#the size and spacing are shitty because I hand traced them :3

[heaveniowa]

heaven, iowa - fall out boy

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Five: Like Real People Do

a/n: hellooo and welcome to the next part of ybmh!! i am sooooo excited about this next chapter (and upcoming chapters😏 ). Thank you again for all of your kind words and wonderful feedback! It's always so much fun to hear from you all, so as always, feel free to come chat in my inbox once you've finished this next part. I have a feeling there will be much to discuss👀 Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual content, mentions of drowning

Word Count: 5.6k

read parts one, two, three, and four

“I’m not going,” Alani says finally, discarding the outfit in her hands onto a pile on her bed. The clock reads 7:55 pm, only five minutes before she was supposed to be at the studio. She still hadn’t selected an outfit, but her hair and makeup were still relatively intact from her shift at the café.

“You have to!” Pua whines. “You told him you would!”

“Then I’ll tell him I’m sick or something—food poisoning. Period cramps, maybe,”

She begins placing the clothes on hangers to put back in her closet, but her sister reaches for her wrists to stop her.

“You’re just nervous,” Pua says calmly, getting eye level with her older sister. “But you’ll regret it if you don’t go,”

“Go where?” a woman’s voice calls from the door frame. Their mother, Estrella, peeks her head through the cracked door.

“To a party with a cute boy,” Pua explains.

Alani shoots an icy glare at her sister before turning back to her mom. “It’s not a party. I’m working on a piece about a local musician and he’s recording some music tonight and said I could go. You know, to write about it,”

Estrella nods, not convinced. “So why don’t you wanna to go?”

“Because they almost kissed—”

“Pua!”

“Hey, hey,” Estrella cuts in. “Mija, you’re twenty-two years old, I don’t expect you to stay single forever. If you want to go out and see a cute boy, you don’t need to lie about it,”

“But I’m not lying,” Alani defends. “It’s just… complicated, and I’m trying to be professional about it.”

Estrella steps away from the doorframe and envelops her daughter in a hug. “Sometimes, you just have to do what feels right and hope for the best,”

Alani is grateful for the piece of wisdom from her mother, feeling a small weight lifted off her shoulders.

“But if I were you,” her mom continues. “I would wear the black strappy dress with those wedges.”

********

8:10. Harry checks his phone for the third time in one minute, growing more disappointed each time the same three numbers stare back at him, almost mocking. He doesn’t feel any better when the time reads 8:11.

“Can I interest you in a piña colada?” Mitch pipes up, sauntering over with a glass in each hand.

The choice of drink seemed perfect when Harry had suggested it earlier in the day, but he deeply regrets it now. Despite the tightening at the back of his throat, Harry accepts the drink and chooses to nurse it in a different corner of the room. A part of him feels guilty for being such a buzzkill around his friends these days, and he wishes more than anything that he could just enjoy living in this moment with them. Being away from Alani had produced a strange feeling in him similar to the sickness experienced when leaving home on a long vacation; Harry didn’t know exactly how to cure it, but he hoped that lots of alcohol would do the trick.

When the clock reads 8:20, he accepts that she isn’t coming and decides to make the best of a shitty situation. He drains another piña colada and joins his friends who are huddled around various instruments and sound equipment. A few more of Harry’s writer and producer friends had joined the trip temporarily, and he’s grateful, now more than ever, for their presence—it distracts him from the overwhelming emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Jeff hands Harry a microphone and some headphones while Mitch plugs a white electric guitar into the amp. The guitarist begins with some chords that the crew has been messing around with for the past couple of days: an upbeat riff reminiscent of some of Harry’s favorite 70s rock pieces. His head is spinning mildly, but he uses the feeling as inspiration. He pinches his eyes shut and tries to let the lyrics flow, but the only words coming out are “she’s driving me crazy”, so he starts with that. The group also runs with it, adding a few yells and lyrics of their own. The song isn’t coherent in the slightest, filled mostly with laughter and choppy melodies, but it’s the best Harry has felt all night. He traded the piña coladas for a glass of tequila fit snugly in the palm of his hand, and true to Mitch’s word, the giggles emerge. At one point, he shouts the words “I’m havin’ your baby”, which makes zero sense to anyone in the room, including him, but they decide that it sounds cool and keep it going.

“It’s none of your business!” Mitch calls back, voice raised in his best soprano to mimic that of a woman. The shoddy attempt makes Harry laugh even harder and his hand clutches his stomach.

They continue on for what feels like hours, but in reality has only been forty-five minutes. At 9:05, Jeff Azoff heads outside to catch his breath and cool down. As he takes a seat on the steps, a yellow Ford Bronco pulls into the lot and Alani steps out once it's parked. She emerges in a black dress that falls mid thigh and a baby pink leather jacket, making her way nervously up the steps.

“Alani,” Jeff greets warmly with cheeks flushed. “Welcome. Party’s inside.”

She shoots him a grateful smile and reaches for the studio door, slipping inside cautiously. The music had been audible a mile down the road, but it’s even more overwhelming inside. Standing on a small coffee table in the center of the room is Harry with an arm draped around a shorter man wearing a black and white Adidas shirt. His dimples are on full display and his warbled words carry over the speakers to attack her from all sides. She recognizes Mitch hunched over a guitar and Jeff Bhasker spinning in an office chair, but she can’t put names to the other faces lingering around Harry. Alani feels extremely out of place, not knowing where she belongs in all of the chaos—it all seems to her like a living Jackson Pollock painting that she can’t look away from. In the middle of his off-key rendition of Wannabe by the Spice Girls, Harry’s eyes land on Alani and his smile grows ten times wider. He puts one foot in front of the other, completely disregarding the small size of the table, but he catches himself just as Alani lunges forward to help him. This results in their two bodies pressed flush against one another, the coolness of her leather jacket versus the warmth of his intoxication.

“You made it,” he slurs.

Alani takes a small step back and clears her throat. “Yeah. Sorry I’m late,”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” Harry shrugs, his eyes lighting up when he remembers something. “There’s piña coladas! In the kitchen,”

The fact that he remembered such a detail from their previous conversations and made an effort to incorporate it into this night makes her cheeks warm.

“Okay, cool. Thanks,”

Harry scans her appearance and his stomach flutters.

“Y’look really pretty,” he offers. Alani can tell that it takes every ounce of effort to do so.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, voice small.

“Wanna get some fresh air?”

“Yes, please.”

The two of them slip out through a side door and into the backyard, stopping just before the pier. Alani doesn’t know how much of these next moments Harry will remember in the morning, which makes her feel a little more confident to share what she’s truly thinking.

“Harry, I—”

“God, you’re so pretty,” he interrupts, running a hand through his hair.

Her cheeks heat up, but she pushes past the feeling. “And you’re drunk,”

“Yeah, true. But you’re still pretty. Always think so,”

Alani searches his eyes, which are sleepy and bloodshot, but there isn’t a trace of insincerity. In this moment, she also feels the overwhelming urge to be honest—about the butterflies in her stomach that only set flight when he’s around, and the way she constantly wonders what his lips would feel like against hers. But there’s an intensity behind Harry’s gaze, despite his intoxicate state, that stops her.

“You’re making this so hard,” Alani laughs lightly, more to herself than him.

“‘M sorry,” he offers. “Don’t mean to,”

She smiles at Harry’s completely innocent reply, not knowing what to do with all of the pent up affection she has for him. A part of her simply wants to scream in his face to stop being so goddamn endearing. Instead, Alani turns on her heel to put some space between them, but stops when she feels a warm hand tug at her fingers.

“Why d’you always do that?” Harry asks, his expression a little more sober.

Alani takes a deep breath. “Do what?”

“Pull away when I get close. Did it in the car that one time. And the other time at the beach,”

There’s a beat of silence where Alani isn’t sure how to respond, but before she does, Harry releases her fingers and takes a step back.

“Wait, that was stupid. ‘M sorry if I did anything—”

“No,” Alani interrupts, taking a step closer. “You haven’t done anything wrong,”

“So why?”

She releases a breath and swallows. “I don’t know,”

It isn’t the answer Harry is looking for, but he accepts it with a slow nod. Suddenly feeling the need to flee, he takes a step onto the railing of the pier and Alani’s heart rate speeds up.

“What’re you doing?”

“S’hard to tell,” he shrugs before letting himself fall into the water below.

“Harry!” she screams, heaving over the edge of the railing to find him. The drop, unbeknownst to her, is only six feet and he’s done it many times before.

After a few seconds, Alani sees him reemerge at the surface, shaking his wet hair out. There’s a small strip of sand along the shore below, so she bolts down the stairs to meet him at the bottom.

“What the fuck?!” She cries, panic welling in the brim of her eyes. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” he deadpans.

“You could’ve hurt yourself,” Alani croaks, her limbs shaking. “You—you could’ve—”

Harry reaches out to comfort her but she steps back.

“I gotta go,”

“Alani,” he says gently, but she doesn’t respond. “Alani, wait!”

She walks briskly back to the front lot, Harry close behind.

“Alani, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t follow me.” she orders.

Her words are like a dagger through his chest, but he respects her wishes and stops dead in his tracks. Harry stands soaking wet under the moonlight, feeling helpless as he watches Alani disappear into the darkness.

********

She wakes the next morning with puffy eyes and a heavy heart, still wearing the same black dress from the night before. The warm water of a morning bath eases some of the tension in her muscles, but she knows it will take a lot more to soothe the tightness in her chest.

Why do you always do that?

Do what?

Pull away.

Their conversation from the night before lingers like a nasty bruise in Alani’s mind, but she senses a bit of harsh truth in Harry’s words. She did have a bad habit of walking away when things got hard, especially concerning matters of the heart. Her instincts were all flight and no fight, so even if Alani had stayed, she isn’t sure how she would’ve explained her reasons for panicking. How do I gently pepper in the whole almost dying thing? she wonders, a lump forming at the back of her throat. Alani was only eight years-old when she nearly drowned, and though almost fourteen years had passed since then, she still vividly remembers the helplessness of sinking further under the strong tide. On nights after a particularly stressful day, Alani’s sleep is often disturbed by the sensation of her lungs slowly filling with water only to wake up drenched in sweat and clutching the sheets. She had worked hard for several years after the incident to overcome her fear of the ocean, but a part of her still couldn’t shed the debilitating need for caution. After all, it was easier to avoid the water altogether than to wade in blindly and get sucked under. Watching Harry sink into the unknown stirred the same sense of panic that Alani had felt all those years ago and threatened to undo her progress, but she quickly realized that it was the idea of losing him that had sent her into flight mode. She imagines the hollowness she would feel at the sight of waterfalls and the scent of vanilla; piña coladas—the drink and the song—tainted in her memory forever. The thought of Harry's absence was all too much to bear, but it’s how she knew that his presence must mean something. He meant something, and she couldn’t let him go.She ends her bath quickly and sifts through the first pair of clothes she can find. Suddenly none of it mattered: what she wore, how she looked, Rolling Stone—nothing but him. Alani thinks back to her mother’s words: sometimes you just have to do what feels right and hope for the best. All she needed to do was see him and the words would find themselves. The sky is overcast when she steps outside, so she quickly puts the top on Stevie and pulls out into the road, deciding to make one quick pit-stop before setting off to find him.

********

Harry’s head pounds and he feels as if the sun has been set to maximum brightness. His clothes reek of saltwater, his skin feels like sandpaper, and his mouth is the Sahara desert. None of this compares, however, to the sense of impending doom that settles in when the memories of the night before, particularly those of Alani, resurface. I’m so fucked, he groans. Harry doesn’t quite remember every detail, but he remembers enough; he remembers how pretty she looked, and reminding her of it. He feels the temporary warmth of her fingers and the coolness of her jacket pressed against his chest. There’s a bit of fuzziness between the Spice Girls and piña coladas, but then Harry remembers crashing through water and his memory gets clearer. He fucked up. He had upset Alani in some way and although he doesn’t quite know how, he knows that he would spend the rest of his life trying to make up for it. Harry sits up suddenly and the whole room spins, but he makes an effort to stand anyway. Need to see Alani, he thinks with determination, I just need to see Alani.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Mitch comments from the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee.

“What time is it?” Harry croaks.

Mitch takes a sip of coffee and checks his phone. “10:30,”

“And last night was…”

“The party?” Mitch fills in the gaps. “Yeah,”

Harry rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and takes a seat at the table. “Did...did you see Alani?”

“No. I don’t think anyone did, actually. Did you?”

“Yeah,”

“So… I’m assuming it didn’t go well?”

Harry’s throat tightens and he hopes that she at least got home safely. He can’t bear to think about anything bad happening to her on his watch.

“No,” he confirms with a sigh. “No it didn’t,”

“Are you gonna go talk to her?” Mitch prods.

“Dunno if I should. She was pretty pissed,”

Mitch thinks for a second, taking another sip of coffee. “What would Noah Calhoun do?”

Under normal circumstances, Harry would be very amused by his friend’s reference to The Notebook, but right now he’s too focused on making things right with Alani. He devises a plan of action and stands.

“On a scale of one to ten,” he starts. “How shitty do I look?”

Mitch scans his best friend over, head tilting from side to side as he considers the question. “About a 7.5.”

“Good enough.”

Harry swipes the keys to the Cadillac off the counter and slips his feet into a pair of beat up vans before heading out the door.

********

The restaurant is fairly empty, as far as Alani can tell from the back. The kitchen staff are gathered in the break room for the time being, which allows her to tiptoe around unnoticed as she grabs the necessary ingredients for her peace offering to Harry. She hurries out through the employee entrance as soon as it’s complete and the key is already turning in her car’s lock when she hears a voice over her shoulder, calling her name.

“David?” she responds, turning to face the brawny man leaning against the car that is parked beside hers.

“Hey,” he starts, offering a flash of pearly white teeth. “I know I’m not supposed to be back here, but I just wanted to talk to you,”

Alani swallows, the icy chill of the drink in her hands reminding her of what needs to be done.

“You know, now’s not really a gr—”

“I haven't stopped thinking about you,” David interrupts, taking a step closer. “Since the other day when you stopped by. I mean, I think about you all the time but…” he trails off and Alani waits awkwardly for him to finish his ill-timed confession. David takes another step towards her and rests his forearm against the hood of her car, practically boxing her in with no escape route.

“We were really great together, don’t you think?” he asks, scanning her face with his prying eyes. “I don’t even remember why we broke things off,”

Alani’s brow furrows, her mind failing to come up with a logical explanation for this very sudden and uncomfortable conversation. She hadn’t lied when she told Harry that David wasn’t her ex, but she hadn’t been entirely honest, either. They had started hooking up during her senior year of high school—mostly because he was the star swimmer on their team that all the other girls fawned over, and despite all the attention, he had wanted her. It made her feel momentarily special, though she knew he wasn’t the boyfriend type. “Just a bit of fun” is what they called it, and the arrangement worked out well until Alani’s freshman year of college when she realized that there was an entire world of opportunities waiting beyond the confines of high school. A world that had brought her Harry, who was probably going to leave just as soon as he’d arrived if she didn’t make amends quickly.

“No,” Alani says decisively, nudging his arm away. “We weren’t ‘great’ together, we weren’t even good for each other,”

“Alani-”

“We were really young,” she continues. “And we did what we did, but that’s all in the past-”

“If you would just give me a chance-”

“I didn’t even know what I wanted for myself back then, let alone what I wanted out of a partner. But I do now,”

She doesn’t have to say Harry’s name, but they’re both thinking it. David steps back, arms crossed, and though he had always been somewhat intimidating, he looks small standing before her now.

“It’s because of that British guy, isn’t it?” he asks, despite the feeling that he already knows the answer.

Alani lets out a light laugh but she doesn’t confirm his suspicions. “We have nothing in common, David. We want different things out of life, you’ll see,”

“And he,” David continues, an accusatory tone on the word “he”. “Wants everything you do?”

She thinks for a moment, her heart pounding as she considers what Harry’s response will be to her confession. “I hope so.”

********

Harry had considered going to Alani’s house first, but he wasn’t sure who else would be home and didn’t particularly want his first interaction with her parents to occur whilst hungover. Sitting parked on the back road behind the café, however, he wishes that he had stopped there first to save him the painful sight ahead. Harry recognizes the other man from the restaurant he had taken Alani to the first time they had hung out, a name that started with the letter “D," though probably not the one flashing angrily in his mind. His arm is draped comfortably along the roof of her car, their bodies inches apart in what appears to be a very intimate moment. While he still can’t remember the exact details of his actions that had upset Alani so much, he fits this piece into the puzzle and it becomes much more clear. She has a boyfriend, and no amount of apologies could reconcile this fact, however tempted Harry may be to try. The word “boyfriend” sits uncomfortably in his mind, but it suddenly puts everything else into perspective. It explains why she fled his car so quickly when his wandering eyes had hinted their desire for her kiss—both times. He could have sworn that it would have happened had her phone not interrupted them the second time, but perhaps it had all been a trick of the rose-colored light. The sudden realization makes Harry feel sick, and a bit foolish, so he speeds off before he can be spotted.

He drives aimlessly for a while, mind still racing with the image of the other man’s depraved hands on Alani’s soft skin. The uneasiness boiling in the pit of his stomach is pathetic—he’s well aware—but he can’t stop himself from wondering why not me? It’s a selfish thought, but it eats at him, nonetheless. It should have been me. But the reality is that it wasn’t him, and it never would be. Despite any feelings he’d had that Alani was the one for him, he was not the one for her, and it’s a fact he must learn to live with. If this thought were a rock, he’d turn it over in his fingers until they bled.

********

Alani pulls up to the studio hesitantly and waits a beat before making her way up the stairs. She knocks twice, but there’s no answer, so she presses her ear to the door in search of any sound. Silence. There’s no trace of the cars Harry usually drives when she wanders to the back lot, either, so she figures that he must not be here. Alani racks her brain for other possible locations, but it’s a dead end. She doesn’t know what hotel or house he could be staying at, and her heart begins to race at the idea that he might not even be in Hawaii anymore. For all she knows, he could be on a return flight to L.A. or London, gone forever with the same instructions she had left him: don’t follow me. Alani lifts her phone with trembling fingers and searches Harry’s name, pressing the phone to her ear and praying like she had never prayed before. It rings three times before she’s sent to voicemail. The sound of his voice on the recording brings temporary relief, but it’s gone as soon as the message ends and she is prompted to respond. She clears her throat gently and speaks as if he is at the other end waiting to hear the right words and pick up.

“Hi, it’s Alani,” she starts slowly. “I, uh…. I’m at the studio. I don’t think you’re here though,”

She walks in small circles around the backyard and lets her eyes roam to the pier where it all went wrong. It sends a pang of guilt through her spine, but it fuels her next words.

“Listen, I really wanna talk—about last night. I shouldn’t have left, I know that now. It wasn’t you, it was me, and I know that sounds cliché but it’s true,”

Alani swallows down the emotion bubbling at the back of her throat and wishes that she could just see him, face to face, one last time. There’s so much more she needs to say, but it’s a conversation she doesn’t want to have with his answering machine.

“Please just call me when you get this. I wanna explain everything if you’ll let me.”

She hangs up and nearly throws her phone into the ocean. Though her trauma response wasn’t completely in her control and it isn’t something she should feel guilty about, she wishes she had been able to explain. Alani hadn’t always been comfortable sharing that part of her life, but there was a security in Harry’s presence that made her feel okay to do so. She wanted to share everything with him, the good and the bad, but she needed to find him first.

Only twenty minutes had elapsed at the studio when Alani decides to head out; there was still no word from Harry and she needed to be anywhere else beside the site of their potential last meeting. She drives with no particular place in mind, the windows rolled down to let in the chilly, overcast air. It isn’t until she’s halfway in the opposite direction that she gets the urge to visit one other location. There’s an extremely small chance that Harry will be there, but she goes less in search of him and more for her own personal wallowing.

When Alani pulls up to the lookout where the two of them had spotted the rainbow, there is another car already parked: a pink Cadillac. The sight makes her entire body freeze.

“Harry?” a small voice calls behind him. He almost thinks that he had hallucinated it until he reluctantly turns his head and sees a timid Alani emerging from her car. A million emotions run through his mind at once, starting with confusion and elation and ultimately ending in grief.

“Hey,” he responds, weakly, still leaning against the hood of the Cadillac.

Alani slowly makes her way over, not entirely sure that he’s actually there. Once she gets closer, however, she can smell the faint scent of vanilla and her chest swells.

“I left you a voicemail,” is all she can say.

Harry’s brow furrows as he tries to remember any phone calls, but he suddenly figures that in all of his rush to see her, he had forgotten to grab it from his bed.

“Left my phone at the house,” he offers.

There’s a brief silence where the two of them size each other up, weighing their own motives against what they assume to be the other person’s. Harry speaks first.

“Alani, ‘m really sorry,” he says gently, stepping away from the car and towards her. “I know I fucked up—”

“Harry—”

“But I understand now,” he continues. “I know why you were upset,”

Confusion settles into Alani’s body and she wonders how he could possibly know about her accident. Or if he didn’t know, what else he could be referring to. She doesn’t have to guess for long because Harry continues despite her silence.

“I saw you with him—your boyfriend, I mean. Derek?” he explains. “But not in a creepy way I just.. wanted to talk. Bad timing,”

“Wait,” Alani cuts in, her brain finally sorting out the pieces. “You saw me and David..today?”

Harry feels as if the knife in his chest has been twisted further at the mention of the other man’s name, but he nods. An uncontrollable bubble of laughter finds its way up Alani’s throat, and the sound would typically bring butterflies to his stomach, but it only exacerbates the heartache.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Alani clarifies. “He’s delusional. And a huge pain in the ass, but I think he finally got the hint when I turned him down earlier,”

Harry’s ears perk up at the news, but he’s still wary.

“But you two were—”

“Ancient history,” Alani reassures him, taking another step closer. “He might as well be Socrates,”

A faint smile tugs at the corners of Harry’s lips and he feels a wave of relief wash over his body. The news is music to his ears, but he still wants to know what he had done to make her walk away that night.

“So you weren’t upset because you have a boyfriend and I tried to make a move?”

Alani takes a deep breath, knowing that she has avoided saying her piece long enough. Before she can start, though, a rumble of thunder interrupts her thoughts.

“Can we talk in Stevie? I don’t feel like standing in wet socks again,” she asks, which Harry obliges.

The two climb into the truck and settle in, the atmosphere quickly becoming more intimate than Alani had planned. His vanilla cologne has also become more perceptible in the confined space, and there’s a whiff of spearmint, most likely his gum, that briefly draws her attention to his mouth. She snaps her mind back to the conversation at hand and clears her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, reading his eyes carefully. There’s a faint reassurance behind the emerald surface, so she continues. “For everything that happened last night. You did nothing wrong, please know that,”

Harry wishes he could reach out and comfort her, but he gets the feeling that whatever she’s about to say is important so he doesn’t want to dismiss it.

“It’s hard for me, sometimes, to be around the water,” Alani continues despite the prickling feeling in her eyes. “Because when I was eight years old, I almost drowned,”

The revelation hits Harry like a ton of bricks and all at once he understands. He hadn’t even thought twice about jumping into the water that night, so it didn’t occur to him to rule that out as a possible offense. He understands now that he couldn’t have been more mistaken.

“And I know that has nothing to do with you,” Alani explains, her voice wavering ever so slightly. “Except that it terrified me to think about, you know… if you hadn’t been so lucky,”

Her composure quickly cracks, a single tear spilling down her cheek before she wipes it away with the sleeve of her sweater. This time, Harry does reach a hand out and Alani accepts it gratefully; the warmth of his fingers are a welcome contrast to her icy appendages.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he murmurs as his thumb rubs small circles over the back of her hand.

“But I do,” she sniffles. “Because—”

Alani pauses, unsure of how to finish her thought. Just do what feels right and hope for the best.

“Because I care about you,” she says finally, noticing the way his Adam’s apple bobs at her words.

Harry's jaw tightens at her confession and every muscle in his body longs to bring her close, leaving no inch of space between them, but he lets her lead despite his instincts.

"But it’s also because I care about you that I can’t let this go any further,”

Alani’s words surprise herself just as much as they terrify Harry, but she knows that it’s the right thing to do as soon as it’s done.

“Alani—” Harry starts, all of his worst fears crashing down on him.

“Please, don’t make this harder—”

“Don’t I get a say?” he questions, tightening his grip on her hand, though she still manages to slip away.

Alani runs the free hand through her still damp waves and lets another tear roll down her cheek. “What is there left to say?”

“How about ‘I care about you, too’? How about ‘I want to be with you’?”

“It’s too messy—”

“Everyone has baggage,” Harry defends. “God knows I do, and I would never ask you to carry all of that,”

Alani lets her eyes meet his again; they’re bloodshot and glossy, which sends a pang of guilt and sorrow through her entire body.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” she reasons, this time thinking not only about her own issues, but about everything—the lies she had told and the ambitions she was still nurturing. She hadn’t given up on her dreams and unless Rolling Stone had suddenly changed their mind about the Joni Mitchell piece, there was only one way she was going to achieve them. Alani hadn’t yet reconciled the fact that she would have to put aside her own feelings for Harry to get what she wanted, but she knew that time would heal the wounds.

“All I want,” he continues. “Is a chance. And I know nothing I do will ever change the past, but two hands make the load lighter. So, please, let me carry some of that with you. Give me a chance,”

As she studies the pleading in his eyes, something stirs deeply inside Alani’s chest. She had started the day thinking only of him, but with selfish intentions. Now, she was trying to do right by him, having realized that she couldn’t have both him and the story that would launch her career. Something would have to give, and Harry deserved more than that. He deserved more than her. Despite all of this awareness, there is something else nagging in the back of her mind that she can’t ignore. Don’t walk away, it screams. If Alani ignored her true feelings for Harry and refused his plea, she would be walking away from someone who believed in her, someone who cared deeply for, and wanted to understand, her. Perhaps the universe truly had brought Harry for a story, but to be a part of hers instead of the one she had been so eager to publish. There would be other chances, just like Dr. Hudson had said, but there would never be anyone else like Harry. So with this in mind, Alani decides to stop walking away and stand still, right in this very moment, with the boy who shined brighter than the sun itself and who had only asked for a chance to make her happy.

“Okay,” she breathes and it’s like the weight of the universe has been lifted from her shoulders.

Harry leans in, their foreheads pressed together gently, and cups her cheek in his hand.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

Alani nods and nudges the tip of his nose with her own. “Please.”

Their lips meet like electrically charged magnets, with a force so natural and strong it sends bolts of electrons through their entire bodies. Harry’s mouth is warm and gentle against hers, and the coolness of his mint gum soothes the searing touch of his kiss. Alani’s fingers glide up his chest and along the sides of his neck, pulling him closer as if he’s the anchor keeping her from floating away into the dark clouds above them. Over and over again, their lips collide fervently, breaths mixing and filling each other’s lungs. Their hands eagerly explore the curves of each other’s faces, the softness of hair, and the occasional heat of exposed skin. Harry is the first to break the kiss, panting lightly as he pulls back to search Alani’s face.

“Y’okay?” he asks.

“Never been better.”

next chapter

[irwinkitten]

got lucky | c.h

requested by anon: ok so for the bi!reader concept: last year i ended my relationship w this girl the main reason was because she was really insecure and jealous especially about me being bisexual like anytime i would talk to a guy she would just get so upset about it and she would make such gross biphobic comments and at the time i had so much internalised biphobia that i tried to convince myself i was gay n stayed in the relationship longer than i should have because i rly liked her i guess lol anyways (1/4) we ended and a while afterwards i started seeing this guy who i’d known of for ages (friends of friends type situation) but we just never really talked before or hung out but from the first date we clicked and the sex was crazy good like the type of sex were ur ditching ur vibrators cuz he’s that good lmao so one weekend we went to this party together and of course she is also there, i was so surprised and i could see her eyeing us the whole night, so when she came over i was anxious af (2/4) and this guy knew i was bi! it was no secret, i worked really hard to accept myself! so she comes over and she deadass goes “are you straight now? i knew you would end up with a man!” and she’s all smug but also hurt and im standing there like what the fuck and THEN this dumb man goes “ha guess the sex is so good i made her straight again” and i’m literally about to cry over how gross the whole interaction is and im so shocked i can’t even defend myself, i dumped him that night obviously (3/) last messgae: so basically can you pls do a redo of the gross situation where instead of being with that dumb guy its with calum and he is so protective n sweet n NORMAL n encourages u to stand up for urself about bisexuality / your sexuality, because what happened to me happens too often and its disgusting and gross and no one deserves that!! only if u feel comfortable/inspired tho, no pressure!! love u laura, thank u for creating such a safe space for all the queer babies it means a lot 💘 notes: i kinda enjoyed writing this one esp for my sweet anon baby. i love u and i hope this is everything you wanted ♥  warnings: biphobia, implications of emotional abuse

word count: 3.2k

donate to my ko-fi here

-

“Hey what’cha doing sweets?” Calum’s voice pulled you from your musings, your hand idly tracing patterns against the paper but the pen remaining on the desk. You wrenched your thoughts from the spiral you seemed to have fallen down, a smile crossing your lips as you felt your heart flutter at the sight of him.

“Nothin’. Just thinking.” You finally replied as he pulled up one of the spare chairs next to you, the bustling activity of the coffee shop falling into your background noise as his thigh pressed against yours.

“Really? Normally you doodle when you’re just thinking.” He countered with ease and your eyes dropped to the paper, noticing that the pen remained where you’d placed it when you first sat down. Subconsciously you must’ve realised that the route your thoughts had gone were not suitable to put down on paper, your fingers picking up the pen and mind falling blank immediately.

“Oh.” You breathed before placing the pen back down and packing away the pad and pen.

“What’s running through your head, doll?” Calum’s voice was quiet and concerned, you shrugged.

“Just, a lot on my mind is all. You’re not my keeper just because we’ve slept together.” You admitted quietly and he frowned before picking up his bag and for a sinking second you thought he was going to walk off, but instead, he took your bag from your hands and slung it over his shoulder. 

He looked back at you expectantly and you sighed before standing up, leaving the coffee shop with him, your eyes on the floor as you fell into step next to him.

“Your place or mine?”

“E’s gonna be home and I don’t want to hear them rant about me bringing people back.” You muttered and Calum nodded. 

“I think Ash is out. He’ll probably head out to Luke’s if I show up with you.” At his smirk, you rolled your eyes fondly before shoving him towards the bus stop. His indignant “hey!” was only ignored as you two waited for the bus, his arm slung over your shoulders.

Selfishly, you leaned into his touch, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach was doing flips at his touch alone. 

The bus journey was a quiet ten minutes, but Calum seemed to understand that you weren’t willing to talk with so many people around, so he was content to just keep you close, and you were unwilling to pull away until his stop came up.

When you reached his shared house with Ashton, you noted that the car was gone from the driveway and Calum smirked.

“Looks like he’s out. C’mon.” His hand tucked around yours and pulled you inside. And for a second you wondered if you could distract him with sex, but then the guilt appeared and you could feel the tears of frustration appear as your thoughts swirled and you felt dizzy.

Calum had stepped ahead, turning to see you stood leaning against the closed door, head in your hands and he knew something was wrong. Stepping back to you, he dropped your bags and took your hand in his, pulling you upstairs to his room and your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Cal I-”

“I’m not suggesting that.” He muttered. You fell silent at that and as he pulled you into his room, you felt unsure, but he gave you no chance to really deny him as he crawled into bed before opening his arms out to you.

“Cal.”

“I know you. You don’t do emotional stuff well but I’m here for a cuddle and an ear if you need it.” You fell into the embrace easily, your head resting on his chest as his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his lips finding your temple as you finally felt something in you snap, the surge of emotions overwhelming and frighteningly vivid. 

“I keep telling myself that I never was a lesbian, that I still found men attractive but Poppy made me feel like having that attraction was stupid since I was dating her and that I was a lesbian and it’s so fucking confusing because I like you, but I can hear her voice screeching that I’m not right, that I’m a lesbian or faking it or a freak.” And for the first time since you left Poppy, you cried.

Calum had been waiting for this. When the split had happened, you’d been ready for it, you’d already left her mentally, but this was what he knew you needed. He knew that the relationship with her had been toxic, but you’d never revealed the extent of her behaviour. 

His heart broke.

“Just because you like both men and women does not mean you should feel so guilty over your sexuality. There’s a B in LGBT for a reason, doll. That’s you. You’re bisexual and you should be proud of that, not ashamed because some bitch with a control issue couldn’t handle the fact that you liked more than women.” 

You found yourself gripping his shirt with your fists as you pressed your face into his chest, trying to stem the tears that seemed relentless. But Calum held his silence whilst you got it out of your system, knowing that you needed to get this off your chest. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally got out, but he simply shushed you. 

“She was a shitty person with an attitude to show. You shouldn’t apologise for the bitch.” His words were simple but it gave you a breath of ease, pulling away as hands rubbed your shoulders gently. 

He was definitely too good to you, but he was there for you regardless and you were certain that you loved him for that.

“There’s gonna be a party on the other side of town in a couple of weeks. Ash took over the old Firefly down on Hartley. He’s revamping before opening the bar to the public. You fancy going?” And you smiled at the gentle distraction he was offering. 

“We get at least a free drink if we show up, right?” And Calum laughed as he kissed your temple. 

“He wouldn’t say no to me. Or you. In fact, I’m almost certain he’s expecting me to do full introductions on that night since Luke and Mike will be there with the others and their girls.” You rolled your eyes. 

“It’s not like I went to school with Luke or anything.” Came your sarcastic retort and Calum laughed as the two of you settled for the evening. 

“Pretty sure Luke last saw you when you started dating Poppy. He’s put two and two together but he won’t say anything unless you mention it. Even then he knows it’s not his place.” Your heart seemed to swell another size in affection for Luke. 

“You’re making it difficult for me to not fall in love with you Cal. Good dick, you know how to use those lips and fingers of yours, you make me feel like I belong and you respect boundaries without me having to ask.” You finally muttered and Calum gave you an almost wistful smile. 

“You may have been with Poppy but that didn’t stop me from being friends with you. You’re someone I’ve genuinely cared about from day one. Not gonna chuck that away because of who you are. Plus growing up with my mom and sister almost made certain I’d be in touch with my feminine side.” He teased but the sincerity and understanding in his tone eased your shoulders. 

Your features softened at the admittance and you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Then I definitely got lucky to have you in my life at least, falling in love or not.”

—

When the day of the party rolled around, you felt sick with nerves and you couldn’t understand why. 

When Calum rolled up to pick you up—he was driving to Luke’s who lived closest to the bar and you’d both get a ride back to yours before he picked up his car the following morning—he could see the nerves and the grimace on his face spoke volumes. 

“What?” You all but demanded when you were debating outfits. He’d been sitting on the bed watching, but got up and held his hands out to you. 

You took them hesitantly. His thumbs almost immediately started to soothe across the back of your hands to help relax you. 

“Word has gotten around that Poppy is planning to show up. We haven’t exactly been quiet about our relationship, but I didn’t think she’d pull something like this.” And your stomach churned uncomfortably. 

“We’re still going. Ashton promised free drinks and we’ll be in the VIP area right?” You checked and Calum nodded.

“Ashton has already told the bouncers that she’s not allowed near the VIP section. They’re checking and rechecking the lists to make sure she isn’t on one of them.” He explained and you let out a breath of air. 

“Okay. It’ll be fine. It’s being handled and I’ve got you. Now which outfit do you think I should wear?” He studied your face for a second before a smile broke across his lips. 

“The dark purple with the deep plunge. Is it wrong of me to flaunt in her face what she lost?” And you laughed as you kissed him. 

“I mean, yes. But I also know that you want to show me off properly now that we’ve got things really settled.” You murmured and he grinned back unabashedly. 

It was still an uphill battle, but he’d given you a lot to think about. And after gentle convincing, you’d found an LGBT friendly therapist who helped you process your thoughts. It helped you come to terms with accepting the toxic relationship that you’d been in but also it highlighted how beneficial Calum had been as a friend and confidant. 

It also gave you the courage to ask Calum out officially, wanting to be with him entirely and not just in the evenings. 

He took that in his stride and things shifted once more between the two of you. When you opened up to him about some of your sessions, you knew that your trust had been well placed because he never indicated anything to his friends and so you were never subjected to pitying stares or glares. 

You were almost sure that you’d fall in love with him faster than you fell for Poppy. 

The drive to Luke’s was filled with your nerves. You hadn’t seen Luke in years and you were also meeting his two other friends, Ashton and Michael as well as their partners. 

“Ashton’s excited to finally meet you and stop telling me to be careful when I go to yours.” 

Despite Calum living with Ashton, your schedules never seemed to match and more often than not, Calum could be found at your place, a small sanctuary from your hectic lives. 

Ashton never begrudged that time you shared together, but Calum had mentioned a few times about how snappy he was being on the subject. 

“He’ll chill when he realises I’m not out to break your heart or steal something.” You muttered with a chuckle. Calum snorted in return as he pulled into Luke’s driveway. 

Your nerves return full force as he pulls you to the front door and steps in like he lives there. 

“Hey fuckers, anyone about?” He called through and was met with calls of confirmation, another yell following that they were in the dining room. Your fingers squeezed Calum’s tightly and he didn’t hesitate to return it, his thumb soothing across the skin on the back of your hand.

“Look who it is!” A voice crowed loudly as he stepped into the dining room, followed by loud calls of greetings. 

There was a flurry of introductions and you felt like the spotlight was being shone on you, under scrutiny from his best friends gazes once they had greeted their friend and Calum had introduced you. Or re-introduced you in Luke’s case.

“Well c’mon, the last time I saw you we were leaving school. What’s been happening to you?” Luke finally asked, indicating to the seat next to him. A small smile graced your lips as you sat down, Calum falling into the seat next to you as you shrugged. 

“Life I guess? It’s been definitely more interesting with the different jobs and moving about. Building up a social life again.” Luke’s face filled with a frown at that. 

Michael came in next. 

“Building up a social life? Did you not have one?” His words held an innocent curiosity, yet you felt yourself hesitate. 

“My ex was controlling to the point that I couldn’t do anything without their permission. They managed to make me believe that no one really wanted me around and I lost touch with old friends, like Luke.” You glanced to the side and he was frowning. 

The others held varying degrees of stunned shock or disapproval. 

“Well then he was a cunt.” Michael muttered and your eyes refused to meet theirs at the assumptions. Luke stayed quiet but his hand rested on your knee, squeezing it. You shot him a gentle smile in return.

“Well it’ll be good to have you back in our lives. Especially with these two knuckleheads.” He nodded at Ashton and Michael who immediately protested and you laughed. 

It felt like you’d known them for years as you all had a few shots. Ashton, despite being the owner of the bar, wasn’t worried about turning up with his friends. He’d already explained to his staff that he’d be around for the rest of the night once he arrived and he’d told the small groups he’d be here and there. 

After a handful of shots, the group of you made your way to the bar, your arm linked with Calum’s. There were separate conversations happening between you all, their girlfriends including you on their pamper night whilst the boys discussed a possible games night for all of you. 

When you arrived at the club, you saw the queue of people waiting to get in and the subsequent groans from the line as the bouncer let you in, no questions asked. 

Ashton guided the group of you to the VIP section and the music was still loud but you could still hear each other talking. You were chatting away with Luke’s girlfriend, arm still linked with Calum’s as Ashton disappeared to get drinks. 

Calum pulled your attention away briefly, his lips by your ear. 

“I’ve spotted her. She’s not seen us yet so don’t worry.” You barely nodded, acknowledging his words as you listened in, fighting to keep your nerves down. 

The night continued and you were all a few drinks deep. Calum’s arm had barely left your waist all night as you talked and danced and drank. You’d been welcomed into his group of friends with an ease you never realised existed. 

You’d deliberately not tried to seek out Poppy, silently praying that the universe would comply. But as the group of you stood out in the smokers area, huddled together under a heating lamp, your stomach sank as she stepped out, her eyes narrowing on you. 

“Fuckin’ knew it!” You could feel the alarm in your face as you stepped back into Calum, his arm going around you protectively. 

“Poppy, you’re drunk.” You felt curious gazes from your new friends, but you didn’t spare them a glance.

“You break up with me and go running to his arms, I knew you weren’t a fuckin lesbian. Pretending to try it out? Just another straight girl seeking attention. Fucking freak.” She snapped and your stomach sank. 

“Get it through your thick head that she’s bisexual.” Calum snapped in your defence, earning a glare from Poppy. But Calum didn’t shrink from the glare, your glance to his face confirmed he was giving her his own. You were mildly impressed that she didn’t back down instantly. 

“She’s a fuckin liar! Years of my life wasted on this bitch.” She spat at your feet and you took in a deep breath. 

“You don’t get to control me anymore, Poppy. I’ve liked both men and women, but you never liked that because it meant that I had more chances of leaving you. And I wished I’d have left you sooner. Calum certainly thought so.” 

“Of course you fucked the first man to pay you any attention.” Your heart sank once more at her declaration and you felt your mind fall into the old trap that you’d fought with for so long. 

“No she never. In fact she slept with a few girls long before she slept with me. But I was her best friend as she tried to deal with the mess you created in her mind.” Calum snapped back. You felt your heart swell for him. 

Poppy stepped forward, her hand raised but then Ashton stepped in front of you. 

“Get out. You’re no longer welcome in this bar.” He made a gesture and security slowly made their way over. 

“She shouldn’t be fucking welcome!” Poppy yelled back, but Ashton held firm. 

“She is my friend. You are not. Get. Out.” When the bouncer rested a hand on her arm, she shrugged it off and stormed away. Your entire body was trembling.

“So that was the ex, huh?” Michael commented and you could feel your hands trembling as you nodded. “Why didn’t you correct me?” Calum spoke up for you as his hands took yours. 

“It’s been a battle for her. Poppy had convinced her she was a lesbian, that she was wrong for having any attraction to men. In Poppy’s world, either your gay, lesbian or straight. Being bisexual isn’t acceptable in her eyes.” Calum’s arms wrapped around you and you stood there, holding onto him for dear life. 

“Well that makes two of us then.” Michael’s casual comment had your knees go weak and you let out a weak laugh. 

“Thank you Ash.” You finally murmured when you pulled away from Calum. Ashton didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you in a warm hug that was both comforting and reassuring. 

“Hey, you’ve been the best thing for my best mate. And you were friends with Luke once before. I’ve definitely got your back. And I get why you didn’t say anything and don’t hold that against you.” He muttered and you breathed a sigh of relief before returning to Calum’s embrace. 

“More drinks or are we gonna go back to Luke’s?” And you shook your head. 

“Let’s stay. I’m not gonna let her ruin it,” you leaned forwards so your lips were by his ear as the others went inside, “also I want to see if we can christen the bar in one of the toilets.” You breathed. Calum groaned as his grip around you got tighter and he pulled you in for a kiss that promised more. 

“Oh you’re so fucked sweetheart. Especially since I know where the individual lips are and they aren’t attended by anyone.” You held back a moan at that thought before pulling away, your hand in his. 

“Dance first?” And the innocence in your tone made him laugh as he followed behind you willingly. 

“Menace.” The term was laced with affection as he caught up to you, kissing the spot just below your ear. 

You simply grinned in return as you pulled him onto the dance floor, Poppy long forgotten as he danced with you. 

-

@sexgodashton, @goth5sos, @calumsmermaid, @empathycth, @wildflowergrae, @calpops, @rosecolouredash, @cal-puddies, @clockwork124, @loveroflrh, @stellar5sosrecs, @ashtoniwir, @cthla, @liketheydidwithyou, @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer​, @bluehairedtracii, @drummerboy794, @feliznavidaddycal, @i-calumhood, @wokeupinjapanisabop, @converse-luke, @madbomb, @ccnicole02, @youngblood199456, @aulxna, @megz1985, @lukesidentitycrisis, @snapback-irwie, @neonweeknds, @666yourwitchyfriend666, @gamerboymike, @cashtonasfuck, @ashtaway, @conquerwhatliesahead92, @itjustkindahappenedreally, @twoamhood, @kchillout, @damselindistressanu, @colormekaykay, @findingliam-o, @sublimehood, @sugarcoated-pain, @singt0mecalum, @singledadharrington​, @calumspeachy​, @colourfulcalum​, @lostincalum​, @burncrashbromance​, @asht0ns-world​, @a-mnd, @flusteredcliffo​, @loti18​, @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​, @clumclum-hood​, @fangirl-everythang​, @lashtondaddies​, @calumssunshine​, @ambskiwi​, @abundant-stars​, @caltattoohood, @seedless-vascular, @myescapefromthislife​, @lmao5sosimagines​, @beyoncesdragon​, @jae-writes-fanfiction​, @cxddlyash​, @tresfandom​, @utterly-u-n-p-e-r-f-e-c-t​, @niallisworld​, @lietomevalntyn​, @babylon-corgis​, @monochrome44​, @behind-my-hazeleyes27​, @ghost0fy0u​, @lyllibug​, @bloodmoonashton​, @balsamic-cal, @calumsbaldhead​, @washedout-ky, @calumssunshinee​, @ghostofmashton​, @summerellaz​, @a-little-less-sixteen​, @cashworthy​, @smokeinherlungs​, @longlastingdaydream​, @h0tsos​, @sweetcherrymike​, @5sosnsfw​, @sugar-nico​, @sunnysideblog, @angel-cal​, @samros95​, @maluminspace​, @lukeinblue​, @cakesunflower​, @allamerican-betch​,  @britnicole11​, @gigglyirwin​, @everyscarisahealingplace, @loverofcashton​, @iovehemmings​, @g-l-pierce​, @jannimoeller3​, @wildmichaelflower​, @lukeskisses​, @5sossstan​, @youngbloodchild​, @alloutofcashton​, @tobefalling​, @abb-lan-5sos​, @calumsbub​, @flameraine​, @here-for-the-uproars​, @mateisit-balsamic​, @ilovelukey​, @sarahshepherdblog​

[subasekabang]

Joshua’s 6-Step Plan to Becoming a Vampire, Chapter 4

Author: Matt

Rating: T

Word Count: 7600; this chapter- 1666

Pairings/Characters: Josh/Neku, side Shiki/Eri; Joshua, Neku, Rhyme, Beat, Shiki, Eri

Warnings: Vampires, Blood

Summary: Joshua Decides to take over a coven cause he's bored. As you do.

Chapter 4

Immortal time God damn it

“Beat didn’t come home last night,” was the message Joshua awoke to the next morning. He squinted at the time displayed in the corner of the screen, then plopped it back on the bed beside his pillow, burying his face with the full intention of going back to sleep. Why would she send him that? He had an idea but was hoping it wasn’t correct.

Unfortunately his phone buzzed again a second later. He considered ignoring it, but that would not win him any points.

  “Go look for him please.” Could he claim he had school? No, Rhyme knew he frequently skipped without any repercussions. One of the perks of having absent parents. They would just write you a sick note without a second thought.

“Alright….” Slamming his face into the pillow he groaned and enjoyed his last few seconds of warmth and comfort before he threw off the cocoon of blankets he slept under, and was greeted by a shock of cold air.

Where would Beat go? Was the first question he asked himself. He didn’t know the boy well, so it put him at a disadvantage. He liked bad music, skateboarding and ummmmm….. Maybe he should start at the skatepark.

He looked around the area. There were a few other people there. Kids, probably skipping like he was at that moment. It was surprisingly well kept as well. The kind of skatepark you got if the place it was in had the money for an actual skatepark and then continued to have that money to upkeep it, instead of letting it go to shit, then paving over it to make a shitty park only the local old people would want to use, and then complain about the amount of youth continuing to visit their old spot.

If Beat were alive he would hide. He would need to. Even though they could deal with a small amount of indirect sunlight, it wouldn’t be for long. The sun had already been beating down on this pavement for at least a few hours, meaning he would have needed to get out of it. There weren’t many trees around and they didn’t provide a very great amount of shade. So he moved on to playground equipment that was a few steps away.

He wasn’t there either. Not that this stuff provided enough shade anyway. There was  no way he would have gotten stuck here. Joshua assumed he would have at least have tried to head home.

Maybe he was dead, er... More dead, or hiding in a bush somewhere.

Turning to head back and trace a possible route back to the house, he spied a small building. Some toilets; tucked away near the edge of the area. It was a simple brick structure with a tree beside it, which was doing an absolute shit job of hiding the building more than three times its size.

Approaching the building he stepped into the dimly lit bathroom. Stalls lined one wall of the poorly kept space, a long mirror stretched across the opposite side with counters and sinks below it. A single hand dryer sat near the entrance. The window was blocked up with what looked like a shirt, and just below it near the handicap stall he could see the edges of a sweater poking out.

“Hello?”

Someone moved, but didn’t say anything.

“Beat, is that you?”

“Yeah, what you want?” Well, this went faster than he expected. He may even be able to make it back in time for his afternoon classes. Or have a look for that fucking library. One of these things felt like a far better use of his time as far as he was concerned.

“Rhyme messaged me very early this morning, telling me to come look for you.” Which was all she had asked. He didn’t really need to do this part.

“What does she want?”

“I don’t know. She’s worried about you. Probably.” He did vanish and not come home. He supposed being worried about her brother being dead was most likely normal. In all honesty he was surprised that Beat had lasted as long as he did. Beat finally opened the door revealing what seemed to be a makeshift bedroom. Joshua frowned at that. He barely wanted to be walking on these floors let alone sleeping on them.

“Well she doesn’t have to worry, ‘cause I’m starting my own coven.” He seemed proud of himself for that. He was confident in his terrible choices, he had to at least give that to him.

“Why?” Joshua all but sighed.

“Cause I’m sick of it. No one takes me seriously.”

“Maybe ‘cause you run away to start covens in gross public bathrooms?”

“Whatever man. My coven is gonna be great one day.” Beat turned and sat back onto his very worn sleeping bag.

“So you’re gonna upgrade to… what? A shed? A slightly cleaner bathroom?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Just go home. You’re sister is upset and, presumably, so is everyone else.”

  “They aren’t.”

  “Well, hopefully they wouldn’t have dragged me out of bed otherwise.”

Beat ignored him so he shrugged and left the bathroom, happy to be away from the stench.

  “He started a coven in the skatepark bathroom,” He messaged Rhyme as he walked towards downtown. The library had to be somewhere around there right?

  Once evening hit, he considered his options. He had given up his search fairly quickly, instead sitting at a small coffee shop and sipping not-coffee as he texted Neku. Neku was probably not awake yet but that wasn’t about to stop him. Besides, he would wake up if his phone went off enough times.

  “What.” Nice. Joshua grinned.

  “Hows my dear sweet Neku today?”

  “Fine, ‘till you decided to wake me up.” To be fair, he had only sent like three messages. What, did he actually have his ringer turned on or something? Joshua had long forgotten what his ringtone, or any tone really, was on his phone as it had not been off vibrate since the day he got it.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were sleeping well.<3” Grinning, Joshua took a bite of his cookie.

  “I hate you.”

  “I love you too.” He was honestly surprised that Neku had given him his number. But in the past few weeks, they had been getting along slightly better than they had at the start. Not by much, but that wasn’t hard, as at the beginning it had been not at all.

“Thanks Joshua.” That was from Rhyme. He checked the time of the message, thinking he must have missed it, but no. It had been sent only a moment before, when his previous message to her had been over an hour ago. Huh.

That evening, after a day of window shopping instead of going to school, Joshua made his way to the now-familiar house, following the same path Neku had taken the first night they had met. The yard was getting overgrown, and the last thing he wanted to do was mow it again. Even if it was his job. He didn’t chores at home, why should he here? The flowers were getting weeds too. Sighing, he ignored the mess and continued inside.

“Josh, hey.” The entire group was seated in the living room, movies spilled out on the floor. Shiki waved at him from her spot beside the pile. Joshua hadn’t owned a physical copy of a movie in years. He had quickly switched to digital when the option became available.

“Oh everyone’s here tonight,” he stated, seeing Beat back in the corner playing a game of some sort. Rhyme must have been able to talk him into returning home after all. Either that or he was very good with people, which, from previous experience, wasn’t likely. Rhyme really did know how to deal with her brother. He was surprised she hadn’t been able to get him home herself.

“We were just talking about you.”

“Only good things I hope.”

“Of course,” Neku said sarcastically, and Joshua took the seat beside him on the couch. He didn’t say anything though, letting Joshua sit close to him. Not getting a reaction, Joshua slid closer. This time he did get a reaction. Neku gave him a slight smile, then looked back at the pile of movies Eri and Shiki were digging through. Confused and feeling his cheeks betray him, he stared down the TV stand, now embarrassed but also refusing to move because he had pride. Neku was not going to win this.

“Alright. Movie choices are these.” Eri held up two movies he could not see the titles of so he just pointed at one.

“The left one.”

“Your movie choices are as bad as your personality,” Neku said, getting a laugh from Eri.

“Neku don’t be mean, I like this movie.”

“Again, bad movie choices.”

  Sadly for Neku, that argument ended with that movie getting every vote but his, meaning they watched it, and it was bad. Luckily it was bad in a funny way. Possibly on purpose, even though Joshua wasn’t quite sure about that. Still, it was a nice evening. Maybe this friend thing wasn’t so bad after all.

  It was difficult though. As he sat here watching a movie amongst the group, feeling Neku’s arm behind snake its way around his shoulders, he realised he couldn’t go through with it. He couldn’t betray them after all. At some point he had managed to make friends despite his best efforts otherwise.

Scrapping the whole plan he ignored the arm, doing his best to not acknowledge it, and instead enjoy his night despite his plans going down the drain. Maybe just hanging out with them for the rest of a mortal life wouldn’t be so bad afterall.

[kfawkes]

Under Pressure - [Eggsy Unwin X Reader]

[ALRIGHT LOVES! HERE WE GO! Hope you enjoy this one, I of course always have fun writing Eggsy ;.; This one is kinda smutty/angsty but not really graphic? I’m still easing into my smut lmao <3

Pairing: Eggsy X Rader

Words: 2.4

Warnings: CURSING. Mild smut? 

About: You and Eggsy are in Kentucky trying to find out just why the hell you were there... One too many Kentucky Martini’s ends up opening a door that you’re not really sure you want closed in the first place. 

**NOTE: This is during K2 (sorta), but has no direct spoilers. It is literally just after what you can see in the trailers, and I name no things/people directly, etc aside from those you can see in the trailer and YOU of course :D**

---Read on Ao3!]

Things had been a little awkward since the night before. Alright, more than a little awkward. But how could they not be after… that. It was easy to ignore your feelings when you thought they were unrequited, but how could you possibly ignore them anymore after last night? You may not have had the best track record for decision making, but this was definitely way up there in your list of what-the-hell-did-I-do’s.

You fucking kissed Eggsy— very ardently for the record, and as you recall he kissed you back. Like… a lot.

Now as you walk in silence besides him, you replayed those moments across the screen of your mind.

It started as a normal night all things considered-- I mean, with the missiles and the destruction of Kingsman... Let’s just say you needed those drinks more then than you usually did, and this time you two had a few too many.

But you were in the middle of fucking Kentucky, and you had no idea what to do or why you were there. What happened back home was a whole other box of shit that could not be unwrapped now because when you thought about it: it made you want to cry, and once you started it as hard to stop…

Because you couldn’t imagine what you’d have done if Eggsy had been home that night.

God, you were so scared when you saw his flat blasted to shit... And when you saw him later at the hole that used to be yours, you were so glad to see that cheeky smile, you nearly kissed it.

Only you didn’t because that was messy and right now things were messy enough without feelings to complicate them further. There was nothing left to do but figure out if that bottle led anywhere of use, and as Merlin said; you could mourn everyone later.

Fortunately you had something else you could think of… How less than 24 hours ago you did kiss him. How one two many Kentucky Martini’s led to making out rather feverishly in the bathroom of that shitty bar.

As you follow his steady pace now you saw flashes of last night teasing your sanity again. You could feel the way he pushed into you hard and fast in those hurried lust filled moments. Breathing each other in and drinking each other up like you’d never tasted anything so damn satisfying before.

Truthfully? You hadn’t and as you walk down the hall of the hotel, you couldn’t stop thinking about it… You felt a warm haze wrapping as you stepped slowly across the carpet. The space was silent and still, but your mind was anything but quiet.

No, it felt more like a carnival in there and all you wanted was to focus on your mission and all the shit that just went down— what was ahead of you tomorrow.

But you just couldn’t. You just kept feeling the way his lips felt cascading your neck and collarbones… the way his nails left their small red lines down you and the way he…

“This is us, innit?—237?” Eggsy asked stopping in front of a door pointing at it lazily as he let the bag slide from his shoulder to his hand.

“Uh... yeah, I think so...” You smiled passing him the keycard you held tightly between your fingers.

Eggsy sent you a soft smile starting from the corner of his lips as he slid the card from your hands, slightly touching them as you part.

You had intended to reply with more ease, but the way he looked at you was more than a little distracting. For a moment he paused on your lips— you were sure of it, and all over again you felt his hands running up your back assiduously. You could feel the way his fingers spread through your hair as he pulled it just enough to get at your neck…

“Anyone there?” He asked raising a brow, finally letting a smile fully form offering with it that oh so familiar wave of icy chills.

“Hm?” You jerked your gaze from his mouth to his eyes, swallowing sharply as you cleared your throat and shuffled your hair restlessly. You realized now that you’d just been staring off and fantasizing when you most definitely shouldn’t be. In short if relaxed was what you were going for, you had utterly failed. “What? I’m… yeah I’m cool— here, I mean.”

Eggsy just laughed lightly as he slid the key into the lock; pressing his shoulder to the door so you could enter first. You walked passed timidly with cheeks shining in a soft red, forcing yourself to stop thinking about it. Again.

Immediately you dropped your bags to the side, and began pulling your shoes off with the opposite foot. You hadn’t looked around yet but immediately you could feel the shift in air around you two.

Eggsy had gone completely silent, and after a moment you threw your eyes to where he stood feeling curiosity creeping. He was standing with his hands buried deep in his pants pockets, staring at one double sized bed in the middle of the room.

The bed was almost laughably small in the space, and the hotel hadn’t even tried to make up for the strangeness with extra furniture. Aside from a mini fridge atop a dresser, a chair and some end tables— the room was completely empty.

But that wasn’t the main concern here, of course it wasn’t. You two were trying to be low key, and it didn’t matter where you stayed— the real cause of concern was the lack of the two bed you’d requested… The lack of alternatives, and the weight of what happened last night pressing atop your rattled chest with determination.

Eggsy turned towards you slowly, pressing his tongue to the tips of his teeth as he dropped his bags to his feet; the look he wore was almost worried or maybe he was anxious. Either of which you noticed was more than a little out of character. Ever since you’d known him he’d been more charming and composed than anyone else you knew. But before you, he looked bashful and so goddamn cute.

“There’s just the one…” He announced rather obviously, trailing off at the end.

Eggsy may have been acting like nothing happened between you two last night— just as you had, but damn was it the only thing he thought of since. He didn’t know how to tell you that he’d been wanting to kiss you like that since the first time you kicked his ass during recruiting… Maybe he would have preferred something a little less cliche than a dirty washroom, but hey— at least he finally got to feel you against him, didn’t he?

“I—can see… that.” You returned far too fumblingly as you shoved a strand of hair back from your face; trying to steady your rampant mind.

At this point you went to stand next to him; you were so close that your shoulders were nearly touching, and you could smell the sweetness of his skin engulfing you. When you slid your eyes from the pitiful excuse of a bed to his face— he’d already been looking at you. There was apprehension lining his eyes and brows almost heavily, and you had no idea what to say to him.

“It’s yours of course... Not like I never slept on a floor before, luv.” Eggsy shifted the mask he wore to one only slightly more convincing as he chew his lip slightly.

It may have worked on some, but not on you. No, you could see how fast he was breathing and the way he was fiddling with his keys in his pocket. Even though he was good at this— good at being Agent Galahad; you knew Eggsy Unwin, and not even his pet names could distract you from his obvious divergence.

Part of you knew he was right, that he should most definitely sleep on the floor or even in a different room maybe now that you thought about it… Because things were anything but professional right now and even though you didn’t want to open that box, it was becoming increasingly obvious that you had.

Only there was another part of you that wanted something else; a much stronger part you didn’t want to admit had far more control over you: and that part wanted Eggsy almost desperately.

“Don’t be silly,” You spoke suddenly; hardly realizing you said a thing at all as you made your way to the bed. “there’s plenty of room for the both of us here, Eggsy.”

If you had a camera you’d have taken a photo honestly, because the look he sent you after was truly one for the books. You honestly hadn’t seen a more adorable look of bemusement run over anything so peerless before; and in that moment you couldn’t help but laugh as you threw yourself to the bed leisurely.

You hoped that at least this time you looked as comfortable and nonchalant as you were going for… because on the inside? There were fucking explosions. We’re talking full on nuclear meltdown, abandon-the-whole-city bad.

Eggsy clearly had not the slightest idea what he should say, so he just nodded a few times before glancing around the room once more. After a moment he nodded a second time—only a hair less awkwardly as he began unbuttoning his coat jacket slowly.

You probably shouldn’t have been staring. Okay, you absolutely should not have been staring…

But there was something so sexy fascinating about the dexterity of his hands, and as you watched his fingers dancing along the front of his button up you felt them tracing your lips and chest again tenderly.

Suddenly you pushed yourself from the bed with breath eagerly leaving your lungs. Eggsy turned just as quick with eyes transfixed on yours. chest heaving just the same. He was standing in his undershirt now, clutching his button up tightly between his fingers; holding a look you could only deduce as an insatiable hunger. Neither of you said a thing, but after a second Eggsy tilted his chin towards you slightly dropping the shirt to the ground. He started walking towards you avidly still wearing that same expression, and you felt your pulse rising with each determined footstep he made closer.

It was pounding melodically in your eardrums and shook your bones to jello. When he reached you he stopped less than a foot from your face, but still he didn’t saying a thing.

What could you even say though? Nothing came to mind, so you just looked up at him under lowered brows with your heart about to burst at the rate.

Before you even realized it at the same moment you both grabbed at each other, pulling like a wind as you press your mouths heatedly into one another. Pushing your chest and hips harder into him with each carnal kiss like a drink of fresh water; tugging so fervidly it was like you never needed anything as badly as you needed him.

Nearly as fast as you joined together, you pushed from each other; turning slightly after a moment of lingering. You pulled a hand to your mouth, lightly touching the spot he was only seconds before. That breath you had held finally released in heavy billowy exhales as you try to calm yourself. When you slid your eyes back to his, he was looking to you with one arm crossed at his chest and the other pressed to his chin.

“What the fuck?” You asked as you crossed your arms, because honestly… just what the fuck?

Was this actually happening? Were you actually just all over the guy you’d wanted for nearly a year-- Again? A drunken night was one thing, especially after what happened to the Kingsman… But this was a lot to process. Mostly because you weren’t used to getting the happy ending and this all seemed too good to be true.

“I’m sorry…” Eggsy answered pulling his hand to his side as he slid a tongue out to wet his lips, tasting you on them again.

You just watched with heavy eyes still feeling the pious way in which he kissed you... But after another second he shook his head, starting again. “No… actually, I ain’t sorry. Not at all.”

Eggsy stepped closer to you, stopping within half a foot of you— not breaking your gaze once, and you still hadn’t said a word. The look in his eyes was full of yearning and you felt yourself almost being pulled towards him like a magnet, wanting to feel him again...

“You tellin' me you didn’t feel that?” His voice was soft and calm and it reminded you again how underprepared you were for this conversation, but also how intensely you wanted it. "That you fell nothin'?"

“... maybe I did.” You danced between his eyes swallowing heavily, feeling his breath lightly dancing across your chest.

“D’you want this… d'you want me?” Eggsy stepped closer to you and as he did another chill ran over your skin like a soft shadow. His voice was so light it carried towards you lightly as if on clouds but his gaze was severe and absolute.

“I—” You looked down, whispering to your feet as that insistent trickle of nerves washed over you. You started nodded intently, still not looking to him as you finished. "More than I want to admit..."

“Don't see a problem then.” Eggsy slid a hand to your chin softly, pulling your eyes to his once more with a sweet smile.

When you couldn’t think of anything, you knew Eggsy was right and that there was only one thing left to do: Wrap your arms around him and kiss him like you were going to die tomorrow... Because with everything that happened back in London you very well might, and if that were the case? You sure as hell weren't going down without Eggsy knowing just how much you wanted to be his.

It may be messy, and the timing might seem off... but they way he pulled you closer now made you realize there was nothing you'd ever be more sure of than him.

[corbinhunter]

I wanted to build a foam pirate ship for my 5e D&D campaign but I couldn't find any resources, so I figured it out for myself. The deck has magnets in it to function as a grid. So... here’s a shitty guide (WITH PICTURES) if you want to build one, too.

If you have done this before or have other resources, link them for others who want to try their hand at it (and so I can see). If you have suggestions on how things could be done faster or better, feel free to leave suggestions for future generations. And for me in case I ever build another one. This was my first time doing anything remotely terrain-y or set-piece-y, so I really can't give very good advice. But I couldn't quite find anything that matched what I wanted to build, so I figured this would be worth posting.

The benefits of building a foam boat instead of just buying a model ship or something come down to: a) scale: built it to 1 inch = 5 feet so your minis look good and any other props or grids you have work seamlessly. b) customizability: include the exact things you want in the game. God forbid if your players trash the ship in the game you can alter the model for a shipwreck or something (@ my players: fucking don't, please). c) accessibility: don't include anything you don't want, so the deck is uncluttered and there are no sails or rigging to try to reach around. Also the flat bottom means it doesn't need a stand. The foam construction makes it lightweight. d) magnets: make everything stick to the deck. The actual reason I built this boat. I love the magnets and they were a good choice.

The cons are: a) it's annoying and takes a long time (not too hard, just tedious). b) it's a bit fragile, especially the details and small bits. c) all your minis need an extra base for the magnets. Or I guess you could maybe stick the magnets into existing bases. I'm not an expert or anything.

This is gonna be the shittiest tutorial you've ever read so prepare yourself.

Actual guide:

1: step one is to draw out the boat. Scale is pretty key. Keep in mind that minis can't really fit on anything that's not a full square, so alter the proportions to maximize playable area. I altered the layout as I went to get rid of awkward spaces. Research galleons and frigates. I focused around 17-18th century but the coolest ships come after that. Make a boat that you love with however much realism you prefer.

2: get yourself supplies. You need:

polystyrene foam, about six pieces 10 inches by 24 inches apiece. I got a 96" sheet and used about half of it.

wood glue

paintbrushes, pens, pencils, scissors, utility knives with lots of spare blades, hot glue gun

drywall mud or something similar

wooden dowels, rods, skewers, toothpicks

popsicle sticks in a couple sizes

grid paper for templates

push pins to hold templates

yarn or string that looks like rope

sandpaper

beads (optional, see detail shots)

fridge magnets for embedding into the deck and attaching to the minis

clay to make a figurehead (not pictured) or a Barbie or something

3: trace out the cross sections (floorplans) onto the foam pieces by pinning grid paper to the foam, and cut them out. The curved deck makes this a real pain, because the floor plans don't perfectly map to the foam pieces. The decks are curved but the foam pieces are not. There's a bit of mental gymnastics in this part but you basically cut each foam piece to its widest dimension, then taper, trim and curve it to fit the profile you want after the basic shape is established. I cut everything out just slightly too large so I could trim and adjust it without losing usable space. After you have the top-down profiles correct, start tackling the side-view, which is the deck profile itself. In that picture just about everything is done but the main deck (fore- and aftdeck are nice and curved but the lowest deck is still flat). Pin it in place with toothpicks and glue it together with wood glue overnight. Leave weight on it. Let it dry for like 12+ hours for sure. I messed with it early and popped the aftcastle off, which was extremely annoying.

4: pick it up as one big solid piece and use a knife to slice away inconsistencies and match up the foam pieces better. Then sand it, mud it, let it dry and sand it again. I used lots of mud on the front edge because my cut-out pieces didn't quite match up. Fill up any weird cracks or miscuts that have developed. You can actually get away with adding quite a bit of mass this way. This is the final shaping of the basic form of the boat. Get a bit excited. Up to this point it's a lot of work for basically a big foam block that looks sort of like a boat. But take your time because you can't un-fuck the symmetry later.

5: paint the main deck, then trace a grid out and install one magnet per space. A drill or something would probably do wonders here. I just used a knife and some wood glue. Make sure every magnet has the same side up, and make sure they are pretty flush with the deck. I made bases for the minis out of foam and installed magnets in the bottom similarly. If you're fancy maybe little wooden or metal bases would be cool. Don't put any of the magnets the wrong way -- all the minis are supposed to be attracted to the boat deck so they don't slide around, fall over or get jostled.

6: cut a bunch of floorboards and paint and install them. Take popsicle sticks, slice off the rounded ends, and split them lengthwise with a knife. Paint roughly with one layer of brown to preserve some of the natural wood grain. Then cut them to various sizes -- whatever you think is right. Half of mine were 2", the rest were 1" or 3". Keep scale in mind. If you make them too wide, it'll kill the look. To fit the planks to the curve of the deck, just gently bend them with your fingers. Spread a layer of wood glue on the deck in sections and use your drawn-on gridlines as guides as you place plank by plank. A pattern would be clever. I just stuck whatever fit on. Go around any features like stairs, grates and masts. I left about an eighth of an inch around the perimeter for the railing/barrier later. Make stairs and stick them into the deck, and carve exterior stairs out of foam and glue them in place. Keep that eighth-inch perimeter in mind as you shape the stairs and place them.

7: base coat the rest of the thing. Don't actually put the masts in here because you'll be fighting with them for the rest of the build.

8: add a thin, 3/4-inch barrier around the perimeter and a prow structure. I traced the deck profile roughly onto paper, drew the barrier, cut it out of the paper, tested it on the ship and adjusted as necessary before transferring it to foam and cutting it out. Be really careful with the thickness. Don't slice it in half or break it. Cut cannon-crenelations out as well as the space where the plank goes. I stuck it down by sticking toothpicks straight down through it into the bare deck. This was probably a mistake. It's not sturdy or precise. I added some hot glue here (for the first time in the build) to fill in little cracks and adhere it better. You're on your own for the prow -- make it out of foam in two halves and glue it on. Good luck. If you look at reference you can make a way cooler one than me.

9: make windows, deck rails, a wheel, cannons, grates, swivel guns, and a border that covers the seam between the deck and perimeter railing. The window-frames are each a single piece of foam sliced thinly and wood-glued into position. If you know how, you could make them out of wood. Deck rails are square foam rails top and bottom, joined by toothpick posts. The wheel is foam with toothpicks stuck into it. The cannons are thin wooden dowels with carved foam bases glued together. Adding wheels to the bases would be cool but fragile and tedious. One of the grates is a foam border with toothpick cross-parts and the other one has a wooden frame made from popsicle sticks. Do whatever you prefer. Swivel guns are little foam tubes with toothpicks that attach them to the railing. This allows them to swivel. You could probably make them out of skewers or something instead of foam. The border (red part along the side) helps hide sloppiness between the hull and barrier, and adds some complexity to the shape. You could make it much thinner than I did if you have a steady hand or a wire foam cutter. Or more patience with sandpaper. Real ships have super cool features like this, so use reference and add whatever you can get away with, I guess. This is probably a better time to add the masts. Sharpen them and jam them in or bore holes and glue them.

10: add painted details, "rigging", nets and ropes, as well as anything else you want. I have a longboat hanging off the back of the ship, but you could also place it in the middle of the main deck. The rigging I added is composed of popsicle stick planks stuck to the side of the ship, with painted wooden beads glued onto that. It's not even nearly accurate, but I think it gives the rough impression of the pulleys that are on real boats. I used gold paint for detailing which I definitely recommend. Netting would be cool but I couldn't find a non-intrusive way to add any. Of course oars, buckets, crates, sacks, lanterns and all sorts of other props will look neat. I opted not to add those in order to keep things simple, as we'd just be taking them off or getting annoyed with them during combat. I made a balcony off the back out of popsicle sticks and stuck/glued it on. It's out of scale, but large enough for characters to stand on. Put little ladder boards onto the side of the ship and anywhere else you want them. Up a mast would be cool. Doorframes and square window-frames can be made with planks like the deck. I decided against any sorts of crow's nests or cross-masts to keep things simple and easy to see/reach around. I think more delicately sculpted embellishments would look very cool added on, but could not figure out a decent way to make them. Printing them out on thick paper, cutting them out and glueing those on might do the trick.

That's the whole guide. I would have done a better one but I forgot to take pictures. Feel free to ask questions and I'll do my best to answer.

[hprarepairnet]

silverskin

pairing: cormac mclaggen x pansy parkinson

setting: modern, non-magical, the cutting edge au; also, a spiritual continuation of the ice, ice, baby series

word count: 3,749 

alternate link: ao3

get to know our members challenge: favorite rare-pairs | (3/5) - andrea

Goalies have a short shelf life, is the thing.

Everyone’s always surprised when they find out that Cormac went to college.

Six semesters at Minnesota, two trips to the Frozen Four, and a solid enough GPA that he hadn’t even been that embarrassed when he was the only dude in his poetry seminar to nut up and declare for English Lit. But then he’d been drafted into the actual motherfucking NHL on a steady diet of Jane Eyre and Madame Bovary, and he’d barely had to make a choice. School was school, and he was okay at it, of course he was, he knew how to focus and he knew how to get shit done and he knew how to parse out the overarching narrative themes of a good gothic romance.

But hockey—hockey was everything.

And he fucking hates calling himself a drop-out, because that makes it sound like he’d quit, or something, and it wasn’t…he isn’t a quitter. He’s not. He commits to shit. That’s his trademark. He’d picked up a hockey stick when he was four years old, and he’d basically never put it down again. His loud roar of triumph after stopping the final puck in a championship shootout had resulted in a sick as hell nickname and an even sicker tattoo permanently inked across most of his upper body. He’d fallen in love with the smartest girl in the world when he was nineteen and too dumb to see all the ways she wasn’t going to love him back, and he’d been carrying around the admittedly pitiful remnants of that particular torch ever fucking since. He’s stubborn. He’s determined. He doesn’t fucking quit.

Which is why hockey—

Hockey was everything.

Hockey was forever.

Forever, it turns out, is approximately three and a half years.

Malfoy solemnly squints as he snaps his fingers next to Cormac’s ear.

“My peripheral vision’s gone, not my hearing,” Cormac says darkly, draining his pint of weak-ass Canadian beer. “You unbelievable fucking dick.”

Across the table, Potter winces, and then waves at the bartender for another round of drinks. “Nothing they can do about it?” he asks, because Potter’s a pretty solid dude, even if his taste in boyfriends is fucking horrifying. “There’s no, like, surgery, or anything?”

“Nah,” Cormac replies, directing a sleazy, mostly automatic grin at the waitress who delivers their tray of Jäger bombs. “Puck hit me at—uh, at a bad angle. One in a million, the doctor said. I’m done, man.”

Malfoy hiccups. “Okay, but, like, can you still skate? Or are you. Y’know. Broken. Permanently.”

Cormac drops his shot glass, watches the Jäger splash out and the Red Bull gently fizz, and he doesn’t really know how to respond. A fuck-ton of guys have it way worse than him, have ruptured Achilles and splintered orbital sockets and totally debilitating concussion symptoms that’ll never quite go away. But he’s only twenty-four. He’d wanted to keep hockey. He’d wanted to hold hockey’s hand and buy it a dozen red roses and take it home to meet his fucking mom during the off-season. Hockey just hadn’t wanted to stick around. Hockey hadn’t wanted him back.

“Yeah, I can still skate,” he says, wiping his hand over his mouth. “Why?”

Blaise Zabini is a retired ex-figure skater with two gold medals and the blankest, most dead-eyed serial killer shark stare that Cormac’s ever seen.

He sizes Cormac up like he’s a particularly questionable side of beef—and somehow, it makes sense to think of Zabini as a butcher with, like, unlimited access to a lot of sharp knives and bloody meat hooks and industrial cleaning supplies—but it only takes Zabini three or four minutes to finally crack a microscopic smile and turn his attention back to his Arnold Palmer.

“Good shoulders,” Zabini says, apropos of fucking nothing. “You’ll do.”

Cormac doesn’t go after girls like Hermione Granger anymore.

Girls with edges.

He picks up girls who are stacked and blonde and uncomplicated. Girls who laugh at his jokes and who smile at the appletinis he buys them and who don’t mind being fucked from behind because stacked and blonde and uncomplicated is actually really, really, really not his type, but the alternative isn’t an option, seriously, he’s not cut out for that level of self-flagellating masochistic bullshit.

And then he’s stepping inside the enormous private rink Zabini brings him to, gaping at the gorgeously polished cedar beams crisscrossing the ceiling, and he sees—he sees—

Pansy Parkinson is her name.

She swishes across the ice with the kind of grace that can only be taught—can only be bought—swift and serpentine and so, so sure, and Cormac’s hockey gear abruptly feels cumbersome and oddly heavy as he watches her move. Watches her glide.

He notices the rest of her in fragments.

Slight, small build. Slender arms, long legs, narrow waist. Glossy black hair, blunt-cut bangs and a sparkly purple headband. High cheekbones and ivory skin and scarlet lips. Emerald green leotard with a keyhole cutout between the wings of her collarbones, shimmery beige tights and boring white skates.

She comes to a halt next to where he’s standing with Zabini, icing them both pretty thoroughly, and, god, she barely even looks at Cormac, just props her hands on her hips and frowns at Zabini and jerks her chin towards Cormac before asking, in a tone that’s flat with derision—

“Who the fuck is he?”

She’s not even pleasant, Cormac thinks, helplessly dismayed by how much he already knows he doesn’t give a shit.

His palms are sweaty.

His mouth is dry.

His stomach is sinking.

He’s been here before.

Pansy Parkinson is not the smartest girl in the world.

She’s arrogant and she’s whiny and she’s entitled and she’s focused. She’s militant about being up before the sun rises, and she’s scathingly critical of everything from the calluses on his fingers to the lingering traces of middle-class Boston in his accent, and she’s unfailingly strict in her interpretation of her nutrition plan. She eats steel-cut oats steeped in flavorless raw almond milk for breakfast, piles leafy greens and grilled chicken and soft-boiled eggs onto her plate for lunch, and carefully weighs out her portion of whole-wheat pasta every night after they’ve studied the film Zabini seems to arbitrarily fucking choose for them.

She’s determined.

She’s competitive.

She’s carefully composed and hilariously self-absorbed and intensely, frustratingly enigmatic.

She listens to shitty pop music during their morning runs, and she flips through dog-eared back-issues of Vogue when they take their water breaks, and she carries herself like she’s simultaneously afraid of her own shadow and confident in her ability to take both him and Zabini in a fucking fist fight. She’s fascinating, and she’s clever, and she’s honestly kind of mean. She spends their first week together speaking very, very slowly, almost exclusively in monosyllables, and asking him if he’s absolutely certain he doesn’t need to keep wearing his hockey helmet.

“You’re lucky I’m not that sensitive,” Cormac tells her, twisting the cap off a bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade. He’s lying. He’s really fucking sensitive. He still cries every time he reads Emma. “Could give a guy a complex.”

“I doubt you need any help with that,” Pansy retorts sweetly.

She’s not wrong.

Skating to music is harder than Cormac thought it would be.

He’s been doing yoga and ballet and, like, jazzercise with Pansy every day, training his muscles to twitch and flex and stretch in ways they never really have before—but finding rhythm on the ice, in sleek black skates with unreliable laces and rickety little blades; it’s fucking rough.

“Jesus Christ,” Pansy hisses, shoving him backwards after he’s messed up some needlessly complicated footwork sequence for the fifth time in one day. “Count out loud if you have to, but get your shit together before you break your fucking ankle.”

“I’m a hockey player,” Cormac argues, annoyed by the defensive slant of his own posture. “There’s a learning curve, princess, we didn’t all grow up doing—whatever the fuck this—tap dancing Charlie Chaplin on ice bullshit is.”

“Yeah, well, there isn’t a learning curve at the Olympics,” she replies, coolly. “Which is where we’re going. Maybe. If you stop skating like a drunk toddler with an eye patch on.”

Cormac grits his teeth, unable to come up with a response that isn’t dumb and petulant and embarrassing, and the smirk that Pansy levels him with is as unimpressed as it is a challenge.

It’s then, though, that he registers a low-simmering onslaught of something—excitement and adrenaline and energy, cratering in his veins and punching at his sternum and reminding him, with vivid, vicious clarity, of suiting up before a game and reading the angle of a puck just right and winning. Being tackled into the boards by his team, by his brothers, after he’s managed another shutout. He’s fucking missed it. Missed this. And he doesn’t have a team anymore, but he does have Pansy. A partner. His partner.

“Again,” Cormac eventually says, holding Pansy’s gaze for a second too long. “Let’s do it again.”

A month into training, Cormac’s dick gets involved.

Zabini’s there, ostensibly to teach Cormac how to propel Pansy into some kind of spinning twirling death-defying lift that, yeah, okay, looks hella fucking rad on grainy Soviet-era film, but—gravity? Gravity’s a thing. Cormac went to college. He knows his shit.

“How,” Cormac starts, scratching at the back of neck.

Zabini gestures absently to Pansy’s thighs, not even bothering to look up from his phone. “Just pick her up.”

Cormac tilts his head to the side. “Uh. Just—where, exactly, am I touching her?” He clears his throat. Adds, again, deliberately plaintive, “Exactly?”

Pansy huffs, and then sighs, and then reaches for Cormac’s wrists, dragging his hands to the space between her thighs. And he just—

He freezes, thumbs and forefingers framing the cradle of her…pelvis? He doesn’t think it’s her pelvis. He’s, like, eighty percent sure, actually, that it isn’t.

But his brain’s not quite firing on all cylinders, and his chest is rippling tight and tense and hot like he’s been crosschecked into a fucking bonfire, and his hands look so fucking big like this, fingers long and thick, palms broad and callused, and she’s tiny, of course she’s tiny, he’s been aware of that—painfully, viscerally aware—since that very first day, that very first moment, except the way his gut is clenching and his skin is tingling and his pulse is racing—it’s new, and it’s familiar, and he aches with how badly he wants to move his hands. A little farther up. A little farther in. He wants to trace the center seam of her leggings with his fingernail, wants to tease her, get her wet, make her gasp, wants to flick his tongue out and swipe his fingers down and press an open-mouthed kiss to the mound of her cunt, grip her hips and hold her—

“—hold her up, man,” Zabini is drawling, sounding bored. “Gotta get used to her sense of balance.”

Cormac blinks.

He’s half-hard in his Under Armour, and it’s as jarring as it is mortifying to realize that touching Pansy like this—learning her body, memorizing the shape of it and the bend of it and the strength of it—this is his fucking job now. He’s here to win. To skate. To take ballet lessons and pack on a lot of unnecessary muscle and grope Pansy fucking Parkinson in exchange for an Olympic gold medal. Nothing else.

Still.

He glances up.

He meets Pansy’s eyes.

He doesn’t think he’s imagining the faint hint of pink that’s blossoming across her cheeks.

It gets worse, after that.

They suck at Worlds.

They suck hard.

Cormac trips over the fucking snaggletooth murder traps on the fronts of his skates, skids into the boards while the crescendo of Mahler’s Fifth Symphony echoes around the rafters of the rink, and he hasn’t eaten ice like that since he was twelve, training with Zabini notwithstanding, and he’s taken aback, almost, by how fucking infuriating it is.

To work and sweat and bleed and still not be good enough.

Somewhere, Hermione Granger is writing her fucking dissertation on emotional manipulation and fucking laughing at him.

Again.

But Pansy’s a professional, of course, and so she skates on, footwork beautiful and timing impeccable, but there’s a rigidity to her movements, a stiffness in her spine and a wariness clouding her jumps, that doesn’t translate well. And Cormac heaves himself up, hurries to join her, tries to get the counts right in his head, but he’s not used to this, still doesn’t hear the nuances of the music quite like he should, and he’s a visible half-beat behind her for the rest of their long program.

Pansy doesn’t look at him afterwards.

She lifts her chin, clutches his hand, pastes a smile on her face, graciously accepts the scattered flowers and the slightly subdued applause; but her lower lip is trembling, and her eyes are suspiciously glassy underneath the false lashes and the metric fuck-ton of glitter, and Cormac feels guilt, gross and thick and vaguely acidic, begin to eat at his insides. It’s shitty. He’s shitty.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out when they get back to their dressing room.

Pansy yanks at the laces of her skates. “For what?”

Cormac hesitates. “For, uh, fucking that up? Like, the whole thing?”

She shrugs. Fiddles with the zipper on her Team USA jacket. Still doesn’t look at him. “It happens,” she says, shortly.

“Well, yeah,” he replies, tugging at the over-starched cuffs of his shirt. It’s an ugly fucking shirt, interlocking shades of grey superimposed by a ragged slash of purposely illegible graffiti. “But, like. I’m still—I’m sorry, I guess, that you’ll have to. You know. Find someone else to skate with.”

Pansy goes dangerously still, a travel pack of cucumber-scented exfoliating wipes crinkling between her fingertips. “Excuse me?”

“Uh,” he hedges, licking his lips, “I’m sorry? I just—this shit was a lot easier during practice, you know, and I’m really…there’s still a few months left before San Jose, you could probably find another dude to—”

“What the fuck?” she interrupts. “What are you talking about?”

“I—I’m just—isn’t that how this goes?” Cormac asks, cracking his knuckles. His forehead is itchy where his sweat’s dried, caking the thin layer of bronze powder the makeup artist had dusted all over his face. “You got rid of…your other partners, the ones before me, and I don’t really expect—I mean—I’m not even a figure skater, you know? You don’t have to. Keep me around, or whatever. It’s okay.”

“Right,” she exhales, and that’s—that’s anger, he can hear it now. Anger and consternation and just the tiniest bit of fear. She’s finally looking at him. “I’m only going to say this once.”

“Uh.”

“You are not expendable,” Pansy snaps, enunciating each word so, so clearly, so crisply, like she’s convinced that if she doesn’t—convinced that if she slurs, or if she stumbles, or if she stutters—he might not get it. It makes her sound frantic. It makes her sound fierce. And he wonders at that, at her, just for a second; has to, absolutely, because she’s the most rigidly self-contained person he’s ever met, and this is unprecedented. This is. This is. “One subpar performance isn’t—it happens, you know that, but you—you’re not going anywhere, you’re not—you’re not temporary. Okay?”

Cormac swallows. He feels a little wrung out, like his skin’s stretched too thin and his bones are too spongey. Like—he’s exposed. Nerves raw, tonsils scratchy. It isn’t bad. Not really. He thinks he could get used to it, actually, if she needed him to. Asked him to.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay.”

On New Year’s Eve, they’re sitting cross-legged on his living room floor, three iPods and Zabini’s laptop and a wine-stained yellow legal pad spread out between them. Cormac’s never really had strong opinions about classical music before, but they’ve been arguing about this shit for three and a half hours, and he has a fucking headache. He deserves a drink. He deserves a Stanley Cup.

“I’ve got it,” he says, popping the cork on a bottle of Bollinger. “Def Leppard.”

Pansy chews on the inside of her mouth. “I know you think you’re joking, but that’s actually—that might not be a bad idea.”

Cormac skips the crystal stemware and grabs two custom black beer steins emblazoned with his old jersey number. “What, asking the Olympic Committee to install a stripper pole on the ice?”

“No, I meant—going rogue, with the music and the costumes and the—the routine, maybe, your technique is garbage, but—wait, what are you doing? What is that?”

“Champagne,” he says, holding out a mug for her.

She doesn’t take it. “I don’t drink.”

He rears back. “What? How do you live?”

“With excellent liver function and a spotless criminal record,” she simpers.

He pauses. “You read my Wikipedia page,” he says, kind of accusingly.

“You punched a math major.”

Cormac makes sure to gulp down most of his champagne before he deigns to answer.

Midnight comes and goes.

They give up on making a decision about the music for their short program, and Cormac turns on a holiday marathon of Love It or List It. Pansy scrunches her toes into the carpet, toys with the hem of her tank top, gradually shifts closer and closer and closer; and the minutes seem to grind to a slick, syrupy halt as the weight of this—the expectation—suddenly becomes realer. More tangible.

It’s not a surprise when their lips finally brush.

It is a surprise, though, that Pansy’s so tentative about it.

So uncertain.

She has her eyes squeezed shut, and her hands bunched into fists around the fabric of his henley, and the movement of her mouth against his is mechanical, slow and soft and wet, yeah, but almost like those are things that she’s mentally checking off a list. Commonly Accepted Attributes of a First Kiss. Lean in. Arch up. Meld. Melt. Tease. Her tongue flicks out, just once, and she tastes cold and tart, like lemon water and peppermint, and Cormac groans, threading his fingers through the ends of her hair, cupping the nape of her neck and tilting her head a little farther back and—she relaxes, slightly.

“Yeah?” he breathes.

Her nails scrape against his skin. “Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later, they’re upstairs.

Pansy’s naked, sitting on the end of his bed with her knees pressed together and her face flushed a seriously satisfying shade of pink. And Cormac’s trying to get his own clothes off, really, he is, but she’s leaning back on her elbows, right, and her tits are small, obviously, she’s small, but they’re round and firm and perfect and the movement sort of thrusts them forward, drawing his attention to the tight peachy-beige buds of her nipples, and they’re—she’s—distracting. He’s distracted.

“Jesus Christ, are you going to fuck me or not?” she demands.

Cormac yanks his boxers off so fast that his cock slaps against his lower abdomen. “Don’t worry,” he assures her when her eyebrows fly up, “it’ll fit.”

Pansy’s jaw goes slack, and then she’s snorting out a laugh that’s deep and throaty and remarkably genuine, actually, nothing at all like the audibly artificial giggling she’d done at their last presser. And Cormac—he doesn’t care, he decides, that this laugh had come at his expense. He doesn’t. He’d say awful, humiliating, utterly moronic shit for the rest of his life, probably, if it would get her to laugh like that again. Which is a problem. Definitely. That he’ll totally address. At some point. Definitely. In the far, far, far off future.

“Who have you been sleeping with?” she asks, sounding mystified.

“No one, lately,” he replies, maybe a little too honestly, before pushing her backwards, dragging his hands from her shoulders to her waist to her hips.

Her lashes flutter as she clamps her bottom lip between her teeth. “Oh,” she says, but then she’s flashing him a smile, small and subtle and pleased, and her knees are falling open, and she’s repeating, much more quietly, much more intimately—

“Oh.”

They’re waiting to board their charter to South Korea when she grabs his wrist.

“Cormac.”

“Hmm?” he answers, scowling at an email from Malfoy that contains an inexplicably snide lol and absolutely nothing else. “What?”

Pansy glances over at him, crossing and uncrossing her legs. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized cashmere sweater and fluffy brown Uggs with the tops folded down. She looks fucking ridiculous.

“So…are you…are we…?” she asks, sounding—not indifferent, exactly, but maybe like she’s trying incredibly hard to pretend that she is. “All in?”

And Cormac—

Cormac forgets, sometimes, that other people have feelings, too. Feelings like he does. He shies away from words like “inadequate” and “unremarkable”, hasn’t ever let himself go there, even in his own head, because that’s a slippery fucking slope and he’s a big believer in faking shit until he doesn’t have to anymore. Until he’s tricked himself into thinking that it’s real.

He’s never had to do that with Pansy.

Not once.

And he doesn’t want her to have to do that, either. Second-guess herself, or him, or his place in her life. She’d told him he wasn’t temporary, wasn’t expendable, and she’d meant it, she’d made sure that he knew she meant it, and all he’d done in return was give her orgasms. He could do better. He would do better. He’d get her a gold medal and he’d curate her fucking library and he’d teach her how to play hockey. He’d love her, eventually. He would.

For now, though, he just twists his wrist around, slides his hand up, presses the flat of his palm to the flat of Pansy’s, and he—he marvels for a second. At how tiny she is compared to him. How fragile, and how not fragile, and how much of a fundamental fucking contradiction she’s been all along.

He then laces their fingers together, and he feels her brief tremor of surprise. Feels how she stills, and how she steadies, and how she settles.

“All in,” he promises.