave something major to Harry. She waddles back to her room, and smiles when she sees him still half naked, waiting in her bed.

“Do you want the side with the wall, or-“

She practically jumps on top of him, and she attacks him with kisses. They both giggle and then she settles to lay on top of him for a bit. He rubs her back and soothes her as best he can. He gets up to use the bathroom, and when he comes back they decide to finish their movie and spoon before falling asleep.

//

Harry held Y/N all night. She felt extremely safe in his arms, and it was exactly what she needed after doing something so big for her. She adjusts against him, and he gives her kisses on the back of her neck and she smiles. She turns over and buries her face in his chest. He strokes her back and kisses the top of her head. He was being careful with her, knowing that she would need some extra reassurance.

“How are you feeling?” He finally asks, his voice still thick with sleep.

“I’m okay.” She mumbles. “A little sore, but I’ll be alright.”

“I tried not to be too rough with you, I’m sorry.”

She looks up at him and smiles.

“You weren’t rough at all…I probably should have let you finger me a little more beforehand. I just really wanted you.”

“Can’t blame you for that.” He smirks and she swats a hand at his chest. “Kidding.”

“Mhm, sure you were.”

“Do you have plans today?”

“Just homework and stuff. I’m dreading our practice tomorrow morning, the coach is gonna ride us for losing.” She sighs.

“It was your first loss, right?”

“Yeah, so it’s not terrible, but it could easily be the start to a losing streak, so we need to prevent that.” They both shift so Harry’s on his back, and she’s got her head on his chest. “Why? Did you want to do something?”

“Well, I was thinking I could go back to my place and shower, and then I could come back here to do homework or something…we could get brunch at the dining hall.”

“God, I love brunch at dhall. Could I invite Amanda and Gina? They’ll be jealous.”

“Sure! I don’t care.” He kisses her forehead and gets up. She watches him stretch, and he gets his clothes on. “Wanna just meet over there in, like, an hour?”

“Works for me.”

“Alright, see you in a bit.” He leans down and pecks her lips before slipping out.

Just as she’s getting out of bed, and putting some shorts on, Gina and Amanda burst into her room.

“You guys wanna come to the dining hall with us in a bit?” Y/N asks with a smug look on her face.

“Yes, but we have more important things to discuss.” Amanda says. “What the hell happened in here last night?”

“Oh god, did you guys hear anything?”

“Only a little.” Gina says. “I just put headphones in.”

“Okay, so this is going to sound like he and I have bene moving fast, well, I guess we have been, but…we had sex last night.”

“Like full on?!” Amanda asks. The three sit on the bed together.

“Yeah, he was like rubbing up on me and stuff, and we were making out, and I told him I wanted to. He was so sweet, he kept asking me if I was sure and everything.”

“Did you make sure to pee after?” Gina asks.

“Yeah…and I think I bled a little…I’m a little sore. He was so sweet on me, though, like he took it really slow.”

“Did it hurt while he was doing it?” Amanda asks.

“A little in the begging, like when he first put it in, and then all of a sudden it started to feel really good. I think he was hitting my g-spot or something. He rubbed my clit too, I didn’t know an orgasm could feel so good.” She blushes. Her and the girls have had plenty of these conversations, so it wasn’t that weird to be so open, but just thinking about the previous events was making her feel an ache between her legs.

“Good for you! And he asked to go to the dining hall with you?” Gina asks.

“Yeah, he asked me if I had plans today. He held me all night too. We, like, made things official last night…on Facebook…”

“Oh shit!” The girls say and both take their phones out. They like the status update.

“I’m gonna go shower quick, and then we can get ready to go?” Y/N asks.

“Definitely.” Amanda says.

They both watch Y/N stand up. She breathes funny for a second and then she sneezes.

“Ow! Oh my god!” She grabs at her lower stomach.

“What happened?” Gina asks, concerned.

“Felt like my vagina was gonna fall out.” Y/N says and they all start laughing. “Fuck, this is going to be a long day…”

//

Harry really liked Y/N’s friends. They were chill, but blunt. He knew Y/N must have filled them in on the night prior, but he didn’t mind. He knew the first time was a big deal for anyone, his certainly was, even if it was when he was seventeen.

“Harry, you’re on senate right?” Gina asks.

“Yeah.” He smiles. “Why?”

“Is it true you guys have these really long meetings on Sunday nights?”

“Mhm.” He sighs. “We meet up at five, and we all have to be dressed up because sometimes different staff and faculty come to the meetings, so we need to look professional. I’ve been there as late as 10PM sometimes. Certain motions take forever to get through, it’s annoying. The only perk is that we get food provided.”

“And that’s why you get a lot of your homework done on Saturdays, right?” Y/N says.

“That’s right.” He smiles at her.

“How come you wanted to on senate and not join a normal club?” Amanda asks.

“I wanted to be involved with how things are done on campus.” Harry shrugs. “I was on student senate in high school, so I wanted to continue with it here.”

“What made you want to study at an American university? Aren’t schools way less expensive where you’re from?” Gina asks.

“They can be. I just thought this would be a good time for me to get away and travel. It makes me appreciate home more when I go back.”

“Makes sense.” Gina says. “I’m actually from Florida, and only came up here to play hockey.”

“Same here, I’m from California.” Amanda tells him.

“I think I’m one of the few in-state students on our team.” Y/N says.

“That’s cool though that this school has such a good hockey program that you wanted to come here.”

After lunch, Harry comes back to Y/N’s apartment, and they all hang out to do homework in the living room. When 4PM hits he explains he needs to go home so he can get ready for senate.

“Thanks for hanging out today, it was nice.” Y/N says as they stand in the doorway.

“Yeah, it was.” He puts his thumb and forefinger on her chin to tilt her chin up. He leans down and gives her a nice, slow kiss. “When do I see you next?”

“I don’t know…Tuesday for tutoring?”

“Works for me.”

“I mean, I’m sure we’ll talk before then.”

“Most likely.” He grins.

“Okay, well, have a god senate meeting.”

“Thanks.” He gives her another kiss before heading out.

“He’s, like, dreamy.” She says to the girls when she walks back into the living room. “I think I’ll keep him around.” She giggles with them.

//

Harry was just finishing getting his tie on for the senate meeting, and he thinks to send Y/N a mirror selfie so she could see what he has to wear. He puts a pout on his face and puts a caption on it asking her to just kill him. Joking, of course.

When she gets the DM, she bites her bottom lip. She thought he looked really good. So she told him that, well she told him he looked really sexy, and that was just about all he needed to stay distracted for his entire meeting.

“Harry?”

“Hm?”

“What’s your vote on giving Awesome Weekends more funding?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Um, I just think if we do this we need to see some return on investment. I want to make sure that students actually go to the events they put on. The money should go towards more advertising and stuff like that. I mean, but just word of mouth we were able to get more people at sporting events. The events Awesome Weekends put on aren’t exactly always awesome.”

“They’ve proposed more free skate nights.” Billy says. “Off-setting the cost of rentals. That’s why a lot of students don’t go to that normally. They’re also working on more movie nights, and late night dining.”

“Alright, I vote yes then, but it needs to be a trial basis. We need to see how it works. If they want the same amount of money next year then they can say why they deserve it in allocations this spring like everyone else.”

“I agree with Harry.” Ari says. “I say we boost it now, but let it be clear that if they want more next year, they’ll have to ask for it during allocations like everyone else.”

“Thanks.” He whispers to her.

“No problem.” She smiles.

“Alright, let’s take a fifteen minute break.” The senior class president says.

“You’re a little distracted tonight, are you alright?” Ari asks Harry.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He says, taking out his phone. Y/N had sent him a selfie of her own, snuggled up in bed, and he smiles at it. “These meetings just go on forever sometimes. My girlfriend’s already in bed for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s only 9:30…wait, did you just say girlfriend?”

“Yeah, made it official with her last night.” He smiles dreamily.

“The girl from the hockey team?!”

“Um, yeah…why?”

“I…well, no offense, but she just seems sort of frumpy for you, Harry.”

“Frumpy? That’s sort of rude, Ari.” He frowns. “I think she’s really pretty.”

“I just meant, like, she’s always wearing sweats and stuff.”

“A lot of people on teams do that. What do you care how she dresses anyways?” 

“I just think people should care more about how they look before they leave for the day.”

“You’ve never seen her dressed up for a party then, because-“ He cuts himself off. “You know what, I don’t need to do this. I like her, she’s my girlfriend, and that’s it. As my friend, I hope you’d be happy for me.”

“I’m ecstatic.” She huffs and gets up to grab some more water.

“I don’t like her attitude at all.” Harry says to Andrew.

“Dude…she has a thing for you, and you just rubbed a new relationship in her face. I was sort of hoping she’d stop liking you when you brought Y/N over for that movie night, but I guess not.”

“She what?!” He whisper screams. “Why didn’t she say anything?”

“Probably because she knew you didn’t like her back. She’s had a thing for you since last year.”

“Shit, I feel terrible.” He looks over at Ari and then back to Andrew. “Should I talk to her?”

“No, she’d probably just be embarrassed. You said you’re official with Y/N now, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then she just need to accept it. She’ll move on now that she knows she really doesn’t have a chance.”

“Ari’s really nice, and pretty in her own right, I just like sportier girls, I always have.”

“Hey, I think Y/N’s hot, so you don’t have to explain it to me.” He smirks.

“Don’t ever say that to me again…but thanks.”

It was nearly 10:30 by the time Harry got back to his apartment. He goes straight to his room and flops onto his bed. He groans and then changes out of his nice clothes, and goes to do his nightly routine in the bathroom. He gets settled in bed, and takes his phone out.

Harry: goodnight, Y/N, sweet dreams <3

Y/N gets the text and nearly squeals. Harry was so sweet.

Y/N: night! <3

//

Y/N groans when her alarm goes off at 6AM. Sometimes she really hated having early ice times, but nonetheless she gets up and puts her warm ups on. She grabs her phone and decided to be a little cute.

Y/N: morning, Harry! Hope you have a great day :)

She gets her gym bag together, and meets Amanda and Gina downstairs. They each grab a granola bar, and head out the door.

Harry wakes up at 6:15 to get ready to go to the gym. His heart skips a beat when he sees Y/N’s good morning text, and the smile on his face grows wider as he rereads it.

Harry: morning, love, hope coach doesn’t go too hard on you

He looks outside and sees that it’s pretty nice out, and decides to just go for a run. Harry liked getting his workout over with in the mornings. It gave him a lot of energy for the day, and once it was done, it was done.

Coach had the girls sprint across the ice way too many times, and then he had them work on their slap shots. They scrimmaged until they couldn’t scrimmage anymore. He said that they better get it together for their next away game Wednesday. They needed to be able to win on the road, not just at home.

Y/N was drenched in sweat, as were the other girls. She peels her padding off and the rest of her clothes, and hops into the shower. She needed to look nice for one of her business classes today, so she puts on a pair of tan nylons to cover her legs. It was getting colder, but it wasn’t quite black-tights seasons yet. Then she puts on a green short-sleeve blouse, and pairs it with a black pencil skirt that comes to right above her knees. This was her “fancy” skirt for presentations. She straightens her hair and puts some makeup on, and then slips in her black flats. Amanda and Gina were dressed up too.

“We better get points for looking so nice, or I’ll kill this professor.” Gina says.

“Right? Like, there has to be style points.” Y/N says.

“Let’s just get up to campus and get this over with.” Amanda says. “A presentation at 8:15, who the fuck thought that was a good idea?”

The girls crushed their presentation, of course, but Y/N didn’t have time between her other classes to change, so she just toughs it out. She figures after lunch she can run home quickly to change into her workout clothes.

Andrew and Ari were in line at the dining hall, waiting to get sandwiches when they see Y/N walk by with some of the other hockey girls.

“What were you saying about her being frumpy?” Andrew says to her, nudging her arm.

“Stop it.” She groans. “I’m embarrassed enough for how I acted last night. I’m lucky Harry’s even sitting next to me.”

Y/N accidentally bumps into someone while she’s getting herself a glass of water.

“I’m so sorry, I…oh, hi, Harry.” She beams.

“Y/N, hi.” He blushes when he looks her up and down. “You look, um, nice.”

“Thanks, I had this stupid presentation for my marketing class this morning, and I haven’t had a chance to change yet. Hoping to after lunch.” They both walk into the dining area together. “I have like an hour before my next class so I’m gonna eat quick and head back.”

“Do you…want some help changing out of all that?” He asks, stepping close so no one hears him.

“Um…”

“I’m sitting right over there, come grab me when you’re done eating, yeah?”

“Okay.”

He smiles and kisses her cheek before walking away. Y/N goes over to sit down with her friends, face completely flushed.

“Are you alright?” Ashley asks.

“Yeah, um, I think I just made a dick appointment, so I can’t stay long.”

“Oh my god!” Ashley squeals. “Damn, with Harry?”

“Yeah.” Y/N smiles. “I told him I was going to change after lunch and he just asked me if I needed help.”

“Oh, shit!” Amanda laughs. “What a fuckboy thing to say, but damn, I don’t think I’d say no either.”

“He’s, like, way more smooth than I ever would have thought.”

Y/N only eats about half of her lunch out of nerves, and then says goodbye to everyone. She walks over to Harry’s table, and clears her throat. He looks over at her and smiles, getting up with his empty dishes. He says goodbye to his friends and walks out with Y/N. They put their dishes away, and then he grabs her hand, intertwining their fingers.

“This is okay, right? I’m not being too pushy?”

“No, I…I want you to come over.”

“Okay.” He smiles and they both walk a little faster to the student apartments.

Y/N nervously keys inside and they both run up to her room. She slams it closed and locks it, and the next thing she knows she’s being pinned up against it. Harry presses his front to hers, and groans into their kiss.

“Is this okay?” He breathes before moving to suck on her neck.

“Yes.” Her hands move to undo his pants. “Is this?”

“Yes.” He steps back to take his shirt off and wiggle out of his pants.

He grabs her and his hands slide to her ass to unzip the back of her skirt. It falls to the ground, pooling at her feet. He lifts her shirt overhead, and quickly unhooks her bra.

“Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He leads her over to her bed, and lays her down. His fingers hook into her panties and he slides them down her legs. He licks his lips when he’s presented with her center. “You don’t mind if I have a little dessert, do you?”

“Please, indulge.” She leans up on her elbows to watch as he dives right in. “Oh, fuck.” Her head rolls back, and her hands rake through his hair.

He licks her up and down and moves his face from side to side. He sucks on her clit, and slides his middle finger inside her. She winces for a moment, and he pops off her to look at her.

“Are you still sore?”

“Um…only a little…but I really want you to keep going.”

“I don’t wanna do it if it’s gonna hurt.”

“Please, Harry? I really want you to fuck me again.”

“I just wish I had some lube or something to help soothe you…we’ll have to buy some.” He says more so to himself than to her before licking over her clit again. He does the next best thing, and just wells up some spit and lets it fall from his tongue to her center. She whimpers and he looks up at her. “Like that?”

“Yeah…it was sort of sexy…”

He does it again and then slides his middle finger back inside her. He’s able to get a second finger in, and he curls them both up against that spongey spot of her front wall. He uses his other thumb to rub around her clit. He looks up at her and can’t help but smirk when he sees her head rolled back into the pillow.

“Can tell you’re close, love, you gonna come for me?”

“Shit, oh my god, yes!” She cries out. His words put her over the edge and she comes around his fingers. He goes over to his backpack to grab a condom, and takes his boxers off so he can roll it on. He gets back on the bed between her legs.

 “You know, I never asked, are you on the pill or anything? I don’t mind using condoms, I’m just curious.”

“Yeah, I’m on the pill.” She puts her hands on his shoulders and smiles.

He hums his response and lines himself up with her. He starts to push inside, but he stops.

“Why’d you stop?” She pouts.

“Just wanted to make sure you still wanted to.”

“I do! Please, just keep going.”

He nods and slowly pushes inside her. He grunts once he’s all the way in, and stays there a moment before pulling out and pushing back in. Her mouth falls open from the pleasure.

“That feels really good.” She says, pressing kisses to chest.

“Yeah? Like it like this, babe?”

“Mhm.”

He continues to carefully thrust in and out of her. She bites her bottom lip, and decides to let him know how she’s feeling.

“Could we…could I…um…”

“What is it, baby? Tell me what you want.”

“What if I got on top?”

“You sure you wanna try that now? When’s your class?”

She looks off to her clock.

“I’ve got thirty minutes, plenty of time.”

“Alright.” He pulls out and switches spots with her. He sits up against the wall and waits for her. She gives him a funny look. “What?”

“Aren’t you supposed to lay down?”

“Not necessarily, I wanna help you, just come here.”

She crawls into his lap, and lines herself up with him. They both look down as she slowly sinks down on him. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment to get used to it. He helps her wraps her legs around his waist, and his hands grip her ass. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and he slowly thrusts up into her. Her eyes snap open when she feels how deep he’s able to go.

“Oh my god.” She looks at him. “Do that again.”

He slots his lips over hers and gets a rhythm going. She does her best to move along with him, but she doesn’t mind that he’s doing a lot of the work. She sucks his bottom between her teeth before moving to nibble on his earlobe.

“Harry.” She whines.

“Feels good?”

“Feels so good.” She bites down right on the crook of his neck and he groans.

His hands grip harder on her ass he moves her a little faster. Her clit was rubbing against him in the most perfect way, and she could feel another release approaching. She grips at his hair and tugs hard as she cries out into his chest. He spills into the condom as she comes down from her high. They both take a minute to sit there. He holds her close to him and rubs her back. He kisses her temple and then moves to her now puffy lips. He gives her a soft smile when he sees her mascara had run a bit. He uses his thumbs to help clean up under eyes, and it makes her giggle.

“I’ll just use a makeup wipe.” She pecks at his lips and slowly gets off him. “Blegh, I don’t like the way that feels at all.”

“It’s cause you’re so sensitive, babe.” He gets up and rids himself of the condom, putting his boxers and other clothes back on. He watches as she grabs a towel to wrap around herself.

“Mm, right, I forgot you were a sexologist.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m just gonna pee, I’ll be right back.”

She’s back in a couple minutes and he watches her rifle through her workout clothes. She settles on a pair of cropped leggings, a sports bra, and a t-shirt. She flips her hair over and puts it up in a messy bun, and then grabs a makeup up wipe to get everything off. She sits down next to him to lace up her sneakers.

“I’m not a sexologist.” He mumbles.

“I know, I was being sarcastic.” She smirks.

“I’m aware.” He sits back on her bed and she looks at him. “I did take a women’s health class last year, though, and we talked about things that can happen after sex, so that’s the only reason why I know that.”

“Why in the fuck did you take a women’s health class, Harry?” She nearly laughs.

“I don’t know, my mum said it would be a good idea…and it counted towards one of my gen eds. I actually learned a lot. You ladies, uh, have a lot to deal with.”

“Were there other boys in the class?”

“A couple. I mostly kept to myself, I didn’t want anyone thinking I was there just to meet girls or anything.”

“Tell me, what else did you learn?” She was intrigued now.

“Basically everything that goes on with your body from birth to death.”

“Is that how you learned to be so go in bed?” She blushes.

“No, but please, keep inflating my ego.” He grins. “How are you feeling right now?”

“Good, I may refrain from doing squats because my legs feel like jelly, but other than that, no complaints.” She leans back to kiss his cheek. “I have time to get it together during class anyways.” She looks over at her click. “Which I need to get to now.”

She stands up and so does he. He wraps his arms around her from behind and gives a squeeze before letting her go. As she walked to class she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. She could definitely get used to having a boyfriend.

//

Things went on like this for a few a weeks. Harry and Y/N would meet up when they could for homework dates, keeping their actual tutoring sessions at the library so no funny business would happen. When they were alone, it was on just about every time. He tried to livestream her away games, and he was at every single one of her home games. When she gave him one of her jerseys from the previous year to wear, he tackled her and showered her with kisses. He wears it to all her home games now.

“You don’t have a game Saturday night, right?” He asks her one evening while doing homework.

“Nope, just during the afternoon, why?”

“There’s going to be free skate Saturday night, would you wanna go? I sort of have to be there for senate. I’ll understand if you won’t feel like it.”

“No! That sounds like fun. I never get to skate just for the hell of it. What time does it start? My, um, mom is coming to the game Saturday and she’s going to want to get dinner afterwards.”

“It starts at eight, and you’re mum’s coming?”

“Mhm.”

“Will I get to meet her?”

“Do you want to?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“I think I should, you’re my girlfriend after all. Does she know about me?”

“Of course she does! I told her a week or so after we made things official. She’s going to sit in the parent’s section most likely…”

“I don’t mind not sitting with the usual people I go with. It would give me some time to chat with her if I sit with her. I wanna make a good impression.”

“You’re so sweet.” She smiles.

“Your siblings aren’t coming?”

“Nah, they’ll hang back to watch the bar.”

“Cool, well, I’m excited. What have you told her about me?”

“I told her how smart you are and how we met because you���re tutoring me.” She shuffles his papers and laptop away to crawl into his lap. “And I told her how sweet you are, and how you always walk me home when it’s late, and stuff like that.”

“Oh.” He wraps his arms around her waist.

“And I told her about your major, and how you’re on senate, and that you’re an all-around good person. I sent her a picture of you and she agreed that you’re very cute.”

Harry can’t help but smile while he presses his lips to hers.

“The tattoos didn’t throw her off?”

“Not at all.” She scoffs. “My mom is pretty chill for the most part. She just wants me to be happy, and I am, so it’s no skin off her nose.”

“I told my mum about you too, you know. I told about how nice you are and how passionate you are about hockey, and how bright you are.”

“Oh, stop.”

“I mean it! I really admire you, Y/N. It takes a lot of work to balance being a student-athlete.”

“Thanks, Har.” She pecks his lips and nuzzles into his neck.

//

On Saturday, Harry explains to his friends that he’ll be sitting on the parent side of the arena to meet Y/N’s mom. He has the jersey that Y/N gave him on, so he wasn’t hard to find. He feels a tap on his shoulder just as he’s getting some ketchup onto his hotdog. He turns around and looks down to see a woman who sort of looked like Y/N.

“Hi, are you Harry? I could only assume since you’re wearing a jersey with my daughter’s name on it.”

“Yeah! Hi, are you Mrs. Y/L/N?”

“Mhm, please, just call me Angie.” She gives Harry a gentle hug. “It’s so nice to meet you, Y/N told me so much about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too. Did you want anything from concessions before we go in?”

“Oh, no, I’m all set, but thank you.” She smiles. “I’m so excited, this is the first game I’ve been able to get to all season. I heard you’ve been to every single one.”

“It’s important to support the women’s teams just as much as the men’s.”

“Well, I know how much it means to Y/N, so thank you.”

He follows her into the arena and they sit in a row a few up from the glass. Harry finishes his hotdog and tosses his trash into a nearby bin. Everything goes dark, and lights start flashing. The crowd cheers for both teams as they come onto the ice. Harry cheers and claps for Y/N, and so does her mother.

Y/N assists a goal, and the crowd goes wild. Later on she’s sent to the penalty box for knocking someone over, to which she argued with the ref about, to which Harry had to fight the blood rushing to his dick watching her get fired up. She sits there for the two minutes, and gets back on the ice. Harry chats with Y/N’s mom between periods, and the girls end up winning 3-1. It was a good game.

“I’m glad it’s over, I was really starting to get cold.” She chuckles as they go out to the lobby. “I was planning to take Y/N for a bite to eat once she’s done, would you like to join us?”

“Oh, I don’t wanna impose on your alone time…”

“Don’t be silly! You’re welcome to join, I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“Thanks, yeah, if she’s cool with it I’d be happy to join.”

Twenty or so minutes go by before Y/N emerges in the lobby. She had some ice wrapped around her shoulder, and a huge smile on her face when she sees her mom.

“Mum!” She runs over to her and they hug.

“Hi, sweetie.” She kisses her cheek. “What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

“Nothing, the trainer just wanted it wrapped up.” She shrugs and goes over to hug Harry.

“Great game.” He says.

“Thanks.” She smiles and kisses his cheek. “Do you wanna join us for dinner?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

“Perfect, how does Chinese sound?” Her mom asks.

“Works for me.” Y/N says.

“Sounds good.” Harry says.

“Harry, I’ll need to go ready at my place before free skate. Ashley’s having a…get together tonight.”

“That’s fine, I’ll wanna change to.”

They tell each other as they climb into Angie’s car. She laughs to herself and shakes her head at Y/N.

“What?”

“You can just say you’re going to a party. You just won a game, of course you guys are gonna celebrate tonight.” She nudges her.

The three enjoy a nice Chinese buffet. Angie is able to get to know Harry a little more, and Y/N eats it up. Harry knew how to speak with adults since he had to do it often for student senate. He was definitely making a good impression.

“Want to just drop you off at your apartment, honey?”

“That’d be great mom, thanks.”

Angie gets out of the car to give Y/N a big hug and kiss goodbye, and she gives Harry a hug as well. Y/N keys into her apartment, and brings Harry upstairs with her.

“It shouldn’t take me too long, and then we can go to your place.”

“Take your time, we don’t need to be the first people there.” He says, settling to lounge on her bed.

He watches as she picks out a pair of ripped mom jeans and a long sleeve white crop top. She heard him laugh and she turns her head.

“What?”

“What’s the point of that having sleeves if half your stomach isn’t covered?”

“It’s going to be cold on the ice, and hot at Ashley’s. I’m just trying to help myself out for both scenarios.” She takes her hair out of its messy bun and shakes it out. She runs her straightener through it quickly, and then changes. She puts a little makeup on and looks at Harry. “Well?”

“Look good enough to eat, babe.”

“Don’t start.” She giggles. “Let’s go, you take longer than me to change.”

“I do not.” He says with fake offense.

“Yes, you do.” She boops his nose and tugs him out of her room.

“We’re going to free skate tonight, and then we’ll come to Ashley’s.” She says to Amanda, peeping her head into her room.

“Okay, we’ll see you later, have fun!”

Y/N and Harry make their way to his apartment, and head up to his room. He puts his contacts in, and peels his jersey and undershirt off. He finds a short-sleeve button up in his closet and throws that on with some jeans. He finds a jacket to wear over it and puts his beanie back on.

“Alright, ready?”

“Mhm.”

They make their way to the ice arena and get their skates. There was a small line which Harry was happy to see. He watches as Y/N nimbly laces up her skates, and she looks at him.

“Do you want some help with those?” She asks.

“Would you mind? I feel like I can never get them tight enough.”

“The trick is tug them down here first.” She kneels in front of him and it makes him blush to see her basically on her knees before him. “See? Feel the difference?” She looks up at him innocently.

“Um, yeah.” He swallows and she ties up his other skate. “Thanks.”

“No worries.”

She helps him up and they make their way onto the ice. There was a good amount of people skating, and there was music playing. Harry looks over to see his friends from senate.

“Hold my hand?” He asks and she giggles, taking it without question. They both gently glide their way over. “Nice turn out, huh?” He says to Andrew and Billy.

“Yeah! Awesome Weekends really pulled it together.” Billy says.

“I think the free cocoa and popcorn was nice a touch.” Andrew points over to small station off to the side of the arena. “Hi, Y/N, that was a great game earlier.”

“Oh! Thanks.” She smiles.

“I thought your penalty was bullshit, that girl nudged you first.” Billy says.

“That’s what I said! This is why they should just let us fight each other, it’s so annoying.”

“Where’s Ari?” Harry asks, looking around.

“Ah! She’s here with Scott Paxton.” Andrew points to the other end of the rink. “My jaw dropped when I saw her walk in with him.”

“Oh good, I’m glad she’s got a date.” Harry says relieved.

“Well, are we going to stand around, or are we skating?” Y/N asks.

“Aren’t you tired?” Billy asks.

“Not at all! I never get to just fuck around on the ice.”

She starts skating backwards to the beat of the song that’s playing, and Harry glides towards her, taking her hands in his.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Skate backwards.”

“Oh! It’s easy!” She frees her hands from him and skates around him so she’s behind him, hands on his hips. “It’s just like skating forwards, only backwards.”

“You’d be a horrible tutor, Y/N.” Harry chuckles.

“Shut up! You’ll see what I’m saying, just move with me, I’ve got you.”

He looks over his shoulder so he can see what they’re doing, and he watches as she moves her legs and he tries to do the same.

“See! You’re getting the hang of it.”

“Just don’t let go.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Y/N ends up skating around a bit while Harry talks with some of the student senate people towards the end of the event, but all in all they had a great time together. She helps him get his skates off, and he sighs with relief.

“I don’t know how you wear these all the time.” He says he gets his boots back on.

“You just get used to it.” She shrugs and stands up. “Ready to go have some more fun?”

“Mhm.” He takes her hand as they walk out of the arena, and towards Ashley’s apartment. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah! It was great.”

“It was like being on a little date, huh?”

“Mhm.” She smiles up at him. “You looked cute skating.”

“Did I? Thought I looked like an idiot.”

“Oh stop, you’re decent enough for someone who doesn’t skate every day of their life.”

“Last year I took one of those one credit courses so I could take a skating lesson. That’s the only reason I didn’t fall flat on my ass.” This makes Y/N laugh and loop her arm through Harry’s to keep him close. “I liked the way you hung onto me to show me some stuff.”

“See, I ended up being a pretty decent teacher after all. Our methods are just different.”

They get to Ashley’s and head right in. She tells them they can leave their jackets in the hall closet if they want, and then head into the kitchen. Y/N was allowed to have whatever alcohol she wanted, and by proxy, so could Harry. He makes them up some vodka cranberries, and they both head downstairs to join a game of beer pong.

Y/N goes off to hang out with her friends, and Harry does the same, knowing a few people at the house. She does some shots with them and makes her way back over to Harry, tugging him away to come dance with her. She grinds her ass against his pelvis, and his hands press into her hips. She loved that Harry wasn’t one of those guys that was too scared to dance. It made going to parties with him so much more fun. After a couple of songs, she can feel how incredibly hard he is against her.

“Yours or mine tonight?” He asks as he nips at her neck. Her arm hooks up around him so she can tug at his hair. Her head falls back to his shoulder.

“Yours, want the bigger bed.”

“Yeah? Wanna have a little more room, babe?”

“Mhm.” She nearly whines.

“You ‘bout ready to go?”

“Yeah, take me home, baby.” She pouts at him.

He lets her walk in front of him to hide his boner as they grab their jackets. He gives her a piggy-back ride back to his place, and he gets her inside, up the stairs, and into his room. They both kick off their shoes, and once their jackets are off, she’s on him. Her tongue licks its way into his mouth and he happily sucks on it, loving the way he could taste the cranberry juice from her mixer.

Her hands slide down his torso, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way, and then she tugs at his belt. His hands grope her ass and then her breasts before pulling her shirt off. He places needy kisses down her chest before getting her bra off, and tackling her onto the bed. She giggles as she gets a little more comfortable.

“Want me to suck on it first, Harry?”

“Please.” He flops next to her and she straddles him. She kisses down his chest and undoes his pants. She tugs his hard cock out and puts her mouth right on him.

He bucks his hips up slightly as she pumps what she can’t fit. She tugs his pants and boxers down further so she can grip onto his thighs. His hands rake through her hair to keep it back for her.

“So fucking good, Y/N.” He bites his bottom lip as he watches her bob her head up and down. She moans around him as a response, and he nearly loses it. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that, and I’d like to fuck you, so.” He pulls her head off him, and his mouth falls open when he sees the string of spit between his tip and her bottom lip. “Christ.” He yanks her up to him and crashes their mouths together.

He bites and sucks on her bottom lip, and she rolls her hips down on him. He winces, not liking the way her jeans feel against his bare dick. He gets her on her back to get her pants off. Once they’re both naked, he hovers over her so he can kiss her lips again, sliding his fingers between her folds. She gasps when she feels two fingers slide inside her. He twists and curls them and it has her moving her hips along the same way. He watches her face and love the way she makes eye contact with him.

“You like that, babe?” He asks.

“Yes, fuck, don’t stop.” She pleads with him as if he would ever be so mean to tease her and pull his fingers away. He’d give her anything she wanted, she never needed to beg.

He kisses on her neck while his thumb rubs against her clit. She scratches at his shoulders, and she moans out his name. He takes his fingers away and kisses her before reaching for a condom.

“Har?”

“Yeah?” He asks as he rolls it on.

“Would you bend me over the bed?”

“Y/N, if you’re fucking with me I’m gonna be super pissed.” He glares at her.

“I’m not! I mean it, please! I like when we do it from behind, I just wanna try it this way.”

“Alright, get up.” He helps her off the bed, and then she bends over in front of him, propping herself up on her elbows. She wiggles her bottom at him, and he gives her a little smack, making her giggle. “Ready?”

“Mhm, give it to me.”

He lines himself up and pushes inside. She moans out lowly. He starts out by gripping her hips, rocking in and out of her. He wanted to ease her into it.

“I can handle more, Harry, it’s okay.”

“Want it harder, baby?”

“Please.”

He pulls out almost all the way and slams back inside her. Her mouth falls open, and she grips the blankets as he does it over and over. He has to grip onto the back of her neck to keep her in place once he gets an even pace going. All she could hear was his skin slapping against hers. His other hand slips around to rub on her clit and she backs up against him.

“Think you can fuck yourself on my cock while I rub on you?”

“I can try…” She was so fucking wet just from hearing him say that. She moves forward and back, on and off his cock while he rubs on her clit.

“That’s it, babe, use me.”

“Jesus, Harry.” She groans, and bites her bottom lip so she could concentrate. “Oh my god.”

He presses further into her while she backed up on him. She loses it then. He has to move one of his hands over her mouth to muffle her screams. He spills into the condom, the feeling of her squeezing around him did him in. He kisses the backs of her shoulders before pulling out and getting rid of the condom. She collapses onto the bed.

“Alright?” He rubs her back and helps her the rest of the way up.

“Yeah, that was just…wow.” She looks up at him. “I need to pee.”

She looks around and finds her jersey that he was wearing earlier. She was much more comfortable going by herself now, so she waddles out of his room. He can’t help but grow hard again. She just looked so sexy only in her jersey. She comes back in looking freshly fucked and she raises an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“Nothing…um…” His face was flushed and her eyes flick down to his hard cock and back to his eyes.

“Are you already hard again?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” She chuckles.

“You look so fucking hot like that. I can wait if you don’t wanna go again so soon.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Come sit on me, bounce up and down?”

“Okay.” She bites her bottom lip.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m still pretty wet, see?” She lifts the bottom of her jersey so he could see. “Even with going to the bathroom, I just couldn’t help but think about how good it felt.”

“You’re soaked.”

“Mhm.”

“Get over here.” He leans over to his desk and grabs a condom, but she takes it from him. “What are you doing?”

“Do you…I don’t know…maybe not want to use one?”

“That’s how accidents happen.”

“I’m on the pill, I never miss one. I have them with me so I can take it in the morning like I usually do. You could come on my stomach of you feel more comfortable with that. I just wanna feel you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She goes to take the jersey off but he shakes his head no. “Leave it on.” He says lowly.

She crawls onto his lap and sinks down on him. He lays back and lets her go to work. She moves around in a circle at first and then starts to move up and down. His hands grips her hips and then smooth over the globes of her ass.

“You’re so fucking sexy like this, you have no idea.”

“You feel so good, Harry.” She throws her head back as she bounces up and down on him.

“Shit, so do you.”

He wasn’t going to last long, but he wanted to make sure she got hers before he did, so he lifts the jersey a little to rub her sensitive clit.

“Harry!” She gasps and claws down his chest with her nails. “Shit, oh my god!” She comes around him much sooner than she thought.

He pulls her off him, and press her front into the mattress. He lifts the jersey up so he can come on her ass and back. He sighs with relief once he’s done.

“Let me get a towel, babe, one second.” He slides his boxers on and rummages in his closet. Once he finds a spare towel he leaves the room. She was confused but when he comes back she feels warm water on her. He flips her over and wipes between her legs. Her eyes grow wide. He had never done that before. He looks at her and blushes. “Sorry, was that weird?”

“No! I just…you’re just always a gentleman, Harry.” She chuckles.

He tosses the towel into his hamper and practically rips the jersey off her so they could lay skin to skin. He pecks kisses to her lips and chest and rubs her back as they settle in. He pulls the blankets up over them and they both sigh.

“I like your bed so much better than mine.” She nuzzles into his chest. “So cozy.”

“Your bed is cozy too.”

“Yeah, but we have way less room, and as much as I love you, we both get too sweaty in my dinky bed.” She didn’t realize what she said until she feels his body stiffen under hers. She props herself up to look down at him. “I mean, I just meant, um-“ He cups one of her cheeks.

“Don’t you dare try to take it back.”

“It just slipped out…I-“

“Stop.” He shakes his head. “You love me?”

“Harry, I…yeah, I do, I love you.” He pulls her face down to his so he can kiss her.

“I love you, too.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” She smiles. “Well, this is nice for us.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “It’s very nice.” She starts laughing too. “What is it?” He asks as he turns them both over so he can spoon her.

“Nothing, I’m just really fucking glad I had no idea how the brain functioned so I could get you as a tutor.”

[secretshinigami]

Meet you under the sun

Author: @lightlessons For: @danthegeek Pairings/Characters: Light Yagami/L Lawliet, Misa Amane, Kiyomi Takada. Rating/Warnings: M. Mature language, Swear words, Alcohol consumption.  Prompt: AU Light is a popular Collage Student and invited to a beach party. He is having a lot of fun, is flirty and arrogant as we know him. He is dancing with Misa, who is not his girlfriend but has a crush on him. Then, L joins the party, somebody brought him along. He is chilling awkwardly by the buffet when Light takes notice of him and joins him at the buffet. He has seen him before a couple times on the campus, but never talked to him. What happens next is up to you…

Author’s notes: I bent the specifics a bit in that I had Light talk to L  just a bit after seeing him instead of immediately, because i felt it fit the pacing I had better. Hope it’s still okay though :-) 

—————————–

“Don’t tell me you’re a Beach Volleyball junior champion too,” Takada joked after Light obliterated (yet again) a team of what appeared to be sociology majors, or something equally pointless, she had that small, half-hearted smile that was so characteristic of hers but with the slight frown of someone who isn’t used to being impressed.

Light laughed humbly. 

“I’m not. Maybe my experience with tennis helps somewhat? But I’ve really never played it before.”

His classmate sighed, and Light thought that being constantly made aware of his numerous skills had to be tiring for her. “You must be just naturally talented then,” she supposed as she fixed her hair behind her ear in a strange bashful gesture that must mean she was finally surrendering over to Light’s natural charm, as one would expect. 

“Or those two are just awful,” Light smirked conspiratorially. 

The young bourgeois laughed, which was what Light was hoping to achieve. Takada always enjoyed laughing at other people’s expense.

Light wasn’t much of a fan of the beach. There was too much sand getting into bad places and too many people acting as if the transition from monkey to hominid had never been made. Too much noise and too much sun and too many girls asking him to slather them with sun blocker, as if he’d pop a boner over touching their skinny naked backs. But, if there was something he’d learned from a very young age was the importance of having good public relations, and so when Kiyomi Takada had invited him to an exclusive beach party, he knew he wouldn’t say no to the daughter of the Sankei Newspaper’s owner. He’d gone into To-Doh not just looking for a quality education after all but in the hope of forming good connections too. 

And this party, filled with Tokyo’s most important youth, was a perfect opportunity to start rubbing shoulders. Light was young and attractive and athletic, perfectly composed to be like a bug zapper for these kinds of things. 

Plus, the lively music and the three margaritas he’d already had were kinda getting to him. 

“LIIIIIIIIGHT!!!” A familiar voice suddenly screeched from somewhere behind him. 

Oh dear God. 

Five feet of blond supermodel darted towards him through the small crowd of spectators that had formed for the match. Misa Amane, bimbo extraordinaire, had finally shown up to the party in all her unbridled glory. 

“Oh, that was so cool! You’re always so cool, Light,” she proclaimed with shiny eyes while all the other men around and some of the women ogled her in her small two-piece red bikini with a blackthorns and vines pattern, as characteristic of the gothic style she favored. 

Now, Light didn’t dislike Misa. She was cute in a very whiny-cat kind of way. Sort of endearing at first but jarring as the volume increased and the minutes went on. The first time they met she’d claimed she felt a cosmological affinity towards him or some such bullshit and then proceeded to interrogate him for his zodiac, moon, and rising sign, whatever the hell that meant–he hadn’t been paying attention. She was useful, though, in that she was somewhat famous and happily willing to do him any favors, or connect him with any of her large contact lists, even when he’d already been clear about not being interested in any non-friendly relation with her (using the hardships that came to celebrities’ partners as an excuse), he was a gentleman, after all, and he wouldn’t toy with a woman’s feelings. 

“Hey Misa,” Light gave her an easy smile that would hopefully settle her for the rest of the day. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere for the past week! Where have you been hiding? Not with Kiyomi, I hope!”

Takada at his side made an affronted sound that seemed to choke on the way up her throat. 

“Behave, Misa. I’ve told you I’m not your property,” Light belittled her with only mild sternness. 

Misa shook her head enthusiastically. 

“Misa is only teasing, Light! She promises! Besides, Kiyomi and I have started getting along since Spanish class. Haven’t we, Kiyomi?" 

Kiyomi seemed startled for a moment, as if she didn’t expect Misa to call her out like that, but recovered quickly to settle her face into her usual cold mask of indifference. 

“I suppose so.” 

“Aw, don’t be like that. We even planned a fake trip to Playa del Carmen together! Oh, Light, you should join us!” 

“I’m taking Korean.” 

“Not in class, silly, on the trip!” 

"Right… then I happen to be busy around that time of year,” he joked, throwing a smirk at Takada and earning the most formal of snorts he’d heard. 

"Miss Amane does have a fondness for fantasizing,” Takada replied instead, like a ready viper waiting for the perfect moment to strike at her victims. Oh, there’s no need to be mean with her, Kiyomi. 

The implications seemed to get lost on the blonde, however. 

“Pfft, you’re no fun. I’ll borrow him for a bit, Kiyomi. Clearly he needs a little loosening up, and you’re not exactly a party animal, are you?” 

Before Kiyomi could reply Misa had already taken Light’s arm and dragged him to the bar for more drinks. Light had to admit, the cocktails options were impressive, and he sort of wanted to try everything on the menu, but in the end, following the beach spirit, he and Misa both ordered a piña colada, and while usually, he wasn’t a fan of too much sweet in his alcohol, the fresh taste felt like a blessing under the hot summer sun, enough that soon he found himself chatting amicably with Misa and even had to catch himself from -dear God- giggling at something she said. 

Such was his mildly buzzed state when a sight at the corner of his eyes caught his attention. Turning around, he understood why. A black-haired man was standing under a palm tree and sipping at his own colada, with his back very badly curved in an awful posture and huge eyes fixed somewhere on the sand. Weirdly enough, he was wearing jeans to the beach with only a loose tank top to combat the scorching weather, and still, his wild mop of hair was the most recognizable part of him, which was in itself something, as Light had never in his life seen someone more particular. He’d seen the other boy around campus a handful of times before, but there had never been an opportunity for him to approach him, even though Light had always felt an inexplicably strong pull for him to ask him about his name. 

Misa loudly calling his name made him realize he’d been staring. 

“Misa, do you know who that is?”

Misa squinted in the direction of Light’s eyes, face lighting up with recognition. 

“Of course! That’s Ryuzaki! He’s actually the inheritor of Wammy’s Co. But not many people know about that,” the model smirked like she was telling the juiciest gossip. “People like Takada probably think he sticks out like a sore thumb around here. But the truth is, he’s got more money than any of us combined.” Light’s ears perked up at that. “He’s also one of the smartest people you’ll ever meet, and I’ve met you, Light. I don’t know who invited him, though. Let’s ask him! Hey, Ryuzaki!!" 

The odd student turned around towards the voice calling him and tilted his head to the side in silent interrogation. 

The boy’s assemblage of quirks brought a smile to his face. He hadn’t allowed himself to think it before, but he had always thought the student was rather cute even with how little he knew of him. 

“Who invited you?!” 

Light winced and glared at Misa for how carelessly she had posed such a question, but Ryuzaki didn’t seem the least bit faced and instead cupped a hand near his mouth like a mock-megaphone and shouted: “I just came for the desserts!” with a wide-eyed expression that gave no indication whatsoever of if he was teasing or not. 

Misa laughed like she’d heard the best joke ever and Light just blinked in the boy’s direction.

“Isn’t he a blast?” She hollered as Ryuzaki’s eyes met his.

It was hard for Light to describe those few seconds, but for one single moment, the strings holding his soul together seemed to vibrate at a different tune than they’d played previously. He was unsure if he shivered, but he had to break the eye contact like some damned school girl to pull himself back together. 

Why did his face feel warm all of a sudden? 

"Ooh, I love this song! Let’s dance, Light!” Misa interrupted his thoughts again with a squeal.

“Uhh, sure, yeah…" 

×~°~×~°~×~°~×~°~×

Dancing was decidedly not as fun unless you had a certain amount of alcohol in your body. Or at least, that was Light’s opinion on the matter. Who’d enjoy several hours of mindlessly moving your body unless somehow inebriated? That’s why Light had to drink another two mimosas to keep up with dancing with Misa for five songs straight, not because he was somewhat shaken up about the guy with the bird’s nest hair and the absent look –Ryuzaki, his brain provided– and certainly not because he was figuring out how to approach him. 

He separated from Misa when the sun was already setting, bathing the sea with a last warm goodbye. Everyone at the beach stopped for a moment to marvel at it, but Light only had eyes for Ryuzaki, who was… nowhere to be seen, sending Light into a momentary panic. 

He almost slapped himself when he found him below the parasol housing the buffet. It was what Ryuzaki had said before about the only reason for coming to the party. Normally, he would have remembered, which only meant Light’s brain wasn’t behaving as fast as it normally would. It couldn’t be that he’d have too much to drink, could it? 

Alright, be smooth, Yagami. 

“Hello!” Light chirped with a wide grin, planting himself beside the strange boy who was staring at the lines of sweets like they were study material. 

Ryuzaki turned to him with a blink. 

That had come higher than intended. 

"We, uh, are in the same faculty? I’ve seen you around 345.”

“Light Yagami. Second-year Criminal Justice major. You’re the son of detective-superintendent Soichiro Yagami of the NPA." 

"Um.”

“You respect and admire your father greatly and your intention is to become the deputy director of the NPA. You’re as ambitious as you are clever.”

“Why do you-”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’re aware of how popular you are around here, word goes around. You’re not the only one I have this sort of information on." 

Light wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring. 

At the very least, that introduction had sobered him up. 

The other student was appraising him with a curious gaze, as he was starting to learn he looked at pretty much everything. 

"Is that the way you introduce yourself to everyone?" 

"Hmm. Yes, usually. I told you. You’re not special in that regard.”

“In what regard am I special, then?” Light asked cheekily. 

“That’s not-”

But he didn’t let him finish before walking around him like a predator would its prey. He made a show of considering what pastry he’d take and settled for a star-shaped cookie. Ryuzaki watched the whole procedure closely and Light smirked at him as he took a bite. 

Yes, I made you think about my mouth now. How’s that, smart-ass? 

“I think we should get to know each other better, don’t you?”

“And what makes you come to that conclusion?” Ryuzaki supposed. 

“Well, I want to, for one.” Light sassed.

“Are you coming on to me?" 

Light’s confident semblance cracked. It suddenly dawned on him what he was doing and where. Fuck, what if he isn’t into guys? This was why he never flirted with men unless he was sure the other person was at least bisexual! Or just let the other guys come onto him, which he never had a lack of. Shit. 

Ryuzaki seemed to notice his momentary alarm because he placed a hand on his arm in reassurance. 

"No, I’m into it. I was just surprised,” he explained with an earnestness Light wasn’t expecting. 

“Surprised?”

“People like you don’t usually flirt with me." 

"What’s people like me?" 

"Now you’re just fishing for compliments." 

Light grinned, feeling like his assured (but not overly-presumptuous) self again. 

“Swear I’m not.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Your hand is still on my arm, by the way.” 

Ryuzaki blinked at the offender, which was indeed still curled around Light’s tricep like a possessive pale spider. He only let go of it slowly, finger by finger, and Light pretended he could see a faint blush on the other’s face with the last rays of sunlight. 

There was a conscious effort on his part to not brush those sharp cheeks tenderly with his knuckles, less the sudden contact spook his new sudden fascination away. 

“It appears you’re not the only intoxicated one of the two of us,” Ryuzaki admitted in a low voice.

The loud party music and noises of the crowd seemed so far away. 

Light took a step forward. 

“We should–” 

“Light!”

A group of people was coming their way, and Light recognized Takada, Okubo Chise, Kinoshita Hideo, and another fake-blond dude he’d never had any interest in talking to. Kinoshita was the son of a major tech company’s executive and was rotting in money from his million-dollar hair to the ugly fungus in his toenails. Light, sadly, had had a mild interest for him at first, but that went to shit when he came to see how much of an asshole he was. 

Kinoshita grabbed him by the shoulder, while Chise and the fake-blond planted themselves in front of Ryuzaki. Takada, for her part, just stood to Light’s side glaring in Ryuzaki’s direction. What the hell?

“Light, what is someone like you doing talking with a freakshow like Ryuzaki.” Kinoshita wondered, exposing his gums in a self-satisfied smile that quickly raised Light’s hackles. "Don’t you know nothing good ever comes from involving yourself with him?”

“Come again?” 

“It’s true, Light. He doesn’t have a good reputation,” Takada interjected, not bothering to hide the disgust in her face with a once-over to his new acquaintance. “I don’t know how he’d have the nerve to come in here, uninvited.”

Frowning, Light searched to see the face of the boy he’d just been so pleasantly flirting with and, outwardly, found him to appear relatively unbothered. He’d expected him to be angry, indignant, or even sad, but Ryuzaki only had his hands in his jean pockets and was yet again staring with wide eyes at some unknown fixed point as if no one were talking about him. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific about whatever offense Ryuzaki’s done. But whatever the case, I find it incredibly distasteful to round him up like you’re doing.”

“It’s alright, Light. Kinoshita is probably still just angry because I exposed a nasty little online scam of his, and attained information that could lose him the already crumbling favor of his father, and also the fact that he is nevertheless unable to cause me any significant harm,” Ryuzaki answered matter-of-factly without sparing a single glance at Kinoshita’s direction.

Everyone fell silent for a moment. 

Okay, that was… 

Extremely attractive. 

“You’re a lying little cunt!” Kinoshita snarled. 

“The naive teenagers being granted false scholarships would argue otherwise.”

“What? Hideo, you said–” Takada began. 

But the small elite group exploded in an argument about what Kinoshita had or hadn’t done, with the latter giving weaker and weaker arguments. Light was so engrossed in his rightful indignation and the opportunity to disgrace Kinoshita, that by the time he called for Ryuzaki’s own word in the matter the strange student had already left without saying a word.

×~°~×~°~×~°~×~°~×

“Ryuzaki!" 

The hunched figure paused in his lazy gait towards the beach boulevard, but the dark disheveled head didn’t turn around. Light was panting by the time he caught up to him and he could feel the beginning of a headache already forming. 

Night had already fallen and the breeze charged at them from within the sea. 

"You’re already going?" 

"I am indeed approximately 700 feet from the party." 

"Not what I was asking.” Light rolled his eyes. 

Ryuzaki turned around finally, all sharp angles and even darker eyes illuminated by the blue and purple artificial lights on the street. 

“Well, your question didn’t contain your true intentions either. You’re asking why I’m going. And I assume this means you’d like to talk more?" 

Fastidious asshole. 

L didn’t wait for Light to answer before taking his phone from his jean’s pocket and handing it to him with the contact app open. 

Light typed quickly and handed the phone back, which finally brought a blessed smile to Ryuzaki’s face.

"I’m looking forward to talking to you soon, Light Yagami. Oh and before I forget." 

Long, spidery fingers settled themselves in a careful hold below Light’s chin, and before he had time to process what was about to happen, soft lips gave a feathery kiss to his own, so quick it might have been fantasy if it weren’t for the ghost of a contact searing an imprint over Light’s heart. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you at the entrance ceremony.”

[travellingarmy]

║Venti║Sensitive

Requested from Wattpad.

Female reader as requested.

Warning: Usage of words such as "fat" and "ugly". I don't know about this one, but it will also mention anorexia.

Remember: All of you are beautiful and don't let anyone say otherwise.

Angst. Fluff.

Word count: 2.6k

---

You, on all counts, are very sensitive to the words spoken by others of you. You can't help it but worry about your impression of others, but this did not mean that you faked your identity in front of others. You had wonderful friends as well whom you are sure are the truest of all.

"Hey, (Y/N), wanna go on a mission with me?" Mondstadt's most famous Outrider, Amber, jogged up to you with excitement reflecting off of their eyes. "Ah, well, I don't have anything to do.. Alright, I'll join you," you said which made the female really happy. "Good. I was about to persuade you to some food if you didn't," she laughs. "Let's make this quick since an Outrider still has other things to do."

"But you'll still give me remuneration, right?" you ask, half-joking. "Haha, of course! I'll treat you when I have time, and that's a promise!" You and the Outrider had a little laugh and left the city to clear a couple of hilichurl camps around the premises. She thanked you afterwards and repeated her promise before waving you off as she goes and attends to her other tasks. Now that you were free, you decided to go and meet a special someone and ask if they'd like to join you for a meal since you don't like eating alone-- and you know for sure where they were loitering around at the moment: the tavern.

"Please, Master Diluc? Just one~ I'll play a song for your tavern." You opened the door to Angel's Share to see the person you had been looking for trying to negotiate with the tavern's owner. The male behind the counter notices your entrance and brings his attention to you, ignoring the bard. "(Y/N), what can I do for you?" he asks, completely dismissing the shorter male beside him. "Ah, nothing. I'm loitering around, really," you say, sitting down beside the never-stopping-pleading male.

"Well, since you're here, could I ask you a favour and help me get this guy here to leave?" Diluc asks, referring to no one else but the one who is sitting beside you. "He's being quite the nuisance."

"Eh? I promise I'll leave if you just accept the exchange!" Venti cries. "I am the most famous bard of Mondstadt, I will surely attract more customers for you!" Diluc shooks his head and sighs, turning to look at you once more. "Please, help me out?"

You cracked a smile. "Of course, Master Diluc! Now, let's go Venti." You got out of your seat and pull him along from the collar on his back, all the while hearing Venti's cries for his wine. "Aw, (Y/N), you could have helped me out back there," Venti pouts when the two of you were a good foot away from the sight of the tavern. "You should have your own money. Honestly, how are you surviving without mora exactly?" you questioned, earning yourself a mischievous giggle from him.

Sighing, you dismiss the topic altogether. "Alright, why don't I treat you to something else other than wine? It's always wine this, wine that anyway," you say. "Mm, as long as it's with you!" He smiles and the two of you went to Good Hunter for a small meal. Since you did just come back from a mission, you order quite a lot, but not too much to make you look like a glutton. "It's a shame they don't sell wine here." The bard pouts. You laugh at your friend and shaking your head-- it was always wine with him.

"Maybe you should do something else other than singing and make money out of it?" you suggested, earning yourself an 'are-you-kidding-me' kind of look from the male. "Anyway~" he changes subjects. "What is the deal with you stuffing your face up so much?" He laughs at your adorable face that was buried with food and rests his cheeks on one of his fists.

"But you'll still like me when I'm fat, right?" you ask, stuffing yet another delicacies into your mouth. The bard giggles at the cute question and decided to play a little joke on you to see a reaction. "Hm, I don't know.." he starts, grabbing your full attention. "I mean, I guess I might still love you since you already kind of are.. " Unbeknownst to him, you were actually hurt by the 'joking' words and made you self-aware, but you weren't going to show it to him. Although you know it was a joke, you don't know if he'd actually still love you when you're 'ugly'. Right now, it might just be empty words, but who knows if his views will remain the same when that time actually comes?

You have noted that every time you go shopping for clothes, the size seems to be getting bigger, but you didn't really think much about it then. You sat in silence, pushing away the food as Venti goes on chatting about. He didn't even notice how you haven't touched your food since the comment when the two of you left Good Hunter or your quietness throughout the day. It was saddening, but didn't say a word about it.

"Um, I think I should be going home now, Venti," you say weakly, eyes not once looking up from the ground you were so familiar with. "Hm? Oh, okay, good night then!" Venti says and kisses your cheek before you walked the opposite direction of your house.

You walked all the way to your room, not turning on a single light and lied down on the bed, not changing your clothes as you crept underneath your blanket and curled into a ball, allowing depressing thoughts into your head. Maybe you should change your style? If you were wearing larger clothes that hides your body, that might make him think you are gaining weight, or so you think to yourself. Then, you'll just have to change and make him see the best sides of you.

And so, the next day when you went out, you wore clothing you never thought you would- let alone other's. You wanted to prove that you haven't gained weight by exposing much more skin, but still keep yourself comfortable. People gawked when you pass them out on the streets, a bit disturbed by your sudden change of clothing. It wasn't wrong to do so and they understand that people will change their style, but to the extent that you were on?

"My, look who we have here," a cool and smooth voice of a man comes and greets you. You look to your right and see none other than the Cavalry Captain of Mondstadt with his usual smirk on his face. He stares down at your smaller stature and snickers. "A sudden change of style, I see."

"Does it look bad?" you question. "Well, I wouldn't say it looks bad. Let's just say it's quite new to me," he says and shrugs. "Say, what is the reason for the sudden change anyway? Suddenly got bored of the former?"

You honestly knew that someone will ask you about it, but didn't want them to know. It was quite embarrassing. "Yeah, I guess," you said, not meeting the captain's eye. You had a habit of not looking directly at the person when you are either trying to hide something or lying and people had caught on to that, which was a huge giveaway that something is up for the all-knowing Kaeya. "Oh? This is interesting," Kaeya says to himself. Hearing him, you look up to meet the gaze of the male who only chuckles and ruffles your hair a bit. "I have to go do some cavalry work. I will see you later, (Y/N)," he says, his back now facing you, a hand raised. He took no more than two steps before looking over his shoulder and smiles at you. "Oh, remember one thing: don't let others' words get you down." You weren't sure what he was getting at, but you couldn't ask him as he was now further from you.

"(Y/N)?" Another voice calls your name and you turned around to see none other than the famous bard of Mondstadt- Venti. "Oh, wow! It really is you. I almost didn't recognize you from your back because how different you look," he says, scratching his head and chuckling awkwardly. "It seems like something is off about you..?"

This was the moment of truth. Will he see it or not? "Does it look bad?" you ask, looking at his eyes for some sort of answer. He inspects you, which made you kind of embarrassed. You want him to never leave you alone, so that is the reason for the clothes. If you could prove that you are worth staying by his side, you are more than willing to change. "Ah! So, you've change your clothes.." he finally says, though it didn't seem like he was happy about it.

"Hehe, I think you should go back wearing your old clothes, (Y/N)," he says, "because now everyone can see how chubby you've become." He laughs, pulling the skin of your cheeks in a playful manner. You, however, didn't feel like going back now. You want Venti to stay by your side forever and make it so that he won't be ashamed of his lover to the point he rather not be caught dead with you. You had to change. You have to lose weight.

And so, that day was the last day anyone has seen you around. At first, no one was concerned and thought you had other things to do that was taking up your time, but when two weeks went and no one has seen you around, they start to worry. The guards at the gate had said that they haven't seen you left- just in case you went on a mission without their knowledge. Your Knights of Favonius friends were the first to worry. Venti, however, kept on saying how you were probably fine while drinking away at Angel's Share.

"I think you should go check on her," Diluc says behind the counter, cleaning a glass while his back is turned towards the bard. "Eh? Why?" the shorter male questions. "Aren't you her lover? If so, you should check on her since she is obviously locking herself in her house." Venti was about to say something back, but decide to choke it down with a drink. Deep down, he was worrying as to why you aren't stepping outside. He had gotten lonely.

He got off the stool and left the tavern. Diluc turns around and heaved a sigh of irritation, forgetting to remind the bard, again, to pay for his drink.

Venti was at the foot of your door. He sees that your light were off, even through the curtains, before knocking lightly on the wooden door. "(Y/N)?" he calls out, but was answered to silence. He did not wait to knock a second time and got out a spare key that was entrusted to him by you. When he opened the door, he was greeted with the coolness of the air and silence. The furniture was clean and in place, yet it lacked the warmth from its owner. He walked to your room, but was greeted by an unused bed. However, it was a mess-- meaning to say that you are indeed home.

Eventually- to his horror and ache- he found you sitting down beside the toilet, back against the wall and eyes closed. "(Y/N)!" he shouts your name and quickly walked to your side, kneeling to see your pale face. He put his ear close to your face and was relieved that you were breathing, worried you might not have been when seeing as your bones were seeming as though it were about to pop out.

He carries you to your room and lie your body on the bed and stayed by your side until you woke up to get answers from you. How come you were in this state, he questioned himself. He was worried but thought nothing of that feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him to go check on you. He thought you were fine, but to his guilt, you weren't.

When your eyelids fluttered open, his heart never felt any lighter as it was now. "(Y/N)!" The tears that had slowly crept, was finally trailing down his cheeks. "Venti..?" The call of his name made it so irresistible to hug you, so he did. "What happened to you?" he asks, his voice cracking.

Staring at his face, you felt ashamed. You had locked yourself inside without light, food, or water and constantly vomiting everything out. Knowing this, you push him away and stare down at the mattress.

Venti was hurt upon seeing as you pushed him away, but that doesn't mean he would stop there. "Hey, let's get you something to eat. You look like you're malnourished," he says. You didn't say anything so he took it to go and make food for you in the kitchen before returning to your side once more. "Here, I've made you soup, so open up," he says, moving the spoon close to your lips, urging you on to open up. Soup may not be enough to return you from your pale and frail state, but it was easy for you to gulp it down. He has also chopped some meat into little pieces to help nourish you.

You refused, not looking at him. He sighs and looks at you sadly. "Please, (Y/N)?" The way his voice was tainted with sadness made your heart ache. You ate it obediently, but immediately coughed it out, the food now on the floor opposite of where he was at, sitting down on the bed with you. "(Y/N)!" He puts down the spoon in the bowl and put his free hand on your back. Your body was too weak that your system can't even take in food, which worried the male. "Can you please tell me why you're like this?" he pleads, another wave of tears forming his eyes.

You were hesitant, but you would feel that ache if you see him tear up again. "I.. I want you to stay with me forever," you finally confessed. He was confused- you could see it in his eyes. "Why would I ever leave you?" he asks.

"Of what you said.. Two weeks ago.. I don't want you to be ashamed of me and leave me," you continued, answering his question. He recalls the joke from then and felt guilty and ashamed. "I, I'm sorry for what I said.. I was joking about it, but I guess it hurt you," he says. "What I said then, please don't take it to heart."

"What I said were empty words. Even if you were to become chubbier, I would never leave you for the world nor would I be ashamed of you. I love you for who you are and not what you look like." The words comforted you and you finally look at Venti. His eyes were stained of tears, but he pulled of the smile that was reserved for you only. "Let's finish this, alright?" He hints at the soup. You nodded quietly and tried your best to finish the food.

"Once you're feeling better, let's go eat every food you want to eat, okay?" he says, watching you ear the food obediently. You smiled and nodded at the suggestion. Throughout that day- after finishing the food- he stayed and cuddled with you whilst reassuring how much he loves you.

---

[lunar-wandering]

i don’t wanna fight alone anymore - Chapter 4

*(show host voice)* everybody welcome to the stage- Macaque!!!

Word Count: 1.8k

Read on Ao3

-

"What are you doing here?" Wukong hissed, struggling to push Macaque off of him.

"Well now, Wukong, is that any way to greet an old friend?" Macaque asked, a teasing lilt to his voice, and Wukong outright growled, grabbing hold of Macaque's arms and rolling over, pinning him to the ground. Macaque looked up at Wukong, a hint of fear flickering across his face for the briefest of moments, before it was once again replaced with the same old smug look.

"Ha! Nice scar." He laughed, and Wukong let go of one of Macaque's arms in order to use his hand to cover the notch on his eyebrow. "Oh, not to mention the scarf. Copying me huh? What, do you appreciate my style, or are you still jealous from when MK came to me for training, instead of you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Wukong hissed, glancing nervously over at the others, who still hadn't moved, mainly out of not being entirely sure what was happening. Macaque used the momentary distraction to flip their positions once again, putting himself on top of Wukong.

"Heh, either way, that's karma for you." He said, grin still evident on his face, and Wukong, seeing no other option, reached up and raked his claws against Macaque's cheek, drawing a small amount of blood. Macaque yelped, leaning back as he instinctively covered the wound, and Wukong sat up, immediately following up be headbutting the other monkey.

The headbutt, of course, ended up being a mistake, as both monkey's reared back, covering their foreheads as pain washed over them. (Wukong could help but feel that there's been something....off, something cold when they'd bumped heads but-)

"Enough." Pigsy said, suddenly standing beside them, holding a wooden spoon in between the two in order to separate them. "Wukong, what is going on?"

"Ask him." Wukong growled, still rubbing his aching forehead, "He's the one who suddenly appeared out of nowhere and tackled me."

"Yeah, I'm not going to apologize for that." Macaque said, crossing his arms. MK mentally noted that the shadow monkey had, thus far, made no attempt at standing up.

"Didn't expect you to, you bitch." Wukong said, accepting Mei's offered hand as she helped him stand back up. "Seriously, why are you here?"

"What, can't I drop in to check on my favorite student every now and again?" Macaque said, not so subtly gesturing at MK, who sighed.

"I keep telling you, I'm not your student." He said, sounding tired with this whole thing already. Macaque just smirked. In response, Mei kicked him in the leg, and Macaque yelped, bending over as he cradled his leg closer to himself, his fur bristling as he clenched his teeth.

"....I didn't even kick you that hard." Mei said, looking Macaque over again. There were no visible injuries, other than the scratch Wukong had left on his cheek, but she had encountered many a demon, she knew that just because she didn't see it didn't mean it wasn't there.

"Is that it?" Wukong asked, crossing his arms as he looked at Macaque in disapproval. "You got injured, so you came crawling to us?"

"No. I'm fine." Macaque hissed out, rather unconvincingly, considering he still hadn't come out of his curled up position. Pigsy sighed, sensing this would be a long day.

"Wukong, go get the first aid kit." He said, and Wukong, despite huffing in irritation, complied, turning around to go find it. "Sandy- just. Restrain him for now."

Sandy pulled out some rope, and started wrapping it around Macaque's waist, restraining him by tying the other end of the rope to the ship. He didn't wrap it around Macaque's arms, worried about potentially brushing against some unseen injury. Macaque, surprisingly, laughed in response to this treatment.

"What am I, some damsel in distress?" He asked, "You going to tie me to some train tracks next?"

"Don't tempt me." Wukong hissed, rolling his eyes as he came back, passing the first aid kit over to MK, who handed it over to Tang, who, despite Macaque's protests, started applying a bandage onto the scratch on the monkey's cheek.

"I can't treat the rest of your injuries if you won't let us see them." Tang said, after he finished treating the scratch.

"I told you already, I'm not injured. Besides, I don't remember asking for your help." Macaque said, looking away from Tang's face. Wukong, a smirk on his face, snuck up beside Macaque, before lightly poking the leg Mei had kicked. Macaque yelped again, pulling his leg away, an expression of pain flickering across his face. Wukong lightly giggled, then hissed as Pigsy hit him in the back of the head with the spoon.

"Wukong, why would you do that??" Pigsy asked, disapproval in his voice. Wukong couldn't help but feel a bit like a child being chided for doing something wrong.

"...He was being kind of stuck up?" He offered as a response, chuckling nervously when Pigsy's disapproving look only increased in intensity.

"Either way, he is injured." Tang said, "So, Macaque, are you going to let me treat your injuries or not?"

Macaque didn't answer for a few moments, before he reluctantly sighed, a look of concentration appearing on his face-

And then, just like that, a series of injuries appeared on his body. A long gash down his arm that looked only partially healed, a newer cut down his leg (and Mei winced, knowing she had made that injury worse), as well as his fur looking, overall, like a mess. Wukong sucked in a breath.

"What happened to you?" He asked. Macaque rolled his eyes.

"Like you'd care." He mumbled, looking down at the floor as Tang carefully tended to his injuries. MK subtly tugged on the edge of Wukong's scarf.

"Monkey King?" He asked, quietly. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure, kid." Wukong said, letting MK lead him to the other side of the ship. He knew Macaque would probably still be able to hear them anyways, but the other monkey was distracted with Tang, so they should be okay for now. "What's up?"

"It's just....you- you don't think that she did that to him, do you?" MK asked, glancing over at Macaque, at Macaque's injuries.

"No way to know for sure." Wukong said, "He isn't the best at making friends. Could've been anyone."

Suddenly, the look in MK's eyes changed.

"You'd know all about how Macaque makes friends then?" He asked, crossing his arms. "Y'know, while you were on vacation, I ran into Macaque again."

"You what? Why didn't you tell me?" Wukong asked, concern in his voice. MK brushed it off.

"You were busy, remember? Anyways, Macaque said something....interesting." MK said, "He said you two used to be friends. Like, he straight up compared the both of you to the sun and moon."

"He was always over-dramatic like that-"

"And. He said you abandoned him." MK said, "That you forgot about him."

Wukong sighed.

"Is that still how he sees it?" He said, rubbing his arm. "It's- look it was complicated, okay? I, well to put thing's simply, time in heaven works... differently than time on earth, and then the whole 'Havoc in Heaven' thing happened- and just. I never really got the chance-"

"But you were friends?" MK asked, "He can't have been all that bad back then."

"Well- no. He wasn't." Wukong admitted, "...If this is some attempt of yours to get me to trust him, you're not going to succeed kiddo. Not that I'm sure why you'd do that-"

"That's not what I'm- okay, so it's a little bit like that." MK confessed, laughing a little as he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's just, he's injured, so we can't just let him leave. We should let him stay with us for a bit-"

"MK-"

"It'd be wrong to just let him leave, wouldn't it?" MK insisted, grabbing hold of Wukong's hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "C'mon, Monkey King, at least this way we can keep an eye on him!"

"....I can't argue with you on that, I guess." Wukong sighed, "Fine. But don't blame me when he ends up betraying us in the end."

"We'll pay very close attention to him." MK insisted, "He can't betray us if we know it's coming!"

-

He was going to betray them.

He was going to turn against them.

He would earn their fragile trust, and then shatter it like glass.

He would not let himself get attached.

Macaque kept this mental mantra to himself going as Mei quietly showed him to the room he'd be staying in. They had reluctantly untied him, letting him walk by himself so long as he had someone with him. They would allow him the privacy of his room, but that was it.

Macaque walked into the rather small, empty space, the only thing in there being a bed with plain sheets and a door to what he presumed to be a bathroom. He sighed as he heard Mei close the door behind him, before she turned and walked away, down the hall. He waited until her footsteps faded, and he was sure nobody would open the door unexpectedly.

Macaque went into the bathroom (it was just as small and plain as the bedroom), and let his glamor drop all the way.

They'd trusted him with this room. And that was a problem.

The kid and the others had trusted him, albeit by not much, but they were still going to let him stay.

Wukong, at least, clearly still distrusted him, if the glares he'd noticed were any indication.

Macaque sighed again as he looked in the mirror, trying to mentally prepare himself to play the long con.

He was going to betray them.

He was going to turn against them.

He would earn their fragile trust, and then shatter it like glass.

He would not let himself get attached.

Despite this, Macaque knew himself.

He knew he was going to get attached.

It would be inevitable really, that kid, MK, seemed to drag everyone into his little golden family sooner or later. He was sure that Wukong probably would've outright thrown him off the ship if it wasn't for the kid.

Macaque knew how easy it would be for the kid to drag him in, make him feel like a part of the group. He would resist it, but it would happen.

He tried to brace himself for how much the looks of betrayal on their faces would hurt. Tried to convince himself he would enjoy it. That this is what he wanted. That he chose to do this.

The shine of the blue circlet that wrapped around his head in a vice grip, reminded him that it wasn't his choice to make.

[makeroomforthejolyghost]

In Search of Lost Screws (RQBB '21)

Here at last is my entry for the 2021 Rusty Quill Big Bang!

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Rating: T Word count: ~30k Warnings: Chronic Illness, Mild Body Horror, Internalized Ableism, Canon-Typical Spiders, Mention of Canon-Typical Suicidal Ideation, Alcohol Other tags: Cane-user Jon, EDS Jon, Canon-compliant, Season 5, Set in 180-181 (Upton Safehouse period) Characters: Jon Sims, Martin Blackwood, Mikaele Salesa (secondary), Annabelle Cane (secondary) Relationships: Jon/Martin Summary: While staying at Upton House, Jon and Martin accidentally break their bedroom’s doorknob, and can’t get back into the room until they fix it. Meanwhile Jon tries not to break into literal pieces without the Eye, and also to pretend he’s having a good time as he and Martin lunch with Annabelle, parry gifts from Salesa, and quarrel about whether Jon’s okay or not. He's fine! It's just that the apocalypse runs on dream logic, and chronic pain feels worse when you're awake. Excerpt:

“Have I mentioned how weird it is you’re the one who keeps asking me this stuff?” “I’m sorry. I’m trying to help? I just…” Jon closed his eyes, which itched with the warehouse’s dust, and rubbed their lids with an index finger. “I can’t seem to corral my thoughts here.” “Don’t worry about it. It’s actually kind of fun, it’s just—I’m so used to being the sidekick,” Martin laughed. “Besides, I miss my eldritch Google.” “Should I go back out there, ask the Eye about it, then come back?” Another laugh, this one less awkward. “No. That won’t work, remember? This place is a ‘blind spot,’ you said.” The words in inverted commas he said with a frown and in a deeper voice. “Right, right. I forgot,” Jon sighed. He lowered himself to the floor and examined the finger he’d felt snap back into place when he let go his cane. During the five seconds he’d allowed himself to entertain it, the idea of heading back out there had excited him a little. A few minutes to check on Basira, verify what Salesa had told them about his life before the change, make sure the world hadn’t somehow ended twice over. Give himself a few minutes’ freedom of movement, for that matter. Out there he could run, jump, open jars, pick up full mugs of tea without worrying a screw in his hand would come loose and make him drop them. He could stand up as quickly as he thought the words, I think I’ll stand up now, without his vision going dark. God, and even if it did, it wouldn’t matter! He would just know every tripping hazard and every look on Martin’s face, without having to ask these clumsy human eyes to show them to him. “Honestly, it’d almost feel worth it to go back out there just to formulate a plan to find them. At least I can think out there.” “Hey.” Martin elbowed him slightly in the ribs. Jon fought with himself not to resent the very gentleness of it. “I think I’ll come up with the plan for once, thanks. Some of us can think just fine here.” Was it just because of Hopworth that Martin’s elbow barely touched him? Or because Martin feared that Jon would break in here, in a way he’d learnt not to fear out there?

Huge thanks to @pilesofnonsense for hosting this event; to @connanro for beta-reading; and to @silmapeli for their amazing illustration, whose own post you can find here.

If you prefer, you can read this fic instead on Ao3. I won't link it directly, since Tumblr has trouble with external links, but if you google the title and add "echinoderms" (my Ao3 handle), it should come up!

Crunch. “Oh god. Shit! Oh god, oh no—”

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

A clatter, then a noise like a small rock scraping a large one. Jon’s heart plunged; halfway through his question he knew the answer.

“I—I broke it? Look, see, the whole thing just—take this.” Martin tore his hand out of Jon’s and dropped the severed doorknob in it instead. Then he dropped to the floor, diving head- and hands-first for the crack between it and the door as if that crack were a portal between dimensions. Jon closed his eyes and shook this image away, hoping when he opened them again he could focus on what was real.

He should have known this would happen from the moment they left for breakfast. Every time he’d opened that door its knob felt a little looser. Why hadn’t he warned Martin? Well, alright, he didn’t need powers to know that one. He just hadn’t thought of it. Been a bit preoccupied, after all. And even if he had thought of it, that was exactly the kind of conversation he’d been shying away from all week. Watch out for that doorknob; it’s a little loose, he would say, and yeah, probably Martin would answer, Oh, thanks. But there was a chance Martin would say instead, Why didn’t you tell me?—and all week Jon had obeyed an instinct to avoid prompting that question. All week he had made sure to enter and exit their room a few steps ahead of Martin, and hold the door open for him. Martin probably just saw it as Jon’s way of apologizing for their first few months in the Archives together, and once that thought occurred to him Jon had started to look at it that way himself. Maybe that’s why he’d forgot this time.

“Nooo-oooo, come on come on!”

“I don’t think you’ll fit,” Jon said, when he looked again and found Martin trying to wedge his fingers under the door.

(Martin used to leave Jon’s office door open behind him—perhaps absentmindedly, but more likely as a gesture of friendship and openness, which the Jon of that time would not suffer. Sasha and Tim, n.b., only left his door open on their way into his office, when they didn’t intend to stay long; Martin would leave it gaping even if he didn’t mean to come back. Every time Jon had sighed, pulled himself to his feet, and closed the door behind Martin, drawing out the click of its tongue in the latch. And a few times he’d closed the door in front of him, so as to exclude him from a conversation between Jon and Tim or Sasha that he, Martin, had tried to weigh in on from outside Jon’s office.)

“What are you looking for?”

“The—the screw, I saw it roll under there. It fell down on our side. Oh, my god, it was so close—if I’d reacted just half a second earlier, I could’ve?—shit.”

“Oh.” Jon huffed out a cynical laugh.

“I can’t believe it. I broke Salesa’s door! He welcomes us in to an oasis, and I break the door. Oh, god—I’ve broken an irreplaceable door, in a stately historic mansion!”

A few more demonstrative huffs of laughter. “No you didn’t.”

Martin paused. He didn’t get up, but did turn his head to look at Jon. “Yes I did. It’s right there in your hand, Jon—”

“I should’ve known. Check for cobwebs, Martin.”

“Oh come on.”

“This can’t be your fault—it’s far too neat. This is all part of Annabelle’s plan.”

“Do you know that?”

“W-well, no. I can’t, not here. I just—”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, Jon. Pretty sure it’s just an old doorknob.”

“Did you check for cobwebs?”

“Of course there are no cobwebs. A spider wouldn’t even have time to finish building the web before somebody wrecked it opening the door!”

“Then what’s that?” With the tip of his cane Jon tapped the floor in front of a clot of gray fluff in the seam between two walls next to the door, making sure not to let it touch the clot itself.

Martin rolled over to see where he was pointing, and almost stuck his elbow in it. “Ah. Gross. Gross, is what that is.”

“Christ, I should’ve known this would happen. I did know this would happen,” Jon reminded himself—“just ignored the warning signs because I can’t think straight here.”

“It doesn’t mean anything, Jon. It’s a corner. Spiders love corners. I mean, unless you can prove the corner of our doorway has more spiderwebs than anywhere else in the house—”

“Well, of course not. You forget she’s got her own corner somewhere, which we still haven’t found by the way—”

“So, what, you think Annabelle Cane lassoed the screw with a strand of cobweb.”

“Not literally? She could be sitting on the other side of the door with a magnet for all we know!”

Martin peered under the door again with an exasperated sigh. “She’s not.”

“Not now she’s heard us talking about her.”

God, what a delicate web that would be, if all he had to do to avoid the spider’s clutches was reach a door before Martin did. Perhaps if he’d knocked first that’d have saved him. Maybe Martin was right. How could Annabelle know him well enough to foresee this mistake? Most of the time he hated people opening doors for him, after all.

Why do people see someone with a cane and think, Only one free hand? How ever will he open the door!? They don’t do that for people with shopping bags—not ones his age, at least. Letting another person open a door for him felt to Jon like… defeat, somehow. Like admitting the dolce et decorum estness of this version of reality all nondisabled people seemed to live in where he couldn’t open doors. And that version of reality horrified him. Not so much the idea of being too weak to open them—that sounded merely annoying. Like knocking the sides of jar lids on tables and swearing, only with doors. He had beat his fists against enough Pull doors in his time to figure he could live with that. It was more the idea of becoming that way. Letting his door-opening muscles atrophy ‘til it became the truth.

But sometimes you just let a thing happen, and forget to hate it. That was the thing about pride. Sometimes your convictions and your habits stop fitting together—you believe Fuck this job with all your heart, but still tuck in your shirt when you come to the office. And then you fly back from America in borrowed clothes, and pop in at the Institute like that on your way to Gertrude’s storage unit, and that’s what changes your habits. Not the knowledge you can’t be fired; not your now-boyfriend’s plot to put your then-boss behind bars. A thirdhand t-shirt with a slogan on it about how to outrun bears.

On his way out this morning the doorknob had felt so loose in Jon’s hand he almost had told Martin about it. But Martin had been full of let’s-go-on-an-adventure-together-style chatter—like when they’d left Daisy’s safehouse, only, get this, without the dread of entering an apocalyptic wasteland—and listening to him put the door out of Jon’s mind before he’d had time to interject.

Their first day here—or at least, the first they spent awake—Jon had inadvertently taught Martin not to accept invitations from Salesa. The latter had bounded up after Martin’s lunch in linen shirt and whooshy shorts and was, to Martin’s then-unseasoned heart, impossible to deny. So Jon had spent thirty minutes on a creaky folding chair, lunging out of his seat on occasion to collect a ball one of the other two had hit wrong, and trying to keep Salesa’s too-bright white socks out of sight. He’d pretended he preferred to sit out, knowing Martin would worry if he tried to play. But he hadn’t done as good a job hiding his boredom as he thought. “Thanks for putting up with that. Sorry it went on so long,” Martin had said as they re-entered their bedroom. “I just couldn’t say no to him, you know? For such a cynical old man he’s got impressive puppy eyes.”

“It’s fine? You know me, I don’t mind… watching.”

“I just mean, I’m sorry you couldn’t play. How’s your leg, by the way? Er—both your legs, I guess.”

“It’s fine. They’re both fine. I didn’t want to play anyway, remember? I don’t know how.”

“Sure you don’t,” Martin replied, words tripping over a fond laugh.

“I don’t!”

“Come on, Jon. Everyone knows how to play ping-pong.”

Martin had turned down Salesa when he showed up the next day in khaki shorts and a pith helmet with three butterfly nets, without Jon’s having to say a word. More emphatically still did he turn him down when Salesa mentioned the house had an indoor pool, and offered to lend them both antique bathing suits like the one he had on, “Free of charge! A debtor is an enemy, after all, and in this new world I have no wish to make an enemy of” (sarcastic whisper, fingers wiggling) “the Ceaseless Watcher who rules it. I have nothing to hide from you,” he’d alleged, for the… third time that day, maybe? Each morning Jon resolved to count such references; he rarely missed one, as far as he knew, but kept forgetting how many he’d counted.

But Salesa was a salesman, and over time his efforts had grown more subtle. He stopped showing up already dressed for the activity he had in mind, and instead would drop hints at meals about all the fun things they could do if only they would let him show them. Martin loved how the winter sunlight caught, every afternoon around four, in the branches of a tree visible outside the window of their bedroom. “Ah, yes,” Salesa had agreed when he remarked on it one morning. “Turning it periwinkle and the golden green of champagne.” (He poured sparkling wine—the cheap stuff, he said, not real champagne—into an empty juice glass still lined with orange pulp. Over and over, without once overflowing. The oranges weren’t ripe enough to drink their juice plain yet, he said. But they’d still run out of juice first.) “If you think that’s beautiful”—he paused to swallow bubbles come up from his throat, waved his hand, shook his head. “No. On one tree, yes, it is beautiful. But on a whole orchard of bare trees in winter”—he nodded in the direction of Upton’s orchards—“the afternoon sun is sublime. You can see how the twigs shrink and shiver under its gaze; the grass rustles with a hitch in its breath as if it fears to be seen, but with each undulation a new blade flashes gold like a coin,” &c., &c.

“Wow. Sounds like you really got lucky, finding such a nice place to, uh. Sssset up camp?”

Jon knew Martin well enough to hear the judgment in his voice; if Salesa recognized it then he was an expert at pretending not to. “And it's only a two-minute walk away,” he’d said, instead of taking Martin’s bait. “It would be such a shame for my guests not to see it.”

“Oh, well. Maybe in a few days? It’s just, we’ve been outside nonstop for ages. It’s nice to be between four walls again. Besides, we don’t know the grounds as well as you do—and the border isn’t all that stable, you said? Right?”

“It is if you know how to follow it! I could accompany you—show you all the best sights, with no risk of wandering back out into the hellscape by mistake.”

“We’re just not really ready for that, I don’t think. Right, Jon?”

“Mm.”

“Are you sure? If it were me, a foray into a beautiful natural oasis would be just what I needed to convince myself that my peace—my sanctuary—is real.”

“If it is real,” Jon couldn’t stop himself from muttering.

Salesa remained impervious. “You would be surprised how difficult it is to feel fear in a place like that. I don’t think that is just the camera.”

“We‘ll think about it,” Martin conceded.

“Yes—you should both think about it. I am at your disposal whenever you change your mind.”

And so on that morning they had narrowly escaped. Would they had fared so well today. The problem was, on these early occasions Jon had interpreted Martin’s No thankses as being, well, Martin’s. But after a few more of Salesa’s sales pitches Jon began to second-guess that.

“Is it warm enough in here for you both?” Salesa had asked them last night at dinner. “I worry too much, perhaps. I only wish the place took less time to warm up in the morning. At breakfast time, in sunny weather like we've been having, I’ll bet you anything you like it’s warmer out there than in here.”

“It’s alright; we’re not too cold in the mornings either. Right, Jon?”

“Hm? Oh—no.”

“Perhaps we three could take breakfast out there, before the weather changes.”

“Ha—that’s right,” Martin had laughed. “I forgot you still had that out here. Weather changes. Brave new world, I guess.”

Salesa smirked and shrugged. “Well, braver than the rest of it.”

“R…ight. ‘We three,’ you said—so not Annabelle?”

“Mmmmno, probably not her. I have tried taking spiders outside before; they never seem to like it much.”

Nearly every day, here, Jon found a spider in their bathtub. The first time Martin had been with him. Martin had picked the thing up with his fingers and tried to coax it to leave out the window, but by the time he got there it’d crawled up his sleeve.

“Excuse me.”

Martin pulled back his own chair too and frowned up at him. “You okay?”

“Just needed the toilet.” He tried to arrange his mouth into a gentle smile. “Think I can do that on my own.”

The other two resumed their conversation the moment Jon left the dining room. Before the intervening walls muffled their voices Jon heard:

“I suppose that does sound pretty nice.”

“Pretty nice, you suppose? Martin, Martin—it’s a beautiful oasis! What a shame it will be if you leave this place having done no more than suppose about it.”

“It is a bit of a waste, I guess.”

“You wouldn’t need to sit on the ground, if that’s what concerns you. There are benches everywhere.”

He’d been just about to cross through a doorway and out of earshot when he froze, hearing his name:

“Oh, ha—not me, but, Jon might find that nice to know,” Martin said. “Thanks for.” And then silence.

Was that the whole reason he kept declining invitations to explore the grounds? To keep grass stains out of Jon’s trousers? Martin was the one who’d sat down on that godforsaken Extinction couch; why did he think—?

Not the point, Jon told himself as he sat on the toilet and set his forehead on the heels of his palms. He tried to watch the floor for spiders, but his eyes kept crossing. The point was that if—? If Martin was lying about wanting to stay inside—or, more charitably, if he was telling the truth but wanted that only because he thought Jon would have as dismal a time out in the garden as he had at ping-pong—then…?

He imagined holding hands with Martin while surrounded by green. Gravel crunching under their feet. Martin smiling, with sunlight caught in the strands of his hair that a slight breeze had blown upright.

“And if you get too warm,” he heard Salesa tell Martin, as he headed back into the dining room, “we can move into the shade of the pines! You know, they don’t just grow year-round? They also shed year-round. The floor under them is always carpeted in needles, so you need never get mud on your shoes.”

“Huh,” Martin laughed. “Never thought of it that way.”

“But of course there are benches there too,” Salesa added, his eyes flickering up to Jon.

As Jon hauled himself into his seat he asked, in a voice he hoped the strain made sound distracted ergo casual, “So, what, like a picnic, you mean.”

Not a fun picnic. Not very romantic, since their third wheel was the first to invite himself. Salesa neglected to mention how much wet grass they would have to trek through to get to his favorite spot; that there were benches everywhere didn’t matter since they couldn’t all three fit on one, so they ended up sat in the dirt after all—and n.b. it required a second trek to find a patch of dirt dry enough to sit on at this time of morning. Jon was so sick with fatigue by the time they sat down he could barely eat a thing, though he did dispatch most of Martin’s thermos of tea. His hands shook and buzzed, and felt clumsy, like they’d fallen asleep; he ended up getting more jam in the dirt than on Salesa’s soggy, pre-buttered toast. He felt as though the rest of his flesh had melted three feet to the left of his eyes, bones and mind. Eventually he elected to blame his dizziness on the sun. When his forehead and upper lip started to prickle, threatening sweat, he stood up and announced, “It’s too hot here.”

Or tried to stand, anyway. One leg had oozed just far enough out of its joint that it buckled when he tried to stand; indigo and fuchsia blotches overtook his sight. He pitched forward, free arm pinwheeling—might have fallen into the boiled eggs if Martin hadn’t caught him. “Jon! Are you okay?”

God, why was Martin so surprised? This must have been the fifth or sixth time he had asked him that question since they left the house. One time Jon had bent down to brush dirt off his leg and Martin had thought he was scratching his bandages. So he asked him were they itchy, had they started to peel, did they need changing again, were they cutting off his circulation (no, not yet, not yet, and no). How could someone be so attentive to imaginary ills and yet miss the real ones? At another point, an enormous blue dragonfly had buzzed past, and instead of Did you see that? Martin had turned around to ask Are you okay. Now, on this fifth or sixth occasion, for a few seconds of pure, nonsensical rage he wondered how Martin dared stoop to such emotional blackmail. Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, Jon thought; aloud he snorted, as in malicious laughter. His throat felt thick, like he might cry.

“Fine, I’m just—sick of it here.” He pulled his arm free of Martin’s and overbalanced. Didn’t fall, just. Staggered a little.

“Should we move to the shade? We could try to find those famous pines, I guess.”

Jon sank back to the ground. “What about Salesa? Do we just leave him here?”

“Oh. Right,” said Martin. Salesa had eaten most of Jon’s share, and drunk both Jon’s and Martin’s shares of wine. Now he lay asleep in the dirt, head pillowed on one elbow, the other hand’s fingers curled round the stem of a glass still half full. “I guess, yeah? I mean he seems to know the place pretty well, so. It’s not like he’ll get lost out here.”

“We might, though.”

Martin sighed. “True. Should we just head back to our room, then? Maybe get you a snack.”

“Not hungry.”

“A statement, I meant.”

“Oh. Alright, sure,” Jon made himself say. “That sounds like—sure.”

So then they’d headed back, and only Martin had a free hand, and Jon was too tired by that point to distinguish his mind’s vague warning not to let Martin open the door from his usual pride on that subject—and that kind of pride never does seem as important when it’s your boyfriend offering. So he’d dismissed the warning and, well, look what happened.

When he got up from his knees and turned round Martin frowned at Jon. “Are you alright? You’re sat on the floor.”

Jon frowned, too—at the seam between the floor and the hallway’s opposite wall. “I was tired.”

“You hate sitting on the floor.”

“I sat on the ground out there,” Jon said, with a shrug that morphed into a nod in the direction they’d come from.

“Yeah, under duress,” Martin scoffed. “In the Extinction domain you wouldn’t even sit on the couch.”

There was something odd in Martin’s bringing that up now; somewhere, in the back of his mind, Jon could hear a pillar of thought crumbling. But he lacked the energy to find out which of his mind’s structures now stood crooked. “I think this floor is a lot cleaner than that couch,” he said instead, with an incredulous laugh.

“Even with the cobwebs?” Martin didn’t wait for Jon’s answering nod. “Fair enough,” he said, one hand on the back of his neck as he twisted it back and forth. He dropped the hand, sighed, cracked his knuckles. Looked at Jon again. “Yeah, okay. Guess we don’t have to deal with this right now. Let’s find you another bedroom first.”

“Maybe that’s just what Annabelle wants,” Jon muttered, deadpanning so he wouldn’t have to decide whether this was a joke.

Martin snorted. “I’ll risk it.”

Find was a generous way to put it; in fact there was another bedroom only two doors down. By the time Jon got his legs unfolded he could hear the squeak of a door swinging open down the hall. When he looked up, Martin said as their eyes met, “Nope—bed’s too small. You good there ‘til I find one that’ll work?”

“Seems that way.” Jon tried to smile, relief warring with his usual If you want something done right urge. In the quiet moment after Martin neglected to close that door and before he swung open the next one, Jon made himself add, “Thank you.”

“Of course. Oh wow,” Martin said of the next room, in whose doorway he’d stopped. “This one’s a lot nicer than ours. It’s got a balcony. Wallpaper’s pretty loud though. D’you think that’ll keep you awake?” Laughingly, “I know you don’t close your eyes to sleep anymore, so.”

“How loud is ‘pretty loud’?”

“Sort of a… dark, orangey red, with flowers?”

Jon shrugged. “I won’t see it at night.”

“Oh, god. I hope it doesn’t come to that. Should we do this one, then?” Instead of closing the door, Martin swung it the rest of the way open, then strode back to Jon’s side of the corridor, arm already outstretched. Jon managed to stand before Martin could reach him, but, as it had done outside, his vision went dark for a few seconds. He felt Martin’s hand on his shoulder before he could see his frown.

“You alright?” Martin asked yet again.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“It’s just—you don’t usually blink anymore, except for effect.”

“Oh.”

Out there, none of the watchers blinked. At first, soon after the change, Martin had asked Jon to try, “Because it just feels so weird. Like I’m under constant scrutiny. Literally constant, Jon. You get why that feels weird, right?” (Jon had agreed—sincerely, though he wondered why Martin needed to ask that question in a world whose central conceit was that being watched felt weird. He’d also chosen not to point out that his scrutiny, like that of Jonah Magnus, was not, technically, constant, since he did sometimes look at other things. But he still rehearsed this retort in his mind every time he remembered that conversation.) Turned out it was hard to time your blinks properly when your eyeballs didn’t need the moisture. He’d forget about it for who knew how long, then remember and overcompensate by blinking so often Martin at first thought he was exaggerating it on purpose as a joke. It got old fast, in Jon’s opinion, but even after he learnt Jon didn’t intend it as a joke Martin still found it funny. “You’re doing it again,” he’d say every time, shoulders wiggling. Eventually Jon had asked him,

“You know you don’t blink anymore either, right?”

“Oh god, don’t I?” When Jon shook his head, with a smile whose teeth he tried to keep covered, Martin squeezed his own eyes shut and pushed their lids back and forth with his fingers. “Ugh—gross!” And for the next half hour he’d done the whole forget-to-blink-for-five-minutes-then-do-it-ten-times-in-as-many-seconds routine, too. After that they had both agreed to pretend not to notice the lack of blinking. Jon figured he couldn’t hold it against Martin that he’d broken this rule though, since Jon himself had broken it first, on their first morning here:

“You blinked,” he had informed Martin as he watched him stir sugar into his tea. Martin, who had not only blinked but broken eye contact to make sure he dropped the sugar cube in the right place, replied with a scoff,

“Didn’t know it was a staring contest.”

“No, I mean—”

“Oh! I blinked!”

“…Right,” Jon said now. “I’m—it’s nothing.”

Martin sighed. He closed his eyes, but probably rolled them under their lids. Jon used the inspection of their new room as an excuse to look away, but took in nothing other than the presence of a large bed and the flowered wallpaper Martin had warned him about.

“‘Kay. If you’re sure.”

Taking a seat at the foot of the bed, Jon looked down at his grass-stained knees and prepared himself to ask, Look, does it matter? I’m about to lie down anyway, so, functionally speaking, yes, I am fine.

“So, you’ll be okay here for a bit while I go figure out what to do about the door?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll come check on you as soon as I know anything, yeah?”

“Of course.”

“Although—if you’re asleep, should I wake you up?”

“Yes,” Jon replied before Martin had even got the last word out. He heard a short, emphatic exhale, presumably of laughter. “Wait—how would you know, anyway?”

“Oh. Yeah, good point.”

Jon looked down at his shoes. His fingers throbbed in anticipation, but he figured he should spare Martin the horror of getting grass stains on a second bedroom’s counterpane. The first shoe he pulled off without untying, since he could step on its heel with the other one. But he had to bend over to reach the second one’s incongruously bright white laces, biting his lip when he felt his right femur poke past the bounds of its socket as between a cage’s bars. On his way back up his vision quivered like a heat mirage, but didn’t go dark. He scooched himself up to the head of the bed. Made sure to face the ceiling rather than the red wallpaper.

A few months into his tenure in the Archives, Jon had discovered that if you close your eyes at your desk, even just for a minute, you can trick your whole body into thinking you’ve been gentle with it. But that trick didn’t work anymore. Out there, this made sense; interposing his eyelids between himself and the world’s new horrors couldn’t push them out of his consciousness, any more than it had helped to close the curtains at Daisy’s safehouse. Martin’s sentimental attachment to sleep had baffled him, as had his insistence on closing his eyes even though they’d pop back open as soon as his body went limp. Here, though, Jon sympathized with Martin’s wish. He too missed that magic link between closed eyes and sleep. Probably he should just be grateful for this rest from knowing other people’s suffering? The thing he had wished to close his eyes against was gone here. But now that most of his bodily wants had synced up with his actions again, it felt… wrong, like a tangible loss, that he couldn’t assert It’s time for rest now by closing his eyelids. That it took effort to keep them joined. Jon even found himself missing the crust that used to stick them together on mornings after long sleep.

That should have been his first sensation on waking, their first morning here. After seventy-one hours his eyelids should’ve been practically super-glued together. Instead, they’d apparently stayed open the entire time. It wasn’t uncomfortable—he hadn’t woken up with them smarting or anything. Hadn’t noticed one way or the other; after all, when not forced awake by an alarm, one rarely notices the moment one opens one’s eyes in the morning. He just didn’t like knowing that he looked the same waking and sleeping. It didn’t make sense. The dreams hadn’t followed him here, so what was he watching? He could see nothing but the ceiling.

He rolled over, hoping to look out the window. Doors, technically. Between gauzy curtains he could make out only wrought-iron bars and the tops of a few trees. A nice view, he could tell; when he got his second wind he was sure he’d find it pretty. For now he wondered how much more energy debt he had put himself in by rolling over.

Drowning in debt? We can help!

How had he not foreseen how horrible it would be inside the Buried? The inability to move or speak without pain and loss of breath—“Just imagine,” he muttered sarcastically to the empty air, as though addressing his past self. “What might that be like.” He’d lived for years with the weight of exhaustion on his back—heavier at that time than it’d ever been before. And he knew how it felt to risk injury with every movement. What an odd frame of mind he must have lived in then, to think his magic healing wouldn’t let him get scratched up down there. Had he thought it would protect him from fear? I must save my friend from this horrible place! But also, If I get stuck there forever, no big deal; I deserve it, after all. There seemed something so arrogant about that now, that idea that deserving pain could somehow mitigate it. That because monsterhood made him less innocent, it would make him less of a victim. How could he have thought that, when he’d known pulling her out of there didn’t mean he forgave her? He should apologize to Daisy for—

Right. Nope, never mind.

He began to regret rolling over. If he planned to stay on his side like this for long, he shouldn’t leave his shoulder and hip dangling. He could already feel their joints beginning to slide apart. But his body had started to drift to that faraway place from which no grievance ever seemed urgent enough to recall it—neither pain now nor the threat of greater pain later. Nor the three cups of tea he’d drunk.

After he and Martin had fallen asleep on Salesa’s doorstep, Jon had vague memories of being led up the stairs to their bedroom, though he remembered neither being shaken awake nor getting into bed. Just a seventy-odd-hour blank spot, followed by pain of a kind he had thought he’d left behind.

It wasn’t that watchers couldn’t feel pain, after the change. They could, but it was like how real-world pain felt through the veil of a dream. Your actions didn’t affect it as directly as they should. In the Necropolis Martin had asked him, “How exactly does a leg wound make you faster?” If he’d had the courage to answer, at the time he would have said something about his own wounds not seeming important now that he had to tune out those of the whole world. That wasn’t it though, he knew now. Pain just worked differently out there. When Daisy attacked him, it had hurt—but the wound she left him hadn’t protested movement. Not until he and Martin entered the grounds of Upton House. You could bear weight on an injured leg just fine out there, because it wouldn’t hurt more when you stood on it than otherwise.

Sometimes, when his joints slid apart while he slept, he could still feel it in his dreams. Up until 13th January 2016 (for months after which date he dreamt Naomi Herne’s graveyard and nothing else), his sleeping mind used to craft scenarios to explain its own pain and panic to itself. Running from an exploding grenade, staying awake through surgery, that sort of thing. But over the years, as the sensation grew familiar, his dreams about it became less urgent, their anxieties more mundane. He’d shout for help from passing cars, then feel like he’d lied to the stranger who opened their door to him when it turned out running to get in the car hurt no more than standing still.

Even before the change, it’d been ages since he’d had to worry about that. Since the coma, Beholding had fixed all these accidents, the way it’d fixed the finger he tried to chop off. They wouldn’t reset with a clunk, the way they had when he used to fix them by hand. It was more like his body reverted to a version the Eye had saved before the moment of injury. When he tried to pull open a Push door he’d hear the first clunk, followed by about half a second of pain, then after a gentle burst of static—nothing. Just a door handle between his fingers that needed pushing. If he tripped on uneven pavement he might still go down, but his ankle wouldn’t hurt when he stood back up, and the scrapes on his hands would heal before he could inspect them. Here, though, in this place the Eye couldn’t see, Jon lacked such protections. He didn’t have the dreams either? And that was more than worth it as a tradeoff, he was sure. But it still smarted to remember that pain had been his first sensation waking up in an oasis. Not birdsong, not sunshine striped across linen, not the warm weight of another person next to him. He knew he’d come back to a place ruled by physics rather than fear because he’d woken up with gaps between his bones.

“Jon? Are you awake?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes.”

“Cool.” Martin sat down on what felt like the corner of bed nearest the door. “I think I know how to do this now.”

“How to put the doorknob back on?”

“Yeah. God, I still can’t believe it twisted clean off in my hand like that. With no warning—like, zero to sixty in less than a second. I mean, can you believe our luck? The thing’s perfectly functional, and then suddenly it just—comes off!”

“Er…”

“Oh, god, sorry—I didn’t mean—”

“What? Oh—hrkgh”—Jon rolled around to face Martin, hoping the little yelp he let out when his leg slopped back into joint would sound like a noise of exasperation rather than pain. He found Martin sat looking down at the severed doorknob which poked up from between his knees. “No, Martin, of course not, I know—”

“Still, I’m sorry about—”

“No, it’s—it’s fine?”

On that first morning, Jon had managed to get his limbs screwed back on properly without making enough noise to wake up Martin. He’d limped out of their room and down the hall, pushing doors open until he’d found a toilet, whereupon he sat to pee and marveled that the flush and sink still worked. It was bright enough inside that he hadn’t thought to try the light switch on his way in—too busy contorting his neck to look for the sun out the window. On his way out, though, he flicked it on, then off. Then on again and off again. How could it work, when there was no power grid the house could connect to? Automatically Jon tried to search his mind’s Eye for a domain based in a power plant or something. Right, no, of course—that power did not work here.

When he got back to their room he found Martin awake. “Oh—morning,” Jon told him with a shy laugh.

“It—it is morning, isn’t it,” Martin marveled. Then he asked if Jon could hand him the map sticking out of his backpack’s side pocket. (What good are maps when the very Earth logic no longer applied here, after all. But Martin was rubbish at geography, so Jon still had to provide the You Are Here sign with his finger for him.) Jon grabbed the map on his way back to bed, and was about to tell him about the miracles of plumbing and electricity he’d just witnessed—not to mention the bathtub he’d admired on the long trek from toilet to sink—when Martin frowned and asked, “Why are you limping?”

“Am I?” Jon had shrugged, then cleared his throat when the motion made his shoulder audibly click. “Daisy, must be.”

“No, Jon. That’s the wrong leg.”

He slid both legs out of sight under the blankets and handed Martin the map. “It’s nothing. It just… came off a bit. Last night."

Before Jon could add It’s fixed now though, Martin said, “I’m sorry, what?”

Jon had assumed Martin understood the kind of thing he meant, but that he’d misled him as to its degree—i.e., that Martin objected to his talking about a full hip dislocation like it mattered less than what happened with Daisy. So he’d said,

“No, sorry, not all the way off—”

And Martin just laughed. “What, and you taped it back up like—like an old computer cable?”

“Sort of, yeah? It—it does still work, more or less.”

“Right, of course. No need to get a new one, yet; you can just limp along with this one. No big deal! Just make sure you don’t pull too hard on it.”

“I mean.” By now he could sense Martin’s sarcasm, his bitterness; that didn’t mean he knew what to do with them. So he'd said with a huff of laughter, “I can’t just send for a new one. That’s—that’s not how bodies work. You have to….” Wait for it to sort itself out was the natural end to that sentence. But he hadn’t been sure he could say that without opening a can of worms.

“Wait so… what actually happened? Are you okay?”

Only at this point had Jon recognized Martin’s response as one of incomprehension. What happened exactly? he had asked, too, when Jon told him the ice-cream anecdote. Did no one ever listen when you told them about these things?

“Nothing. Never mind. It’s fine.”

“Oh come on.”

“It’s. Fine! It’s not important.”

And then for days Martin kept alluding to it. Like some kind of reminder to Jon that he hadn’t opened up, disguised as a joke. Every time something came out or fell down he’d mutter, “So it came off, you might say.” Eventually they’d fallen out over it, and now neither one could come near the phrase without this song and dance.

“Don’t worry about it, Martin,” Jon assured him now; “I’m over it.”

“…Uh huh. Well, putting that to one side for the moment—I think I can fix this?”

“Oh? Great!—”

“—Yeah! It should be simple, actually. I think I just need to replace the screw that fell out? I mean, there doesn’t seem to be anything actually broken, just, you know,” with an awkward laugh, “the screw lives on the wrong side of the door now. But if we can just put a new one in the door should be fine.” He looked to Jon as if for help plotting their next steps.

“I—I don’t, um. Think we have one.”

Martin’s shoulders dropped; the corners of his mouth tightened. “Yeah, I know we don’t have one, Jon. I just mean, we need to find out where Salesa keeps them.”

“Oh!” Jon replied, in a brighter tone. Then he registered what this meant. “Oh. Right.”

“Y…eah.”

“Any idea where to look?”

They checked what seemed to Martin the most obvious place first. Salesa used one of the ground-floor drawing rooms as a sort of repository for everything he’d left as yet unpacked—all the practical items he hadn’t been able to repurpose as toys, plus some antiques he’d been too fond of or too nervous to part with. Two nights ago, Salesa had noticed the state of Jon’s and Martin’s shoelaces, and insisted they let him replace them with some from this little warehouse. “Please, come with me; I’ve nothing to hide. You can have a look around, see if I have anything that might help you on your journey….” As he said this he’d counted to two on his fingers, as though listing off attractions they should be sure not to miss.

Jon watched Martin perk right up at this. All week Salesa had kept pleading with them to tell him about any luxuries they had wanted while touring the apocalypse, so he could try to find something to fulfill those wants. “Well, I—I don’t know about luxuries,” Martin had ventured the third time this came up. “But I do think we might run out of bandages soon, so. If you’ve any extra?”

“Of course, of course, yes, how prudent of you, always with one eye on the future. Must be the Beholding in you.” (Neither Jon nor Martin knew what to say to that.) “But there will be plenty of time for that. I meant something for now, while you are here, while you don’t need to think of things like that.” And sure enough, each time Salesa had come to them with presents from his little warehouse (booze, butterfly nets, more booze, antique bathing suits, &c.), he’d forgot about Martin’s homely request for gauze and tape. Martin insisted they change the dressing on Jon’s leg every day; by now they’d run through the bandages he brought from Daisy’s safehouse. So when Salesa suggested they accompany him to his repository, Martin said,

“Sure, yeah! That sounds really helpful.” (Salesa clutched his heart as though he’d waited all his life to hear such praise.) “Er. The things in your warehouse, though. They’re not L—um.” Leitners, Martin had almost called them. “You don’t think they’ll develop any… strange properties, when we leave here, do you?”

“Of course not,” Salesa had answered, stopping and turning all the way around in the corridor to face Martin with a frown. “Martin, I promise, only my antiques are cursed—and even then, not all of them.” He’d resumed the walk toward his little warehouse, but turned around again and held up a hand, as if to preempt a question. “There are, indeed, yes, some items out there, touched by the Corruption, which can pass their infection on to other things they come in contact with. But, no,” he went on, his voice fighting off a joyous laugh, “no, the only item I have like that does almost the opposite.”

“Oh.”

Salesa nodded, but did not turn around this time. “Strange little thing. It’s an antique syringe that, so long as you keep it near you, repels the Crawling Rot. I like to think it helped dispatch that insect thing Annabelle chased away. But if you try to get rid of it,” he added in a darker tone, “all the sickness, the bugs, the smells, even stains on your clothes—everything disgusting that it’s kept away—they remember who you are, and they hunger for you more than anyone else. The man who sold it to me….” He shook his head ruefully, hand now resting on the door.

“Was eaten alive by mosquitoes,” Jon muttered.

“Something like that, yes,” said Salesa, as he jerked open the door.

Jon hated the way his and Martin’s shoes looked now. He hadn’t had to put new laces on a pair of old, dirty shoes since he was a kid, and the contrast looked wrong—the same way starched collars and slicked-back hair on kids look wrong. Jon’s trainers were gray, their laces a slightly darker gray, so these white ones wouldn’t have looked quite right even without the dirt. Martin’s had once been white, but their original laces were broad and flat, while these were narrow and more rounded. The replacements’ thin, clinical white lines looked something between depressing and menacing. Too much like spider web; too much like the stitching on Nikola’s minions. When they came undone on this morning’s walk, Jon had made sure to tread on them in the mud a few times before tying them back up. Poor Dr. Thompson’s syringe must have retained some of its power here, though, because they still looked pristine. Jon wondered if it had no effect on spiders, or if without it this whole place would have been draped in cobwebs.

Martin seemed pleased with their haul, though. Despite Salesa’s amnesia on the subject, his little warehouse held more plasters, gauze, medical tape, antibacterial ointment, alcohol wipes—the list went on—than one man could ever use. In a strange, raw moment Jon liked to pretend he hadn’t seen, Salesa had wrung his hands as his eyes passed over this hoard. His lip had quivered. He’d practically begged Martin to take the whole lot away with them. “What harm will come to me here? And if it does come, what good will it do, protecting one lonely old man from skinned knees and paper cuts? The two of you—where you are going—the gravity of your mission!” At this point he’d seized one of each their hands. “Everything I have that even might help, you must take it. Please.”

“I—yeah,” Martin stuttered. “This is—really helpful, yeah. We’ll take as much as we can fit in our bags.”

Salesa had let go their hands by this point, and crossed his arms. “Right, yes, bags, of course, the bags. Are you sure you don’t want my truck?”

“Oh, well, thanks, but I don’t think either of us knows how to—”

“To drive a truck?” Salesa uncrossed his arms and began to reach for Martin’s shoulder. “I could teach you—”

“It won’t work without the camera anyway,” pointed out Jon. “We have to walk.”

Martin sighed. ”That too. ‘The journey will be the journey,’ as Jon keeps saying.”

“I said that once,” Jon protested.

No such success on this return visit. They found a small pile of miscellaneous screws, one of which Martin said would work (though it was the wrong color, he alleged, and had clearly been meant for some other purpose), but the screwdriver they needed remained elusive. “I mean, I can’t be sure they’re not in here—the place is as bad as Gertrude’s storage unit. We could spend all day here and still not be sure—”

“Let’s not do that,” said Jon, pushing an always-warm candlestick with a pool of always-melted wax out of Martin’s way with his sleeve for what felt like the hundredth time.

“No arguments here.”

“Where to next?”

“I guess it makes sense that they’re not here. This room’s all stuff Salesa brought, and why would he bring home-repair stuff when he didn’t even know where he’d wind up.”

“Except for the screws.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t look like he keeps screws here, remember? There’s just a couple random ones lying around, like he forgot to put them away or something.”

Jon peered between the clouds in his mind, trying to catch sight of Martin’s thought train. “So you’re saying the screwdriver should be…?”

“Somewhere less… frequented, I guess? They’ll probably still be wherever they were when Salesa found the place.”

“Not somewhere that was open to the public, then.”

Martin sighed. ”I mean yeah, probably. Not that that narrows it down much.”

“Somewhere… banal, less posh.”

“Not sure how much less posh you can get than this place. But yeah, I guess. Have I mentioned how weird it is you’re the one who keeps asking me this stuff?”

“I’m sorry. I’m trying to help? I just…” Jon closed his eyes, which itched with the warehouse’s dust, and rubbed their lids with an index finger. Odd that his eyes weren’t immune to dust, when leaving them open for seventy straight hours hadn’t bothered them. And why didn’t the syringe keep dust away? In Dr. Snow’s day (not far removed from Smirke’s, n.b.), Jon seemed to recall that dust had been used as a euphemism for all waste, including the human kind Dr. Snow had found in the cholera water. It was like how people today use filth—hence the word dustbin. And hadn’t Elias once called the Corruption Filth? Jon opened his eyes and watched Martin swirl back to full color. “I can’t seem to corral my thoughts here,” he concluded.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s actually kind of fun, it’s just—I’m so used to being the sidekick,” Martin laughed. “Besides, I miss my eldritch Google.”

“Should I go back out there, ask the Eye about it, then come back?”

Another laugh, this one less awkward. “No. That won’t work, remember? This place is a ‘blind spot,’ you said.” The words in inverted commas he said with a frown and in a deeper voice.

“Right, right. I forgot,” Jon sighed. He lowered himself to the floor and examined the finger he’d felt snap back into place when he let go his cane. During the five seconds he’d allowed himself to entertain it, the idea of heading back out there had excited him a little. A few minutes to check on Basira, verify what Salesa had told them about his life before the change, make sure the world hadn’t somehow ended twice over. Give himself a few minutes’ freedom of movement, for that matter. Out there he could run, jump, open jars, pick up full mugs of tea without worrying a screw in his hand would come loose and make him drop them. He could stand up as quickly as he thought the words, I think I’ll stand up now, without his vision going dark. God, and even if it did, it wouldn’t matter! He would just know every tripping hazard and every look on Martin’s face, without having to ask these clumsy human eyes to show them to him.

“Honestly, it’d almost feel worth it to go back out there just to formulate a plan to find them. At least I can think out there.”

“Hey.” Martin elbowed him slightly in the ribs. Jon fought with himself not to resent the very gentleness of it. “I think I’ll come up with the plan for once, thanks. Some of us can think just fine here.”

Was it just because of Hopworth that Martin’s elbow barely touched him? Or because Martin feared that Jon would break in here, in a way he’d learnt not to fear out there?

“Oh—I know,” Martin said, clicking his fingers and pointing them at Jon like a gun. “We passed a shed this morning, remember?”

Jon squinted. “Not even remotely.”

“No yeah—on our walk with Salesa. I tried to ask him what it was for, but he kept droning on and on. By the time he stopped talking I’d forgot about it.”

“Huh,” said Jon, to show he was listening.

“That seems like a good place to keep screws and all, right? If it’s so nondescript you can’t even remember it.”

“Sure.”

“Great! Are you ready now, or d’you need to sit for a bit longer?”

“I’m ready.” This time he accepted Martin’s hand, not keen to trip on something cursed.

“Anyway, if we don’t find them and Salesa’s still out there, we can ask him on the way back.”

Jon’s heart shrunk before the prospect of inviting Salesa to be the hero of their story. Please, Mr. Salesa, save us from our screwdriver-less hell! They would never hear the end of it. It would inevitably remind the old man of the countless times in his youth when he’d been the only man in the antiques trade who knew where to find some priceless treasure. Let Salesa open their stuck door and they’d find Pandora’s bloody box of stories behind it. He winced and let out a grunt as of pain before he could stop himself. “Let’s not tell him, if we can help it.”

“Of course we should tell him,” Martin protested. “We can’t just leave it broken like this.”

“But if we can fix it without his help—?”

“What? No! Even then, he’s our host. We have to tell him. It’s his door, he deserves to know its—I don’t know, history?” Martin sighed, shoving one hand in his hair and holding out the other. “If he’s got a doorknob whose screw comes loose a lot, he should know that, so he can tighten it next time before it gets out of hand. I mean, we’re lucky it only chipped the paint when it—when it fell off, you know?” (Jon, for his part, hadn’t even noticed this chip of paint Martin referred to.) “And—and suppose he’s only got this one screw left,” tapping the one in his pocket, “and the next time it happens his last screw rolls under the door like this one did.”

“And what is he supposed to do to prevent that scenario? There aren’t exactly any hardware stores in the apocalypse.”

Big sigh. “Yeah, fair enough. I still think we should tell him. It just feels wrong to hide secrets from him about his own house, you know?”

“Fine,” sighed Jon in turn. ”Should we tell him about the scorch marks on the window sill as well?”

“No?” Martin turned to him with an incredulous look. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I mean—I was, but—”

“Please tell me you get how that’s different.”

“Enlighten me,” Jon said wearily.

“Seriously? Of course you don’t tell him about the?—those were already there! If we’d put them there, then yeah, of course we’d need to tell him.”

“So it’s about confessing your guilt, then. Not about what Salesa makes of the information.”

“I mean, I guess?” Martin looked perplexed, lips drawn into his mouth. “Actually, no. Because those are just scorch marks, they don’t—you can still get into a room with scorch marks on the windowsill, Jon.”

“And yet if you’d left them you’d tell him about it?”

“Well yeah but if I told him about it now it’d just be like I was—leaving him a bad review, or something. It’d just be rude. ‘Lovely place you have, Salesa. So kind of you to share your limited provisions with us refugees from the apocalypse. Too bad you gave us a room whose windowsill could use repainting!’”

Jon laughed. “Yes, alright, I get it.”

Martin’s sigh of relief seemed only a little exaggerated. If he hadn’t wiped pretend sweat from his brow Jon might have bought it. “Okay, that’s good, ‘cause”—when Jon kept laughing, Martin cut himself off. “Hang on, were you joking this whole time?”

“Sort of?”

“Were you just playing devil’s advocate or something?”

“I mean—not exactly? For the first seventy or eighty percent of it I was completely serious.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know. It was just—fun. It felt nice to take a definite sta—aaaa-a-aa.” Something in Jon’s lower back went wrong somehow. An SI joint, probably? The pain caught him so much by surprise that when he stepped with that side’s leg he stumbled forward.

“Whoa!” Martin’s hand closed around his upper arm. Jon yelped again, from panic more than hurt this time, as his shoulder thunked in its socket. “Jon! Are you okay?”

“Don’t do that,” Jon hissed, trying lamely to shake his arm out of Martin’s grip. It didn’t work. The attempt just made his own arm ache, and produce more ominous clunking sounds.

“I—what?”

“It was fine. I don’t need you to catch me.”

Martin let his arm go. “You were about to fall on your face, Jon.”

“I’d already caught myself—just fine—with this.” He gestured to his cane, stirring its handle like a joystick.

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“I don’t know, look?”

“It’s not—?” Martin scoffed. “Look when? It’s not like a rational calculation. I can’t just go ‘Beep. Beep. See human trip. Will human fall on face? If yes, press A to catch! If not, press B to’— what, stand there and do nothing? It’s just human nature; when you see someone falling that’s just what you do. I’m not going to apologize for not calculating the risk properly.”

“Fine! Yes, okay, you’re right. Forget I said anything.” Throwing up his free hand in defeat, Jon set off again—tried to stride, but it was hard to do that with a limp. Even with his cane, he couldn’t step evenly enough to achieve a decisive gait.

It was fine, Jon reminded himself. He’d had this injury (if you could call it that) a thousand times before. When it came on suddenly like this it never stuck around long. Sure, yeah, for now every step hurt like an urgent crisis. But any second it would right itself as quickly as it had come undone.

“No, no, I understand! Point taken! Note to future Martin,” the latter shouted from behind Jon, voice troubled by hurried steps; “next time let him fall and break his bloody nose.”

Trusting Martin to shout directions if he went the wrong way, Jon pressed on, rehearsing comebacks in his mind. Is this not a boundary I’m allowed to set? You don’t let me read statements in front of you. Isn’t that part of human—isn’t that my nature, too?

Oh, yes, human nature, that must be it. You didn’t lunge after Salesa at ping-pong the other day, did you? I saw you opening doors for Melanie when she got back from India. You stopped for a while, did you know that? You all did, everyone in the Archives. And then—it’s the strangest thing!—you all started up again after Delano. Maybe you lot don’t see the common factor here; people always do seem to think it’s more polite not to notice.

So what if I had broken my nose? You nearly broke my shoulder, catching me like that. Does that not matter because you can’t see it? Because it wouldn’t scar?

They were all too petty to say aloud. Too incongruous with the quiet. He could hear his own footsteps, and Martin’s, and the clank of his cane’s metal segments each time it hit the ground, and a few crows exclaiming about something exciting they’d found on his right. Nothing else.

“Looks like Salesa went inside,” Martin shouted from behind him.

Jon stopped walking and turned around. “What?”

“Left a couple things out here, but yeah.” Martin jogged to catch up with him, from a greater distance than Jon would have expected given how much limping slowed him down. He must have veered off course to inspect the clearing Salesa had vacated. In one hand he carried an empty wine glass by its stem, which he lifted to show Jon.

“Huh.”

“Yeah.” When he caught up with Jon, Martin stood still and panted. “Guess it won’t be as easy to ask him about it as we thought. If we don’t find what we need in there,” he added, glancing demonstratively to something behind Jon.

Following Martin’s eyes, Jon finally saw the shed. Nondescript boards, worn black and white by the elements. Surrounded by hedges three months overgrown.

Turned out it wasn’t a shed anymore, though—Salesa had converted it to a chicken coop. “Explains the boiled eggs,” shrugged Jon.

“God, they’re adorable. Do you think it’s okay to pet one?” Martin crouched in front of a black hen with a puffball of feathers on top of her head. (Martin called her a hen, anyway, and Jon trusted his authority on animals other than cats). “I don’t really know, er, ch—hicken etiquette,” he mused, voice shot through with nervous laughter.

The black hen sat alone in a little box, and didn't seem to want attention. A little red one they’d found strutting around the coop, however, ventured right up to Martin and cocked her head, like she expected him to give her a present. While Martin cooed over her and the other chickens, Jon went outside and laid flat on his back in the grass under a tree. “Take your time,” he shouted. “I’m happy here.”

Sure enough, when Martin emerged from the coop and helped him stand back up, whatever cog in Jon’s pelvis or spine he had jammed earlier was turning again. And by the time they got back to the house, Martin had talked himself into the idea that maybe all the house’s doorknobs that looked like theirs came loose a lot, and Salesa had taken to keeping the screwdriver to fix them in, say, the hall closet, or in their toilet’s under-sink cabinet.

“I think we’re gonna have to find Salesa and ask him about it,” concluded Martin, when these locations turned up nothing they wanted either.

“If you’re sure.”

Jon sat down on the closed toilet seat. Hadn’t that been what he said just before the last time he sat down on the lid of a toilet before Martin? He’d dutifully turned away, that time, as Martin undressed, wanting to make sure he knew he’d still let him have some privacy. But then, of course: “Where should I put these, do you think? —Er, my clothes I mean.”

“Oh. Um.” Jon had turned his head to look at the stain on Daisy’s ceiling, for what must have been the tenth time already. “I can hold onto them if you like.” Which then meant Martin had to get them back on before Jon could undress for his own shower and hand him his clothes. As he’d piled his trousers into Martin’s hands a tape recorder fell out of one pocket and crashed to the floor, ejecting the tape with Peter’s statement on it. “Shit,” Jon had hissed and ducked to the floor to pick it up, trusting the slit in his towel to reveal nothing worse than thigh.

“Shit,” Martin echoed. “I hope that wasn’t your phone.”

“No—just the recorder.” Still on the floor, Jon clicked its little door shut and pressed play. Sound of waves, static, footsteps. He switched it off. “Seems alright.” Thank god, he stopped himself from adding. Jon didn’t want to lose this one, this record of how he’d found Martin, in case he lost him again. But he didn’t want Martin to hear the sounds of the Lonely again so soon, either. That was why he’d stayed with Martin while he showered, rather than waiting in the safehouse living room. He wouldn’t have insisted on it, of course. He didn’t exactly believe Martin would disappear again? But long showers were such a cliché of lonely people, and steam looked so much like the mist on Peter’s beach, and when Jon asked how he felt about it, Martin said that thought hadn’t occurred to him,

“But as soon as you started to say that, I.” He’d stood with his teeth bared, half smiling half grimacing, and bringing the tips of his fingers together and apart over and over. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Heh—it scares me too now, if I’m honest. That’s… a good sign, I guess, right?”

They had come a long way since then, Jon told himself. They were more comfortable with each other now. On their first morning here, they’d showered separately, but after (Martin’s) breakfast Jon’s irritation had faded and he had resolved to pretend along with Martin that this was a holiday. So they’d got to use the enormous bathtub after all— the one at whose soap dish Jon now found himself staring as he sat on the lid of the toilet. When the heat made him dizzier, as he’d known it would, he had relished getting to rest his cheek on Martin’s arm along the rim of the tub, where it had grown cool and soft in the few minutes he’d kept it above the water.

“Let’s have lunch first,” Martin said now; “you’re getting all….” While he looked for the right word he dropped his shoulders and jaw, and mimicked a thousand-yard stare. “Abstract, again. Distant. People food should help a little, yeah? Tie you back down to this plane a bit?”

“Probably,” Jon agreed, smiling at Martin’s tact.

But to get to the kitchen they had to pass through the dining room—where they found Salesa snoring in a chair at the head of the table. “Let’s just ask him now before he gets up and moves again,” maintained Martin. Jon shrugged his acquiescence and leant in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot. Why hadn’t he used the toilet before letting Martin lead him here?

”Um, Mikaele?” Martin inched a few steps toward him, but a distance of several feet still gaped between them. “We have something to ask you, if that’s—hello? Mikaele?”

A likely-sounding gap between snores—but nope. Still sound asleep. Salesa sighed, licked his lips, then began to snore again.

“Mikaele Salesa,” called out Jon from his post at the door, rather less gently. “Mikaele Salesa!” He turned to Martin, meaning to suggest that they eat now and trust the smell of food to wake Salesa, but stopped himself when he saw Martin creeping timidly toward Salesa with his hand outstretched.

“Sorry to disturbyouMikaele,” Martin squeaked out, so quickly that the words blended together. He gave Salesa’s shoulder the lightest possible tap with one fingertip, then snatched his hand back with a grimace of regret as Salesa’s own hand reached up, belatedly, as if to swat Martin’s away. “Oh, good, you’re—”

Salesa interrupted with a snore. Martin sighed and turned to Jon. “What d’you think? Should I shake him?”

Jon pulled out a neighboring chair and sat on it. “No need for anything so drastic. Try poking him a few more times first.”

“Right.”

Once he’d tired of rolling his cane between his palms Jon bent down to set it on the floor. He’d learnt his lesson about trying to hang it on the back of these chairs, though in this fog it had taken several incidents to stick. Every time it ended up crashing to the floor, when he scooched his chair back or when Martin tried to reach an arm around him. Then again—he conjectured, bent halfway to the floor with the cane still in his hand—if he did drop it, that might wake Salesa.

Two nights ago Jon had got up to use the toilet, and knocked his cane down from the wall on his way back to bed in the dark. It crashed to the floor; Jon swore and hopped on one foot back from it, imagining the other foot’s poor toenail smashed to jagged pieces as it thumped to life with pain. Meanwhile he heard rustling from the bed, and Martin’s voice, querulous with sleep. “Jon? Jon, what’s—happened, what—are you.”

“Nothing it’s fine go back to”—he’d hissed as his knee decided it had enough of hopping—“don’t get up, just. I’m gonna turn on the light, if that’s alright.”

“What fell? Are you okay?”

“The cane. I knocked it over in the dark.”

“Oh.”

He got no verbal response about the light, but guessed Martin had nodded.

From a distance his toe looked alright—no blood, anyway, so he could walk on it without risking the carpet. Jon picked his cane up from the floor and steered himself to the foot of the bed, where he sat down. His toenail had chipped, it looked like—only a little, but in that way that leaves a long crack. If he tried to pick it straight he’d tear out a big chunk and it would bleed. But if he left it like this it would snag on the sheets, on his socks, until some loose thread tore the chunk of nail off for him. What could he do for this kind of thing here? At home he’d file the nail down around the chip, then cover it in clear nail polish, and just hope that’d hold out until the crack grew out and he could clip it without bleeding. But here? A plaster would have to do, he guessed. They had plenty of those now.

Jon hated bandaging, ever since Prentiss—in much the same way that Martin hated sleeping in his pants. He’d had time to learn all its discomforts. How sweaty they got, the way they stuck to your hairs, the way lint collected in the adhesive residue they left. Didn’t help he associated them with that time of paranoia. They didn’t make him act paranoid, understand; he just habitually thought of bandage-wearing as what paranoid people do. It made an echo of his contempt for that time’s Jon cling to his perceptions of current Jon. On his first morning here, when the ones on his shin where Daisy’d bit him peeled off in the shower, he hadn’t bothered to replace them. After all, the bite only hurt when something pulled on it or poked or scraped against it, so he figured his trousers would provide enough protective barrier.

“That healed fast,” Martin had remarked, when he noticed the undressed wound in the bath—and then, when he looked again, “Yyyyeah I dunno, I think you might still want to bandage that. We don’t want dirt getting in there.”

“Do I have to?”

“Humor me.”

When they got back to their room he’d let Martin dress it himself. Martin had sucked air through his teeth. “This is days old—it shouldn’t be all hot and red like this.” According to him these were early signs of infection, which would get worse if they didn’t take better care of it—i.e., keep the wound freshly bandaged and ointmented. Jon refrained from pointing out that when the cut on his throat had got like that he’d left it uncovered and been fine. But he did ask what worse meant. “Really bad,” testified Martin. “I had a cut on my finger get infected once. Really disgusting. You don’t want to know.”

Jon smiled at him, raised his eyebrows. “After Jared’s mortal garden I think I can handle it.”

Martin smiled too, but wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “There was pus involved.”

“Oh, god! How could you tell me that!” gasped Jon, hand to his chest.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it also hurt? A lot? And it can make you ill. So we should try to avoid it, yeah?”

He’d tried to disavow the disappointment in his sigh by exaggerating it. “Yes, alright.”

“Don’t know why you’d want to leave it exposed anyway. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Well, sure, when you do that,” Jon had muttered, flinching away. As he asked the question Martin had lightly tapped the skin around the gash through its new bandage. A second or two later Jon added, “Less than when I got it? It’s hard to tell; it’s… different here.”

With a sigh that caught on phlegm and irritation, Martin asked, “Different how?”

He hadn’t been able to answer then, but he knew now, of course. It hurt the way things do when you’re awake. Not with the constant smart and throb it had when he’d first got it, but, it snagged on things now. Had opinions on how he moved. When he bent his knee more than ninety degrees, that stretched the skin around it painfully. Also if he knelt, since then the floor would press against it through his trousers. And stepping with that foot felt odd. Didn’t hurt, exactly, but sort of… rattled? Like a bad bruise would. This all seemed so small, compared to the moment of terror for his life that he’d felt when Daisy bit into him—that gaping wound in his new self-conception, which his healing powers had sewn up so quickly. The ritual of bandaging it every evening seemed so otiose, so laughably superstitious. He despised the thought of adding another step to it.

While Jon went on examining his toe, Martin asked, “What was the... thumping. It sounded like.”

“Oh—no—I didn’t fall; it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“No—yes—stop, it’s nothing, don’t get up. I just forgot I left it on the—leaning against the doorwall” (he hadn’t decided in time whether to say doorway or wall and ended up with half of each) “so I walked into it, er, toe first.”

“Oh,” Martin said again. Jon could hear him subsiding against the pillows behind him. “It came down?”

Big sigh. Jon’s fingernails met his palms. He set his foot back on the floor, and when his hip whined in its socket he clenched his teeth and kept them that way. In his mind he heard days’ worth of similar jokes. When he couldn’t get a jammed jar open: So you’re saying it wouldn’t… come off? When they got back their clean laundry: Can you believe all those grass stains came out?—oh, sorry: that they came off, I meant. Always with an innocent laugh, like Jon’s original phrasing had been just, what, like a Freudian slip, rather than something perfectly comprehensible that Martin had refused to engage with, taken from him, and rendered meaningless on purpose. “No it did not,” he snapped, “and I would appreciate it if you’d quit throwing that back in my face.”

“Whoa, uh. O…kay. What’s… going on here exactly?”

“You—?”

His heart plummeted; his face stung with embarrassment. Came down, Martin had said—not came off. He’d just been confirming that Jon’s cane had fallen down.

“Oh, god—nothing, never mind. You did nothing.”

“Well that’s obviously not true.”

“I just—I thought you’d said ‘came off.’ I thought you meant, had my toe ‘come off.’”

“Oh,” said Martin, yet again. When Jon turned to look he found him still blinking and squinting against the light. “Do you… need me to not say that anymore?”

“Not when I—?” Not when I’ve hurt myself, Jon meant. But Martin hadn’t done that, so this grievance didn’t actually mean anything. He’d been seeing patterns where there were none, and now that he’d seen through the illusion Jon knew again that Martin never would say it like that. “No, it’s fine. Do whatever you want.”

Martin turned the tail end of his yawn into a huff of false laughter. “Nope. Still don’t believe you.”

“Everything you’ve said makes perfect sense with the information you have. It’s all just—me. Being cryptic again.”

“Okay, uh. Are you waiting for me to disagree? ‘Cause, uh. Yup—you’re still being cryptic. No arguments there.”

Jon just sighed, really scraping the back of his throat with it. Almost a scoff.

“Sooo do you wanna fill me in, or.”

“No?” With an incredulous laugh. “Well, yes, just.”

He hadn’t known how to start from there, while so tightly wound and defensive. It seemed cruel to raise such a sensitive subject when Martin sounded so eager to go back to sleep. Or maybe he just didn’t want to hear Martin whimper apologies. Didn’t want to deal with how fake they would sound. They wouldn’t be fake; he knew that. But they would sound fake, which meant it would take an effort of will, a deliberate exercise of empathy, to accept them as real. He wasn’t in the mood to hear yet another person say I’m sorry, I didn’t know; much less to respond with the requisite It’s okay; you didn’t know. It would take a strength of conviction he didn’t have right now.

“Y—you don’t have to explain it tonight? I’ll just, I’ll just not use that phrase anymore, and maybe in the morning you’ll be less in the mood to lash out at me for things that don’t make sense.”

And what was there to say to that? It had taken Jon three tries to force out, “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Good night, Jon.”

“Good night. I still need the light, for.”

“That’s fine. Just turn it off when you come back to bed.”

“You won’t wake him up,” a new voice interjected.

Annabelle. Jon couldn’t see her, but he had learnt by now to recognize that voice, with its insufferable upbeat teasing inflection like every sentence she said was a riddle. He caught a glimpse of movement, then heard the click of her shoes on the floor. She must have poked her head round the doorway at the far end of the table while she spoke, then scuttled off again. At last he got a good look at her, as she put her blonde-and-gray head through the closer door.

“He’s a very heavy sleeper,” she informed them, with a smile and a shrug. “You can shake him all you want; it’s not going to work.”

Martin cleared his throat—trying to catch Jon’s attention, presumably. But Jon feared Annabelle would vanish again if he took his eyes off her. Not that he wanted her here, either, but?—he at least wanted to know which direction she went when she disappeared.

“What are you doing here, Annabelle.”

She shrugged two of her shoulders. “Just offering you some advice.” Then she used the momentum from the shrug to push herself backward, out of the doorway back into the corridor. Before the last of her hands disappeared off to the right, she waved to both of them.

“Well, how about some ‘advice’ about this, then—”

“She’s already gone, Martin.”

“Seriously? God—which way did she go?” Jon pointed; Martin bolted down the hallway after her. “Oi! Annabelle!”

“Shhh!”

“Annabelle! Do you know where Salesa keeps the—”

Jon did his best to follow him, praying all his limbs would go on straight this time. “Don’t!”

“What? Why not?” he heard, from the other side of the wall. Thankfully he could no longer hear Martin’s pounding footsteps. He overtook him in the hallway, just about able to make out his face around the dark swirls in his vision. “She’s as likely to know as Salesa, right?” Martin continued. “And it’s not like she’d lie about it. I mean, what would be the point?”

“I just don’t think we should give her any kind of advantage over us,” Jon snarled. The attempt to keep his voice down made the words come out sounding nastier than he intended.

Martin scoffed. “You don’t think maybe this is a bit more important than your stupid principle about not accepting help from her?”

“Is it?” Jon took hold of Martin’s sleeve, having just now caught up to him. “The new room’s fine. It’s even nicer than the old one, right? We could just stay there.”

“I already told you, Jon. I’m not just gonna leave it like this.”

“’Til Salesa sobers up, I meant.”

“If we have to, yeah, but—? All our stuff’s in that room. The statements’re in there.”

“I just don’t think we should show her that kind of vulnerability,” Jon hissed, shifting from foot to foot in his eagerness either to sit down or go somewhere else. “I don’t want to give Annabelle something she can use over us.”

“How does this make us more vulnerable than we are eating her food?”

“It doesn’t, alright? That doesn’t mean we should add more to the pile!” He watched Martin shrug and open his mouth, but cut him off in advance: “Last time we had this argument you were the one maintaining she was dangerous.”

It was on their first night here—their first awake here, anyway. They’d been heading back to their room, Martin lamenting that he’d not packed anything to sleep in when they left Daisy’s safehouse. “Won’t make much difference to me,” Jon had shrugged at first.

Martin had shaken his head, grimaced at something in his imagination. “I hate sleeping in my pants. It’s just gross. Dunno why anyone would choose to do it.”

“How is it gross?” Jon had laughed. He’d expected to hear some weird thing about its being unsanitary for that much leg to touch sheets that only got washed every two weeks, and to argue back that in that case shouldn’t he sleep in his socks. Disdain for the body seemed damn near universal, and yet manifested so differently in each person whose habits Jon had got to know up close. Georgie had heard that underarm hair helped wick away the smell of sweat—so she let that hair grow out, but shaved the ones on her stomach for fear they’d smell like navel lint. And Daisy, a woman who used to sniff her used-up plasters before throwing them in the bin, would spray cologne in the toilet every time she left it. Jon had enjoyed getting to know which of bodily self-contempt’s myriad forms Martin subscribed to.

But this turned out not to be one of them. Instead Martin explained, “It’s so sweaty. Like sitting on a leather couch in shorts, except the leather’s your other leg? Ugh. I hate waking up slippery.”

“That’s why I put a pillow between mine,” laughed Jon. “Suppose I will miss Trevor’s t-shirt, though. Now that I don’t have to worry about showing up in people’s dreams like that.”

“Oh, god, right—what is it? ‘You don’t have to be faster than the bear’—?”

“‘You just have to be faster than your friends,'” Jon completed, in the most sinister Ceaseless-Watcher voice he could muster. Martin snorted with laughter.

And then they’d opened the door to discover Annabelle had done them a fucking turndown service. Quilt folded back, mints on the pillows, and a pile of old-timey striped pajamas at the foot of the bed. “Huh. Cree…py, but convenient, I guess. Least they’re not black and white, right?” Martin unfolded the green-striped shirt on top, then handed it with its matching trousers to Jon. “These ones must be yours.”

“Mm.” Jon let Martin hand him the pajamas, then tossed them onto the chair in the opposite corner of the room (from which chair they promptly fell to the floor). The mint from his side of the bed he deposited in the bin under the bedside table.

“So who’s our good fairy, d’you think? Salesa, or.”

“Annabelle,” Jon hissed. “Salesa was with us all through dinner.”

Martin nodded and sighed. “Yeah.” He sat down on the bed, still regarding the other set of garments—these ones striped yellow and blue—with a puzzled frown. “God, I’ll look like a clown in these. You sure I won’t give you nightmares about the Unknowing?”

But Jon said nothing, still hoping he could avoid weighing in on Martin’s choice whether or not to accept Annabelle’s… gifts.

“It’s probably Salesa’s stuff, at least. Not Annabelle’s. I mean,” Martin mused with a brave laugh, “he’s got a lot of weird outfits on hand apparently.”

“Unless she wove them out of cobwebs.”

“That’s not a thing,” Martin groaned, making himself laugh too. “Spider webs aren’t strong enough to use as thread.”

“Not natural ones, maybe,” Jon said with a shrug and a careful half smile. With no less care, he turned the sheets and counterpane back up on his side of the bed, restoring the way it’d looked when he and Martin made up the bed that morning. Stacked the frontmost pillow back upright against the one behind it. Punched it a little, more as a way to break the silence than because it looked too fluffy. Then sat down in front of them and put his shoe up on the bedside table so he could untie it—glancing first at Martin to make sure he didn’t disapprove.

“I mean, I guess,” Martin mused meanwhile. “Not sure why she’d bother, though. Maybe it’s”—with a gasp and a smile Jon could hear in his voice—“maybe she’s put poison in the threads, and that’s why yours and mine are different. Mine’s got—I dunno, some kind of self-esteem poison, like, a reverse SSRI, to make me feel like you don’t need me, so when she kidnaps you I won’t try to save you. And yours….”

As Jon pulled off his now-untied shoe one of the bones in his hip jabbed against some bit of soft tissue it wasn’t supposed to touch. He gasped and dropped his shoe. It thudded on the floor.

“You alright?”

“Fine. Some kind of dex drain, probably.”

“Ha.”

After a silence, Martin spoke again: “Are you sure you’re okay staying here for a bit? Sorry—I kinda bulldozed over your objections earlier.”

Jon finished untying his other shoe, then paused to think while he shook the cramp out of his hand. “No,” he decided. “You didn’t bulldoze, you just…questioned. And you were right to.”

“Still, I mean. It might not be a great idea to stick around here with the spider lady who’s had it in for us since day one. Have you re-listened to the tapes from the day Prentiss attacked, by the way, since you got them back from the Not-Sasha thing?”

“Right—the spider, yes.”

“Yeah, exactly! You wouldn’t even have broke through that wall if it hadn’t been for the spider there!”

Jon nodded and scrubbed at his eyes, trying to muster the energy to match Martin’s tone. This was an important conversation to have, he knew. And a part of him shuddered with recognition to hear Martin talk about those tapes. He had re-listened to them—first at Georgie’s, one night in the small hours as he cleaned her kitchen, thinking clearly for the first time in months and trying to pinpoint the exact moment his thoughts had been clouded with paranoia, so that he might know what signs to look for if something else tried to infect his mind like that. And then again after Basira found the jar of ashes. That time he’d just wanted to suck all the marrow he could from the memory of Martin with his sensible corkscrew and his first answer to Why are you here, even if it did mean having to hear himself ask if Martin was a ghost. A few weeks later, however, after Hilltop Road, he’d done a fair bit of obsessing over the spider thing with Prentiss, yeah. He just wished he could remember what conclusion he’d come to.

All he could remember was going for those tapes yet again only to find them missing from his drawer. But he’d been chasing phantoms all day; it was late at night by then, and when he’d dashed out to tell Basira his fear Annabelle had stolen them, stolen his memories from him just like the Not-Them had, he’d stood there over her and Daisy’s frankenbag for what felt like an hour, mouth open, unable to utter a sound. It felt too much like going to wake up his grandmother after a dream. So he’d told himself to sleep on it—that he’d probably left the tapes in some other obvious place, and would find them in the morning. And when he remembered his panic, the next day at lunch, and checked his drawer again, the tapes were back, right where he expected them. He’d dismissed it as a dream after all. But no—Martin must have borrowed them. He must’ve been worried about the Web, too.

“It’s… it should be okay. I don’t think it’ll be like that here.”

Martin sighed. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“That thing where you just—decide how something is without even telling me why you think so. I mean it’s one thing out there, when you ‘know everything’” (this in a false deep voice) “and can’t possibly share it all, but here? When you’re just guessing, like everyone else? Why don’t you think it’ll be like that here? And what does ‘like that’ even mean?”

“I'm sorry—you’re right—I just mean, I don’t think she has her powers here. Based on what Salesa said about the camera, and on what happens when I try to use my powers….”

“Salesa just said the Eye can’t see this place, though. What about that insect thing he said found its way in?”

“I mean.” Jon shrugged. “We managed to find our way here without the Eye’s help.”

“Yeah, but if the Web has no power here then how could she have called me on a payphone? She had to have known where I was to do that, yeah? And she couldn’t know that from here unless the Web told her to do it, right?”

“Maybe? We don’t even know if the Web works like that.”

“Told her to do it, made her want to do it, gave her the tools to do it, whatever. You know what I mean. Look—we know the Eye’s not totally blind here, since it can still feed on statements. Right?”

Jon wondered now how either one of them could have been so sure of that. “Apparently,” he liked to think he had said—but more likely he’d replied simply, “Right.”

“So then by that logic the Web still probably likes it when she—I don’t know, when she manipulates people here. It probably still gets, like, live tweets from her about it. How do we know it can’t use that information to weave more plots around us?”

“If that’s even how it works,” Jon had replied again. “The other fears don’t work like that—they don’t plan, they just.” He tried to sort his intuition into Martin’s live tweet metaphor. “The fears just like their agents’ tweets, they don’t… comment on them, o-or build new opinions on what they’ve read. It boosts the avatar's… popularity, I guess? Their influence?” Jon hadn’t even logged into Twitter since before the Archives. “But unless the Web is different from all the other fears, it doesn’t—it’s not her boss. It doesn’t come up with the schemes, it just.”

“Isn’t it literally called the ‘Spinner of Schemes’, though? The ‘Mother of Puppets’?”

And Jon couldn’t remember what he’d said to brush off that one.

“Of course she’s dangerous,” Martin said now. “I just don’t see what sinister plot of hers we could possibly be enabling by asking her where to find screwdrivers.”

Jon scoffed. “She’s with the Web, Martin! The ‘Mother of Puppets,’ the ‘Spinner of Schemes’? You’re not supposed to be able to see how the threads connect. Anything we ask her gives her another opening to sink her hooks into.”

“So what, you just don’t want to owe her a favor?”

“Yes?” Jon blinked—on purpose, needless to say. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I mean—why do you think she’s here, Martin, ingratiating herself with us?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s the one place on Earth that hasn’t been turned into a hell dimension?”

Jon snarled and set his head in his free hand. The dizziness was coming back. “In her statement Annabelle said the trick to manipulating people was to make sure they always either over or underestimate you.”

“Okay,” granted Martin, as though prompting Jon to explain how this was relevant.

“She’s trying to humanize herself,” he maintained, scratching an imaginary itch behind his glasses. “We shouldn’t let her.”

“I mean, she is physically more human here.”

“Is she? She doesn’t seem to be withdrawing from the Web; she’s not—like this.” Jon turned his wrist in a circle next to his head.

“Yeah but she’s been here for months, right? Maybe she’s passed through that stage.”

A bitter huff of laughter. “So you’re saying she’s reformed.”

“No. I’m saying the fact she’s not all—loopy here doesn’t necessarily mean she still has any power.”

“She’s got four arms and six eyes, Martin!”

“And you sleep with your eyes open and summon tape recorders, Jon!”

“Well,” mused Jon with a wry smile, “not on purpose.”

“That’s my point! You’ve only got—vestiges here, yeah? I’m not saying we should trust her; I don’t wanna be friends or anything. I’m just saying I don’t think the actual concrete danger she poses here is what’s making you hate the idea of asking her for directions.”

“What about that insect thing Salesa said she chased off. Does that not sound spidery to you?”

“We don’t know that! Maybe she waved his syringe at it.”

Jon took a deep, shaky breath through his nose. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to bring up this next part; he feared it might make Martin too afraid to stay here any longer. “I think she’s plotting against us.”

Blink. “Well, yeah. Of course she is. She’s been plotting against us for—”

“Here, I mean. I mean, I think that’s why she’s here. She’s been hiding from the Eye on purpose so she could lure us into her trap with her spindly little”—Jon thought of the earrings that dangled from Annabelle’s ears like flies, swinging with her every sudden movement. Unconsciously he struck out with his hand as if to catch one, closing his fist around empty air. “Without my being able to see either her or the trap. At best, she’s here gathering information about us so she can report it back to her master.” He pictured the thousand spiders he’d seen birthed during Francis’s nightmare crawling back and forth with messages between here and the nearest Web domain—

“I thought you said the fears didn’t work that way,” pursued Martin—

“And every little thing we tell her is one more thread she can use to pull on us.”

“Okay, but, even if you’re right, ‘Hey Annabelle, our doorknob’s busted, can you help us find the tools to fix it’ isn’t actually a fact about us.”

“But that’s just the best-case scenario, Martin! The worst-case scenario is that she predicted we’d get locked out of our room, or even loosened the screw herself—”

“Not this again—”

“—because she knew we’d have to ask her for help, and wherever she tells us to look for the screwdriver is where she’s laid her trap! Think about it—this couldn’t happen outside the range of the camera, right? It would only work in a place where I can’t just know where to find something. That’s the only scenario where we’d ever ask her for directions.” Martin sighed, crossed his arms, rolled his eyes. Jon looked right at him, hoping to catch them on their way back down. “What if her plan is to trap us here forever so we can’t go stop Elias? What if by trusting her with this, we give her the tools to keep the world like this forever?”

Again Martin sighed. He bit his lip, at last seeming not to have an argument lined up already.

“I can’t actually stop you from going after her”—Jon heard Martin scoff, but pressed on—“but I can’t take part in this.”

“You sort of already did stop me, Jon.” He lifted his arm, pointing vaguely in the direction she’d gone. “We can’t catch up with her now.”

That wasn’t quite true, Jon knew; Martin had chosen to stop and listen to him. Instead of pointing this out in words Jon smiled, meekly, and reached for Martin’s hand. “Guess that’s true. Are you, er, ready for lunch now?”

His answering scoff sounded fond, indulgent, rather than incredulous. “Yeah, alright.”

With Martin’s hand still in his, Jon turned around—an awkward business, while holding hands in such a narrow passage—and began to walk back towards the dining room. At the end of the corridor stood a tall, thin, many-limbed figure, holding a water carafe, a stack of glasses, and four steaming plates of food.

“You boys getting hungry?” As she stepped toward them her shoes clacked against the floor. How had they not heard her approach? And what was she doing back at that end of the corridor?

“How did you—?”

“I have my ways. I’ve brought lunch for you both, if you’re amenable.”

“Oh—well, thanks, you’re, you’re just in time, actually.” Jon didn’t dare look away from Annabelle Cane long enough to confirm this, but suspected Martin had directed that last bit at him as much as her. “Can I help you with those?”

Annabelle managed to shrug without dislodging anything from the four plates in her hands. “You can take the napkins if you want,” she said, extending toward Martin the forearm from which they hung.

Jon sat back down in the chair he’d left at a haphazard angle—though it felt weird, since he usually sat on the table’s other side. He thanked Martin when he handed him a napkin, and allowed Annabelle to set an empty glass and a plate of food in front of him. It was a pasta dish, with clams—from a can, he reminded himself. A can and a jar of pasta sauce. Couldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes to put together.

“Salesa’s still out of it,” observed Martin. “Don’t think he’ll make too much of his.”

“A shame,” Annabelle agreed. She set a plate down in front of the sleeping Salesa anyway. “Maybe the smell of food’ll wake him up.”

“Are you going to eat with us?” Martin asked, as he and Jon both watched her deposit a fourth plate across the table from them.

“I may as well. We do still have to eat to live here, don’t we?” Jon could tell she meant this comment as an invitation for him to join their conversation, but he didn’t intend to take her bait. “Besides,” Annabelle went on, “this way you’ll know I’ve not saved the best for myself.” With one hand she picked up her own plate again; another of her long, thin arms reached out to take Jon’s plate.

He dragged it to the side, out of her reach. “No, thank you.”

“Alright. Martin,” she said, looking over at him with a patient, patronizing smile. “Will you switch plates with me?”

“Oh, my god,” Martin groaned into his hand. “Sure, why not.”

Something small and gray skittered across the table toward her. For half a second Annabelle took her eyes from Martin. Her nostrils flared; one of her eyes twitched; Jon heard a stifled squawk from behind her closed lips as she swept the skittery thing over her edge of the table. He made no such effort to hide his scoff. Did she think she could play nice, by declining to hold little spider conversations in front of them? That they’d think she was on their side as long as they couldn’t see her chatting to her little spies?

“Thank you,” Annabelle sing-songed meanwhile, returning her gaze to Martin. “You’re sweet.”

On their first morning here, after showering and then shuddering back into their filthy clothes, Jon and Martin had barely left their room before Annabelle dangled herself in their path, with cups of tea (Jon refused his) and an offer to show them to the pantry. From this tour Jon had concluded that all food in this place was tainted by her influence. And he didn’t actually feel hungry at that point? He remembered Martin remarking on his hunger before they’d both fallen asleep, but Jon had felt only tired. Surely that meant he still didn’t need food here, right? It’d been like that before the change, after the coma—he’d needed sleep and statements to keep up his strength, but could function just fine without… people food. So he’d resolved to accept nothing offered him here—or at least, nothing Salesa and Annabelle hadn’t already given him and Martin without their consent. No tea, none of Salesa’s booze, no use of the huge industrial washing machines, no food.

That resolution lasted about nine hours. He knew because on that first day time still felt like such a novelty he and Martin had counted every one. Once he’d tried and failed to compel Salesa—once he’d heard him give a statement and managed to space out for half of it, rather than transcending himself in the ecstasy of vicarious fear—Jon started to grow conscious of his hunger. After two hours he felt shaky; after four he started picking quarrels, first just with Annabelle when she showed up with snacks, then with Salesa, and then even with Martin; after six he felt first hot, then cold. Finally around the eight-hour mark he was hiding tears over an untied shoelace, and figured it was worth finding out how much of this torment people food could solve. He sat through dinner, flaunting his empty plate—then stole to the pantry for something he could make himself. Settled for dry toast and raisins. “Couldn’t you find the jam?” Martin had asked him.

“Didn’t think of it,” Jon lied, once he’d got his throat round a lump of under-chewed toast.

“You want me to get some for you? That looks pretty depressing without it,” Martin said, with his eyebrows and the line of his mouth both raised in a pitying smile.

“Better make it one of the sealed jars.”

“What, so Annabelle can’t have got to it?” Jon nodded, chewing so as to have neither to smile back nor decide not to. “You know she made the bread, right.”

Of course she had. Jon dropped his head onto his fists. “Fuck.”

“What did you think?” mused Martin with a laugh. “That Salesa just popped down to the supermarket?”

“I don’t know—that they’d taken it from the freezer, maybe?”

“I mean, that’s possible,” Martin granted with a shrug. “Should I get you that jam?”

Big sigh. “Fine.”

In reality he’d stared up at the row of jam jars in Salesa’s pantry for a full ten seconds before deciding not to have any. He feared spiders would spill out of the jar onto his hand as soon as he got it open. But he also feared he might not be able to open it at all—only hurt himself trying. Way back in their first year in the Archives together, Martin had once seen him struggling to get open the jar where he kept paperclips. Jon hadn’t realized he was being watched—or, that is, that Martin was watching him. In the Archives the sense of someone watching was so omnipresent one soon lost the ability to distinguish Elias’s evil Eye from other, more mundane eyes. Anyway, after three minutes’ effort and nothing to show for it but a misplaced MCP joint in his thumb, Jon had given up on paper-clipping the photos Tim had pilfered for him to their relevant statement and begun hunting through his desk drawers for a stapler instead. And then a high-pitched pop above his head made him startle so badly he gasped, choked on his own spit, and flung the picture in his hand across the room like a paper airplane.

Around the sound of his own cough he could hear Martin shouting Sorry, and Tim and Sasha laughing on the other side of the wall. Martin’s laugh soon joined theirs, though it sounded desperate, sheepish. He dove after the photo Jon had dropped, and then, when he came back with it, explained, “Got the paperclips for you.”

Jon frowned. “This is a photograph, Martin.”

“No, I mean—?” His laugh came out like a whimper; he picked the unlidded jar up an inch off the table, then set it back down. “Here.”

Okay, so, not exactly an auspicious start, but, it still became a thing? Martin opening his paperclip jar. At first he’d wished he could just remember not to seal it so tightly; he could get it just fine when he stopped turning it earlier. At least when the weather hadn’t changed since the last time he opened it. But then when they all started leaving the Archives less often, and the break-room fridge filled up with condiments that all seemed to have twist-off lids… he’d kind of liked that? Martin would hand him the peanut-butter jar, with its lid off and pinned to its side with one finger, before Jon had even finished asking for it. This seemed to be the pattern behind all his early positive impressions of Martin: the jar lids, the corkscrew, the way he managed to make mealtimes at the Institute feel like proper breaks. Martin had seemed like such an oaf to him at first—clumsy, absent-minded, always seeming to think that if he professed enough good will with his smiles and cups of tea and I know you won’t like this, but, then no one would notice his impertinent comments and all the doors he left wide open. All the dogs and worms and spiders he let in. He’d seemed to Jon the human embodiment of a fly left undone—more so than ever after the morning he’d walked in on him wearing naught but frog-print boxer shorts. But he had this easy grace with things that needed twisting off. Banana peels, bottle caps, wine corks, worms.

And then when he came back after the Unknowing Martin was never around. Jon and Basira and Melanie all lived in the Archives, like Martin had two years before, but by that point he wasn’t on Could you open this for me? terms with any of them. But he hadn’t needed people food anymore, and if he subluxed a joint it would heal instantly anyway. So he’d just struggled and sworn, feeling stupid for shrinking from the pain even after having chopped off his own finger. And it got easier with practice. By the time he and Martin reunited, he’d got so used to it that sometimes he’d hand jars to Martin already unlidded. Martin hadn’t seemed to notice. Finally, one evening a day or two after that row they had over the ice-cream thing, Jon had opened a jar of pasta sauce (he’d taken up people food again at Daisy’s safehouse, if only to make their time there feel more like a regular holiday), and reached out to hand it to Martin—then paused and retracted the hand that gripped the jar, remembering his promise to be more open about.

“This is, um.” He’d glanced up at Martin, then back to the floor as the latter said,

“Huh?”

“This is one of those things that’s got better since the coma. Since I became an avatar. I can, um. I can open jars now? Without.” He’d almost said Without hurting myself, then remembered that wasn’t technically true. Deep breath. “Without lasting harm. It—it hurts for a second? But the Eye heals it instantly. That's why I’ve been.”

“Oh,” Martin said, seeming to stall for time as he absorbed this information. He accepted the jar which Jon again held out to him, and turned it around in his hands, eyes on its label. “Yeah, I—I noticed, you’re really good at opening jars now,” he went on with a laugh. Again he paused, and blew a sigh out of his mouth. “Right. Okay. Thank you for telling me?”

“I’ll try and be better about….”

Martin nodded, turning back to the stove and beginning to stir sauce into the pasta. “Yeah. I, uh—I didn’t know that was why you used to need me to open them for you?” Since the other night’s argument, Jon had gathered as much. He nodded too. “I thought you were just, heh, you know. Weaker than me.”

“I mean, I am—”

“Well yeah but you know what I mean.”

“I do. I should’ve told you.”

“No, I—actually I think you’re in the clear on that one, if I’m honest. I just—it’s just weird? I thought I was done having to” (another blown-out sigh punctuated his speech) “having to reframe stuff I thought was normal around some unseen horror. Sorry,” he added when he’d finished beating sauce off Daisy’s wooden spoon; “that’s probably not a great way to.”

“No—it’s fine?”

“Suppose it sounds like an exaggeration, now, after all we’ve.”

Mechanically, Jon nodded, without deciding whether he agreed or not. Around an awkward laugh, he confessed, “‘Unseen horror’ might be the nicest way I’ve ever heard anyone describe it.”

“Er. Yikes? That sounds like you might need some better friends, Jon.”

“Maybe,” he conceded, laughing again. “I—I just mean, it’s nice to hear something other than?” Jon paused and pushed his little fingers back the hundred or so degrees they each would go. First the left, then the right. Other than what? Well, doubt, for a start. Though most of the doubt he heard from outside himself was implicit. Careful silence from people he told about it; requests people made of him seemingly just so he’d have to tell them he couldn’t do that; impatience, bafflement, suspicion from strangers. Why are you out of breath, the woman behind the Immigration desk had asked him at O’Hare, as if breathlessness incriminated him somehow. But that wasn’t the response he’d subconsciously measured Martin’s phrase against. What he had in mind now was more like… bland support. Hurried support. Assurances quick and dutiful, yet so vague he could tell the people who gave them were thinking only of the mistakes they might make, if they dared to acknowledge what he’d said with any more than half a sentence. The I’m sorry you’re in pain equivalents of Right away, Mr. Sims.

That was it—unseen horror was an original thought. Martin had put it in his own words, rather than either borrowing Jon’s or using none at all. “Other than a platitude.”

So at Salesa’s when Martin came back with the jam jar he handed it to Jon. Jon made a show of trying to open it, but could feel his middle finger threatening to leave its top half behind. It frightened him, in a way he’d forgot was even possible. For such a long time now, pain had just been pain? He’d grown so unused to the threat it held for normal people. The threat of actual danger, of injury. He’d set down the jar on the table in front of him, and crossed his arms in front of it.

“Can’t get it, huh?” Martin asked; Jon shook his head.

How much danger, though, he wondered. Earlier that day, after he and Martin got out of the bath, his left index finger had popped out while he was buttoning his shirt. It still ached when he used the finger, or thought about the cracking sound it had made—but didn’t throb anymore without provocation. Not much danger there; not even much inconvenience. He supposed if he hurt his middle finger too then he might have some trouble with his trouser button the next time he had to pee? Right, yes, what a cross to bear. I hurt myself doing x; now it hurts to do x. But it already hurt to do x, didn’t it? Didn’t x always hurt, before the change? Why did he so fear to face an hour or a day where it hurt more than usual, but not so much I can’t do it?

“So you’re saying it won’t… come off?”

“Ha, ha.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“What if I open it and it’s full of spiders?”

Martin had smiled, rolled his eyes, pulled the jar toward him, and twisted its lid off with a pop. “See? No spiders in this one.

“While you’re here, Annabelle,” Jon heard Martin say, “I don’t suppose you know anything about where Salesa keeps his screwdrivers?”

Annabelle tapped her chin and said, very pleasantly, “Hmmm. Perhaps they’re where he left them after the last time something broke.”

Martin’s lips drew closer together. “Yeah,” he nodded, “probably. Any idea where that might be?”

“Perhaps he keeps them next to whatever screw comes loose most often.”

“And do you know which screw that is?”

She shook her head, though who knew whether that meant she didn’t know or merely that she didn’t mean to tell him. “Perhaps he only uses the item when he’s alone,” she said, with a shrug and a sly smile.

“…Ew.” Annabelle cackled like a school kid pulling a prank. “Right, great,” sighed Martin. “Thanks a lot. Forget it. You done, Jon?”

Jon glanced sleepily down at his plate. Only half empty, but cold by now. “Yes.”

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Annabelle,” Martin said, sliding his and Jon’s plates toward her side of the table.

Instead of energy, lunch gave Jon only a slight queasy feeling—like one gets from eating sweets on an empty stomach.

“God”—hissed Martin, with clenched fists, as they ambled back to their room—“‘Perhaps he keeps them next to the screw that gets loose most often.’ Yeah, figured that out already, thanks! Can you even believe her? Sitting down to eat with us, as if she’s all ready to help, and then the best she can do is,” he paused and straightened, then said with a finger to his chin in imitation of Annabelle, “‘Oh, hm, guess he only uses it alone. Oh well!’”

“Don’t know what else you expected.”

Martin sighed, his arms crossed now. “Guess I should’ve done what you asked after all, since that accomplished nothing.” After a moment he went on, “Least it wasn’t a trap, right? I tried not to give her anything she could use against us.” With a smile Jon could hear without looking at him, “You notice how I pointedly didn’t offer to help clean up?”

“No, I didn’t,” Jon confessed, laughing a little.

“No?!” Again Martin paused on his feet, frowning, incredulous. Jon wished he wouldn’t; standing still made him dizzier, took more effort than walking, like that poor woman in Oliver’s domain. Daniela? Martin shook his head at himself. “Ugh—then who knows if she noticed, either. I thought I was being so obvious!”

“I mean—”

“Wait, hold up, let’s double back.”

“Are you going to go back and tell her it was on purpose?”

“No, just”—he echoed Jon’s laugh—“no, of course not. I just wanted to try that wing’s toilets next. Didn’t want her to see which way we were going.”

“Oh.” By this time Martin had turned around and started to walk the other way; Jon hung back. “Er. I thought—I thought we were going to our room first.”

“What, the new one you mean?” asked Martin, turning his head around to look back at him.

“…Yes,” Jon decided. Until this moment he’d forgot about that, and been daydreaming of their original bed.

“Sure, if you want. Do you need a break?”

“I… I think so, yes.”

Martin turned the rest of the way around, shuffled toward Jon and looked him over, with a concerned frown. He took his free hand between his fingers and thumb, brushing the latter over Jon’s knuckles. “Yeah, okay. You still seem pretty out of it. How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” answered Jon, though he smiled in relief at Martin’s willingness to change the plan for him.

“Food didn’t help?”

His stomach seemed hung with cobwebs; his mind, like a large room with half its lights burnt out. His light head seemed attached to his heavy, aching body only by a string, like a balloon tied to an Open-House sign. He still needed the toilet. “Not really?”

“Yeah, thought not. You need a statement, huh.”

Jon shrugged, avoiding Martin’s eyes. “Probably.”

In the interim bedroom Jon sat down at the edge of the bed, bent down over his legs, and untied his shoes, wondering why his life always came back around to this. His hip got stuck like a drawer that’s been pulled out crooked, so he had to lever himself back up with his arms, trapping fistfuls of counterpane between thumbs and the meat of his palms. It made his hands cramp, but that helped—the way it would have helped to bite his finger. When he’d got himself upright again he sat and blinked for a few seconds, hoping each time he opened his eyes that his vision would’ve cleared.

Martin sat down next to him and put his hand on Jon’s arm. “You’re blinking again. You okay?”

“Just… kind of dizzy? It’s an Eye thing.”

He let Martin pull him towards him until their shoulders touched. “Yeah. Makes sense. Nap should help. Statement’ll definitely help.”

“Right.”

They agreed to lie on the bed rather than properly in it, not wanting to have to put the covers back together afterward. Jon set his head on that squishy part of Martin’s chest where it started to give way to armpit, knowing to angle himself so the scar tissue pressed the hollow part of his cheek rather than anywhere bonier. It was normally dangerous to lie half on his back, half on his side like this, but he’d lately discovered he could use Martin’s leg to keep his hip from falling off. He could feel the muscles in his shoulder twitching and cramping, whether to pull the joint out or keep it in who could tell. But it’d be fine as long as he shrugged the arm every few minutes.

All the ways they knew to spend time in each other’s company had come together in Scotland, where he’d had none of these worries. Even after the change, on their journey, with nothing but sleeping bags between them and desecrated earth, he’d borne only the same aches he’d been ignoring since he read the statement that ended the world. Jon imagined lying next to Martin like this on the cold stone of a tomb in the Necropolis, surrounded by guardian angels’ malicious laughter. Not feeling the cold, or the grain of the stone against his ankles and the bandage on his shin—just knowing it was there, like when you watch someone suffer those things in a movie. Less vivid even than a statement about lying on a tomb; in Naomi Herne’s nightmare he’d felt the stone in her hands.

“Hfff, okay—ready to get back to it?”

“Mrrr.”

“…Jon, are you asleep?”

He shrugged his hanging shoulder. “No.”

Nose laugh. “Come on, wake up.”

“Mmrrrrrrr.”

“My arm’s asleep.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It won’t wake up ‘till you get up off of it, Jon,” said Martin, gently, between huffs of laughter.

“Hmr.” Jon rolled away to face the wall with the window, freeing Martin’s arm.

“Do you want me to go look without you?”

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

Cold air washed over his newly-exposed arm, ribcage, side of face, the outside of his sore hip. It was cold on this Martinless side of the bed, too. He rolled back over into the shadow of his warmth, but that still wasn’t as good as the real thing. Maybe he could pull the covers halfway out and roll himself up in them.

“Aaagh, no—Jon”—Martin’s cool hand on top of his as he tried to hook his fingers round the counterpane— “we’re trying to leave the room the way we found it, remember?”

“Hmmmrrgh.” He consented to leave his hand still when Martin’s departed from it. A few seconds later, a rustle against his ear, the smell of smoke and old clothes.

“Here.”

Jon crunched the jacket down so it wouldn’t itch his ear. “You won’t need it?”

“Probably not.”

“Hm.”

“I’ll be back for it if I have to go outside again, yeah?”

“Okay.”

In his mind’s eye they trudged into the wind, hand in hand. It blew Martin’s hood off his head, and inverted Jon’s cane like an umbrella. He shrunk himself further under Martin’s jacket, relishing the new pockets of warmth he created as his calves met his thighs and his hands gripped his shoulders.

“Ooookay…! Wish me luck?”

“Good luck,” managed Jon around a yawn.

Martin had been right about the wallpaper. Not only was the red too bright to look at comfortably; it also had the kind of flowered pattern just complex enough that every time you look back at it you’re compelled to double-check where it repeats. Every fourth stripe was the same as the first, right? Not every second? And that weird little scroll-shaped petal—he’d seen that one too recently. Was it the same as?—No, that one was a bud. He pulled Martin’s jacket up so it covered his eyes.

They’d put their jackets through the laundry with everything else, their first day here, but that hadn’t got the smell out. Enough time had passed between the burning building and their arrival here for the smoke to embed itself permanently into their jackets and shoes, like how duffel bags once taken camping always smell like barbecue. And everything they’d ever shoved in those backpacks still had some of that odd, sour, Ritz-cracker smell of clothes left unwashed too long.

Daisy used to smell like smoke and laundry, too, once she quit smelling like dirt. It was the smell of the old green sleeping bag she’d zipped up to Basira’s. She said she’d have showered it off if she could; she didn’t like it. To her it was a Hunt smell—it reminded her of her clearing in the woods. But there weren’t any showers in the Archives. She’d point this out every time, in the same wry voice, so Jon was sure she’d intended the metaphor. No showers in the Archives: you couldn’t hide your sins in a temple of the Eye. This had comforted Jon—or maybe flattered was the word, though he knew her better than to think she’d have done so on purpose. He just wasn’t sure he agreed. He’d hid his sins pretty well from himself, after the coma. It was easy; you just had to lose track of scale. No one could remember all of them at once, after all. Others had had to point the important ones out to him.

Were those footsteps he could hear out there? Not Annabelle’s—? No; her clicky shoes. These were blunter. Could be Salesa, awake at last, come to invite them to play a game with him. “How do you two feel about… foosball?” he would say, drawing out the last word in a husky whisper. Only then would he swing the door wide open to reveal himself in a shiny jersey, shorts, and studded shoes. He set his fists out before him and turned them in semicircles, pretending to manipulate the plastic rods of a foosball table. Jon curled still more tightly into himself at the thought of Salesa’s face, how his showman’s grin would crumple like a hole in a cellophane wrapper when he realized the fun one had gone and that he faced only the Archivist. “Oh—hello. Jon, is it? Where has your lovely Martin gone?”

“Oh, uh. Martin needs a screwdriver to fix our door, so I.”

He watched Martin march his silent way slowly, solemnly down a corridor that grew darker, grayer, vaguer with every step until the webs that lined its every side and hung in laces from the ceiling began to catch on his shoes, his belt, his glasses.

“I let him go off alone.”

Jon’s whole body flinched. He gasped awake—oh shit. How had he just let Martin go? He had to—couldn’t stay here—find Martin—keep him out of Annabelle’s clutches—

Stick-thin bristling spider legs tapped the floor of his mind like fingers on a table. Find Martin. Jon instructed himself to sit up, swing his legs over the side of the bed and reach down to grab his shoes. He twitched one finger. See? You can do this. In a minute he’d try again and be able to move his whole arm, push himself up onto one hand. Find Martin.

Also probably go to the toilet. With an empty bladder his head would be clearer, he could figure out which direction to look first.

After Hopworth, while he laid on the couch in his office waiting for the strength to throw himself into the Buried, Jon had imagined Martin and Georgie and Basira and Melanie all stood around that coffin, wearing black and holding flowers. Denise? No, it definitely had three syllables. A scattered applause began as Jonah Magnus emerged from his office, closed behind him the door printed with poor dead Bouchard’s name, and stepped up to the podium. Georgie, not knowing his face, began to clap; Melanie stayed her hands. Elagnus’s shirt, hidden behind suit except for the collar, was striped in black and white. A ball and chain hung from his sleeve like an enormous cufflink. He opened his mouth to speak, and a tape recorder began to hiss.

“What are you doing here?” asked Basira.

“Never underestimate how much I care for the tools I use, Detective. I wouldn’t miss my Archivist’s big day.”

“So they just let you out for this.”

Elias shrugged with false modesty. His chain jingled. “When I asked them nicely.”

“How did you even know he was dead?” interposed Melanie. “Basira, did you tell him about the—”

“She didn’t have to,” said Elias, raising his voice to cut Melanie’s off. “Nothing escapes my notice, and I like to keep an eye out for this sort of thing.”

“Well—it’s—good to see you.” Tim’s voice. Unconvincing, even then.

Jon steeled himself to hear his own voice stammer out, “Yes—y-yes!” but heard nothing except the hissing of the… tape. Yes, that was the wrong tape—the one from his birthday.

“Anyway. Somebody mentioned cake.” Elias jingled as he arranged his hands under his chin.

Tim scoffed. “They didn’t serve cake at my funeral.”

“I preferred going out for ice cream anyway,” pronounced Martin, his arms crossed and his nose in the air. Jon pushed himself up on shaking hands. Find Martin.

They had gone for ice cream at John O’Groats before the change, while living at Daisy’s safehouse. Martin had apologized on behalf of the kiosk for its measly selection—no rum and raisin. Jon pronounced a playful “Urgh,” assuming Martin had cited this flavor as a joke. “I think I’ll manage without that particular abomination.”

“Wait, what? Why did you order it at my birthday party then?”

Jon stood still with his ice cream cone, squinted into space, and blinked. “I did?”

“My first birthday in the Archives, yeah!”

“Huh. That’s… odd.” Martin placed a gentle hand on Jon’s back to remind him to resume walking. “I suppose I must have been—huh. Yes,” he mused, nodding slowly as his hypothesis came into focus between his eyes and the ground. “I must still have thought I was tired of all the good flavors at that point.”

He heard Martin scoff a few steps ahead of him. “What, and now you’re happy with plain old vanilla?” Then he heard arrhythmic footsteps thumping toward him from Martin’s direction; he looked up to find Martin reaching his napkin-draped free hand out toward Jon’s ice cream cone. “You’re dripping again,” he explained.

Jon mumbled thanks and shrugged a laugh. “I-I’ve, uh. Come back around on most of them.”

“Except rum and raisin?”

“No—I’ve come around on it, too, just, uh.” He tried to make the shape of a wheel with his ice-cream-cone-laden hand. It flicked drips of vanilla across his shirt. Martin came at him with the napkin again. “Thank you. I just disliked that one to start with.”

“…Right. Okay, so what revolution occurred in your life before the Archives that overturned all your opinions on ice cream flavors?”

So Jon had told Martin about that summer when his jaw kept subluxing. He’d used that word, assuming Martin was familiar with it already—incorrect, as he knew now. Presumably Martin had gathered from context that Jon meant he’d hurt his jaw, in some small-scale, no-big-deal way whose specifics he’d let slide as an unimportant detail. But then as the anecdote wore on he must have begun to feel the hole in his knowledge. And lo, at last Martin had invoked that dread specter the clarifying question.

“Okay but so your grandmother had no problem with you basically living off ice cream all summer?”

“Well, she did when I could chew. But not when it was that or tinned soup.”

“Ah—right. ‘Cause you hurt your… jaw, you said?” Jon nodded. “What happened exactly?”

“Oh. Uh. Happened? Nothing, just my—I was born, I guess. Just part of my genetic condition; I happened to get it especially bad in the jaw that year. I-it’s much better now, though,” he hastened to add when he noticed Martin’s frown.

“What genetic condition? You never told me you had one.”

“Didn’t I?”

At the time, the anger in Martin’s answering scoff had surprised him. “No, Jon, you never said.”

“Oh. Sorry? I—I mean, you’ve seen me with this for years—I just?—thought you knew.”

“Seen you with—what, the cane, you mean? I thought that was Prentiss!”

Jon glanced to the doorway to double-check that was where he’d left his cane.

“What? No,” he had mused. “Of course not. I’ve had this since….”

“But you never used it.”

“No—surely, I—”

“Not once before Prentiss.”

Even as he’d said the words, Jon’s memory of that time had returned to him and he’d known Martin was right. Before Prentiss attacked the Institute he’d brought his cane with him to work in the Archives every day, and every day left it folded up in his bag. All out of an obscure notion that if he’d used it before Elias and before his coworkers, they’d take it as a plea for mercy, an admission of weakness or incompetence. God, he was naïve back then. He’d used the cane often enough back in Research; why hadn’t he worried Tim and Sasha would find its new absence conspicuous? That they’d worry just as much about his refusal to use it? The whole thing seemed even more stupid, too, now that he knew Elias must have noticed the change. How it must have pleased him, to see his shiny new Archivist so obsessed with proving he was fit for the job.

“Yeah but,” Jon pursued, instead of voicing any of this, “Tim never—?”

Martin nodded and shrugged. “I don’t know; I figured Tim didn’t get them in the legs as much as you did. I didn’t see you guys after the attack, remember? Not ‘til you got out of quarantine.”

“Right, no, of course you didn’t. I’m sorry,” said Jon mechanically, already consumed with the question he asked next. “Martin—did you think it was the corkscrew?”

From Martin’s sigh Jon figured he’d been expecting this question. “Kinda? At first, yeah. Half for real, half just—you know, as a habit? Like, ‘Look, a way to blame yourself!’” He splayed out his hands, rolled his eyes.

“Yes—I do that too.” Jon barely got the words out above a whisper; he couldn’t not smile, but fought to keep it from showing teeth. A muscle under his chin spasmed with the effort.

“But then I noticed you switching sides with it a lot, so, yeah. I knew it couldn’t be just that.”

“Really?” He waited for Martin’s answering shrug. “You’re the first person who’s ever noticed that. Or at least commented on it.”

“Sorry?”

“No—it’s.”

This attempt to communicate a similar sentiment, Jon recalled as he reached for his shoes, hadn’t gone as well as the one a few days later (over unseen horror &c.). Beholding had at that moment presented him with the image of a fat, hunched woman in shorts. She shuffled forward a few steps in a queue at Boots, next to him, and shifted her weight so the cane in her right hand supported her nearer leg. He felt a strong impulse he knew wasn’t his own—one born partly of resentment, part exasperation, part concern—to tell the woman that was bad for her shoulder, that she should switch hands too. But knew if he tried she’d either pretend she hadn’t heard it, or tell him off for criticizing her. Jon didn’t know what she would say more specifically; the Eye didn’t do hypotheticals. It had given him no more than this single moment of preverbal intuition. After the change he could have sought out other conversations Martin had had with his mother, and they might have given him a pretty good idea. But he’d promised Martin not to look at things like that.

He managed to dislodge a finger while tying his shoe. The other shoe he’d pulled off without untying; in a fit of impatience he tried now to shove his foot into it as it was. No good—he got the shoe on, but it just made the other index finger, the one he’d hooked into the back of the shoe behind his heel for leverage, pop off to the side too. Jon was afraid to find out what shape it would end up in if he pulled his finger back out of the shoe like that, so he had to untie it after all, one-handed. Then carefully extract his finger. It sprung back into place as soon as he removed the offending pressure (namely, his heel), but he still whimpered and swore. The corners of his eyes pricked with indignation when he remembered he still had to pee.

In this case, for once, Beholding had told him the important part: that that was why Martin had noticed. Had he noticed Melanie, too, Jon wondered, when she got back from India? She would switch hands sometimes, too—but, of course, without switching legs. He wondered if that had picked at the same unacknowledged nerve of Martin’s that his mother’s habit had. It had bothered Jon, too, but in a different way. He’d resented it a little, but also felt humbled by it, the way he always did by others’ discomfort. Getting shot in the leg seemed so big? Like such an aberration. So uncontroversially important—probably because it was simple, legible. Georgie could convey its hugeness to him in three words. She got shot. Obviously there was more to the story than that; there were parts he could never…

Well, no. There was a part of it he felt he should say he could never understand: that she’d kept the cursed bullet because she wanted it. In fact he was pretty sure he did understand that. But he didn’t have the right to admit it, he didn’t think. And no reason to hope she would believe him if he did. The second he’d learnt the bullet was still in there, after all, he and Basira had rushed to dig it out. Surely, from her perspective that could only mean he didn’t and could never understand. Or maybe he just wanted her to see it that way—wanted her to get to keep that uncomplicated resentment of his ignorance. It made his perspective look stupid and ugly, sure. But the truth made it look self-absorbed and pitiful. The truth was that until Daisy insisted otherwise, he’d assumed only he could see his own corruption and assent to it: that the others must not have known what they were doing.

Then again, maybe even if Melanie knew that, she would see only that he had underestimated her. Maybe it didn’t matter how much she knew.

Melanie switched off which hand she held her white cane with now, too. But that was probably healthy? Jon knew no more than the average person about white-cane hygiene. He just remembered feeling the floor drop out of his stomach when they’d got coffee together during his time in hiding and he had seen her switch her original, silver cane from hand to hand. Part of him had wanted to scoff or rationalize it away. How much could the shot leg hurt, really, if she still noticed when her arms got tired? But another part of him shuddered at the thought one arm alone couldn’t compensate for the weight her leg refused to take—that she had to keep switching off when one arm got weak and shaky from supporting more weight than it should have to. It wasn’t that he hadn’t experienced pain or impairment on that scale. He had, though the thought of a single injury sufficing to cause it still made him feel cold inside. It was that he kept seeing proofs, all over, everywhere, that the parts of his life he’d only learnt to accept by assuming they were rare weren’t rare.

Leitner hadn’t made the evil books; he’d just noticed they were there. And then had his life ruined by their influence, like everyone who came across them. Jon had had no time and no right to deplore the holes Prentiss had left in him and Tim, because on the same damn day he learnt someone had shot the previous Archivist to death. Alright, so it was him, then, right? Him and Tim—just doomed, just preternaturally unlucky. Tim, handsome face half-eaten by worms, estranged (as Jon then assumed) from a brother who seemed so warm and accepting in that picture on his lock screen; Jon, saved from Mr. Spider only by his childhood bully, now fated to take the place of another murder victim—and also half-eaten by worms. But no; he and Tim had got off lightly. Look what had happened to Sasha the same fucking night. The very thing whose influence convinced him the world had it out for him? Had killed Sasha. Literally stolen her life. How many lives around him got stolen while he mourned his own?

“I want you to comment on it,” Jon had managed to clarify. But Martin had scoffed as he stood in the foyer of Daisy’s safehouse, hopping on one foot to pull off the other shoe:

“Yeah, well. You haven’t exactly led by example on that one.”

“How could I?”

He accepted Jon’s scarf and long-discarded jacket, hanging them up beside his own. “Gee, I don’t know—commenting on it yourself?”

“On… switching which side I used the cane on.”

“Don’t play dumb, Jon. On this ‘genetic condition’” (in a deep, posh voice, with a stodgy frown and fluttering eyelashes) “you’ve apparently had this entire time. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I thought you knew, Martin! Why would I mention it in a childhood anecdote if I didn’t think...?”

“Well I didn’t know, okay? You never told me. You never tell anyone anything about what’s going on with you, you just—you just make everything into another heroic cross to bear.”

“That’s not—?” He wanted to tell Martin just how little that made him want to say about it. But he guessed Martin was really talking less about the EDS thing, more about how he’d spent their whole first year in the Archives pretending to dismiss the statements that scared him. How he’d sent Tim and Martin home when he’d found out about Sasha. How he’d stayed away from the Institute even after his name got cleared for Leitner’s murder. “What do you want to know.”

“Why you never—?” In a similar way, Martin seemed to reconsider his initial response. “Yeah, okay, right. Object-level stuff, yeah?” Jon nodded and wanly smiled. “Okay, so. What’s it called?”

After taking a minute to ditch his shoes, wash the sticky ice-cream residue off his hands, and drink some water, he’d sat down on the couch with Martin and told him its name, what it was, what it did. What does that mean, though, Martin kept asking, so he’d explained how it applied to the anecdote about his jaw. Martin asked why it meant he needed a cane.

“Be…cause all my joints are like that.”

“Yeah, but why does it help with that? What is the cane actually for, is what I’m asking.”

Jon hated being asked that question. “It—it means I don’t fall over when one of my joints stops working? A-and… also makes walking hurt less. I suppose.”

“So, when they’re working right, that’s when you don’t need it?”

“No—yes?—sort of. Now sometimes I just need it when it’s been too long since I had a statement. I get sort of. Weak.” Quickly Jon added, “But I don’t need it for stability so much since the coma.” He’d shown Martin how now, when he pulled out his finger, the Eye would just sort of erase that version of reality—how the dislocation wouldn’t snap back, but simply cease to exist. As if his body were a drawing on which the Beholding had corrected a mistake. He put his palms together behind his back, in the way he’d been told one couldn’t without subluxing both shoulders, and told Martin to watch how the hollows between his shoulder bones vanished. He opened his jaw ‘til it jarred to the side, and told Martin to listen for the static.

But Jon had never shown Martin how these things worked before the coma. Martin had no reference for this kind of thing; he understood only enough to find the sights unsettling. “That’s—no, that’s okay, I’ll”—he stuttered as Jon fumbled with his kneecap in search of a fourth example—“I-I get it. I’ll take your word for it.”

“I just thought.”

“No, I—? I don’t need you to prove it to me, Jon.” (The latter nodded, blushing, trying to smile.) “I get… I’m sorry. I guess I get why it’d feel easier not to say anything if? If you think it’s either that or have to convince people it’s a thing.”

Again Jon nodded. He suspected Martin wasn’t through talking yet. But Martin still wasn’t looking at him, eyes squeezed tight against Jon’s party tricks. So, to show he was listening, Jon said, “Yes. Er—thank you, Martin.”

“I just don’t like it when you hide things from me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You could at least ask if I want to know about them, yeah?”

Even at the time, Jon had doubted this. If they’d had this conversation after the change, he might have pointed out to Martin that when you mention something the other person has no inkling of, you make them too curious to decline your offer of more information, even if afterward they’ll admit they wish you’d never told them.

“Or ask me if I even recognize what you’re talking about, the next time you start going on about some childhood anecdote where you incidentally had a dislocated jaw. Honestly, would it kill you to start with, ‘Hey, did I ever tell you about x’?”

“No, it wouldn’t. You’re right. I’ll try. What… kinds of things did you—? For the future, I mean. What kinds of things did you want to make sure I tell you about.”

Martin sighed, in that way he did when he thought Jon was going about something all wrong. But after a pause to think, he did ask, “About this, or in general?”

“Either—both—first one, then the other.”

“Okay. I guess… I want to know when you’re hurt, mostly. Like—I can’t believe I even have to say this—that’s kind of important, actually? How am I supposed to know how to behave around you if I never know whether you're secretly in pain or not?”

This seemed weird—both now and at the time. Jon figured he must be missing something. If Martin thought he only needed the cane because of Prentiss then, sure, that might have affected how he imagined Jon’s discomfort to himself, but? Wasn’t the cane itself an admission of pain? Why did Martin think he owed him more than that��that he had owed him more than that at the time, no less? Did he not realize how fucking private that was? What a surrender of privacy the cane represented?

But, no, he reminded himself now; nondisabled people don’t realize that, unless you tell them about it. Repeatedly. Over and over. It only seems obvious to you because you lived it already.

“Er.” At the time he’d just shown Martin his teeth, with the points of his left-side canines joined. Nominally a smile, but more like a show of hiding the grimace beneath than an actual attempt to hide it. “That’s harder than you might think? Technically I’m always….”

“Oh.”

“Sorr—”

“—What do you mean, ‘technically’?”

“I’m—not always aware of it?” He disliked that phrase, in pain—how it implied a discrete and exclusive state. One could not be in Paris and at the same time in London; similarly, most people seemed to assume one could not be in pain and also in a good mood. In raptures. In a transport of laughter. That when one admits to being in pain, one implies that’s the most important thing they’re conscious of.

“Well that doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes, I know—‘if a tree falls down in a forest’—blah blah blah.” With a gentle smile to acknowledge he’d picked up this mode of speech from Martin. He turned his wrist in circles so it clicked like an old film reel. “Philosophically speaking, if you’re not aware of pain, you can’t be in it. Maybe ‘technically’ isn’t the right word.”

“Oh yeah ‘cause that’s the angle I want to know about this from.”

Jon sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I just mean, it doesn’t always matter to me.”

“Well it matters to me,” Martin scoffed.

“Yeah—I’m getting that. Is there any way I can explain this that you won’t jump down my throat for?”

Martin sighed, groaned, pulled at his hair a little but made himself stop. (He doesn’t pull it out, Jon knows—he just likes having something to grab onto during awkward conversations. Usually emerges from them looking like a cartoon scientist.) “Okay, yeah,” said Martin. “I get it. I’m sorry too.”

“I mean—when you get a paper cut, that hurts, technically, right?”

“Well yeah, a little, but that’s not the kind of—”

“But just because you notice that hurt doesn’t mean?” He paused to rearrange his words. “You’re not going to remember it later unless someone asks why you’ve got blood on your sleeve.”

“Y—eah. Sure.”

“Is that…?”

“When you’re suffering, then. I want you to tell me that. And—whenever something weird happens? Like, before it stops being weird and you talk to me like I’m stupid for not already knowing about it.”

“What if”—this far into his question, Jon worried it might come off as a smart-alecky, devil’s-advocate thing. So he paused, pretending he needed time to formulate its words. “What if I haven’t decided yet whether it’s weird or not.”

“That in itself is pretty weird, Jon.”

“Fair enough.”

“I want to be part of that conversation. I want you to trust me enough to bounce ideas off me! It’s not like—? I mean why wouldn’t you do that?”

Jon had shrugged and grimaced, hands in his trouser pockets. “Not to worry you?” he’d suggested. But as he bit his lip and shimmied down from the bed Jon knew now that that was the sanitized version—and probably, if you’d asked him a day before or afterward, his past self would have known that too. Most things you told Martin, he’d either ignore them completely or latch onto them, refuse to let them go, and interpret everything else you said in the light they cast. Jon had learnt not to raise any given topic with him until he was sure he wanted to risk its becoming a long, painful discussion. This was part of why he hadn’t kept his promise, he told himself as he turned their interim bedroom’s doorknob. Why he’d said so little about anything weird that had happened to him at Upton House.

“Martin?”

“Oh hey, Jon—you’re awake.” Martin glanced in his vague direction but stayed bent over his work, so Jon could not meet his eyes.

“You found the screwdriver.”

“Yeah! And a screw that matches better, see?” He fished the first one they'd found out of his pocket and held it up next to the door for comparison. Jon supposed they looked a little different—bright yellowy gold vs. a darker gold. “They were in the library, of all places. There’s a little box full of ‘em that he keeps right next to his reading glasses, apparently. Guess he must break them a lot. How are yours, by the way? Any bits feel loose?”

Dutifully, trying to keep his dazed smile to himself, Jon pulled off his glasses. Folded and unfolded each arm, jiggled the little nose pieces. He shook his head. “Don’t think so. You can have a look yourself though, if you like.”

“Remind me later. Should’ve brought the whole box, probably,” Martin said, voice strained as he twisted the screw that last little bit. “There!” His open mouth broadened into a smile. “Time to see if it worked. You wanna do the honors?”

Jon shook his head, breathed a laugh through his nose. “You should do it. You’re the reason it’s fixed.”

“I mean, yeah,” shrugged Martin as his hand closed round the doorknob, “but I’m also the reason it broke.” It opened with a click. “Ha-ha! Success! Statements—our own clothes—our own bed! Er. Ish.”

Something tugged in Jon’s chest; he’d forgot the statements were why Martin thought this quest so urgent. He lingered at the side of the bed while Martin rummaged in his backpack, remembering for once to toe his first shoe off while standing.

“Man. Looks sorta underwhelming now, after the other room, huh?”

“Least our wallpaper’s better.”

“Tsshhyeah, and our view.”

Jon didn’t turn around, but surmised Martin must be looking out at that tree he liked. “Is it four already?”

“Uhh—nearly, yeah. You were out for a while; took me ages to find that damn thing. Here you go,” announced Martin as he slapped a zip-loc bag full of statement down on the bed.

(“So they won’t get water damage,” he had answered a few days ago, when Jon asked him why he’d individually wrapped each statement like snacks in a bagged lunch. “What? It’s not like we have to worry about landfills anymore. If I put them all in the same bag, you’d take one out and not be able to get it back in.”)

“What happened to my jacket, by the way? And yours?”

“Uhhh.”

“Right, okay,” Martin laughed; “I’ll go get them before I forget. I’ll put this away too, I guess” (meaning the screwdriver still in his hand). “Don’t wait for me, yeah? I don’t mind missing the trailers.”

Jon smiled. “Sure.”

As Martin hurried off, Jon sat down to untie and pull off his other shoe, threaded the lace back through the final eyelet from which it’d come loose, picked up the first shoe and untied that one, then stood up and set them by the door next to his cane. Both hips and all ten fingers behaved themselves throughout. As he walked by the vanity he grabbed the coins he’d removed to do laundry the other day and stuck them back in his trouser pocket. Useless, of course, but he’d missed having something to fidget with. He squatted down and peered under the vanity for the hair tie he’d dropped, for the fifth or sixth time since he’d misplaced it. Didn’t find it. That was fine; he had another one around his wrist. His knees felt weak, so instead of standing back up he crab-walked to the foot of the bed and sat down with his back against it. Straightened his legs out before him on the floor. Then he dug the coins from his pocket and counted them. Yup—still 74p.

Danika! Not Daniela—Danika Gelsthorpe. God, he would never forget one of their names out there. Never underestimate how much I care for the

“I'm back. What’s down there? Did you find the screw?” asked Martin as he hung their jackets up behind the door.

Jon shook his head. “Forgot about it. I was looking for that hair tie.”

“Well you’re on your own there; I’m done finding things today. The screw can wait,” Martin laughed—“he’s got a whole bag inside that box in the library. Do you need a hand getting up?”

He let Martin help him. Both knees cracked; the world’s edges went dark for a second. “Thank you,” he said, and it came out more peremptory than he’d meant it.

“Statement time?”

“Right. You don’t mind? I can wait ’til we’ve both had a rest, if you don’t want to be in the room while I.”

“No, I’m alright; I’ll stay here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you hated statements.”

Martin shrugged. “Not these ones so much, now that. Heh—they’re almost nostalgic, if I’m honest. ‘Can it be real? I think I’ve seen a monster!’”

“They are a bit,” agreed Jon, looking down at the plastic-sleeved statement and making himself smile.

“Go on. Seeing you feel better will make me feel better too.”

That made it a bit easier to motivate himself, Jon supposed. From the moment he’d lain down on the bed he’d felt like he was floating on gentle waves—like if he let himself listen to them he could fall asleep in seconds. But that wouldn’t make Martin feel better. And no guarantee it would him, either, once he woke up again. He rearranged the pillows behind himself so he’d have to sit up a little; this might help keep him awake, and it meant he could rest his elbows on the bed while he held up the statement, rather than having to lift them up before his eyes. It made his neck sore, a bit, this angle, but that was fine. That might help keep him awake, too.

He sighed, readying himself for speech. Then heard a click, and felt a familiar buzz and weight against his stomach. The tape recorder had manifested inside his hoodie’s kangaroo pocket.

“Statement of Miranda Lautz, regarding, er… a botched home-repair job. Heh. Seems appropriate. Original statement given March twenty-sixth, 2004. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.”

[Image ID: A digital painting of Jon and Martin on an old-fashioned canopy bed with white sheets and orange drapes. Jon sits on the near side of the bed, reading a paper statement. He frowns slightly, looking down at the statement in his hands; he wears round glasses perched low on his nose. He’s a thin man, with medium brown skin dotted by scars left from the worms, and another scar on his neck from Daisy's knife. His hair is long and curly, gray and white hairs among the black. Jon sits supported by pillows—several big, white, lace-trimmed ones behind his back, and one under his knees. His right leg is slightly crossed over his left ankle, on which a clean white bandage peeks out beneath his cuffed, dark green trousers. He wears an oversized red hoodie and red-toed brown socks. Sat on the far side of the bed, next to Jon but facing away from both him and the viewer, is Martin—a tall and fat white man with short, curly, reddish brown hair and a short beard. He has glasses and is wearing a dark blue jumper and gray-brown trousers. Past the bed on Martin’s side, the bedroom door hangs ajar; in this light, it and the wall glow bluish green. On the near side, though, the light grows warmer, the orange canopy behind Jon casting pink and brown tints onto the white pillows and sheets. End ID.]

It seemed to be a Corruption statement, or maybe the Spiral. Possibly the Buried? A leak in Ms. Lautz’s roof caused a pill-shaped bulge to appear in her kitchen ceiling, about the size of a bread loaf. Water burst from it like pus from an abscess (as she described it. Nothing else Fleshy though, so far). Ms. Lautz repaired the hole in her ceiling, but every morning a new one reappeared somewhere else. Sometimes they appeared bulging and pill-shaped like the first one; other times she found them already burst, covering the room in water shot through with dark specks like coffee grounds.

Jon wished he’d refilled his empty water glass before starting to record. His mouth was so dry that every time he pronounced an L his tongue stuck to its roof. At this point he’d welcome a hole to burst in it and flood his mouth with water. Then again, he did still have to pee.

Eventually she and her spouse hired someone to find out what was wrong with the roof. She described hearing boots tramping around up there for half a day while they checked out all the spots where she and Alex had reported leaks. The inside of Jon’s trouser leg pulled at the bandage on his shin, making it itch. The repair men told Ms. Lautz it’d be safer and barely any more expensive to replace the whole thing. The ring and little fingers of Jon’s left hand were starting to go numb from having that elbow too long pressed against the bed. Miranda and Alex thanked the roof people and sent them off, saying they’d think it over.

He began to regret crossing his legs this way. He’d balanced his right heel in the hollow between his left foot’s ankle and instep, and in the time since he’d arranged them that way gravity had slowly pushed his foot more and more to the side, widening that gap. By this time he was sure it was hyperextended—possibly subluxed? It hurt already, and, he knew, would hurt more when he tried to move it. This rather ruined his fantasy of heading straight for the toilet when he finished reading.

Martin was right; these old statements seemed positively tame, now. He knew he owed it to Ms. Lautz to engage with her fate, but?

No. No buts. Whatever hell she lived in now, it looked just like the one she was about to describe for him, only worse. You can’t even pretend you’re sorry she’s living out her worst fear if you stop in the middle of reading that fear’s origin story. Never underestimate how much I

Once the repair men had left, Miranda Lautz wandered into her kitchen for lunch. She found her ceiling bulging halfway to the floor, with the impression of a face and two twisted arms at its center. Like someone had fallen through her roof, head first. Jon’s stiff neck twinged in sympathy. Miranda screamed and strode to the other side of the house in search of beer, figuring she'd find better answers at the bottom of a bottle than in her own head. When she got back to the kitchen with them, the beer bottles didn’t know what to do either, but said—

“God damn it. Not ‘ales’—‘Alex’. Obviously.”

He let the statement’s pages flop over the back of his hand, let his head tip backward until the top of it bumped against headboard and his eyes faced the ceiling. That settled it, then, didn’t it. If he had the Ceaseless Watcher looking through his eyes, he wouldn’t make a mistake like that—and he certainly couldn’t change position while recording. On top of his more substantial regrets, Jon had spent their whole odyssey before they came to Upton House ruing that he’d sat at the dining-room table to read Magnus’s statement, rather than on the couch or the bed. The chairs at that table had plain, flat wood seats—no cushion, no contouring for the shape of an arse. When he opened the door to the changed world, the cataclysm had preserved his bodily sensations at that moment like a mosquito in amber. He’d had a sore tailbone and pins and needles down his legs for untold eons. Right up until he and Martin crossed from the Necropolis onto the grounds protected by Salesa’s camera, where his tailbone faded out of awareness and his head filled up with cotton.

“Ohhh. ‘Alex’. Okay, that makes a lot more sense,” laughed Martin meanwhile. Jon could feel Martin’s shoulder bouncing against his. “She must’ve written it in cursive, huh.”

“I can’t do this right now, Martin.”

“Oh—okay, yeah. You rest; I’ll finish it for you.”

Jon closed his eyes and let air gush out from his nostrils. But you hate the statements, he knew he should say. Wouldn’t this make it easier, though? To let Martin have out this last bit of denial first?

The tape recorder in his pocket still hissed, still warmed and weighted down his stomach like a meal.

“Thank you,” he said.

The operator on the phone said she and Alex should wait for the ambulance to arrive, rather than try to free the man in the ceiling by themselves. Jon turned his neck back and forth, hoping Martin couldn’t hear its joints’ snap/crackle/pop. He picked his elbow up off the bed and shook out his hand. But when the paramedics cut the ceiling open, only a torrent of water gushed into their kitchen—water flecked with a great deal of what looked like coffee grounds. A day or two later the roof people called, to ask if they’d decided whether to have the roof repaired or replaced. They assured her none of their employees had gone missing. At the time of writing, Miranda and Alex still hadn’t decided what to do about the roof. A week ago, they’d found a squirrel-shaped bulge in their bedroom ceiling; they’d packed their bags and come to stay with Alex’s sister in London.

“Right! That wasn’t so bad.” Martin set the statement down and stretched his arms over his head. “Huh.”

“Hm?”

“Oh, I don’t know, just—it’s been a while. Thought it might feel, I don’t know, worse than that? Or better, I guess, since the Eye’s so ‘fond’ of me now.”

“I don’t think they work here.”

“What?”

“The statements. The Eye can’t see their fear.”

“Oh.” Jon could feel Martin deflating. He let himself avalanche over to fill the space. “You don’t feel better, do you.”

“No.”

“Maybe it’s just—slower here, like it’s taking a while to load or something. Remember how long the tape recorder took to come on last time? It was like—you were like— ‘“Statement of Blankety Blank, regarding an encounter with”—Oh, right,’ click.”

That was true. The tapes had known Salesa would give a statement before it happened, but with these paper ones they’d seemed slow on the uptake. Martin had also sworn the recorder that manifested to tape Mr. Andrade’s statement was a different machine than the one Salesa’d spotted that first morning. Jon wondered which machine the one in his pocket was.

Not relevant, he decided. He shook his head in his palm, stroking the lids of his closed eyes. “No—if they worked here I wouldn’t be able to stop in the middle of one.” As soon as he said it he winced, bracing himself for argument.

After the change he remembered wailing to Martin about how he couldn’t stop reading Magnus’s statement—how its words had possessed his whole body, forced him to do the worst thing any person ever had, and forced him to like it, to feel Magnus’s triumph as they both opened the door. Martin had pressed Jon’s face into his clavicle, rubbed his nose in the scent of Daisy’s laundry soap, covered the back of Jon’s head with his hands. Tried to interpose what he must then have still called the real world between Jon and what he could see outside. He’d said over and over, I know, and We‘ll be okay. Jon had known that meant he wasn’t listening, and yet still hadn’t been prepared for the argument they had later, when he mentioned in sobriety the same things he’d wailed back then.

“Hang on”—Martin had pleaded—“no, that can’t be true. I’ve been interrupted in the middle of a statement loads of times—and I know you have too.”

“By outside forces, yes, but you can’t decide to stop reading one. Believe me, Martin, I wouldn’t have—”

“Tim did.”

“No, he didn’t—”

“Yes he did! He was gonna do one and then Melanie—”

“No, Martin, I’ve heard the tape you’re talking about. Tim introduced the statement but didn’t actually start—”

“He did so! He read the first bit, and then stopped. ‘My parents never let me have a night light. I was—’”

“‘Always afraid, but they were just’....” Behind his own eyes he’d felt the Eye shudder and throb with gratitude. Just that sort of stubborn, it had seemed to sing, in a bizarre combination of his own voice with Jonah’s with Melanie’s, which doubled down when I screamed or cried about something, instead of actually listening.

“Yeah,” said Martin, forehead wrinkling. “And then he said, ‘This is stupid,’ and stopped.”

“You’re right.”

Jon still had no satisfying answer to that one, and cursed himself for having opened that can of worms back up again. It had been Tim’s first-ever statement, he reminded himself, and maybe Tim had never intended to get even that far. Maybe he’d been waiting for someone to interrupt him, as Melanie eventually did. Even out there, the Eye couldn’t really show him things like that. He could find out what Tim had said—could look it up, as it were—and what he’d thought, but motivation was a bit too murky, multilayered, complicated. It wasn’t real telepathy? The vicarious emotions the Eye gave him access to worked in broad strokes, generalities—just like common or garden empathy. Sure, he could imagine other people’s points of view more vividly, now that he could see through their eyes. But he still had to imagine them to life, based on the clues around him and what emotions those clues stirred in him. It didn’t work well for situations like this; he could hear Melanie’s footsteps and feel Tim’s reluctance to read a statement, but that was it. Enough to concoct plausible explanations; not enough to pick out the truth from a list of them. Plausibilities were too much like hypotheticals.

In the timelessness since that argument with Martin, though, Jon had also wondered whether it mattered if Tim had read the statement before recording it. He didn’t have footage, as it were, of Tim doing so; either the Eye had more copies of the statement’s events than it needed already and so had deleted that one from storage, or, conversely, perhaps it could no longer see versions of it that relied too heavily on the pages Mr. Hatendi had written it on, since Martin had burned those. But Tim’s summary, before he started reading. Blanket, monster, dead friend. It was bad, sure (like the assistants’ summaries always were, a ghost of past Jon interposed). But it sounded like the summary of a man who���d read it with his mind on other things. Inevitable and gruesome end. How he tried to hide; he couldn’t. Not at all like that of someone skimming it for the first time as he spoke. He did rifle through the papers though? So Jon couldn’t be sure. The suspicion ate at his mind, especially here. Could he have kept the world from ending just by—reading Magnus’s statement, before he went to record it? The way he used to way back at the start, before he trusted himself to speak the words perfectly on the first try? You didn’t mean to record it, did you? No, I’m sure you told Melanie and Basira you were just going to

“Guess that makes sense,” Martin said now. “So, you’re still feeling…?”

“Not great?”

“Yeah.”

“I… I feel human, here.”

“Oh wow. That’s—”

Jon told himself to put the hope in Martin’s voice to bed as soon as possible. “I know I’m not—not fully.” He allowed a smile to twitch the corners of his lips, flared his nostrils around an exhale that almost passed as a laugh. “Most humans don’t spontaneously summon tape recorders. Or sleep with their eyes open.”

“Yeah, but still, you don’t think maybe—?”

Again Jon hastened to cut Martin off. “A-and even if I was, it’s. I know that should be a good thing? But—”

At this point Martin interposed, “Should be, yeah! You don’t think it might mean you could—I don’t know, go back to normal? If we stayed here for a while?”

“Maybe? I-I might stop craving the Eye so much, but we’d still have to go back out there eventually, to face Elias, and. To be honest with you, Martin?” He huffed a laugh out, bitterly. “My ‘normal’ wasn’t exactly...”

“Right.” Martin sighed. “So you mean you feel like you used to, as a human. Which was…”

“Not great.”

“Right.”

“I haven’t been very well, here.” Jon shrugged for the excuse to duck his head. He could feel himself blushing, the heat spilling from his face all down both arms. Good thing the tape recorder in his pocket had gone cold.

Next to him, Martin puffed air out of his cheeks. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’m dizzy and confused without the Eye, and it—it can’t fix me here? When I.” He drew in breath, lifted his heel off his ankle and set that leg to the side, letting its foot roll into Martin’s shin. Bit his lip and scrunched his nose in preparation. Flexed the other foot’s toes, trying to isolate the lever in his ankle that would—there. Clunk. Then a noisy exhale: “Jyyrrggh. When that happens,” he choked out, voice strained by both pain and nerves. “It’s like before I became an avatar. I have to fix it myself, and it doesn’t just.” Magically stop hurting, he hoped went without saying; already he could hear Martin sucking air through his teeth. It made Jon’s cheeks itch. “Shouldn’t have let myself get used to a higher standard, I suppose.”

“What? No—of course you should have. Did you think I was gonna say that?”

“No, of course not; I just meant—”

“You deserve to feel healthy, Jon.”

“Do I? Health is clumsy, it’s callous, it, it lets terrible things happen because they don’t feel real—it can’t imagine them properly, can’t understand what they mean….”

“Okay, first of all, ouch.” Jon snarled a laugh at that, without knowing whether Martin meant it as a joke. “Second of all, that is not why you—why the world ended, okay? Especially, ‘cause, you weren’t ‘healthy’ then. You read Elias’s bloody statement because you were starving, remember?”

“Hmrph,” pronounced Jon, to concede he was listening without either confirming or denying the point.

“And thirdly, you’re not ‘callous’ out there? You don’t”—a scoff interrupted his words. “You don’t ‘let things happen because they don’t feel real’—that’s sure not how I remember it. Okay? I remember you crying for—god, I don’t know, days, maybe? Weeks?—about how you could feel everything, and couldn’t stop any of it. That’s the thing we’re hiding from here, Jon, so if you don’t actually feel any healthier here then what even is the point?”

In a voice embarrassment made small Jon managed, “I mean? I’m still kind of having fun.”

“Really? You don’t seem like it—”

“Not today, maybe—”

“Right, yeah, no; spending all day trying to fix a doorknob isn’t exactly—”

“But I don’t want to leave yet. I should still have a few good days left before the distance from the Eye gets too….”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” For a few seconds he tried to think of something better to say, then gave up and told the truth, though in a jocular voice to hide his self-consciousness. “Always was the person who got ill on holiday.”

“Oh, god, of course you were—”

Voice growing higher in pitch, Jon pleaded, “It didn’t usually stop me from enjoying it?”

“What about America?” laughed Martin. “Did you still enjoy that one?”

“Of course not—I got kidnapped.”

“I mean, yeah, but you were pretty used to that too by then, right?”

“God.” Jon sniffed, crunchily, reeling back in the snot he’d laughed out. “Besides. That was a business engagement.”

Martin acknowledged this comment with a quick Psh, as he turned himself around on the bed to face Jon a little more. “Can I trust you to”—he stopped.

“Yes.”

“No, let me—that wasn’t fair; I can’t ask you that yet.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Martin; I didn’t—”

“Of me, I meant, it wasn’t fair.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’ve been ignoring your distress all week because I wanted it not to matter.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it ‘distress,’” pointed out Jon. “Plus, I have been sort of, er. Secretive, about it.”

The exasperation in Martin’s sigh was probably meant for him, not for Jon, the latter reminded himself. “Yeah, but you’re not subtle. I can tell when you’re hiding something. It wasn’t exactly a big leap to figure out what. But I told myself it was temporary, and that you were acting like.”

Jon laughed preemptively. “Yes?”

“Like a little kid in line for a theme-park ride.” Again Jon laughed—less at the comparison itself than at how much Martin winced to hear himself say it. “I’m sorry. I should’ve taken you more seriously.”

“And I should have told you what was going on with me.”

“Yup,” concurred Martin at once.

“I know you hate it when I keep things from you.”

“I do—I hate it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry too.” Martin waved this away like a fly. “I just—you said you think we’ve got a few more days, before it gets too much or whatever.”

“Yes.”

“Can I trust you to tell me when we need to leave?”

Jon tried not to answer too quickly, knowing vaguely that that might sound insincere. “Yes,” he said again, after pausing for a second. “You can trust me.”

“Okay? Don’t try to spare my feelings, or anything like that. Like—don’t just go, ‘Oh, well, he’s having a good time. That’s fine; I don’t have to.’ Yeah? ‘Cause I won’t have a good time if I’m worried you’re secretly suffering.”

This Jon did know; it sent a thrill of recognition down his spine, as he remembered their first day’s ping-pong adventure. “Right. I’ll do my suffering as publicly as possible.”

“Uh huh.” Martin’s arm tightened around Jon’s shoulder. “Just don’t worry about disappointing me? I mean, sure, I like it here, with the whole ‘not being an evil wasteland’ thing, but I’d much rather be out there with you happy than with you than spend one more minute in paradise with her.”

With a smile, Jon replied, “That might just be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on. We’ve got a job to do.”

“I suppose we do.”

As they walked on out of the range of Salesa’s camera, Jon glanced backward one more time and thought, Yes, that makes sense—but couldn’t quite recall what he had expected to see. It was like when you look at a clock, and tick Check the time off your mental to-do list, then realize you never internalized what time it was. “Pity,” he mused.

“What?”

“It’s, er, going away. That peace, the safety, the memory of ignorance.”

“That’s… Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Do you remember any of it? W-What Salesa said? Annabelle?”

“Some, I think. It’s, uh… do you mind filling me in?”

“Wait, you need me to tell you something for once?”

“I guess so. It’s, er… it’s gone. Like a dream. What was it like?”

After a pause Martin said, “Nice. It was… it was really nice.”

“Even though Annabelle was there?”

“I mean, yeah, but she didn’t do anything,” shrugged Martin. “Except cook for us. That was weird.”

“She cooked?” Jon watched Martin nod and smile around a wince. “And we let her do that? I let her do that?”

With a scoff Martin answered, “Under duress, yeah.”

“Huh.” Jon twirled his cane in circles, wondering why he’d thought he would need it. “Well, she didn’t poison us, apparently.”

“Nope. And believe me, we had that conversation plenty of times already. Er—maybe just let me put that away for you before you take somebody’s eye out, yeah?”

Jon nodded, folded his cane and handed it to Martin, then made himself laugh. “Was I… a bit neurotic about it.”

“About Annabelle?” Again Jon nodded. “Oh, we both were. We kept switching sides—one day I’d be like, ‘But she’s got four arms, Jon!’ and the next you’d be like—”

“She had four arms?”

“Yup. And six eyes. But your powers didn’t work there, so we thought maybe hers didn’t either? Never did find out for sure. God—you remember the day we got locked out of our room?”

“Er….”

“So that’s a no, then.”

“Sorry.”

Martin’s lips billowed in a sigh. “No, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“So… what happened? Who locked us out? Was it Annabelle?”

“No, no, no one locked us out. It was just me, I uh—I sorta broke the doorknob? God, it was awful. Went to open it and the whole thing just came off in my hand, like” (he made the motion of turning a doorknob in empty air, and imitated the sound Jon figured it must have made coming off) “krrruk-krr.” Jon fondly laughed; he could imagine Martin’s horror at breaking something in a historic mansion. “It was just one screw that came loose, though, so you’d think, easy fix, right? Except the bloody screwdriver took forever to find. Turns out Salesa kept them in the library, of all places.”

“S-sorry—what does this have to do with Annabelle?”

“Oh—nothing ultimately, just.” Martin grimaced at his own recollection. “God, we had this whole argument over whether to ask her about it, and when I finally did can you guess what she told us?”

“What?” managed Jon; his throat felt small and weak all of a sudden.

Martin put a finger to his chin, and blinked his eyes out of sync. “‘Perhaps he keeps them next to something that breaks a lot,’” he recited, with an inane, self-congratulating smile. For a fraction of a second Jon could recognize it as Annabelle’s I’ve-just-told-a-riddle expression. But the memory faded and he could picture her face only as he’d seen it in pictures before the change.

“O…kay. And was that… true?”

“I mean, yeah, technically. Useless, though. And after we spent so long agonizing over whether it was safe to ask her….”

Jon allowed himself a cynical laugh. “Are you sure she didn’t orchestrate the whole thing?”

“Ugh—no, it wasn’t her. We had this conversation at the time. You made me check for cobwebs and everything.”

“And you… didn’t find any?”

“Of course not, Jon; it was a doorway.”

“Right. Doorway, yes.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling better? You still seem a bit….”

“No, I’m—I feel fine, I just can’t seem to. Retain anything concrete about… where did you say it was? Upton House? God that’s strange, that it would just be….”

Part of Jon felt tempted to deplore it as a waste of space, on the apocalypse’s part. These stretches of empty land were one thing, but a mansion? Couldn’t they at least get a Spiral domain out of it?

“I mean, not really. He told us all about it, remember? With the magic camera?”

“Right, yes,” Jon agreed.

“Well, we got it all on tape, if you want to listen to it later.”

“Yes, that sounds—all of it?”

“Well not the whole week or anything. It just came on whenever it thought it was important, I guess.”

“So not the part about the doorway.”

“Nope.”

“Pity.”

[fallout4reactsblog]

What if a sole survivor that’s a teenager(like 14-16 years old) begins to view the companions and faction leaders as parental figures, before slipping up and accidentally calling them “mom” or “dad”? Just a thought.

Ada: “Ah, shit.”

Sole patted themself down, checking their pockets, before sighing. “I knew I should’ve taken the time to skin those mole rats.”

“Is something missing?”

Curious, Ada leaned over to check the project they were working on. They slid to the side to accomodate her.

“I just don’t have enough leather to finish my armor mods. I wanted to put some pockets in my chestplate so I could carry a couple extra rolls of duct tape, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

“Leather?”

She checked back through her mental inventory, sizing up what she was carrying. Enamel bucket, ashtrays, pack of cigarettes...

“Ah, here we are.” She pulled out a baseball glove and handed it over. “Will this suffice?”

“Oh, yeah, this is perfect!” They beamed. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime.”

If either of them noticed sole’s little slip-up, neither of them said a thing.

Cait: Sole reminded her too much of herself, some days. She knew their jaded expression, their thousand-yard stare, the haunted look of a kid who’d seen more than they should have. She knew more about them than they’d probably like, which was how she knew to stop them before they could do something they’d regret in the long run.

“No chems,” she said, plucking the canister of X-Cell out of their hands before they could get too close a look at it. It still felt dusty from its years laying in a Concord Speakeasy, and she wiped her hand on her pants.

“I know,” they huffed, rocking back on their heels. “I was just looking.”

“Well, don’t.” She tucked it into a back pocket, making a mental note to either toss it in the closest river or sell it first chance she got.

“It’s not like anything bad can happen from just looking at it, Cait. I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“You better not have been. If you start doin’ that shite-”

“I know.” Somehow, their tone remained patient. “I promised I wouldn’t do chems, and I won’t, okay, Mom?”

The breath left her like she’d been sucker punched. For a moment, all she could do was stand there, eyes wide, unable to form a thought, much less words. Was it really like that? Had she really let things go this far? How long until she ended up like-

“I mean, uh, Cait.”

She glanced up to see their face beginning to turn red, and they ducked their head.

“Sorry, it just slipped out. I don’t, I mean, I didn’t-” They huffed. “Sorry. I know you don’t want to be a parent or anything, and I don’t mean that you should, I just...”

They prattled on nervously, as if trying to comfort both of them, words going right past Cait’s head. To think sole thought of her as a mother. She couldn’t have that responsibility. Her parents had been trusted with a child, and look how she’d turned out. She couldn’t take that risk, not with sole, not when at any moment some switch could flip inside her and she’d turn into the monsters that had raised her.

She’d known this was a bad idea, right from the start.

Codsworth: “I was thinking about putting another mod on my pistol today,” they said, hunched over the kitchen table. They were poking at some circuit board or another, something that they’d never have been allowed to touch before the war. He eyed the screwdriver in their hands warily.

“A fine idea,” he said, resigning himself once again to the fact that a new world meant a new way of life for mum and sir’s child. “Perhaps a larger magazine?”

They chewed their lower lip thoughtfully, tightening a screw. “I was thinking something more quick-eject, you know? Speed in battle and all.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

“The only reason I hadn’t done it was I needed some more adhesive. But since Carla stopped by again and she had some duct tape, we should be set.”

“As I recall, Miss Carla had more than enough for an extra set of sights as well. You asked me to remind you when you had enough material for a large scope, and by my measure, you should be there now.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.” They nodded thoughtfully. “We can get that old hunting rifle in working order again. Thanks, Dad.”

He froze. Dad? Him? No, that wasn’t right. But they’d said it so casually, as if they hadn’t even realized they were saying it. Surely, they couldn’t have forgotten sir already. They’d had years with him as their father. Such things couldn’t be forgotten so easily.

“Sole.” He tried not to make his tone sound warning.

They, too, seemed to have realized what they’d said, ears beginning to turn red. “Sorry, Codsworth. I was just working and not thinking about it, and-”

“It’s alright. Such slip-ups happen, after all! We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t become a habit. After all, I’m simply the family Mr. Handy. Hardly a father. I wouldn’t want to take sir’s place.”

“Right, right. Sorry.”

“No need for apologies! We’ll simply call this a learning moment, for both of us.”

They sighed, “Sounds fair,” and returned to their work.

Curie: “You have your stimpaks, yes?”

They patted a pocket. “Got ‘em right here.”

“And your bandages?”

“In my bag.”

“Extra ammunition?”

They sighed. “Stop fussing, Mom. I told you, I’ve got everything I need.”

She pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side. That was certainly an... interesting choice of words. 

“You see me as a maternal figure?”

“What?” They adjusted the straps on their bag, refusing to make eye contact.

“You referred to me as your mother. I am simply curious when you began to perceive me in such a role.”

“I don’t.” Their cheeks flushed, and they turned away further. “I didn’t call you ‘Mom,’ either.”

“Oh, but there is no need to be embarrassed! It is only natural for such things to happen. Your brain is still maturing, and as the primary provider of such maternal care in your life, it is predictable that you would-”

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving now.” They turned hastily to the door. “I’ll see you in a few days, Curie.”

“Certainly. Au revoir.”

As she watched their retreating back, she let herself consider the happy hum in her chest. Did she want to be sole’s mother? Was it that she wanted to be their mother specifically, or was there simply a general maternal instinct that was now surfacing? It was intriguing that such an instinct could exist in her, since she could never have children, but perhaps there was some lingering Ms. Nanny instinct that was affecting her. No matter what, it was certainly interesting.

If sole saw her as a maternal figure, she’d do her best to provide.

Danse: He found sole leaning against a wall, panting. There was blood splattered across their armor, gun dangling loosely from their fingers, but they were smiling, which was good enough for him.

“You look exhausted,” he said.

They laughed a little and smeared some of the blood from their cheek. “That was quite the fight. We should’ve brought some backup, huh?”

He glanced over at the scribe Quinlan had sent along, who had been of even less use than he’d expected, but decided to let that go and focus on sole. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You fared quite well on your own, and for your level of training your performance was impressive.”

Their eyes flicked over to meet his. “For real?”

“I would never lie to you, especially in your field evaluation. You’ve come a long way.”

He caught a hint of their smile before they ducked their head. “Thanks, Dad.”

He paused, sucking in a breath. While it wasn’t an uncommon mistake, it wasn’t one he was exactly willing to overlook. Still, best to approach things tactfully to avoid embarrassment for them. “What was that?”

They wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What was what?”

The scribe, tapping at the terminal, decided that was his moment to be useful. “You called Paladin Danse ‘Dad.’”

“No, I didn’t. I said, ‘Thanks, Danse.’”

He allowed himself a smile. “I didn’t know you saw me as a father figure, sole.”

“I don’t.” Still, their flush of embarrassment betrayed them.

He waved a hand through the air. “It’s alright, Knight. You wouldn’t be the first to refer to their sponsor as Mom or Dad, and I sincerely doubt you’ll be the last.”

Really, they were a good kid. Young initiates usually tended to find a substitute parental figure in the ranks, and of all sole’s options, he was glad it was him. He could keep them on the right track, make sure they didn’t go astray. With any luck, they could probably take his position someday. 

All in all, this was a good thing for both of them.

Deacon: “Deeks, how does this jacket look on me?”

He glanced up from the hats in Fallon’s Basement to see sole tugging on the sleeves of a leather jacket. It was a bit rough around the edges, but it was just worn enough that he could believe it had seen some action. It wasn’t really their style, though; Agent Whisper tended more toward a softer kind of spy work, based more on charisma and less on punching people in the face.

“I like it,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “It’s a new look for you.”

“I was thinking I should add a more badass disguise to my collection. Try for that intimidation factor every once in a while, you know?”

He tossed the idea around a moment before agreeing. “We could make it work. It’d need practice, though, and some other accessories.”

“We could go get a bat from Mo while we’re here.”

“Now you’re talking. You put a couple nails in that sucker, and boom. You’re halfway to badass city right there. We’ll just have to teach you how to actually use it so you don’t stab yourself by accident.”

“Yeah, sure, but you’ll teach me, right, Dad?”

He nearly choked. Shit. Did sole know something he didn’t? No, that couldn’t be true. He’d never had kids, despite how much Barbara wanted them. Plus, sole had known their father. He’d seen the body, still half in cryo in 111.

That left the fact that sole had come to see him as a father figure, which left him in the awkward position of either shutting that down, probably hurting their feelings in the process, or just letting it slide. But could he even consider the latter? He couldn’t be a father, not in this state. He couldn’t lie every other word and still consider himself a decent parental influence, now could he?

Still, that voice in the back of his head nagged, “Barbara would want you to say yes. She thought you’d be a good dad.”

“Deeks?”

They looked at him quizzically, obviously still looking for an answer.

He sighed and, just this once, gave in. “Sure, kid. I’ll teach you how. It’s not that much different from their intended use, really...”

Desdemona: She always had a certain fondness for sole’s reports. She never got to hear much about the missions, just a quick affirmation of success and not much else. Sole, though, sole always told her a story, starting from the beginning and highlighting anything that they thought was interesting.

“But, you know, they’re just raiders,” they said, twenty-some minutes after they’d started. “In the end, H2 got where he needed to go. Highrise will take it from here.”

She smiled and ruffled their hair, making them laugh. “Good work, agent. You’re making all of us proud.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

They froze immediately, realizing what they had said, but their moment of embarrassment was cut short by Tom’s sigh of relief.

“Finally! You know how long we’ve been waiting for this? You took so long to join the club.”

Glory caught sole’s look of confusion and added, “Everyone calls Dez ‘Mom’ at some point. It’s basically a rite of passage.”

They looked to Dez for affirmation, and she could only nod. 

“It’s true. It happens to everyone, sooner or later. I’m more than used to it by now.”

“You sure?” they asked, voice still hesitant.

“Positive. The only one that hasn’t is PAM, and she doesn’t have the capability.”

“Give her time,” Tom said. “She’ll get there.”

Gage: “You’re being stupid,” he snarled.

They glared back with surprising intensity. “You’re being a prick. You said yourself, I’m the Overboss. Things go how I want them to.”

How they’d managed that little trick, he didn’t know, but he hated it more and more every day. “Bein’ the Overboss doesn’t mean you don’t have to listen to anyone. You’re still new here. You better show me some respect.”

“Oh, fuck off, Dad,” they snapped.

That only pissed him off more. “What did you just call me, you little shit?”

They blinked, anger seeming to cool for a second. “Gage. What else?”

“No, you called me Dad.” His temper settled in return, hovering at a simmer. “Like this is some sort of family reunion or some shit.”

They snorted. “As if.”

“Don’t try and take it back now. I heard you.”

“You’re old and losing your hearing. Old fucker.”

His temper flared again, and despite that he knew they were baiting him, he couldn’t resist. “What was that?”

“What, I need to enunciate everything for you? Do you need your hearing aids, Grandpa?”

“What the fuck is a hearing aid?”

“What do you think, dumbass? It lets you hear better when you get old and lose your hearing. Like you.”

A knock on the door interrupted what he was going to say, and he snapped his mouth closed with irritation.

“Overboss?” The voice was muffled through the door. “Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, just a sec.” They dusted their hands on their pants, anger instantly melting into a mask of cold determination. “Come on, Gage. Work to do.”

He huffed and resolved they would finish this later.

Hancock: He was always impressed with how well sole handled Goodneighbor. It went to show that they were much tougher than their age and pre-war softness let on; that this kid who looked like they’d never even handled a gun would shoot you without question if threatened. He’d seen how they’d handled Finn.

“Cold today,” they said, blowing into their hands. “This wind is killer. You wanna head inside and check up on things while I barter here?”

They gestured in the general direction of KLEO’s shop, and he chuckled. 

“I dunno. Maybe the big, bad mayor better stick around to make sure you don’t get yourself into more trouble.”

They rolled their eyes. “Come on, Dad. I can handle myself, you know.”

They realized their mistake before he did, eyes widening, jaw snapping shut. He faltered, snappy words dying in his mouth before he got hold of himself again. Dad? Were they kidding? Their face said they weren’t.

“Woah, now.” He held up his hands. “It ain’t like that, kid. I’m not exactly the fatherly type, y’know. Cool uncle, maybe, but I ain’t anybody’s Dad.”

They huffed, clearly embarrassed, and diverted him by saying, “Bet you’ve been more than one somebody’s Daddy, though.”

“That’s more like it.” He nudged them in KLEO’s direction. “You go do your shopping, and I’ll go make sure they ain’t burnin’ down my town while I’m away.”

“Sure. If I’m not here when you get back, I’ll be in Hotel Rexford.”

“Sounds fine. Get me somethin’ nice while you’re at it, huh?”

“Alright, but I’m charging you a convenience fee.”

Content that they were back on the same page, he agreed and went to find Fahrenheit.

MacCready: “Your fever’s gone down a little.” He rested a hand against their forehead. “Seems you’re gonna pull through.”

They smiled a little, eyes still hazy with sickness and medicine. Soon, they’d be on their feet again, he hoped.

“I bet you’re a good dad, Mac,” they said. “Duncan must really love you, huh?”

He let out a sigh. Sole had been strangely emotional ever since they got sick, which had annoyed him at first, but lately he’d just come to accept it. After all, there wasn’t much he could do about it, was there?

“Jeez, I don’t even know if he remembers me. It’s been a while since I got to see him.”

“He remembers you. I mean, I remember my dad, and he’s been dead for a couple hundred years now, I guess.” They laughed a little, as if they’d said something funny. “But you should go see him. Take a break. I’ll be fine without you.”

“Nah, we’ll go together. After all, he’ll probably want to meet you.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. He’ll probably see you as some kind of adopted older sibling or something. You’ll get along.”

They exhaustion in their laugh betrayed them. “Sure, whatever you say, Dad.”

There was a wryness in their voice, an almost mocking note that told him they’d meant it as a joke, but long after they’d fallen asleep, he sat at their bedside, watching them. He’d thought he was joking, too, but now that he was along with his thoughts, he had to wonder. Maybe he did want them to meet Duncan, and maybe he did want them to get along like siblings. Could he do that? Was that wrong?

He sighed and rose from his chair. No use worrying about it now. Sole had probably been joking about him going to DC anyway. After all, there was work to be done here.

They definitely weren’t going anywhere until they were better, though. For now, he had to focus on making sure they pulled through.

Maxson: He watched them across the table as they studied the map of the Commonwealth spread between them. It was a crude battle plan, mostly consisting of bottlecaps and buttons, but it was enough for them to discuss. He found he was regularly impressed by their knowledge in this area; in many ways, they reminded him of himself at that age.

“What if we swung south?” They pushed three bottlecaps across the table. “The way C.I.T is set up makes anything but a direct assault difficult, but we could try to split their forces, or at least their fire.”

He hummed, considering. “You’re still assuming we can’t assemble Prime in time.”

“Right. I’m concerned they’ll force our hand before we’re ready. We need to be prepared for that.”

“If you hope to split their fire, we’ll have to split our forces. That means we’ll need more men overall and be pulling more away from the airport, leaving us vulnerable.”

They scrunched their face as they thought about it. “You’re right, but in these circumstances we’re already at a disadvantage, don’t you think? We’re outgunned and outmanned.”

“Both of which can be overcome by outplanning them.” He leaned back in his chair. “What you lack in physical strength can often be overcome with mental acuity.”

They glanced away from the diorama to look at him. “That’s pretty good advice. Nice one, Dad.”

He felt his heart skip a beat. They had already returned to the diorama, now considering the forces around the airport, but he suddenly couldn’t focus. Sole considered him a father figure. Did he mean that much to them that he was someone they looked to for guidance, not just on the Prydwen, but in all aspects of their life? To be a father to them, to be able to guide them, was more than he could have ever asked for.

He cleared his throat. “I believe you mean ‘Elder,’ Knight.”

“Hm?” They looked up again.

“You referred to me as something else. I’m reminding you that the proper title is ‘Elder.’“

“Oh. My apologies, Elder. It won’t happen again.”

He sighed. “I ask that you’re careful around the others. That is all.”

They nodded, mind clearly already on other things.

Nick: He watched them poke around Earl Sterling’s apartment, careful eyes taking everything in. He lingered by the doorway, letting them do their thing, curious to see how it would play out. He was taking a bit of a risk letting them work the case, but he figured he could clean up any mistakes they made along the way.

Mistake number one was probably letting them pick up all those beers, but he figured as long as he watched them sell them all, it would be fine.

“Aha!”

Triumphant, they emerged from where they had crouched on the floor, brandishing a piece of paper.

“Find somethin’?” He flicked his cigarette to the side, nudging it out with the toe of his boot.

“Some sort of receipt, I think. Facial reconstruction with Dr. Crocker. Appointment date... should have been sometime around his disappearance.”

“That means ol’ Doc could’ve been the last to see Earl alive.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Good work, kid.”

They flushed with pride and perhaps a bit of embarrassment at the praise. “Thanks, Dad.”

He raised an eyebrow, hoping they would realize their mistake on their own, but they were busy tucking the receipt into their bag. It seemed as though they hadn’t noticed at all, and after a moment of thought, he decided not to mention it. After all, there was no need to embarrass them. They’d realize what they’d said eventually.

Plus, it was kind of nice, in a way.

Piper: “You’ve got ink on your face.”

Sole glanced up from the freshly-printed edition of the paper, fingers wandering to their cheekbone. “Here?”

“Little to the left.”

“Here?”

“Less to the left.”

“Here?”

“Oh, just hold still.”

She leaned over, wiping the ink off their cheek with her thumb. It smeared a little bit, but was a marked improvement, and she scrubbed the rest away with the heel of her glove.

“There you go. Good as new.”

They nodded and returned their attention to the paper. “Thanks, Mom.”

They seemed to realize immediately, eyes widening, and Piper felt a sharp pain in her chest. 

“Aw, Blue, you know I’m not really...”

They visibly deflated. “I know. I’m sorry, Piper.”

“Not like that.” She leaned forward, putting her coffee to the side. “I’m not upset by it. I’m just not that kind of person, that’s all. I’m like your older sister, not your Mom. I wouldn’t want to replace her. It’s not a big deal, just, you know, get it in your head.”

“Older sister?” That seemed to perk them up a bit, and she smiled.

“Yeah. You’re still part of the family, Blue. Just not like that.”

They smiled. “I guess I’ll take it.”

Preston: The first sign was always the quiet. Sole wasn’t likely to stay quiet for too long; they were always listening to the radio, humming or singing along. When it was quiet for too long, that usually meant they’d either wandered off without telling him, which was never good, or they’d fallen asleep somewhere.

Sign two was the glow of a lantern at the workbench. It wasn’t uncommon for them to work late into the night, but that was always accompanied by the sound of work: the screech of metal on metal, the hum of an engine, the rattling of loose hardware in its drawers. 

Quiet and light together meant they’d fallen asleep at the workbench. Again.

“Sole.” Gently, he shook their shoulder. “Come on. You can’t sleep here.”

They sat up, bleary-eyed, a sheet of orange plastic cut from a pumpkin stuck to their cheek. Almost unseeing, they looked up at him with a sleepy, questioning hum.

“Come on.” Gently, he pulled at their arm.

“Sorry, Dad.” They rubbed their eyes, rising on unsteady feet. “I’m going.”

A smile crept to his face as he led them across the Sanctuary street to their home, making sure they got settled. Almost instantly, they were asleep again, long hours of hard living catching up to them all at once. Quietly, he closed the door behind him.

It was too good to be true. They were just tired, and mistook him for their father in the dark. But still, a part of him wanted to believe that it was possible. Maybe he could be a father to sole. He could show them how to make it here, in this unfamiliar world, and support them as they grew into the General he knew they could be.

Maybe, just maybe, they would let him.

X6: He watched them pace back and forth in front of the door, coat tails swirling with every pivot. They adjusted their lapels for the fifth time, sighed, and glanced around for a clock.

“It’s only four twenty-five,” he said. “You’ve still got twenty-five minutes.”

They sighed and sank heavily into a chair. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

They groaned and dropped their head onto the table. “You said it was thirty minutes to go, like, an hour ago.”

“Five minutes ago.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

He set his gun on the table with a sigh and set his sunglasses beside them. “If you keep worrying about it, you’ll only work yourself up more, and the time will seem to pass slower. Your best move would be to get a cup of coffee and relax.”

“I can’t relax.” They leaned back in their chair. “It’s my first meeting as the director. Half of the Institute already hates me because I’m so young, so if I mess this up I’ll be out on the street by dawn. This is no time to relax.”

“If you don’t relax, you’ll be more likely to make a mistake.”

“I know, but it’s easier said than done, Dad.”

He blinked. At first, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard them properly, but his hearing was beyond satisfactory. If he’d heard it, they’d said it, but that didn’t mean anything.

“Case in point. You’re upset, you make mistakes. Like that.”

They sank their head into their hands. “You’re right. I’ll- I’ll get some coffee. Sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize. Humans make mistakes, after all.”

[wienerbarnes]

Much Ado About Nothing (3/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,357

Warnings: enemies to lovers, au series, some DRAMAAAAAA

A/N: this chapter is where it gets JUICYYYYY YALLLLLL

MAIN MASTERLIST | MUCH ADO MASTERLIST

“I’ll go on and check out the situation in Italy after the wedding.” Sam says, talking with Steve, Bucky, and Tony about talk of an underground HYDRA facility. Guess I spoke too soon about a break, Bucky thinks.

“I’ll go with you.” Steve promises him, aligned with the promises of a Captain and leader.

“Please, I’m not taking you away from your new marriage and wife like that. I’ll take Bucky with me, he’s single and Cupid seems like he’ll be staying away from him for a while.” Sam teases.

The three men await Bucky’s response; his usual wit, his banter with Sam, an insult, a comeback. But nothing comes. Only a dismissive hum as Bucky doesn’t meet any of their eyes.

“Should… Should I repeat myself? Did I not stick the execution?” Sam asks.

“I’ve… changed over the last couple days.” Bucky starts, unsure of how to approach his feelings, especially to his close friends, two of which are already in committed relationships with their feelings already figured out.

“You know, you do seem more serious. You shaved your beard and everything.” Tony agrees.

“I hope he’s in love.” Steve wishes aloud.

“Oh c’mon. There’s no love in this guy’s heart.” Sam disagrees.

“I think he’s in love.” Steve continues.

“The clean shaven look really makes you look younger, Barnes.” Tony compliments, both him and the Captain ignoring Sam’s logic in the situation and choosing their own thoughts to pay attention to.

“Yeah, c’mon, Sam, when has Bucky ever shaved his beard?” Steve points out.

“Alright, alright, enough. Tony… Can I talk to you about something?” Bucky asks, and Tony nods his head, motioning for the two of them to talk elsewhere.

As they walk away, heading for another part of the building, Sam and Steve excitingly face each other.

“Do you think he’s going to go talk to him about Techie?” Sam asks.

“I hope so; Bucky’s one of the hardest guys to read.”

Their brief conversation is interrupted when someone else enters the room. Sam turns to greet his brother as John sends the two of them a polite smile.

“Hey, Sam.” John greets him as Sam throws an enthusiastic arm around his shoulder.

“What’s up, Johnny?”

“I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.” John begins.

“In private?”

“Well, Captain Rogers can stay, as it kind of concerns him, too.” He explains, and Steve cocks his head in confusion.

“What’s the matter, kid?” Steve asks.

“Are you still planning on getting married tomorrow?” John asks him, and Sam answers, growing suspicious of his younger brother’s behavior.

“You know that he is.” Sam tells him.

“Well, I don’t know if he is after he finds out what I know,” John argues.

“Spit it out, John.” Steve commands.

John pauses and Steve urges him on, “If there’s any reason you think I shouldn’t get married, then you should tell me.”

“She’s unfaithful.” He finally spits out.

“Who, Sharon?” Steve asks.

“Yes.”

“Is that possible?” Steve turns to Sam, asking his best friend to tell him that his brother is lying.

“No, it’s not. John, where the hell did you get that stupid idea?” Sam scolds him.

“I saw it with my own eyes, man, I’m telling you. If you don’t believe me, meet me in the lab tonight, and I’ll show you all the proof you need.”

“This is stupid.” Sam repeats.

“Okay, okay. I’ll meet you in the lab and if I see something tonight, I’ll talk to Sharon tomorrow, before the wedding.” Steve compromises.

“You’re seriously having doubts?” Sam asks incredulously.

“Sam, what reason would your kid brother have to lie to me about this?” Steve defends.

Seeing as his work here is done, John slips out of the room. The seed has been planted. He’d been thinking of ways to sabotage the wedding, just to spice things up in the tower a bit. He thought about childish pranks, like loosening some of the chairs in the ballroom, or sneaking into the kitchen to put laxatives in the food. Maybe hiring a stranger to object, or setting off the sprinklers in the middle of the event. The possibilities are endless.

But he soon realized that none of these things would actually ruin the wedding. Seeing the way these people act around each other, they’d make a show of whatever problems arise, celebrating them even more. John doesn’t want that.

He needed to think deeper. He needed to cause a problem at the root: their relationship. So, he discussed with some other interns on the team who also share his disdain for the Avengers.

Leila and Kennedy Gordon are the ones that agreed to his plan. A married couple themselves, but the difference is that they value professionalism in the workplace, just as John does. It’s time that the Avengers are humbled and realize they don’t stand at the center of the universe, and that the world doesn't revolve around them.

The couple will be staged in one of the spare rooms of the tower; one of the spare rooms whose window is visible from a spot in the lab stations. John is lucky that Leila fits the build and stature of Sharon Carter, same hair style and length, too. In the dark of the night, their silhouettes will simulate Steve’s beloved fiancée caught in an interesting predicament with another man.

If John succeeds, the wedding will surely be canceled, finally serving the much-needed reminder that the Avengers are not as invincible as they think they are.

…

Tony and Bucky stroll silently through the open lot of the hangar. Tony knows Bucky’s about to unload on him about all his undecided feelings, but decides to let him come out with it on his own. It has been about seven minutes of silence, though, and Tony’s started to feel uncomfortable.

“When did you know you loved Pepper? I mean, you guys have been together for so long now, and have known each other even longer.” Bucky finally asks, not looking at him.

“Well, I’ve always loved her, it was just a matter of me realizing it for myself. Same with her, I suppose.”

“Yeah, but, what made you… know? Like what happened that made you realize?”

“Barnes, there’s no big red arrow pointing out the exact moment. It just happens.”

“Ugh, but that doesn’t help me, Tony!” Bucky stops, rubbing a hand over face, becoming frustrated.

“Well, maybe if you told me a little about what’s going on instead of asking me these impossibly complex questions with impossibly complex answers, I could help you better.”

“I take it, you think you love someone?” Tony asks.

Bucky finally meets his eyes in a silent answer. He rolls his eyes, though, when Tony starts grinning like an idiot.

“Tony, stop.”

“C’mon, Mister-Sworn-to-Celibacy has finally found himself a girl and you expect me to not make fun of him?”

“Okay, definitely not sworn to celibacy -”

“Doesn’t matter. Who is it?”

“What?”

“What do you mean what? Tell me who the girl is.”

“...No. You’ll tell everybody.” Bucky says, immediately seeming to shrink down, shyness crowding his body like a middle schooler talking about his crush.

“So what? You know what, it doesn’t even matter. I already know who it is.” Tony claims.

“What? Who?” Bucky asks. He only figured it out himself a few days ago, how does Tony know?

“The webmonkey in my lab.” Tony tells him, rather than guesses.

How does he know?!

Bucky doesn’t have time to object or tell him otherwise before Tony gives him that shit-eating smile again. Bucky rolls his eyes once more, knowing now that Tony definitely knows.

“How did you even know? Has she told you anything?” Bucky asks now, curious.

“No, she hasn’t. But she doesn’t have to. I have eyes.” Tony says simply.

…

Sharon and Nat occupy the private tailor in the tower as Sharon tries on her wedding dress, Nat offering different accessories for Sharon to choose from. Bows, lace, diamonds, earrings, bracelets, and of course, the type of garter she will wear on her thigh underneath the dress.

You walk in, with coffee as you’d promised the two other ladies, and they greet you.

“What’s got you all giddy?” Sharon asks, gratefully taking the coffee.

“Yeah, you hate all this lovey-dovey stuff.” Nat agrees.

“What, I can’t be happy for my best friend?” You ask, not ready for an interrogation right now.

“Mhm.” Sharon hums incredulously.

“I think you need some Jameson.”

“Jameson? Is there some kind of double meaning there?” You ask, surprised by her word choice.

Sharon and Nat glance at each before looking back at their friend.

“All I meant was that I think you need a drink. Why, would it have a double meaning?” Nat asks, knowing smile teasing her lips.

“No!” You answer quickly, hoping that the conversation will change. You’re really not ready to talk about all your feelings right now.

“Is there a special James in your life?” Sharon teases.

“No -”

“I think that you think that we think you’re in love. Which we do.” Nat confirms.

“But -”

“You know, Bucky didn’t believe in love just like you did. But he’s changed, and now he’s allowed himself to love someone ungrudgingly. And even though you think you don’t deserve it, I think you should do the same. How we’ll convince you to do that, I have no idea,” Sharon trails off.

There’s a pause of silence as both you and Nat take in Sharon’s serious words.

“I think I really like Bucky. I don’t know about love. But I’m allowing myself to admit that much.” You finally admit in a quiet voice. You don’t meet their eyes, even though you feel their stares. This is probably the most vulnerable you’ve been in front of them.

Even when you’ve gotten out of bad relationships, going to Sharon and Nat for comfort, you never allowed yourself to open up too much. You knew that you’d always heal, always get back up from your internal wounds, and always knew that things would pass. You never whined to them, rarely cried, and for you to admit your honest feelings to them was… a lot.

Sharon and Nat can’t help but celebrate, though.

Girlish squeals are heard among your annoyed groans as they crowd you, enveloping you in a hug, the poofs of Sharon’s dress nearly suffocating you.

You suppose you’d rather suffocate via lace than love, though.

…

It’s late at night when Sam and Steve go to meet John in a private station in the lab. Sam advised against it at all costs, knowing his brother can be a troublemaker and knowing Steve is incredibly gullible.

“So, you said Sharon was seeing a friend tonight, right?” John asks, setting up the situation for tonight.

“Yes, she said she was going downtown to see a friend who wouldn’t be making it to the wedding.” Steve confirms.

John begins his speal; how he heard Sharon telling an agent that she was instead going to meet with one of the other recruits tonight, as a final affair before her wedding. There’s a walkie-talkie hidden in the desk they’re crowded around, an identical one in the room where Leila and Kennedy sit, waiting for the code word to come about for them to put on their performance.

Sam is annoyed. The irritation is radiating off his body, he feels as though if he rolls his eyes any harder, the earth will start spinning backwards. He watches Steve tense up as John relays his story of overheard gossip, and he gets even more angry.

How is Steve going to believe a teenager about this stupid shit? He tries to take a step back, remembering that not everyone knows John as well as he does, knows how he likes to start trouble, knows that this is the kind of stuff he does when he’s bored. He also can’t imagine what it’s like to hear that your fiancée  may be cheating on you. So, he remains silent, letting this go on, knowing there’s no way it can be true.

“I’ve seen them here only twice before, always at nine,” John explains, casually emphasizing the number in order to signal his accomplices.

“Look! There they are, now!”

The three of them look to the window, and the shadows of two people appear. Sam and Steve don’t want to believe it, but the girl looks just like Sharon - same height, same build, same hair; they can even see the silhouette of long nails on her hands, nails Sharon got done earlier that day.

The two bodies clearly begin to embrace each other, heaty kissing and groping visible to the men in the lab. The taller man’s hands slip down to pick the other person up, them wrapping their legs around his body as they continue to kiss.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just walks off back towards the elevators where they came from, and Sam follows quickly behind, refusing to leave his best friend alone.

John struggles to hold in his amused laughs until he hears the elevator doors close. When they do, he quickly reaches for the walkie-talkie inside his desk, telling his associates that they did a job well done.

“I figured it’d be easy to fool those two meatheads, but I didn’t think it’d be that easy.” John admits.

Meanwhile, Sam is trying to stop Steve from having a full blown panic attack in the elevator ride back upstairs.

Steve quickly dials and redials Sharon’s phone, repeating the process every time she doesn’t answer.

“Man, relax -”

“Relax?! You want me to relax?!”

“Okay, bad choice of words -”

“You know what, I’m just going to wait until she gets home. She told me she wouldn’t be home late because tonight's our last night staying together before our wedding night, and when I see her, I’ll confront her.”

“Steve, I think you should -”

Steve ignores him and stomps out of the elevator as soon as the doors open, leaving Sam alone in the elevator to linger in his out frustration.

[inkslingersworld]

Crowbar (Alternate First Meeting)

Hi guys! This here short story is my first participation in Adrigami Week! I was planning on posting it yesterday, seeing as it’s following the “Alternate First Meeting” prompt, but the time got away from me. Idk if it’s still eligible for the official reblog or not, but I still had a blast writing it all the same. Enjoy! (Contains very mild profanity)

\\\\\

Her lip was bleeding. For whatever reason, Kagami chose to focus on this minute aspect out of all the other injuries she’d sustained. She dabbed it with a paper towel.

Kagami couldn’t recall how she’d gotten like this. There was so much she couldn’t recall, and the staggering immensity of all her forgotten experiences had weighed down on her for so long that when she found herself in a bathroom without a clue as to how she’d gotten there, she was able to handle the newfound situation better than someone who hadn’t been through what she had.

The only thing that confused Kagami was that her clothes were in perfect condition, despite her face being bloody and streaked with dirt. In fact, they looked as though they’d just been sewn by a master tailor. 

She brushed the puzzlement aside - she couldn’t linger here in this mysterious bathroom. Lingering got you killed.

The door opened easily at her touch, and Kagami examined the bedroom that it led into. The walls were painted in an eye-catching shade of purple, but the bed itself was small and plain. Kagami also noticed that there was no furniture other than a small nightstand and that the window was broken. It framed the outside world in jagged glass.

This aforementioned outside world was cloudy and bleak. Based on how damp the street appeared, Kagami concluded it must’ve rained recently. The buildings matched the clouds in their shade of gray, with windows just as broken as the one Kagami was using as an observation point. No street signs were visible. No vehicles, no animals, no people. Not even wind.

Kagami couldn’t care less about the lack of other individuals; her attention was pinpointed on the crowbar leaning casually against the building opposite. Without a second’s hesitation, she kicked away the rest of the glass and crawled expertly out of the window.

She didn’t know how she knew there’d be a fire escape, but resolved not to ponder on it, because every second she didn’t have the crowbar was a second where it could fall into the possession of someone else. Crowbars were tools; tools were extremely helpful.

By the time Kagami had raced down the stairs leading to the ground, she could notice how old and rusty the crowbar was. In retrospect, it probably wouldn’t be much use against some of the more contemporary weapons others owned, but in times like these, Kagami would take anything she could get.

In no time, she had dashed across the street and grasped the crowbar in her right hand. Flakes of deceased metal fell to the ground like rotten snow as she twirled it experimentally. Even if it fell apart in combat, it was nevertheless pretty maneuverable. 

“Drop it.”

Kagami turned around instead, searching for the voice’s master. She found the man in question stepping out the adjacent alleyway. His face was hidden under an old halloween mask, but Kagami could see he was wearing a green rain jacket and pointing a pistol in her direction.

Was it a pistol? Further examination led Kagami to realize it was no such thing; it was a water gun, and she almost pitied the hopeless idiot who brandished it at her.

“I said drop it!” the man shouted, though not very loudly.

“You know that’s not a real gun, right?” Kagami asked nonchalantly, deciding to break the truth to him.

The man lowered the toy firearm and hung his head. “Damn it.”

“Wait, you already knew?” said Kagami in disbelief. “Why on Earth would you use a water gun instead of, I don’t know, an actual one?”

“I’m a pacifist,” admitted the man, sounding guilty. “I’m a believer of nonviolence.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but nonviolence fell out of fashion a while back,” said Kagami, not knowing where she’d heard it from.

“Well, I always favored the old styles over the new,” the man said. “You hungry? I’ve got some food.”

Kagami’s mouth fell open in spite of herself. Who did this airhead think he was? You didn’t just go around offering people food. But before she’d even responded, he started walking over to her, removing his mask in the process.

Based off his recent actions, Kagami was expecting him to look innocent and tame, and she was not disappointed. However, she hadn’t foreseen blond hair and green eyes. She hadn’t expected him to look this... well, attractive.

“I’m Adrien, by the way,” he said, plopping his butt on the pavement and taking off his previously concealed backpack. “What’s your name?”

“I’m not about to tell you my name!” Kagami cried exasperatedly. “I know nothing about you!”

Adrien, who’d previously been busy unpacking, looked up at Kagami closely for the first time. His eyes widened after locking with hers and he dropped the box of Ritz crackers he’d been taking out.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, Kagami demanded, “What?”

Adrien flinched violently and faced the ground, blushing. “Nothing.”

“Why were you staring at me for so long?” persisted Kagami.

“N-No reason!” Adrien stammered embarrassedly. 

“Then why were you doing it?”

“I don’t know!”

Kagami decided not to push the topic and begrudgingly sat down; she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now.

“So...” began Adrien slowly, seeming to regain some of his previous placidity. “I never did learn your name.”

“We’re not there yet,” Kagami grumbled, snatching a plastic-wrapped sandwich out of his hands.

“Well, what are you doing ‘round these parts?” Adrien asked curiously, putting his chin in his hands.

“None of your business,” snapped Kagami, losing some of her intimidation skills to a mouthful of grilled cheese.

“How’s the food?”

“Awful,” Kagami replied, even though it was delicious.

Adrien laughed hard. “You’re funny!”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh, but you are!” 

“What’s your problem?” asked Kagami sternly. “You know nothing about me, I could’ve killed you without hesitation as soon as you came over here!”

“And yet you didn’t!” Adrien pointed out cheerfully.

Kagami took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper in check. “Adrien, wasn’t it?”

Adrien nodded and smiled, seeming delighted that she’d remembered his name.

“Adrien, I don’t know what miracle allowed you to survive for this long, but in our society’s current state, you might not be around much longer. I suggest you drop this puppy dog attitude and learn to fend for yourself.”

“Why learn to fend for myself when we can fend for each other?” asked Adrien earnestly.

The sincereness of this question, contrasting with the playfulness Adrien had exhibited, caught Kagami off guard for a moment, though she soon regained her bearings.

“Adrien, no offense, but you’d be dead weight,” she stated. “Even if I wanted to stick around with you, my memory kinda wipes itself clean every six hours or so, only holding on to the most treasured information - my name, my personality, how to speak, how to read and write, knowing what stuff is, and the like.”

“No way!” exclaimed Adrien, before Kagami could continue. “I have the same thing! That’s why I started a diary!”

He zipped open his backpack again and retrieved a worn leather-bound book. Adrien opened it and showed Kagami its messily written contents.

“I originally didn’t remember how to write,” he explained, flipping through some pages to get to the beginning, “but I was able to relearn! It took like a year, though.”

Kagami peered at the even messier scrawl of a younger Adrien. She was shocked to see his name spelled incorrectly with crayon.

“How long’ve you been on your own?” she asked uncertainly.

“About twenty years, I think,” Adrien answered dismissively. “I can’t know for certain, I didn’t relearn how to understand a calendar until someone took me in when I was... fourteen, maybe?”

“Someone took you in?” inquired Kagami.

Suddenly, Adrien’s face began filled with sorrow and loneliness. “Yeah... yeah, I don’t like thinking about that.”

Noticing how sympathetically Kagami was gazing at him, Adrien quickly plastered his old smile back on. “That doesn’t really matter. Now I’ve got you!”

Kagami hesitated. One of the instincts her memory’d held onto was avoiding people, but Adrien seemed different. He in the same situation she was in, and he’d shown her kindness. Besides, it’d be nice to have a companion, and Adrien’s diary probably contained scores of valuable information to help the duo survive. 

Even if not for all those reasons, there was something else, though Kagami wasn’t sure what it was yet. For whatever reason, Adrien made her feel relaxed, happy even. She didn’t know why, but he did.

“Okay, Adrien,” she said resignedly. “You can stick with me.”

Adrien’s face lit up with gratitude, and before she knew it, Kagami found herself buried in a hug. It was warm and comforting.

“Thank you so much!” Adrien said happily. 

“No problem, Adrien,” sighed Kagami, already having her doubts.

Adrien released her and scooped up his backpack. They both stood up.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

“West,” responded Kagami mechanically. “It won’t make too much of a difference, but we need all the sunlight we can get.”

The two started to walk. After trekking for about a minute, Adrien spoke again.

“You never did tell me what your name is.”

Kagami smiled softly and rolled her eyes. “It’s Kagami.”

“Kagami,” repeated Adrien thoughtfully. “I like that name.”

\\\\\

@adrigamiweek

[sweetsubharry]

do you have any friends to lovers au full of fluffy?

Yes I do!! It is a favourite of mine so be warned there’s 36 fics in this rec!! Isn’t friends to lovers fluff just the best??  💖

Please stay safe and read the tags!!

It's A Start by Magiic_Shop

“This is dangerous, love,” Louis smirked, his lips pressed against Harry’s shoulder blade.

“Why’s that?” Harry asked.

“Because,” Louis’ smirk grew into a smile, “I might never want to let you go.”

Harry shifted against Louis, reaching up to cover Louis’ hand on his stomach with his own, “Then don’t.”

--

Or, the one where Harry can't sleep at night, and because of that, neither can Louis. Louis thinks it could be the start of something.

everything i can arrange, every part of me you change by orphan_account

“Don’t you try that shit with me,” Niall spits the second he reaches Louis, pulling off the hood with force. “What the hell is this?” He plops down next to Louis on the empty bleacher and unceremoniously pushes a sheet of crumpled paper in his face.

Netflix and Chill Buddy Application

It’s like no matter how hard Louis tries, he can’t seem to run away from this stupid fucking flyer. All the girls (and some of the boys) in every one of his classes have been talking about it all week. It’s on every wall of every building on campus. Louis went for a jog last night and he nearly tripped and died over a loose one on the football track.

[Harry needs a big spoon and Louis refuses to let anyone steal his position. Based on this post.]

One Plus One Is Also One (Sometimes) by justgotowisharder

“Dear Mrs. Sissy,” Anne read out loud and Harry only wanted the ground to swallow him up, “you asked me to write about my hero but I don’t have a hero, I have a superhero. Superheroes are better and have superpowers. My superhero is Louis Tomlinson.”

(Or the one where Louis Tomlinson isn’t really a superhero, but he’ll always do everything on his power to protect his baby Harry)

Love You But I Gotta Let Go by FallingLikeThis

Harry’s father is never going to be satisfied with anything that he does. But maybe that’s okay when his best friend is there, always cheering him on anyway.

Prompt 947: The despair of ever living up to his standards.

Pour Your Heart Out by hrrytomlinson

Louis is his soulmate. Or at least Harry thinks he is. Louis feels the same as Louis. But there are a lot of people named Louis in the world and this Louis might not be the Louis. It’s besides the point though, because Harry knows he can’t allow himself to get close to any boys. He just can’t and he’s told himself this multiple times. He has to simply stay away from Louis Tomlinson. But he can’t. Harry Styles can never stay away from Louis Tomlinson. It’s physically impossible for him to. 

Take This Sinking Boat and Point It Home by goodgirlfaith (boomersoonerash)

Five times Louis Proposes to Harry and the one time he doesn't.

Just Ask Me To by TellMeThisIsNotLove

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers.

“Of course I’m telling the truth!” Harry doesn’t even care that he sounds exasperated.

“Oh my god.” Louis grabs the wall behind him as if looking for support. His body slides down against it until he’s sitting crouched on the floor.

He mumbles something but Harry can’t really figure out what it is. He crouches down, and looks desperately at the breaking boy in front of him.

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers. “You were not supposed to–”

“I was not supposed to do what? Tell me please,” Harry urges, taking Louis’ hands gently in his.

Or the X Factor era canon fic where they learn how to be a couple and that not everyone is going to be on their sides especially those with plain white t-shirts and saccharine smiles.

Burning Skies by emeraldharry 

They both watched as ice and fire danced across their palms, hypnotized by the small things they could do with their powers. Snowflakes swirled around each other as the mist twisted about like a small tornado, while the fire in Louis' hands swayed and twirled gracefully—bright and warm and beautiful.Before, Harry couldn't even think of touching him with the fear of turning his skin to ice. Now, he knew that Louis wasn't some ordinary human to shy away from. Louis was bright, fiery flames, a body of powerful waves of heat. Louis was everything he was not, his polar opposite, but it was all the more reason that they fit together just right.or[Mutant au: Harry likes to think he's normal. Except, normal boys don't freeze everything they touch. Louis thinks he's perfect just the way he is and shows him just that. Zayn is a telekinetic, Liam is a rising YouTube star, and Niall is the best human best friend there is.]

I see the love light in your eyes by larrycaring

For as long as Harry can remember, Louis has always been his best friend.

There are a few constant things in Harry’s life: his family, this town he’s grown up in, and Louis.

He had his other friends, of course, but Louis had always been and still was the person that Harry was closest to. Maybe it was due to the fact that they live next to each other, and that, since the first night they’d talked, when he and Louis shared a conversation on their conjoining roofs, they instantly hit off, and a friendship developed. Or maybe it was that Louis was always so cheeky, almost the opposite of Harry, but it complimented Harry’s slow and thoughtful way of life perfectly. Either way, it just kind of happened.

or an AU where Louis and Harry are very much in love. Featuring football & late night rendezvous.

you fit me better than my favourite sweater by brightbluelou

Harry didn't mean to fall in love with his best friend, and he definitely didn't mean to get pregnant. Despite that, it’s probably still the best thing that’s ever happened to him. And after that, well. It just kept getting better.

or; the one where Harry and Louis are friends-with-benefits and Harry unexpectedly gets pregnant. Harry never wants to stop getting pregnant after that, but Louis thinks seven kids is probably enough.

put your head on my shoulder by wayfared

Niall gives Harry until the end of marching season to either a) make a move on Louis Tomlinson or b) get the fuck over him. Either is easier said than done. Basically, your High School AU with a drum beat.

My Only Sunshine by DontLetHimGo

Harry and Louis have known each other since the start of everything.

When Harry is only a few weeks old, and Louis is two, the older boy is immediately intrigued by the little person in the carry cot. Jay knows that it will be difficult to keep her son away from her best friend's little boy.

baby, hold on to my heart by icaarusfalls

Here was the dilemma: Louis and Harry were out with their mates window shopping because there was nothing else to do and Louis brought an antique ring, hoping to pawn it off to get some quick cash. It was a small, old thing, all rusted and gold, but it had its charm. The owner didn't take it because of the minuscule crack down the middle of the jewel, so Louis just shrugged and handed it to Harry without a thought.

—•—

Louis gives Harry a ring as a joke, but Harry starts wearing the ring everywhere he goes.

So Put Your Hands In (The Holes of My Sweater) by Kat_rawr

“Are you gonna kiss me then?” He asks so quiet he isn’t even sure Louis heard him.

“I think it’s bad luck if I don’t.“ Louis’ breath is hot on Harry’s skin in the cold air. They stand in the dark; Louis’ face only lit up by the yellow-ish light from the street light a few metres away. The light over the door of their building hasn’t worked in years.

“Okay,” Harry says, and of course his cheeks heat up. There are definitely butterflies in stomach and his mouth is definitely dry.

or,

Harry and Louis go on a lot of not-dates.

It's the Sun In Your Eyes by Bearandleonardwrite

Harry's not the best with relationships. Then he finds Louis.

(Basically; Harry's insecure and hurt, but Louis loves him anyways and knows how to help.)

Sun-Dappled by QuickedWeen

Louis and his best friend Harry are in their seventh year at Hogwarts, facing down their future together. Louis has been in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember, and he begins to feel a sense of urgency as the second semester begins. Finally he hatches a plan to tell Harry about his feelings on Harry's birthday.

Stop Making Tired Excuses by midnightskies

Louis hates many things; cold tea, countdown, tuesdays, and university, but most of all he absolutely, categorically despises Eric Davidson, current boyfriend of Harry Styles. 

nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

every december (your star lights the sky) by larrystomlinsons

Louis needs a date for the Christmas dance and Harry is the wingman that has feelings for him.

Counting The Steps Between Us by zarah5

AU. So, yeah. That year abroad helped Harry establish that he is in love with his best friend. Now, if Louis would stop treating him like a little brother, that would be awesome. (Additional ingredients: a collapsing tree house, a lot of pining, the other three boys as Louis' new best mates from university, and a camping trip. Serve hot.)

waiting on the sun by midnights

A third year counselor at Camp Weehawken, Louis just wants to get through the summer without accidentally professing his love to Harry during movie night.

ft. night swimming, lots of cuddles, and even more fluff.

Right From the Start (You Know I Got You) by FallingLikeThis

Louis grows up protecting Harry. Harry loves him for it.

Let Me Give You My Life by midnightskies

Gemma has one rule for Louis while he stays with her family at Christmas; not to hook up with her little brother, so of course that's the one thing Louis does.

deep in my heart i know there's only you by ballsdeepinjesus

"Will you do it?” Harry whispers. Louis has to lean closer just to hear him. He furrows his brows and shakes his head, not knowing what Harry means. “Would you donate for me?”

Louis is dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, I thought you just asked if I’d donate my sperm. Can you repeat yourself?”

[harry and louis are best friends who engage in some platonic baby-making. very platonic.]

You Are The View by larryftnoctrl

Louis is running out on time for his photography assignment and Harry looks lovely in red. It only made sense.

the most beautiful thing by sunflowergolden

“Well, I came prepared of course. I actually have a full on suit with me.”He had to be joking. “Lou, you have to be joking. There’s no way you took a full on suit with you all the way from the States.”“I was raised right, H. You never know when you’re going to need it, so you take it with you. In case a cute boy asks you out.”or, the one where louis and harry have been friends for a while, but they live 5.404 miles away from each other, and louis goes to stay with harry for a week

Take Me As I Am by lovelarry10

“Suppressant? But… why would I need a suppressant? Alphas don’t take suppressants.”

“You’re right, they don’t.”

****

Secrets. Lies. Deception. Betrayal. Self-discovery.

Alpha. Omega. How far will they go to hide the truth?

don't call me baby by 28sunflowers

A short and cliché roommates AU inspired by To Be So Lonely, where they’re both oblivious to each other’s feelings and Harry gets sad and jealous over nothing. It works out in the end.

Spin Me Like A Record by zarah5

Uni AU. Sometimes, Louis poses as Harry’s boyfriend. It doesn’t mean anything. Really.

Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic by larrycaring

Call him hopelessly romantic, but Harry was convinced Louis was the one for him. He had never really believed in love at first sight until his special person had come along and stolen his heart. And really, as soon as he had first met Louis on the train, Harry had felt something. Their love, at first sight, had started when they had met, and it had never ended since they had found each other. Harry hadn’t known it back then, of course, but even during his first encounter with Louis, he had felt that fluttering feeling from deep down inside, when Louis had first smiled at him. It had been like gravity had moved, and nothing had mattered more than him.

or even in a magical world, Louis and Harry's love is the most magical and beautiful thing in the world, Zayn is the smart Ravenclaw who falls for his best friend, Liam's true feelings are revealed and Niall is Niall.

or my first Larry Hogwarts AU that I just had to write.

Close your eyes (and let the word paint a thousand pictures) by larrycaring

They were attached at the hip as soon as they met on the Hogwarts Express. They became good friends within the first week of school, and from that day on, Harry just kind of snuck his way right into Louis’ heart. It’s just his charming side, his genuine and caring personality, his stupid puns (and now pick-up lines) that make Louis laugh his ass off, and his bravery and determination. His endless support and loyalty, his friendship… Everything about him, Louis loves. Merlin’s beard, he’s truly gone for him. And he doesn’t know how to tell Harry.

or another Hogwarts AU where Harry thinks it’s a good idea to use cheesy pick-up lines to reveal his feelings to Louis.

Faking It by TheCellarDoor

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Aka Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

A Real Work of Art by lululawrence

“I don’t understand,” Liam said for probably the fiftieth time in ten minutes. “You have to explain again how this is a bad thing.”

“Leeeeyummm,” Harry whined into the phone as he leaned his head onto his desk. “I felt like this year was my year for getting his attention, you know? That senior year I would finally get Logan Thompson to realize I exist! But he’s in almost every single one of my classes, Li. How am I supposed to survive that?”

“Easily,” Liam answered, with the same matter of fact tone his voice always took when Harry was in one of his fits. “He doesn’t know you exist, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Right?”

Or the one where Harry calls on an old friend, the super popular Louis Tomlinson, to help him change his look to capture the heart of Logan. Things only mostly go as planned.

wanna taste your heart, don't interfere by orphan_account

Harry still remembers how unsure he felt when he first told Louis, how self-conscious he was. Louis had been nothing but understanding and kind, though, reassuring him that nothing’s going to change between them, that they’re still best friends regardless of sex. Harry had been mostly relieved at that, because he really doesn’t want to lose Louis as a friend over this, but another part of him had been a bit sad because… well, because nothing changed between them. Or rather, there is change, but it’s completely one-sided as far as Harry can tell.

This change being him not getting enough of the way Louis smells. He just can’t help it, is the thing, unable to stop himself from trying to subtly press his nose against the fabric of Louis’ shirt by his shoulders. He still smells like faint cologne and sweat, which is enough to make Harry start feeling slightly dizzy.

(harry presents as an omega, louis is his alpha best friend, and there are hidden feelings that just get harder to control.)

Picture Perfect by LittleBubbleStyles

an AU where Louis Tomlinson is a misunderstood football player, and Harry Styles is a misunderstood photographer. Somehow, they're understood together.

this is a wip but it is updated regularly, almost finished, and I highly recommend it!!

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

I’m back on my bullshit and we have GOT TO TALK about 13x08 The Scorpion and the Frog; which serves as a good example of why you should not ONLY watch spn episodes with Cas (partially because of that scene I shamefully blogged about earlier - no I will not link that cursed post here).  The episode title comes from a fable in which the villain is the scorpion.  Interpretations of this fable note its uniqueness lies in the concept that “the scorpion is irrationally self destructive and fully aware of it.”

To quote the scorpion, buddies -  “it’s in my nature.”

Anyway, this episode is subtextually predicated on exploring Dean Winchester’s nature and specifically - his bisexuality, and I’m not only saying that because it opens with Dean in his Bi Colors Plaid (that also he wore on his burger date with Cas).

Let’s get started, after the cut!

Season 13 on its face gives me absolute whiplash because it starts widow arc-reunion-TOMBSTONE and then Jack yeets himself off to Chuck knows where so Cas can go out Looking For Him Because Otherwise He Will Definitely Kiss Dean there is no other option for the writers at this point.  Sigh.  Here, have another shot of Dean anxiously cleaning his gun as he always does when Cas has Gone Off For Reasons -

Anyway, this feels like a filler episode at first, but as always they bury the ENTIRE damn world in it and I am here with my dossier to Unearth It.

Lets start with Bart (demon of terrible nicknames and microagressions) meeting the brothers at Smile Diner to talk about some spell or whatever. 

(I am not thinking about the Cherry Pie meta I AM NOT)

THEY HAVE THE AUDACITY to start with these lines immediately introducing the theme of duality, a thread throughout this episode.

BARTHAMUS

Everything. I've been following your careers a long time. You're a real pain in the pitchfork. And the halo. Natural disrupters. We have that in common, you and I. DEAN

Mm. Yeah, we're twinsies.

***MORE DUALITY!  But as we know, Dean does not like Bart because He Is A Freakin’ Demon

DEAN

Well, see, here's the thing. When a demon tells us to jump, we don't ask how high. We just ice their ass.

UMMM excuse me Barting Bacting Boices?  What is that sexual gaze?  

Then we find out that Bart has 1/2 of the spell.  They need the other 1/2.  Oh, a spell with two parts, you say? [ I am going to scream :) ]

***Also, Dean eats the pie Bart ordered.  I cannot begin to explain to you the state of unwellness that I am in regarding how important this is. DEAN NEVER GETS TO EAT THE PIE, remember?  But in This Filler Episode, Dean eats the pie. While Sam looks at him with a very quizzical expression.  Pie -> what Dean wants but never actually gets -> Dean actively eating this pie.  Dean is coming to terms that maybe he can have what he wants.

***I am reminding you again that this is post widower-arc, post-reunion, and especially post-Tombstone.  Anyway-

Now we get to Smash and Grab.  Not literally even though I want to Commit Such Conduct at this point.  We are introduced to two one off characters named 

Smash (human/female presenting) -  can crack any safe built by man 

and Grab (demon/male presenting)-  expert in bypassing supernatural security.

Reaching or no, you can’t disagree that when spn introduces one off characters - it is almost always a Narrative Parallel or Mirror.

So we have a human and a demon (and Dean Winchester, a human who has been a demon)

who are experts in cracking open/bypassing something that has been secured and guarded (breaking down walls, if you will).  

They also use fake names identifying them as Tools to be Used ( Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword/daddys blunt little instrument)

BONUS:

Dean himself is literally used as a tool in this episode.

So yeah.  Smash and Grab are physical representations of Dean’s duality.  Human/Demon.  Femininity/Masculinity.  Dare we say something else, too?

Anyway, Dean is paired with Smash and Grab; Sam is off to idk negotiate weird artifact purchases lawboy style with Luther Shrike, a man who cannot die so long as he never leaves his house (I cannot even begin to unpack this shit; please just sit there and think about it.  I’m not even going there here.  I CANNOT DISCUSS Luther Shrike RN).

Speaking of things I cannot discuss without halgdhsag;lsa - Smash has very Specific boots (a look overall, really).

DEAN

Hey, Winona. The '90s called. They'd like their shoes back. SMASH

Shh.

***That’s right girl - do not take his shit; he actually LOVES them and is therefore Overcompensating for it with this little jab.

***Dean’s pop culture references and particular attention to the details here Should Not Be Overlooked.  90s! Winona! Ryder!

ANYWAY, then Dean and Smash bond over a caffeinated beverage -

[While Dean is doing a spell, Smash opens a can of drink, takes a mouthful and burps loudly. ] SMASH

Ahh. DEAN

You're weird.

***This scene makes me literally insane. (even aside from Dean living on something named NERVE DAMAGE as a KID.  They could have called it anything. You’re saying this wasn’t a Choice)  

She chugs a swallow of the drink and burps.  Something stereotypically associated with masculinity.  Not feminine.  Dean’s reaction is that she is “weird” - because she is not acting in a way stereotypically, J*hn Winchester brain-rot patriarchy bullshit-tily associated with Being Female.  But also, says the stupid show, they like the same soda.  They are The Same.  She shares the soda with Dean.  HIS FACE WHEN SHE DOES -

Other similarities are addressed throughout the episode (they are working for demons because they have no choice; they don’t discuss feelings/emotions, they both sold their soul, they both This Thing - 

DEAN

You know, we could help you. SMASH

No, you can't. I gotta take care of me.

etc. etc.) Smash is absolutely dean-coded.

****Also it’s textually established that Smash thinks Dean is attractive -

GRAB

[looking at Smash] Oh. You said he was just a pretty face. SMASH 

Shh.

***But Grab flirts with him too.

DEAN

I will kill you. GRAB

I bet you say that to all the girls.

***sorry, Grab - you won’t get far with Dean, but only because as he mentioned in the beginning of this episode - 

Drowley rights.

Now Dean has to put his hand in the mouth of this stone lion thing and all of a sudden he is acting....very-not-like-Dean.

[Dean looks again and takes a deep breath.] DEAN

I… how about this? What if I cut myself, put it on, like, a little piece of paper? We'll just wad it up and throw it in the mouth, okay? Okay. 

***Dean Winchester, who has been to Literal HELL, who has been torn apart by hellhounds, who has battled the devil and angels and God’s sister - all at the expense of his own life is now - afraid of spiders.  Well, technically he has always been afraid of spiders, but why isn’t ‘he being performative about it At This Time??

***Come to think of it, this sends me right back to how Jackles was playing Dean in 12x11 Regarding Dean THE episode dissecting Dean’s performative masculinity [one day I will clean up and post that analysis sitting in my drafts like a sad hamster]. That makes sense actually, because -> -> ->

that episode and this one are both written by Meredith Glynn.  Girl get in I want to torture you affectionately with a barrage of questions.

So here we have Dean and he’s not performing for Reasons, and he’s scared he’s genuinely scared of putting his hand in this stone lion-gargoyle-pig-creature’s mouth and then -

Smash gives him a push.

She gives him a push.  I cannot stop thinking about how she gives him a push.  A push to go do this thing that he is scared of; his fear being something he was hiding under his performative masculinity. Smash - dean coded dean mirror who does not perform femininity and is ‘weird’ -  she   gives   him   a     p u s h.

***linking here for the jackting joices that follow.

Now, let’s circle back to Smash’s story; why she is working for Bart in the first place -

SMASH

You think I wanna be here? Like I have a choice? SAM

You made a deal. SMASH

Wow! You think? SAM

You sold your soul. SMASH

And if I could take it back, I would. 

there is no reason for this picture here other than I needed you to see the jackting again

***How does the story end for Smash?

DEAN

Take care of you. [Dean glances down at the box, and then at Smash. She sees that Dean has put a lighter on top of the bones.]  BARTHAMUS

Alice, chop chop! 

[Bart indicates she should get his bones]. SMASH

Yeah. [She grabs the lighter and sets Bart's bones alight. Bart screams as he bursts into flames. ] 

***She accepts help and breaks free from the narrative, literally burning it down. The female presenting but not female-performing “weird” ooc representing a side of Dean breaks FREE because she makes a choice.  The lighter Dean drops? It’s a push.  And she goes with it.

Alice reclaims her story.

(Also, Grab gets ganked.  The male presenting ooc; the performative masculinity side; the demon; the darkness; the not-humanity - gets ganked).

Guess what Dean says to Alice when they say goodbye?

DEAN

Hey, Alice. Stay weird.

[I know the peace sign is probably just a Charlie throwback but I’d still like to say duality.  Two. ]

Dean’s not just talking to Alice.  He’s talking to himself; because the walls have been breached and for once Dean isn’t as scared of being different.  Maybe, just maybe, he’s going along with the push.  That’s exactly how the episode ends - with Dean feeling a little more hopeful, a little more at peace; a little more Considering he is capable of not only loving Cas but also not hating himself for it. 

[until the knowledge that Mary is still alive and the guilt of allowing himself ANY happy thoughts instead of looking for her miserably rears its ugly head in 13x09 and round and round we go but for NOW at least -> ]

DEAN

I'll drink to that.

(oh look Dean is just wearing his henley.  It’s almost as if a layer has been peeled back).

tagging @im-shaking-like-milk​ and @deanwasalwaysbi​ for letting me ramble on to them while writing this; and @lilac-void​ because you are always so kind about my stuff :)

[dragonsareourfuture]

Matsuda/GN!Reader — Promise

Here’s a longer oneshot for a man who is often forgotten. Lovely Matsuda, you have a huge place in my heart.

This wasn’t an afternoon like any other.

No, shut up! It’s the same as any other day.

Something big was about to go down.

It’s not big, it’s normal! Normal sized, normal day!

Your heart was practically beating out of your chest, slamming against your rib cage so hard you swore it made your body sway a tad bit forward.

Everything is going to go fine, no disasters.

You stood in front of your mirror, combing out your hair. The bathroom was dead silent save for your short, uneasy breaths. You tried your best to draw them out to how you normally breathed, but you began to try so hard to breathe normally that you forgot how you normally breathed altogether.

Is this pace too slow? Am I not getting enough air? Is that why the room’s spinning or am I just panicking for no reason?

You weren’t panicking. You swear you weren’t. Maybe you were just breathing so fast and your heart was racing so much because you were dying! Yeah, that could be it! You almost preferred that possibility to what you were in store for later that evening — something set to occur around 6:00 pm sharp. Dinner. Doesn’t sound so bad right?

Wrong. You almost laughed at yourself bitterly for thinking so absurdly — doesn’t sound so bad? Maybe when you don’t have all the details. So, let’s rephrase that, shall we?

Dinner. With your boyfriend’s parents.

Ah, speak of the devil. You turned around at the sound of a light knock at the bathroom doorframe. Touta Matsuda, the adorable little puppy dog of a human, stood with his fist still curled and his knuckles against the doorframe. He asked you if you were nearly ready to head out, his dark eyebrows upturned with light creases denting his forehead.

You jolted. With a lightening fast grab at your phone you tore it from its spot on the counter and looked at the time — how was it already 5:40!? Hadn’t you started brushing your hair around 4:00? You didn’t even want to begin to think about the fact that you’d been standing at the mirror for forty whole minutes telling yourself you weren’t panicking. And the worst part — that reverse psychology didn’t even leave a mark! Your chest still felt tight and nothing felt right. Oh no... you’re thinking in rhyme.  You had to do something quick, before you started to speak in riddles like some kind of bridge troll.

“Hey, Teddy Bear?”

“What’s up? You don’t look too good...”

Even staring at yourself in the mirror for nearly an hour didn’t allow you to notice until Matsuda pointed it out. When you looked back at your reflection, you saw the truth in his statement. You looked very put together overall — clothes neat and without a single crease marring the fabric — but your face was paler than it had ever been before. Your eyes had sunken from lack of sleep, as you were tossing and turning for hours the previous night just thinking about your arrangement for that evening. You just looked scared.

“I’m gonna be completely honest with you,” you began, stepping closer to your boyfriend and weaving your arms around his waist. The soft fabric of his dress shirt calmed you enough to get the words out without choking on them. “I’m really, really nervous about tonight. They’re gonna hate me for this—“

“Hey, don’t say that! It’s no one’s fault that we‘ve both been too busy to formally meet my folks since we started dating. I mean, I am a cop after all, and this case hadn’t exactly been easy on me or anyone on my team.” Matsuda reasoned. It was always hard to argue with him when he had this whole “optimist” thing going on. He was just too cute and cheerful to claim anything he said was a lie.

You sighed, trying to fight back with more doubts, “But it’s been forever. They’re gonna think I’m avoiding them or something!”

“Nonsense! If anything they’ll be grateful for you taking care of me every night when I get home from work. I still don’t know how you do it. You’re too patient with me, babe! Not that I’m telling you to stop, of course! It’s— well, you know what I mean!”

Dammit, Matsu’s cuteness struck you down once more and, against your will, you were forced to give into his positivity. You let out a laugh, tightening your grip around his waist and resting your chin on his broad shoulder. “Yeah, I guess so.”

But he was forgetting one little thing. You had absolutely no idea what kind of people Matsuda’s parents were, so how they would react to something like this was beyond your comprehension. Though, you didn’t think terrible people could have produced someone so pure hearted and precious. Still, you had no idea how formal they were, if they cared whether you told them yet or not. If they were opposed to how you were going about this or if they would support you. And Matsuda, being the kind person he was, wanted to tell them the important news in person, so there was no avoiding this any longer.

“Listen, I...when we talked about marriage I didn’t agree to it despite my parents.” Matsuda hummed, taking hold of your lower back to pull you closer to him as a gesture of comfort. “They know you exist, at least! They know we’ve been dating for a while and they know you make me happy. So what would be the issue?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes and dropping your forehead onto his shoulder. Goddammit, he’s right.

You just had to make Teddy Bea— Uh, Matsuda’s parents like you! Then they’d support your relationship, and in turn your decision to get married. End of story. Well, you’d have to see them again, like at the wedding, but you’d cross that bridge once you got to it!

Yeah, okay. Maybe, with the comfort of your fiancé beside you (was is okay to call him that? You haven’t even bought an engagement ring yet...), just maybe, you could do this.

Probably.

This shit’s gonna be easy, you told yourself. And, you know the funny thing? You actually started to believe it.

It was like all of the comforting words Matsuda blessed your ears with earlier actually had some effect and, now that you stood at his parent’s doorstep, the tight feeling in your chest had eased up. Your head stopped pounding with your own heartbeat drumming in your ears. You felt comfortable, even when Matsuda knocked on the door before taking ahold of your hand.

Soon enough, an older woman answered to the knocks. Her face, marred with smile lines, brightened at the sight of you two. She was on the shorter side, but by no means did she appear weak. Her hands held a strong grip on the door as she held it open, and such energy gave off a giddy and caring aura about her. She stepped aside and held a hand out, gesturing for you to come in with a cheerful call of “Hello there! Oh, come in, come in. Honey, they’re here!”

You allowed Matsuda to take the lead, guiding you inside behind him, connected by your hands still. With only a few steps, the slight bite of the chilly fall air outside had vanished in an instant only to be replaced by a warm and fuzzy atmosphere. It had the air of a home that was prepared for guests, which served to make your heart flutter at the idea that you were important enough to make people want to prepare their home for you.

A staircase occupied the farthest wall to the right, and beyond that led to a dining room. While candles dotted the table, plates were set up neatly in front of every chair for four people. The burning candles gave off the scent of a pine forest, filling your nostrils and effectively making you even more calm. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Another set of footsteps was soon given a face — a tall, lanky man with the same messily styled and dark hair as your beloved boyfriend — presumably Matsuda’s father. This presumption was made into fact as the man glommed into Matsuda, patting his back and barely giving your boyfriend any air in his lungs to speak properly.

“Hey, mom! Hey, dad! I really missed you guys. Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing, too!”

You couldn’t say he was wrong. You couldn’t really place it with the pine scented candles mixing with the scent, but whatever it was, it was making your mouth water.

“O-oh, um, this is (Name). They’re that person I was talking to you guys about on the phone the other day,” The now suddenly bashful Matsuda introduced on your behalf.

“Hi there, it’s really nice to meet you both!” You greeted, shameful that you didn’t think to say something sooner.

“Oh, well aren’t you just the sweetest thing? Come this way, dear, don’t just stand around!”

“O-oh, alright—“

“So!” The boisterous man by Matsuda’s side called. He clapped his son on the shoulder, looking from him to you with a teasing quirk in his brow. “You’ve finally decided to come visit now, have you?”

“Oh, don’t give them a hard time!” Matsuda’s mother interjected, holding up a nearby dish towel with a threatening glower, no real malice behind it. Matsuda’s father held up his hands in mock surrender.

You smiled, forcing the corners of your lips upwards although you couldn’t force it to meet your eyes. you felt absolutely terrible. These people opened up their home to you, cooked for you, let you go out with their son, and yet you couldn’t tell them that you wanted to marry their son, and he wanted the same. Occasionally you shared a glance with Matsuda, who only stared back with eyes that said “not yet”. And you hated the fact that you felt overwhelming relief each time you received that look from him. The fact was — you didn’t want to tell them. If you did there would be no going back, no do-overs. But at the same time you wanted to get it off your chest more than anything in the world. You wanted their son’s hand in marriage. That’s not usually anything to sneeze at.

And yet, all you were doing was lying to their faces. Well, was it lying if all you were doing was keeping something from them? Was it just as wrong? Of fucking course it was. There’s no way out of this one, you’re a horrible person and that’s that. Shit.

Even as you all sat at your designated seats around the dinner table, not a peep left your mouth. As Matsuda’s mother began to dish out servings of her incredible-smelling cooking with the help of her husband, you only uttered words of thanks. You really couldn’t thank them enough, considering the bomb you were about to drop onto their lives.

You all ate peacefully with the light conversation making it’s way around the table. Matsuda and his parents were quite possibly the easiest people to talk to that you ever did meet. No joke had to be held back for fear of being judged, and a few of your little comments caused Matsuda’s father to choke on his food from laughter. You and Matsu’s mom took to ganging up on the men for their apparent shared habit of snoring like a monster at night, the both of them getting defensive with claims that they had no way to control that kind of thing. You and Matsu even shared a few stories from your albeit limited amount of time alone together, going to the park or visiting a museum. It was only when a lull in conversation caused a bout of silence to overtake the room did you look to Matsuda for some assistance in keeping up conversation, only to find him looking at you with determined eyes.

Oh. So it was time, was it? Alright, you could do this.

You breathed in deeply through your nose, clasping your partner’s hand under the table.

“Mom, dad? We uh...Well, we have something to tell you,” Matsu admitted, his voice starting out as nothing more than a whisper and gradually increasing in volume. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand.

“Oh? Good news or bad news?” His mother inquired, eyebrows creasing slightly with a tinge of worry which the playful tone in her voice failed to mask.

“I hope you think it’s good news! Uh, so, (Name) and I...well, it’s good to see that you guys seem to be getting along well! Can I just say that before I start? Yeah...so. Okay, um—“

“Son, you know you can tell us anything. Just say it, we won’t be angry with you.” Something in the older man’s tone told you he already somewhat caught on to the situation. He just wanted to hear it from his son first, which was understandable.

“We’re going to get married,” Matsuda blurted. The slight jitters you felt in his hand eased up immensely after he said it. His shoulders relaxed and his lips stretched with a smile. “We aren’t exactly sure when or where, we don’t even have the rings yet, but we’ve talked it through and...well, we’re doing it.”

Your gaze, which was fixed on your Teddy Bear throughout his entire explanation, absolutely adoring the loving glint in his eyes as he talked about your future together, shifted back to his parents. What you were met with did not exactly please you.

“...oh. Well, dear, I...”

“It’s not that we aren’t happy for you two, don’t get us wrong...”

It took you a while to completely comprehend what you were hearing.

“What...? You don’t want us to get married?” Matsuda chimed in before you could say anything, not that you were even sure that you could.

“We didn’t say that!” The older woman defended, inching up to sit on the edge of her seat. Ah, yes. Battle mode. “Far from it, actually. All we want is for you to be sure that you’re ready.”

Matsuda’s dad nodded, continuing with his wife’s sentiment, “You said yourself that you’ve been too busy to come see us, so how much of that time have you really had with each other?”

You couldn’t even argue against them. It was true, you and Matsuda haven’t really been able to spend a ton of time together lately. Perhaps marriage was what you both seemed to agree would act as a patch — something you thought would fix your issues as soon as you could call Matsuda your husband. But how much better off would you be after that?

“I...mom, dad...” Matsuda’s words faded, disintegrating into nothingness as his hope seemed to do along with it. He hung his head as his grip on your hand loosened but, before it could completely slip from you, you clasped it tightly.

“Thank you so much for your advice,” you said, marveling that you managed to keep your voice from wavering. “We’ll think it over.”

The burn of Matsuda’s eyes could practically be felt boring into you. You knew he was upset, you knew he was confused. But the very last thing you wanted to do was end the night on a bad note. You could try your best to save what was left of your first impression dinner and talk about this later. When you were alone.

“...yes, o-of course. Ah, would anyone like a second helping?”

  About an hour of stiff conversation and shifting glances later, you and Matsuda decided that perhaps it was time to leave.

He hugged his parents goodbye with noticeably less enthusiasm than he had when he’d first greeted them, and you took to simply waving and thanking them for the meal.

Once you were outside, a shiver ran down your spine. The temperature had dropped considerably, now with the moon in place of the sun overhead and clouds of fog taking to the air every time you exhaled.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” you heard from beside you. Your head swiveled to meet the eyes of your boyfriend only to find that his were directed towards the ground. “That didn’t go as I thought it would.”

Your mouth opened to answer, only to close again. It was easier to grab his hand, which was swinging limply at his side, at thread your fingers through his. So, that’s what you did.

Matsuda flinched, eyes shooting toward the point at which your hands were connected, staring at it with wide eyes. Once he was over his shock, he gave you a grin — a smile that turned his eyes into crescents and warmed his cheeks with a soft blush. That smile was what always told you that everything would be okay.

You stopped walking so suddenly that Matsuda nearly tripped trying to stop in time.

“What’s wrong? (N-name!?)”

Matsuda covered his mouth as he stared down at you, now kneeling on one knee in front of him. You never let go of his hand, but kept it clasped in yours. Your lips met his knuckles, thumb brushing over the spot that you kissed afterwards. 

This was not the end of the world. So you shouldn’t get married, so what? It’s not like that’s your main goal anyway. Marriage — your method of escape from actually facing your problems — would have to wait. Big deal. That just left more time to spend with your adorable Teddy Bear without the stress of a wedding hanging over your heads. Any breaks you two had in work could be used to get to know each other better, relearn those things about each other that might have slipped from your memories due to time apart.

“Touta, I love you. I love you too much to let this stupid disagreement do any damage to our relationship. I want us to become stronger because of this. We don’t need a legal binding to tell us that we belong together. So, this isn’t a proposal, but a promise — Whether we’re married or not, I will do my best to make you the happiest man alive and let you know each and every day how much I care for you. And, if we still want to, later on when we know we’re in a stable place, we can get married.”

A splash of water hit the ground in front of you. You blinked, expecting more to come in the form of a rain shower until you realized that water was the tears still rolling down Matsuda’s rosy cheeks. “Yeah, that—“ he sniffed, wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket, “—that sounds good.”

“Just good?” You joked.

“A-amazing? I can’t really find the words right now...but I do want everything you just said. I’m just a little surprised that, what with how tonight was going with me consoling you, you’d end up doing the same for me by the end!” The ravenette scratched the back of his head, averting his eyes, “I d-don’t really feel like the one wearing the pants in this relationship right now!”

“Who said you were in the first place?” You muttered, rising to your feet and heading off toward your car.

“Wh-wh-what!? Hey, get back here!”