#unfair god won’t let me throw him down the stairs…

[mangoshorthand]

Arrow of Time- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Chapter 1 (Hard Feelings Part 5)

SUMMARY: When the mother of all teenage tantrums causes time itself to fracture, Five has to travel back to 1831 to repair the damage. But will he be able to cope with what he finds there? Chapter 2 >> << Back to prologue

You've had a shit day at work, Aoife has a secret and Five has a panic attack.

We're looking at a big ol' time jump friends.

Chapter One: My Bambina

“Now look: p(𝑥) is a polynomial and k is an integer. So we gotta put the 𝑥-2 on the outside and then what do we put on the inside….?” When she stares blankly, he prompts her, “We start with 𝑥 cubed…and what then?”

Aoife sits at the desk, looking up at him with his own eyes. The same expression of panicked frustration is still there, writ large.

“ Cosa non capisci, cara?” 

“ Tutto!” she exclaims, throwing her arms in the air and a whine entering her voice, “I still don’t get it, Dad.”

He sighs, running his fingers down his face before turning from the dry erase and placing the lid on his pen.

“This important stuff, tesoro. We have to grasp this to understand limit cycles.”

“Why won’t you let me just try?!”

He lets out an angry sigh, praying to a deity he doesn’t believe in to give him strength. Five is not a patient man by nature, but the last thirteen years of fatherhood had expanded his capacity tenfold…but everyone has their limit.

“You know why,” he grinds out, teeth gritted tightly together, “because you’re averaging a D+ in math and if you try to time travel without even basic understanding-”

From the entrance hall, the grandfather clock chimes, just audible up the attic stairs. Immediately, her head whips to face him, throwing down her pencil.

“You said we’d stop at seven.”

“Aoife- you have to get this.”

“You promised,” s he says, looking for all the world as if he’d been applying thumbscrews rather than teaching her rudimentary polynomial division, “that’s so unfair!”

He stifles a groan. God help him- he loves this girl more than life itself but her overly-developed teenage sense of injustice is infuriating, especially when she puts on that goddamn ‘woe is me’ voice. 

Suddenly, he finds himself smiling; it’s pretty cute, now he thinks on it. His little girl, all anger and injured entitlement.  

“Okay,” he says, softening, “just humor me for five more minutes and then I promise I’ll let you go. Come with me to the study.”

With a huffed-out sigh expressing that she is the most unfairly treated child in the world, Aoife follows his blink with her own, alighting from her portal sat atop Reginald’s desk.

“Smooth landing,” Five says, approvingly. “One tip though: never blink somewhere so specific unless you can see it or you know damn well that the space is empty: you’re sitting on a fountain pen.”

Aoife hops off the desk immediately, letting out a noise of shocked dismay as she turns to see the ink-spot spreading on the butt cheek of her favorite white jeans.

“Don’t worry, it will come out in the wash,” he murmurs, sitting down casually behind the desk and reaching into the lowest drawer.

Aoife takes her own seat across from him, looking around the study with interest. Dad had never exactly forbidden her from coming in here without him, but he made his disapproval obvious if he ever caught her in here alone. If he thought that would stop her finding the room fascinating, then he’s even more of a dumbass than Aoife was quickly coming to suspect he is…that she's been coming to suspect both her parents are, actually.

“Take a look at this. I call it a temporal ambimeter: I built it around ten years ago.”

Onto the desktop, he carefully places a small instrument: Attached to a three-footed metal plinth is what looks like a full circle protractor marked with incomprehensible measurements. It drifts, turning a sedate three hundred and sixty degrees clockwise. On top of the circle, seeming to float, is a spindly metal needle, held at a perfect horizontal along the protractor’s diameter by invisible forces. Even from this distance, Aoife can feel a tingle in the ends of her fingers.

“This is time,” he says, simply, ghosting his finger along the line of the needle, static crackling there as he does so: “This is  an absolute line of polarity. Can you feel it?”

Aoife nods, fascinated in spite of herself.

“Go on,” he said, smiling slightly, “feel it like I did.”

Stretching out her fingers Aoife, imitates her Dad- sparks flying as she runs her fingers along it like a tiny theremin. The sensation is like blood rushing back to fill dead fingers. Mentally, it’s more complex than that.

“There’s something…it feels.”

Five helps, though he’s barely able to put it into words himself, “Like putting the last jigsaw piece in?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, “it feels…right.”

“That’s because it is. Come here.”

She stands on slightly numb legs and walks around the desk to where Five waits for her with an arm outstretched. Though she resists slightly, (ever more often shying away from cripplingly uncool parental affection), he puts his arm around her anyway.

“Watch.”

For this demonstration, he only needs to reverse time five seconds or so, but it’s always an effort, especially when taking somebody else. At least he doesn’t need to physically move their bodies.

Aoife felt time contract around her under her Dad’s power, holding onto his arm for dear life: he’d never done this with her before.

“Watch,” he says, voice cracking with the strain.

She looks down at the instrument: the protractor shudders to a halt and turns anti-clockwise along with the physical sensation of time reversing, speeding up as Five really gets hold and reverses the seconds.

“The…needle stays in place though.” he says, still straining “S-still feels like the last jigsaw piece, right?”

He’s right: though the rest of the instrument wavers in the current of Five’s power, the needle stays perfectly still.

He grunts and relinquishes his hold on the seconds, taking a deep breath and stretching out his neck. The protractor begins to turn slowly clockwise again.

“See,” he says, grinning at Aoife, “that’s a constant. No matter the timeline, no matter the paradox, that’s what stays in place. It’s what I access when I manipulate time, and you will too, one day. But cara, this stuff is fragile. That’s why you need to have a sound theoretical understanding before you try, okay? You know I don’t say this just to be a tight-ass, right?”

He pulls her closer as he says it, planting a kiss just above her ear.

“ Capisco papà. Posso partire adesso?”

“Sì, he sighs, “I need to go for a bike ride anyway. But not before I get a hug, right?”

She hugs him, laying her head on his shoulder momentarily before throwing off the childish impulse.

“You’re still my bambina whether you like it or not,” he says, raising his voice as she leaves, laughing at her little ‘uggh’ of disgust. Had he been like this when he was thirteen?

No: he’d been like this by the time he was nine. When he was thirteen, he was far, far worse.

Dad had cycled for as long as she could remember. It was only recently she’d noticed just how embarrassing his bike shorts and helmet were, but at least she didn’t have to be seen with him when he was out on the bike.

When she’d heard the door close and could be sure her mom was busy in another part of the house, Aoife blinked from her bedroom back into her father’s study, concealing the notebook under her sweatshirt.

This room had once been her grandfather’s but  in the years since his death Five had worked his way so naturally into using it regularly that it was now informally acknowledged as his. Until it became firmly her father’s domain, Aoife had never dared step foot in here. Even now, his bedroom,  (all but untouched since his death) is the one room in the house Aoife has never dared to go.

The oil-paintings of him still hanging around the house held a curious fascination for her, and this one above the study fireplace was no exception. He stood tall, hand domineeringly over a walking cane. She and her cousin Santi both agreed: Reginald hung like a spectre around the house along with those of the tortured children the Umbrella Academy once were. He was cruel, exacting…and had been her personal bogeyman ever since she could remember. The portrait always started with cold eyes, so unlike those of her young father hanging in the living room. Five’s portrait always made her smile; Reginald’s always made her feel like she was being watched.

The journals are kept in a locked, glass-fronted cabinet and it had only taken her an hour of searching the study to find the key. They’re ordered from 1-6 and each number has several volumes.  She started from  01, I and has just finished 05, VII. Reading these journals has been spookier than Aoife had even imagined. Reading about her Uncle Klaus being locked in a mausoleum in 04, XII had given her nightmares for a week.

Quite why Reginald has this hold on her imagination, she doesn’t know, but keeping it a secret is electrifying. Perhaps if she told Mom and Dad about her pre-bedtime reading, the spell would be broken. The journals concerning her Dad have been generally less interesting: he seemed to have been the perfect student and Reginald had only positive things to say about his skills (although was less impressed by his ‘‘impudence’). Nevertheless Aoife placed 05, VII back beside 05, VI and reached to pull the next journal out of line.

Reading roman numbers did not come naturally to Aoife, yet after a quick look at the previous journals, she realized something was wrong: 05, VII was followed immediately by 05 IX … there was one missing from when her father was eight.

For now, she took 05 IX and blinked back into her room…this was a mystery for another day.

Work is…not great right now. You’ve always been ambitious, (something Five regularly teases you for) and you worked hard over your twenty-year career. You’ve been at your new firm for three years now and you’ve got the fancy private office and a team of thirty subordinates. It’s busy and exhausting but it would be fine if the bullshit ended when you got to a certain rung on the ladder…but it actually seems to get worse. 

For one thing, it turned out that the VP of sales position you had just lost out on went to an old coworker of yours: a guy called Charlie. He had been a smug chauvinist when you knew him and didn’t seem to have changed. He’d acted surprised when he bumped into you, but something about his shit-eating attitude had made it clear how much he was loving this. It was clear he hadn’t forgotten the time Five broke his nose in the parking lot of your joint workplace. You’d noted with satisfaction that surgery had still been unable to correct the damage: his nose was permanently misshapen.

Also, you’d recently raised eyebrows by turning down a huge FMCG contract; no matter how much they were willing to pay, there was no way you were going to be involved  with it after you found out that it was the same people behind JUICED, trying to get back into the market after the poisoning scandal you and Five had uncovered. It was a cockroach of a company: surviving anything, no matter how severe.

So now, mentally drained, you lounge in the main living room, having dumped your stuff unceremoniously on the floor. You were absurdly grateful when Lila, unasked, had poured you both a glass of wine. Now, she lies at the other end of the sofa, trying to take your mind off it with talk about her son: the nephew you’d known since he was seven.

“He seems okay…” her mouth pulls downwards, “but I don’t think things are going well at the lab.”

You sigh, “why?”

“It’s your fault, really,” she says, giving you a slightly stern look, “I knew those researchers wouldn’t have a chance, but it’s you that got it into Santi’s head that he’s under some kind of moral obligation to all mankind or something.”

You look down…she’s not wrong. You were definitely very vocal in encouraging Santi’s attempts to ensure his healing powers could be harnessed by medical science.  

“He’s not obligated,” you say, guiltily, “but it is important to at least try.”

“Yeah, and now he’s put his entire life on hold to be some kind of bleeding-heart lab rat.”

There’s no real anger in her voice: Santi was always a sensitive boy and now he’s grown into a principled young man. Though Lila doesn’t share his ideals, she’s proud of him for having them.

A static buzz; a crash from the atrium and the sound of labored male breathing. Five.

You’re off the sofa almost before Lila’s registered something’s wrong. Five half kneels and half lies on the tiles, covered in sweat, gasping for breath and clutching his chest. His bike lies on top of him, his ankle caught in the chain. His eyes are wide, terrified: his breath comes in desperate, vocalized “hahs” low in his chest.

Immediately, you kneel behind him and place your body between his and the floor.You recognise the symptoms immediately.

“H-help,” another of those pained grunts of breath, “my heart.”

“It’s okay. It’s just a panic attack,” you say, holding your arms around his chest as Lila appears in the living room doorway, “you’ll be okay.”

“N-no!” beneath your arms, his heart kicks like a rabbit in a snare.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” you soothe…but it’s worrying. He’s not had a panic attack like this in over ten years.

With another <ffssht>, Aoife appears, she looks from her Dad to you in panic.

“He’s okay; he’s just having a little turn. Can you get the bike off him, honey?”

“I-I-‘m fine,” he wheezes, trying to reassure his daughter without much success.

“Shh. Don’t try to talk. Just breathe. Count the seconds.”

As Aoife manages to remove the bike, you smile gratefully up at her.

“Good girl.”

She sits beside you both and takes Five’s sweat-slippy hand. As he slows his breath and tries to ride out the feeling of doom, he squeezes Aoife’s hand.

“You okay shitface?” says Lila, catching Five’s eye.

He nods, eyes still wide and heart still skittering.

“Shame,” she quips.

“When you’re ready, tell me what happened,” you whisper soothingly into his ear.

“Later,” he breathes.

When his breath is almost steady again and some part of the all-consuming fear recedes, he stands up shakily, holding one of your hands each. His spandex cycling gear whispers as his limbs unfold from one another.

“I’m fine,” he says, sounding more like himself, “I just had a little freakout.”

“Did you take your pills, papà?” Aoife hangs off his arm now, resting her head against his bicep.

“ Si cara, non preoccuparti. Starò bene. Ho bisogno di sdraiarmi.” he kisses the top of her head before translating for you and Lila, “I’ll be fine. I just need to lie down.”

“Do you want me to blink you?”

The bike shorts don’t have pockets, but he puts his hands to his hips as if they did, his body leaning forward in his characteristic swagger. Still breathing a little harder than normal, he gives her his cheeky, almost grimace of a smile and vanishes is a buzz of static.

His voice echos down the stairs from the 2nd flight,

“I’m not that broken down, sweetie!”

She laughs, grins farewell to Lila and blinks away herself. The sound of quiet drumming issuing down the stairs lets you know she’s back in her room. 

You turn to Lila, holding up a single hand in farewell.

“I should check on him. I probably won’t be down again tonight- I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?.”

“Night chicken

“Night”

You follow them to the attic. Apparently you’re the only one who uses the stairs these days. 

In the last five years, the attic has been completely renovated for your family’s exclusive use. Although you prefer to sit and be sociable downstairs, you have a family living space for when you want some privacy. It’s cosy: the sloping ceilings only add to the feeling of being pleasantly enclosed.

Aoife’s old bedroom has been turned into a space to do her homework and learn the theory of time travel while her new room, (another of the old storage rooms), is devoted to sleep and her drum kit. This had been a gift purchased by Lila. While it had clearly been designed to torture Five (in which you were collateral damage), Aoife had really excelled under Lila’s tutoring. This had delighted you all, (although Five pretended to Lila that he didn’t care), and now the parts of Aoife’s bedroom walls that weren’t covered with a psychedelic jungle, (courtesy of Uncle Klaus) were covered in posters of Cindy Blackman and Meg White with the White Stripes 

Before heading to your room, you drop in on Aoife.

“Hey. Sweetie?”

She scowls immediately. It irks you and not even how much she looks like Five when she pulls that face can soften it. 

“What?” she says, annoyed, “can’t you knock?”

“Excuse me young lady” you say, hearing yourself use the ‘mom’ voice that makes you feel a million years old, “I’m happy to knock in future and I should have done it this time, but I expect you to ask nicely .”

“I shouldn’t have to ask.” she snaps, “I’m thirteen, Mom. I deserve my privacy!”

She’s always been a daddy’s girl, but recently things have gotten worse between you and her. Five’s a brilliant Dad and he doesn’t shy away from discipline when needed, but you’ve had to play bad-cop with Aoife more often than him. You never exactly disagree on parenting but your moral standards for Aoife are higher than his. Last year, when she punched Whitaker Crane in the face for making fun of her sweatshirt, Five had given only a brief show of disapproval before asking whether she’d used her right or left hook. He’d left it down to you to lecture and ground her. 

Partially as a result of his attitude, Aoife is always on the offensive when it comes to you. Arguing with her is not what you came in here for so you take a slow, deep breath. 

“Are you okay, after all that?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because that wasn’t nice to see.”

“It’s okay Mom.” she says, rolling her eyes, “I’m not a kid , I can deal with it.”

“It doesn’t matter what age you are, he’s your dad. That could still be scary.”

She rolls her eyes and pouts (something Five says she got from you) as she throws off your hand.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay sweetie,” you sigh, “but stop with the drumming please.”

“Mom,” (she draws out the word so it sounds like: ‘MoOoom’) “it’s like nine PM.”

“Yes, and your dad needs quiet!” you say, feeling the stern look on your face. “Don’t you have a math test you need to study for?”

She huffs out air like an angry horse and throws her drumsticks onto the bed in a slight show of temper.

“ Fine .” she says.

“Thank you.” you reply, eyebrows raised at the little display of temper, “now: goodnight, love you.”

She grunts. 

“Aoife?”

“Goodnight.” she says, grudgingly.

Aoife watches you sigh and withdraw before leaving the drumkit and crossing to her bed where Reginald’s notebook lies hidden between the sheets. Before her Dad appeared dramatically in the atrium, she’s been reading Reginald’s notes on him from when he was nine. They were strange: when he was seven, Reginald had still been writing about Five’s budding ‘chronokinetic’ abilities, but this edition of his journal had so far only mentioned his blink-accuracy. 

She knew that her Dad (like her) had been forbidden to time travel when he was young and the disastrous results when, at her age, he had travelled decades into the future and couldn’t return.  It seemed that something when her father was eight had put Reginald off developing this aspect of his power and made him institute this new rule.

For her part, Aoife has another pre-bedtime secret which developed a couple of months ago: almost as soon as she started reading 05, III. 

Grabbing the old Wonder Woman alarm clock still beside her bed, she pulls her covers up over her head and checks the time. It’s 21:09. She closes her eyes and tries to feel for it, reaching for that sensation for which she now has the words to describe: the polarity…the final jigsaw piece, searching for that sense of perfection.

There: the needle. The… polarity . And somewhere underneath (or maybe within?) the drifting dial that reminded her of a protractor. She wills it to reverse.

Is it happening? She opens her eyes a crack.

21:10…so no.

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes again and accesses that intuitive sense of perfection. There it is… there . Back inside or back underneath, she visualizes herself grabbing and pulling: molding time like clay…and then it happens. She feels it again, like when Dad took her with him. The air around her becomes thicker: her entire body fills with static, like stepping through a waterfall of cool electricity. Somehow, she knows when to stop.

As the feeling dissipates, she opens her eyes again, heart beating madly.

It’s 21:05.

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves, @rorygi1more, @jamiebower88 (sorry for clogging up your notifs with my double post, taglist pals!)

Chapter 2 >>

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03.  Here is a link to the whole series

[itcanbegoodagain]

What I would want Peeta to say and do to me if I was Katniss, is how I think this deserves to be summed up.

Word Count: 1971

Rating: 18+. Mature, but not explicit. Sexytimes after the break.

Sliding down into the tub, I allow the sweet smell of the soap to engulf me, my eyes falling shut as the warm water creeps up my skin. My aching muscles relax, the tension seeping out of them as quickly as it appeared. The first week or two of hunting in the snow is always harder than I’m anticipating it to be. But I’ll be just fine.

I know Peeta’s home when I hear his gait on the creaking, wooden stairs. Deciding to stay put, I wait for him to find me in the bathroom. He’s home a little early today. Oh, lucky wife am I.

And, truly, I am. There is no better man out there than Peeta. So when he gently knocks on the door, I smile to myself. “You can come in.” My head falls back to rest on the lip of the tub, providing me with a better vantage point to see him.

The door pushes open slowly, and Peeta steps through, shutting the door behind him. Not necessary, since we’re the only ones that live in this house. But no complaints here. Just observations.

“Hi baby,” he says, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms across his chest. There is a slight uptilt to his lips, one that usually indicates a particular line of thinking. I wonder what I’m in for.

I take this chance to stare at him, lazily moving my gaze head to toe, as I know he is sizing me up, too. I avoid the urge to shift my legs together too soon, anticipating the exquisite touch of his hands that’s sure to come.

He’s wearing his normal dark-wash trousers, a long-sleeved shirt in lieu of his usual attire. The tip of his nose is just the littlest bit red. The snow gets to bakers, too, then. Briefly, I wonder what the cold of his nose would feel like while his lips make their way up my thighs. I do know how his body feels, though, as I take in the way his shirt hugs in all the perfect places.

“Hi baby,” I repeat back softly, not wanting to raise my voice too much for fear of bursting this liminal moment we’ve created. It could go very different ways. I know which way I want it to go, and if I know anything about him, I know what he wants, too.

Neither of us moves to break eye contact. Peeta does, however, slowly peel off the counter, walking around the end of the tub to kneel on the ground next to me. His arms rise up to rest on the edge, his fingertips barely brushing the water.

We haven’t lost eye contact this entire time, so when he licks his lips and says what he does next, I am malleable. Pliable. Putty, in his hands only.

“You look very beautiful today,” he says. Normal words, predictable words, but the way he says it - the way he looks at me as he says it - mouthwatering.

Desperation. That’s the thing in my throat that won’t let any other words get out. Desperation to touch, to be touched, which I can see reflected in Peeta’s face, the slight trembling of his fingers.

“You know, these bathrooms really are too large. Look, I take up only half the tub!” I tell him.

He grins. “I have to disagree. There’s only room for one kickass woman in the tub.”

I hum. Trail my fingers, dripping warm water, through my hair. “Too bad. That kickass woman was hoping she’d have someone come join her.”

This is what really catches him. His voice, usually honey-sweet, is strained, just enough to be noticeable. “In that case, I think I might know someone.”

I take a deep breath, surveying him for another moment. “Well, tell him to come my way.”

With that in the air, he finally, finally kisses me. Kisses me with the force of someone who’s been holding back just long enough that they’re about to splinter. His fingers, the tips wet from resting in the water, find their way into my hair, his thumb tilting my head up beneath the chin. Already, he is biting and tugging at my lip with his teeth, which is one of the things he’s best at. Or maybe I just like it.

The kiss is both quenching and provoking. Yes, I finally can taste the love and lust on his lips, but it only makes me want him more. That’s how it works with us. Has since basically day one, though I was blind to it for a while.

Peeta stops for a moment, close enough that we are still sharing the same air. “How can I help you, my dear?” he asks, voice more rattled than before, as one of his hands dips into the water. His fingers find and, gently, scratch along the sensitive skin at my knee. I shiver, despite the warm water. He grins, noticing the gooseflesh that’s appeared on my skin at his mere touch.

A sharp intake of breath fills my lungs, and it takes me a moment to answer. “First, you’re in an unfair amount of clothes.”

He nods his head, pulling his arm out of the water to grab the hem of his shirt and yank it off, the cuff damp where the water had almost reached the sleeve after he rolled it up. His trousers quickly follow, though his undershorts stay on for now. “What else?”

In response, I stand up, careful not to send water pouring over the edge. Peeta stands as well, reaching over to grab a towel and stepping closer to wrap it around me. His hands pause on my shoulders, holding the towel in place around me. He raises his eyebrows. Next?

I send him the best, most flirty smile I can muster. It's never been my strong suit. Then I remove the towel, allowing him to keep it. The moment he realizes my intentions, it’s discarded to the floor, easily and gladly forgotten. In his eyes, I can tell he wants to touch me, desperately, but I make him wait just a little longer.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, one of such need and desire, that it sends a flash of pride through me. Turning a man on is so much more fun than I ever thought it could be. It makes you feel powerful, even if it’s just one person for one moment.

But with Peeta, there are so many moments like that. He praises, he worships me, but it’s never over the top. It is always in the actions: letting me fall asleep in his lap, leaving breakfast on the table, placing kisses along my skin after I have been well and truly tumbled. Doing as much as he can to please me. Yes, indeed. I am a lucky wife.

After I’ve planted myself on the bathroom counter, the edge lining up dangerously with the part of me that is Peeta’s next destination, he is on his knees again. He begins his ministrations slowly, each brush of his fingers or lips on my skin like an electric shock. My skin is so, so sensitive, and he is so, so gentle. There’s nothing better.

By the time he reaches my knees, he has scooted closer, his shoulderblades now between my legs to give him the proper access he requires. Each touch of his mouth to my skin makes it harder not to move, but I try my best. As he nears the top of my thighs, he takes one leg and throws it over his shoulder, carelessly, I would say, if it were anyone else.

“So,” he begins, frequently pausing to occupy his mouth in less talkative ways, “there is so much time left, so many things to do.” His tongue traces a thin line up the most sensitive part of my inner thigh. I gasp, eyes falling shut, hips beginning to squirm. One of his hands pushes back on my hipbone, his fingertips pressing into the skin just hard enough to leave marks. Marks for him to see, later. Maddening. “Where shall I begin?”

I realize, maybe two seconds too late, that he is genuinely asking. “Katniss, baby,” he continues, his rough voice sounding heavenly from between my legs. “Tell me how to help.” To emphasize his point, he flips my other leg over his shoulder, effectively trapping himself between and beneath me.

I gasp again, trying to get the words out. In a moment of clarity, I’m able to string together these words: “Kiss me.”

He hums, running his hands over my hips, back and forth. “From down here?”

Smartass. “Not on my lips,” I manage.

He grins, a fiercely boyish grin that I sometimes forget he’s capable of. “I see. Well, since you asked so nicely…”

I choke out a laugh. “Right. As if you didn’t come home with it already in mind.”

He laughs too, but doesn’t allow it to linger for long. “You got me there.” He says this one moment, and the next, his face is hidden and his mouth and tongue are doing such extraordinary things, and, god, his nose -

Well. I hit the nail on the head with that one.

My fingers curl into his hair, urging him on as I push him closer. I can feel his grin, so I give a sharp tug on the hair I have in hand as recompense. This pulls another sound out of his throat, a gasp out of his mouth. Both feel lovely, situated where he is. So I continue to pull at his hair when he needs some humbling.

It's breathless, it's wonderful, it's only the beginning. I'm trembling, grateful to be sitting, as he makes his way up my body. Lingering kisses on my hips, along my stomach, up my chest. He stays at my neck for a while, paying particular attention there, surely leaving behind bruises that can easily be covered by a turtleneck in this cool weather.

--

A good chunk of time passes before I'm able to drag his lips back to mine, feeling like I might die if I don't get to kiss him right this second. He happily obliges, as he knows that he is good with his mouth. In several different regards. But who's keeping track? Certainly, certainly not me.

My hands, itching to touch his skin, smooth down his shoulders, wrapping around his back, pulling him even closer. Now, he is standing again, my legs circling his waist. Our bodies are pressed together at their most intimate places, though his undershorts are still on. Slowly, I run one of my hands down his side, making sure to take my time, before sliding the tips of my fingers below his waistband. I don't move them, I don't try to take his boxers off, I just let them rest there. Let Peeta give me this incredulous, sex-addled smirk.

"Yes?" I ask. "Is there something wrong?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that. I'm just thinking..." he trails off for a moment, leaving me to fill in the blank. "Well, you know, it's not only the tubs that are too big for one person. The showers are, too. Haven't you noticed?"

Tapping my chin, I pretend to ponder his question. "Truly? I haven't. Do you care to show me?"

He swoops in for another kiss, this one full of teeth and lips and pressure. He steals my breath away. "Gladly," he says, grinning, hauling me off the counter.

With a quick turn of the knobs, the warm spray of water begins falling from the shower head, and, truthfully, there is no way to describe what happens next. No way to describe it other than really, really good sex.

[marauders-venting]

Worth The Wait

pairing: wolfstar (remus x sirius)

genre: fluff & angst

warnings: mentions of being sick and throwing up

words: 2502

a/n: this is a request I got from someone on Instagram and I absolutely love it!

“Evans, are you sure you’re okay?” Sirius asked, glancing over at her. Lily was sitting in the corner of the common room, bent over the table, her head resting on her arm. She had been looking peaky all day, which Sirius might not have noticed if James hadn’t pointed it out to him. 32 times to be exact.

“Do you think she’s sick, Pads? Should I ask her? Nah, she’ll get mad at me. But if she really is sick she should be in the hospital wing. But what if I ask her and she’s actually fine and she thinks I’m insulting her or something?” James had finally asked her if she was alright at dinner when she hadn’t eaten anything.

“I’m fine,” she had said. Except she hadn’t snapped at him. In fact, she smiled a little. James had practically glowed. “Just a little nauseous.” But it was an hour later and Lily still looked ill.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, this time to Sirius. “I’ll be fine.” She lifted her head, looking back at her half-finished essay.

“Lils, you’re pale as fuck,” Marlene said. “You’re sick.”

“I told you, I’ll be fine,” she said. Less than ten minutes later, Lily had rushed to the bathroom and thrown up.

“Okay,” she said when she came up. “Maybe not so fine. I think I have a stomach bug or something, I’ve been nauseous all day.”

“Come on, I’m taking you to the hospital wing,” Mary said.

“Wait,” she said. “Remus and I have prefect rounds.”

“Don’t be stupid, I’ll cover for you,” Remus said. “You do it for me all the time.”

“Thanks, Rem.”

“Of course. Feel better, Lils.” She and Mary headed for the portrait hole. Sirius glanced at James, who was biting his nail and not paying any attention to the textbook lying open in front of him. Sirius knew he wanted to go with Lily — he was worried about her — but he didn’t want to annoy her. Not when they’d been on such good terms for the past few months.

Barely five minutes had passed before Marlene said, “Well, there’s no point working on this shit without Lily.” She gestured to the essay.

“I could help you if you want,” Alice offered.

“Don’t worry yourself, Alice, she knows,” Dorcas replied before Marlene could say anything. “She could do it herself if she wanted to. She just doesn’t want to do it and that’s her excuse.”

“Shhh stop exposing me,” Marlene said, flopping dramatically onto Dorcas’ lap. “I’m too tired to write essays now.”

“Well, are you gonna go to sleep any time soon?” Dorcas asked, raking their fingers gently through Marlene’s hair. Marlene took Dorcas’ other hand and kissed it.

“Only if you can’t think of anything better for us to do,” she said.

“Oh baby, I can think of several things we can do,” Dorcas said, smirking.

“Oh?” Marlene said, sitting up. “Such as?”

“Well, I’ll give you a hint,” Dorcas said. “They all involve a bed, but not sleep.” Marlene grabbed Dorcas by the hand and pulled her towards the staircase leading to their dorm.

“I’d steer clear of your dorm if I were you, Alice,” Peter said, looking up from the textbook in his hand.

“Yeah,” Alice laughed, “I think I’ll go see Lily in the hospital wing. If Madam Pomfrey will let me in.” So she got up and walked out the portrait hole too.

Half an hour later, only Sirius, Remus, Peter and James, who had been surprisingly quiet this whole time, remained in the common room.

Sirius was sitting on a couch, his feet up on the table in front of him; he had given up on the essay long ago. He knew he would still get a decent grade though, even if he had barely put any effort into it.

Remus was sitting on the floor beside him, his essay spread across the table. Remus quickly scribbled the end of a sentence and flopped his head back onto the couch, groaning.

“It’s going to be so boring, walking around the castle alone,” he complained. “I mean, I guess I shouldn’t complain since Lily does it for me every month, at least once but still.”

“You don’t have to do it,” Sirius said. Remus slapped his leg, the one that was near his head.

“You know I do,” he replied.

“Fine then, I’ll come with you,” Sirius said.

“You can’t do that,” Remus said.

“Says who?” Sirius shrugged.

“Well, are you a prefect?”

“Do I look like I care?”

“Fair point,” Remus said. He looked like he was contemplating it. 

“So d’you want me to come with you or not?” Sirius asked. His heart was beating faster than it should be. So he’d be walking around the castle with Remus. So what? It certainly didn’t mean anything. Remus hesitated a second before replying.

“If we get caught, can I pin it all on you?” he asked, grinning at Sirius.

“Sure,” Sirius shrugged. “It’s not like they can give me more detentions without cutting into lesson time, can they?” Sirius stood up, cracking his knuckles nervously. He wanted to be alone with Remus but if James and Peter wanted to come… Well, he couldn’t tell them not to without it being weird. But Remus didn’t suggest it and neither one of them seemed eager to join.

“We won’t wait up,” James said, smirking at Sirius. James saw right through him. Sirius didn’t care, as long as he didn’t make it obvious to Remus. Like he was doing right now. Sirius pointed the finger at him from behind Remus’ back.

“Hold on, I need to put this essay upstairs,” Remus said. He ran up the stairs to the dormitory.

“I officially give up on this essay,” Peter said, slamming the textbook shut. “I don’t care, I’ll do it tomorrow. My brain isn’t functioning now. I need a shower and sleep.” He got up and started up the staircase after Remus. “‘Night,” he called.

“G’night, Pete,” James called back.

“‘Night, Wormy.” Once Peter was out of sight, Sirius rounded on James.

“James, I swear to god, if you keep making jokes, I will personally murder you,” Sirius said.

“Oh relax, would you? Nobody takes my jokes seriously except you. Although I guess that makes sense.” James laughed at his own pun.

“That was pathetic,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “Only I can pull those jokes off. It’s my name.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” James said. He hesitated for a moment before asking, “Do you think I should have gone with her?”

“Relax, Prongs, she’ll be fine,” Sirius said. “Mary and Alice are with her. Besides, I doubt Madam Pomfrey will let you in.”

“Yeah, I guess,” James said. “Do you think she’d be annoyed if I went to visit her in the morning?”

“I don’t know, James. She might not even stay overnight. Not for a stomach bug.”

“Yeah, probably not. I can’t do what you do and sit by my crush’s sickbed, staring wistfully at their beautiful face and wait for them to wake up so I can spend all day caring for them,” James said.

“What? I don’t do that,” Sirius said, going red.

“Of course, you do,” James said matter-of-factly. “Every month. It’s very sweet, by the way. Disgustingly sweet.” Sirius elbowed him in the ribs. “But really, are you just never going to tell him?” James added. But Sirius didn’t get a chance to reply because Remus came back downstairs and headed straight for the portrait hole.

“See you guys later,” he called.

“Moony, wait for me,” Sirius pouted, hurrying after him and trying not to think about what James had said.

“Don’t be so slow then,” Remus said as Sirius caught up to him at the end of the corridor.

“Slow? I’m the one who waited for you to put your essay in the dorm!” Sirius exclaimed.

“Shh, you can’t yell,” Remus said. “Especially since you’re technically not supposed to be here.”

“Fine, I won’t yell,” Sirius said. “So what are we supposed to do?”

“Literally nothing,” Remus said. “We walk around the school until we’ve covered enough ground that I can report back to McGonagall and say that there are no students out of bed and then we go back to the common room. It’s boring as fuck.”

“Well, I’m here to keep you entertained, Moony, so prepare for the best prefect rounds of your life,” Sirius said.

“Why does that concern me more than it comforts me?” Remus replied.

“Because you’re cynical and mean,” Sirius said.

---------

“I can’t believe you do this like four times a week,” Sirius said, as they headed to McGonagall’s office. “How haven’t you died of boredom yet?”

“You didn’t have to come, y’know,” Remus said. “Your complaining doesn’t make this any more enjoyable.”

“I’m not complaining, I’m making a point about how unfair this is for you,” Sirius said, as they reached the end of the corridor.

“Trust me, I know,” Remus said. “Now wait here while I tell McGonagall that I’m done. Don’t be loud.” It only took Remus about three minutes to get back but Sirius had already made himself comfortable on the floor. He hopped up when he saw Remus come back.

“Let’s sneak out,” he said immediately.

“What?”

“Let’s go out to the grounds, by the lake.”

“Sirius, we’ll get caught.”

“No, we won’t.”

“Yes, we will. We don’t have the Cloak.”

“So? We can be stealthy. And, worst case, we get caught. So what?”

“First of all, you suck at being stealthy, Sirius, and second of all, I’m a prefect. I’m supposed to be setting a good example. And it’s not really setting a good example if I get caught breaking the rules, is it?”

“Don’t be such a buzzkill, Moony. Pleeeeease. I promise we won’t get caught. There’s nobody awake to catch us, everyone will have gone to bed by now. And we can look at the stars. Come on, Moony, you love astronomy. Plus you won’t have an annoying professor asking dumb questions that nobody cares about. Pleeeeease?” Sirius pouted.

“Fine,” Remus said, grudgingly. “If we get caught, I’ll kill you.” But Sirius was right. Everybody must have been asleep because there wasn’t a single person in the corridors.

Remus and Sirius crossed the grounds and went over to the lake and sat down side by side. Remus lay down on the grass and stretched his arms above his head. Sirius flopped down beside him.

“Do you recognise any of these?” Remus asked.

“Some,” Sirius said. He pointed at the sky. “See that star right there? That’s the dog star, Sirius.”

“And this is the thousandth time you’ve told me,” Remus said, rolling his eyes.

“Well if there was a star named after you then you wouldn’t shut up about it either,” Sirius said. Remus rolls his eyes again. “And if you don’t stop rolling your eyes, they’ll get stuck.”

“Stop giving me reasons to roll my eyes then,” Remus says. Then after a moment, he adds, “is there a wolf star?”

“Uh-huh,” Sirius nodded.

“Where?”

“Right here,” Sirius said, poking Remus with his elbow.

“Shut up.” Remus rolled his eyes again.

“I’m complimenting you, Moony.” Remus didn’t reply. He sat up and stared at the lake. Sirius sat up as well. He thought of what James said earlier. He could technically never tell Remus about this. He could keep it a secret. He could grit his teeth and try to get over it. But the way Remus looked at him now as they lay under the stars… their eyes met and Sirius couldn’t explain it but something gave him a feeling that maybe he wasn’t the only one thinking about it. He could see a faint blush on Remus’ cheeks from when he’d called him a star. And he’s so close.

Sirius wasn’t quite sure what possessed him at that moment but he slowly inched closer to Remus. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Remus’ but Remus turned his head away from him, ending the kiss before it even started. Sirius moved back quickly. He didn’t want to invade Remus’ space, he didn't want to force himself on Remus.

“I’m sorry,” he said, so quietly he wasn’t sure Remus had heard him.

“Don’t be,” said Remus. He was looking at the floor. “I just…” He just what? Sirius waited. He wanted to help Remus along like he always did but didn’t know how. He was usually so good at understanding how to help Remus explain himself when words would fail him, how to prompt him without pushing him, but now… Sirius wished a hole in the ground would swallow him. He’d fucked up bad. Sirius didn’t want to pressure Remus so he stayed silent. But the silence was awkward and filled with tension.

“Maybe… maybe we should just…” started Remus, struggling to get out words, “maybe we should just stay… friends.” Sirius felt like someone had kicked him in the gut and knocked all the wind out of him. He bit his lip and it was all he could do to stop the tears rushing to his eyes, begging to spill onto his cheeks. He should have seen this coming. Why should Remus ever want to be with him? Just because he’s had feelings for Remus for the past few months, didn’t mean Remus returned those feelings. What was he thinking, trying to kiss Remus? He wished he hadn’t done it.

Sirius must have been delusional to believe that Remus might want him. Delusional or in love. Same difference, really, he thought. He couldn’t digest this. He felt sick. He turned away, afraid that he would vomit on Remus.

“If that’s what you want,” he said. His voice was feeble. It sounded empty and dead. He hoped Remus couldn’t hear how hurt Sirius felt. He didn’t want Remus to feel guilty. It wasn’t Remus’ fault that Sirius fucked everything up. It wasn’t Remus’ fault that Sirius had fallen in love. (Well, actually, one could argue that it’s entirely his fault, Sirius thought, I mean look at him! How am I supposed to not fall in love with him?) Sirius couldn’t look at Remus.

“Sirius, I—” Remus started. Sirius waited but Remus didn’t continue.

“I think I’ll go now,” Sirius said. He wasn’t whispering but his voice was very quiet. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.” He was, after all, breaking a school rule. And Remus was a prefect. He stood up without another word and Remus remained silent as Sirius started walking away. Sirius didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see Remus (his amber eyes that could go from tired to fiery in seconds; his soft, brown curls that he brushed away from his face with his hands; his small, sweet, addictive smile that came with a crinkle next to his eyes; his hands covered in scars; in other words, too fucking perfect for words), it would be too painful.

[noritoshiikamo]

Headcanons for the cursed womb siblings when they ship you and choso please 🌝 but choso is like a “job first, love later” kind of guy. He is responsible👏 He wants to support his siblings first👏 But they want nothing more than for their brother to have a lover.

modern au! office worker choso x reader no warning, just fluff. death painting brothers are normal humans, choso is just oblivious, reader is in love anywaysssss okay, i know it said headcanon but i went overboard and i cant help it anymore, choso brainrot tagging: @booksweet , @fushigurocockslut, @lazy10ieiri, @sassyeahhhh, @cotton-curse, @thevoidwriting, @dukinaxael

- job first, love later

you were the first girl choso ever brought home.

except it was by accident. your car had broken down in front of the office and you being typically you, had no idea what had happened to your shit car. “stupid, stupid!” you cursed, opening the front of your car, watching as puff of smoke escaped. you panicked, you never had anyone told you what to do with your car and such.

you were the only child in your family, your mother passed away when you were just a child and your father disappeared. you were sent away to a distance relative, the gojo where you grew up with satoru and his adoptive brother, megumi. but they are useless as a lump of coal. “y/n, are you okay?” you whipped up your head, wiping the dripping sweat off your worried head as you were greeting by a familiar face.

“oh, choso, thank god, do you know anything about car? i cant figure out why wont it start,” you cried clutching on his white sleeve before shrieking. you watched at your fingers left black smudges on his shirt, panicked overwhelmed you as you realised you just ruined the chance for help by ruining your savior’s shirt. but choso only laughed, brushing your panicked look aside and handed you his briefcase. “how long has it been like this?” he asked as he rolled his sleeves, you shrugged. “10 minutes? i think.”

“do you have any cloth i can use to check the coolant?” he asked. you nodded and headed to back, throwing the briefcase in the backseat. coming back with an old rag, you were surprise when choso grabbed your wrists. your face warmed up as he twisted and turned your hand, “did the steam hit your hand?” he asked, glancing up to your face. you shook your head and handed him the cloth. you watched as he did his thing, in 5 minutes he had the engine running and the temperature meter down.

“please, cho, let me sent you home. as a thank you!”

he smiled, “you don’t have too, i can take the subway.”

“i insisted!” you exclaimed, “plus i have your briefcase! aha, you need it so if you want it you have to let me drive you home. please?” you insisted, throwing a puppy face as you clutched both hands to your chest. he exhale heavily, before holding out his hand. your brow shot up in confusion, you placed your hand on his larger palm. you looked up to the older man, a small smile on his face. he was holding his laugh. “your car keys, y/n. lemme me drive you home at least,” he clarified, causing you to mentally slap yourself. the keys exchanged hands and you get in the passenger’s seat. he's a careful driver, he used the blinker and didn’t speed, you felt instantly safe under his care.

“do you live alone, choso?” you asked your coworker. he shook his head, “i live with my younger brothers, eso and chizu. our parents died a long time ago.”

“oh, same. my parents died a long time ago. i’m their only child. my uncle took me in, he’s like a brother to me,” you explained, reminded of your childhood growing up with satoru. he might not be an ideal father figure but he loves you like his own sister. the car slowed down in front of block A of some apartment. “you live here?” you asked glancing around. his apartment is definitely on the lower class scale, the building looks like it could be hundred years old with the chipped paint.

“yeah, i’ve been raising my brothers alone. money’s a bit tight, they are still studying,” he explained grabbing his case from the back. “thank you for helping me with my car,” you stopped him, placing your hand on his, “please let me replace your shirt. just tell me the brand and i’ll buy a new one, i’m so sorry.”

choso offered her a smile, waving his hand dismissively. “it’s okay, i can get the grease off easily. i should thank you for the ride instead. i owe you for that.”

“in that case, can i see your home?”

choso looked at you in amusement, his hand reached forward to ruffled your head, “you’re weird, y/n. but okay. a cup of tea won’t hurt.” he was sure that none of his siblings are home, parked the car and let you trailed him as you both entered the lift up to the 5th floor. you didn’t seemed to be bothered by the surrounding, the stray cats and the random pile of garbage, eyes only trained on his back as you trailed him. his house were around the corner of the stairs, further from the elevator with number 532 on the blue door. he pulled out his keys but the door was already opened.

“chizu won’t throw out the trash,” a shirtless guy with a mohawk greeted them, he was instead more surprised to see you hiding behind the man, “oh, who is this?”

“my coworker. she drove me home, i offered her some tea. i thought you two aren't home, clearly i was mistaken,” he mumbled, annoyed that his brothers were actually home. he turned to you who was looking away, he could see speckle of warmth on your face. "y/n, this is eso. eso, go be a decent human being and put on some shirt," choso ushered the man away before calling you in. you could see panic in his face when eso instead announced that choso was bring his girlfriend home to the other brother.

you couldn't help but to laugh.

-

you stood in front of door 532 ringing the door bell.

you could hear some yelling. someone was telling to get the door, someone yelled that they were busy in the bathroom and someone was angry in the kitchen. you felt conscious, maybe this was a bad time. you placed the paper bag on the floor and prayed you can make it to the stair but door opened. a voice greeted you.

"y/n?"

your steps halted. you turned around, flustered that you got caught. choso stood by the door, apron covering half of his bare body with a spatula in the other. "uh hi, i was just here to drop you something," you pointed to the bag on the floor, absolutely refusing to look up, why is he being so attractive in that stupid apron for, you cussed, "i'm sorry for disturbing your sunday, i'll go."

"is that y/n?" a voice in the background called.

choso looked back and nodding, "yup, it is her." you could see the desperate look on his face before another head popped out from the door. it was his younger brother chizu. he took a bite of the pancake, a wide smile on his face, "what's up, big sis?" the boy with the blue hair greeted her. you shrugged, pointing to the bag that's now in choso's hand. "i was just dropping something, i don't want to disturb your sunday," you shook your head but chizu insisted that you stay for breakfast.

"come on big sis, choso rarely bring any girl over, it actually is exciting to finally talk to someone who isn't as annoying as eso," chizu laced his arm around yours and dragged you through the door. you look at choso for help, the man could only shoot you a sympathetic smile before shutting the door. he followed you, leaning against the door frame of the kitchen as he watched you sat by the table. eso started filling your plate with fresh batch of pancakes while chizu started talking about this band he started to listen. you listened to it attentively, thanking eso for the syrup before he took a seat beside you.

choso took a peak of the paper bag, a small smile on his face when he realised there's a brand-new shirt in it with a sticky note on top of it. i'm sorry, hope this one fits you- the note said. he looked up to back to the table, you started to look like you belong there. the house has always been empty, it was just him and his brothers. you're just like a bouquet of fresh flowers sitting in a vase in the middle of the table; breath of fresh air to the kusozu family.

"pancakes, choso?"

your voice disturbed his thoughts. "tchh, choso, why you're looking at y/n-chan like that?" eso threw a spoon playfully at the older sibling as he walked to the table, "say, y/n, choso didn't do anything sexual to you or anything right? as your brother i'm worried," your eyes widened as you choked on your drink. chaos ensued in the house as choso threatened to murder the middle child, chizu could only sit back and enjoyed as you tried to calm him down while eso's obnoxious laugh echoed the small apartment.

"you better apologize, you broomhead or i'll murder you!"

eso stuck out his tongue, dodging the flying cup, "never!"

-

"i got something for chizu. would you mind giving it to him?"

you peaked your head in his office, waving another paperbag in hand. choso took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, "you don't have to spoil my brothers, y/n. they are already a brat without you." you rolled your eyes and placed the bag on his pile of paperworks. "my younger brother, gumi- he knew the band's drummer, y'know the band he's been talking about and got a signed album for me. i'm not a fan so i figured chizu would've enjoyed it better than me." he peaked through the paper bag, a small smile on his face as he thanked you. you both sat in silence, you felt like you were disturbing the man so you excused yourself.

"y/n," your hand froze on the handle, "how can i pay up for everything nice you've done to us? i feel like it's unfair that you're doing all this nice things and i don't want to owe you anything." your turn and watched as the man walked close to you. choso looks handsome as usual, the blue tie matched his eyes while his slightly longer hair is slicked back. you recognized the shirt he's wearing, you bought it for him and it was nice of him to wear it to work.

"would like to go for a coffee with me?" you asked boldly.

"it's a date."

-

"it's not a date," choso sighed, combing his hair back.

"it is," eso crossed his arms on his chest, "she asked for a coffee and you said it's a date. bro, it is a date." the younger brother shook his head, motioned for him to part his hair. "slicked back make you look like you're going to office, yuck. if we wanna impressed big sis, you gotta look better than this."

"it's still not a date," choso protested, "it's just a coffee meet up."

the doorbell rang.

"yeah, it's not a date when you spend an hour worrying over your hair, cho," chizu ran to the front door, waiting at the door was you. you didn't have to go up and fetch him at the door, but you actually enjoyed meeting his brothers you didn't mind the hassle anymore. "damn, y/n, you dress better when you're not going to office," chizu complemented you. you could only shake your head, pocketing your hands in the plaid skirt that fell just at your knees, "i only dress up to important stuff, job sucks ass, i ain't spending my good outfits going to work," you kicked off your boots and walked in.

"you listen to that cho, at least she knew that this that is important!"

your eyes widened at his word and the younger brother dodged your fist easily. choso peaked through the door, a smile grew on his face when his eyes caught yours, "huh, i didn't realise we are going to colour coordinate," he said, stepping out. you realised that you both had accidentally matched each other's outfit, speckles of warmth spread all over your face when you noticed how it looks like. chizu, being the loose lip took the words right out of your head, "you both look like you're dating."

"we are not dating!" both of you exclaimed immediately only for eso and chizu to share a look.

"stop that," choso warned, disappearing into the kitchen, "tea, y/n?" you yelled a yes before following him. "don't mind them, they are being an idiot." you watched as he poured sugar in a cup with teabag, before putting the kettle on. "i don't mind," you shrugged it off, fidgeting nervously with the corner of your blouse. the comforting silence that engulfed both of you were short lived.

"oh, choso, i actually want to tell you that i like you!"

chizu's soft voice easily imitated your voice, something you took offended off. you turned around to see the two brothers perched on the kitchen hatch. "i do not sound like that!" you gasped. it was eso's turn, coming through with his rendition of choso.

"oh, y/n! i like you too, but i'm just dumbass and refuse to admit my feeling!"

"i will not hesitate to sent you back to mom and dad," choso warned.

"i also think that eso is way good looking that i am, but i'm scared that he will swoop you away from me," eso continued, at this point even you couldn't hold your laughter as you pressed your palm over your mouth. "what you laughing for, y/n?" choso's eyes narrowed as he glanced at you, huffing in annoyance. "hey! don't be mad at me for laughing, he did it well." you could see his own cheeks growing redder and redder with every mocking.

"go away, boys," you shushed them, walking to choso's side as he poured the hot water in the cup. resting against the counter, you thanked him when the cup exchanged hands, looking down on the swirling liquid that you didn't realise choso's fingers hooking under your chin, tilting your face up. all you realised was his soft lips against yours.

you are kissing your coworker in his kitchen.

"cho-" you whispered between the kiss but he hushed you, his hand now resting against your waist pulling your closer, deepening his kiss, "don't mind them." you tasted like your chapstick, his kiss was soft but it was enough to leave you breathless in his arms. you look in each other's eyes, a new realization to what had just happened had you both flustered.

"god, if our shit imitation would've finally made you both realise that you two dumbass like each other, we would've done this months ago," eso snickered. the two brothers had moved from the hatch to the table, heads resting on hands watching the new lovebird. "would you mind waiting for 5 minutes while i murder my brother? i promise it won't take long, then we'll continue with our date," choso asked quietly, brushing a stray hair off your cheek as you brought the mug to your lips, hiding the small smile behind the cup as you nodded. you watched amusingly, sipping on your tea as the two brothers ran around the small apartment, yelling profanities while chizu hugged you.

"welcome to the family, big sis."

you ruffled his blue hair, your cheeks hurt but you just couldn't stop smiling, "if it wasn't to you, i don't think i wouldn't even dare to speak my feelings. so, thank you. the voice acting was shit tho."

"you thank us, you hate us, geez, big sis, make up your mind," chizu teased you, winking as he brushed it off as a joke, "you help us a lot, i never seen choso so happy before. he worries a lot. about us, money. it was good sometimes to see him put himself first," chizu shrugged, cheek resting on your shoulder, "we survived before, we'll survive now. choso has nothing to worry about. you too, we are alright, okay?"

you nodded, resting your cheek on his head, heart overwhelmed with love for you newly found family, you felt belonged here.

[agoldengalaxy]

deny, deny, deny

read on Ao3

5 times someone told Sam and Bucky they cared about each other, and the 1 time they showed it.

--

1.

“You two bicker a lot,” Dr. Raynor says, eyeing the two men who sit, fuming, on the other side of her desk. “If you won’t speak to each other, then tell me this, instead. James, why would you ignore Sam’s texts?”

Bucky grumbles something under his breath. Sam seems genuinely curious to hear the answer. Raynor glares until Bucky sighs and repeats himself, staring at the floor. “Didn’t wanna bother ‘im.”

“What? I was the one texting you, Bucky! Why would I -”

“Just drop it, Sam.”

“…Fine.”

Folding her hands on her desk, Raynor sighs. She can’t be certain, but Bucky has been her client for a few months now, and she knows it takes a long time for him to tell the truth. In this case, however, she thinks the truth is there, as a small part of it. The way that the tips of his ears redden tell her that there must be more to it.

She isn’t blind. She has a feeling she might know that answer. So she leans forward a little. “Good. Thank you for that answer, James.” Her gaze slides to Sam, whose arms are crossed over his chest as he looks toward the wall. “How does that make you feel, Sam?”

He scoffs. “After everything I’ve done for him, he still -”

“You shouldn’t have given up the shield, Sam.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Gentlemen, please,” Raynor interrupts, feeling a headache coming on. She blows out a breath. “You’re both big boys now. You can handle this -“ she gestures vaguely, because she knows that they don’t quite understand yet, “- if you just talk to each other. Emotions are powerful things, you can’t ignore them forever.”

Bucky groans. Sam huffs.

They don’t get it. She’s not sure she wants to see them flounder, but she should put it out there, anyway. She leans forward. “Emotions including love, that you may have buried deep below.”

For a split second, she is met with stunned silence, before they both erupt, loudly. Denying, denying, denying, pushing the feelings down even deeper than they had been before despite the way that they fluster.

It’s okay, she tells herself. Deep breath in and out. They’ll accept it soon, someday.

Still, she shakes her head, effectively cutting them off. “No matter what kind of love it is, you care about each other. And that’s the bottom line. Once you cross it, things’ll be a whole lot easier.”

Sam looks at his lap, blinking. Bucky’s cheeks flush pink.

Raynor needs a drink.

2.

“This is really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.” John hates the man standing in front of him. Maybe, in another life, they could have been friends. But the stubbornness just pisses him off, so he goes for Bucky’s weakness. He knows Bucky can take being insulted, but there is one thing he won’t accept. “Barnes, your partner needs backup in there.”

He watches Bucky’s cold stare waver, if only for a moment. John takes that opportunity to stand his ground, glancing behind Bucky, to that open door he wants to go through so desperately. Karli is right there, and the only thing standing in his way now is Barnes, and his stupid loyalty to Sam.

Bucky thinks so highly of Sam, he doesn’t have any other choice but to use that one weakness.

So they lock eyes again. “I know you care about him. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

Beside him, Lemar shifts his weight from one foot to the other as Bucky looks down for a split second. John knows what it’s like. He’d never leave Lemar behind, though he knows with Sam and Bucky, things are a little different. He can feel Zemo’s eyes boring into them now, clearly amused. They wait.

Bucky’s jaw is clenched, every inch of him now rigid. John knows the feeling, and knows perhaps it might have been unfair to put him in that position; he knows he would stop at nothing if it were his wife in that room. That’s almost the equivalent of what Bucky must have been thinking.

But the ends justify the means.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Bucky turns around, his shoulders still tight, and John exchanges a look with Lemar as he speaks. “You’re right. We should help him.”

John’s grip on the shield tightens. Lemar grins. “Maybe you should tell him how you feel,” he suggests as they start up the stairs.

Bucky ignores them both, readying for the fight.

3.

“Super soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

“Isn’t that how gods talk?” Sam asks, cool and collected as ever. “And if that’s how you feel, then what about Bucky?”

Zemo carefully removes the ice pack from his forehead, weighing it in his hand as he sits up. He doesn’t know how to feel about Bucky just yet. For now, that question doesn’t have an answer. For now, Steve Rogers is the only exception, and he can’t imagine that changing anytime soon.

Still, he has to have some kind of fun, right?

So he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, tilting his head to get a better look at the man sitting at the table, and shrugs. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Sam blinks, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Come now, Sam, I always thought you were an intelligent individual,” he replies, only slightly teasing. He does like Sam. He’s righteous, level-headed, and doesn’t make any stupid decisions. Except, perhaps, the person he might have chosen to love. “What do you think of James?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Nodding, the other smiles and looks down, gathering his thoughts. “I think he’s annoyin’ as hell,” he answers slowly. “But...he’s passionate, smart, a big softie deep down...and he always does the right thing even though he’s hurting, too.” He pauses, then adds, “I still can’t tell if breakin’ you out of jail counts as the right thing, though.”

Zemo smirks, leaning back a little, tossing the ice pack from one hand to the other. “You know, when I first met my wife, she hated my guts.”

“Can’t say I blame her, Zemo.”

He chuckles, somewhat sadly, then continues. “These fights that you and James have, over the small things, they are nothing more than just couple’s quarrels.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he turns to look at him fully, as if he’s lost his mind. “What the hell are you talkin’ about? Bucky and I are just -”

“Just what, Sam?” Zemo tilts his head, as if challenging him. This is exactly the reaction he had been hoping for. It isn’t often the calm and collected Sam Wilson loses his cool, and Zemo likes to know he’s one of the ones who can get a rise out of him. “Friends, partners, all these terms you both throw around…” He thinks back to that look on Bucky’s face when John had challenged him, and his smile returns. “Perhaps you ought to think about what you truly want.”

And okay, maybe it isn’t just wanting to get a reaction from Sam. Maybe Zemo has seen the good in both of them, and thinks, perhaps, they ought to be happy, for once. His own partner is long gone, but it isn’t too late for Sam and Bucky.

Sam opens his mouth to respond, but he is cut off by the heavy sound of the door opening, and he immediately falls silent as Bucky walks in, with news that the Dora Milaje are after Zemo. Although Sam recovers quickly, staring at his laptop, Zemo side-eyes him, wondering if he might be blushing.

So Zemo stands up, shaking his head. How juvenile.

4.

Sarah leans against the truck, wiping sweat from her forehead. It’s been hours, and she still can’t believe Sam has managed to pull off receiving this much help. She knows their parents did a lot of favors, but she never could have imagined it would pay off this much one day.

She’s already made up her mind. She can’t sell this boat. It means so much to her, and to Sam.

Her gaze drifts toward the dock, where Bucky is helping Sam carry some things to Carlos. She’s almost certain they’re bickering again, but as they walk, their shoulders almost touch. Sam smiles. It’s something she hadn’t realized she had missed so much.

Seeing her brother smile, and seeing the reason for that smile, is all the evidence she needs to agree to let Bucky crash on her couch. The sun is already dipping closer and closer to the horizon, and she knows people will begin returning home soon. Personally, she has to get the boys to bed. But she lets herself enjoy this moment as long as she can.

When Sam and Bucky place down their loads, Sarah whistles, getting their attention to wave Sam over. Bucky seems to think about following, but is soon distracted by AJ and Cass, excited to meet their uncle’s ‘cool friend.’ Sam chuckles as he tells them to behave, then makes his way over to his sister, a huge grin on his face.

“What’d I tell you? I knew we could make it work,” he says, spreading his hands. Just as confident as ever, she supposes. She rolls her eyes, but for some reason, she can’t stop smiling, and his grin fades a little. “What’re you lookin’ at me like that for?”

Sarah shakes her head. “Nothing. I just missed seeing you so happy,” she admits, because although they tease each other, although they bicker, she loves him. She has no trouble admitting she cares. Seeing the confusion on his face, she hops up to sit on the back of the truck, folding her hands in her lap. “You were gone. For a really long time. And that’s okay, I know what you had to do.” A pause. “When you came back all sad-puppy-dog in the rain that first night, my heart broke. I guess I’m just trying to say I’m glad my brother’s back.”

There’s another pause until Sam comes to sit beside her, so that their shoulders touch. He nods. “It’s been a rough couple years,” he murmurs, and she nods. It has been for both of them.

They gaze at the boys, who are excitedly coaxing Bucky to flex his metal arm, who has a confused look on his face as per usual. Sarah rests her head on Sam’s shoulder, just grateful to know she’s no longer so alone. And then she sits up, turning to face him.

“But enough of that sappy stuff,” she says. “Tell me about Bucky.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me his awful attempt at flirting was actually successful.”

“What?” Pulling a face, she shakes her head. “No, not that. Tell me about him. A guy that makes you smile that much is probably one worth keepin’ around.” She nudges his shoulder and he chuckles a little, his gaze returning to the man in question.

“You’re the second person who’s asked me about him recently.” He seems to collect his thoughts for a moment. “...He reminds me a lot of Riley, sometimes.”

Sarah nods, having expected something like that. “Is it the same?” Sam and Riley had always been close, but she had never seen them get physically close the way that Sam and Bucky did. Sam shakes his head.

“Some things are better. Some things are...more annoying.”

“It’s okay,” she assures, patting his shoulder as she slides off the truck to stand up. “In case you were wonderin’, I still know everything, and I also happen to know he feels exactly the same about you. He cares about you, and I know you care, too, so it’s up to you to do somethin’ with it.” She grins as a stunned look appears on his face, walking away before he can even think of something to reply with.

She hopes they can get their heads out of their asses and realize it. After all, having Bucky around could be pretty helpful.

5.

“I’m sorry for how things ended down there.” A lie. “But for what it’s worth, suit looks good on you.”

Things had gotten dangerously close for Sharon. Too close. Luckily, though, Sam and Bucky haven’t found out the truth. If they had...well, she doesn’t want to think about what she would have to do if that were the case.

But here he is, their new Captain America, standing there in front of her with a soft chuckle and a slight nod. “Thanks.”

“All right, look, can we get out of here, please?” Bucky interjects, sounding...somewhat annoyed, for some reason. Her abdomen hurts terribly, but it’s not like she can’t handle a single gunshot wound. Still, standing around probably isn’t going to do her any good, so she nods and lets Bucky guide her.

They walk in silence for a little while until she looks at him. His gaze is fixed ahead, maybe lost in thought about something. Her eyes narrow a little. “What was that all about?”

“What was what all about?”

“I mean, you basically cut Sam off. Why’d you wanna leave so bad?” Her interest is peaked when she notices that, despite the fact that his expression barely changes, his ears redden.

Bucky clears his throat. “In case you forgot, you’re kind of bleeding out here, Sharon.”

She huffs. “I told you, I’m fine.” Watching him for a moment, she attempts to piece the puzzle together. His eyes hadn’t left Sam since he returned with Karli’s body. Back at her apartment, he’d seemed almost angry when she had complimented Sam without his shirt on. It dawns on her and she smirks. “Oh, don’t tell me you have a crush.”

His ears redden further. She guessed right.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I like you?” Deflecting the accusation and dissing her all in one go. She’s almost impressed.

“We both know I’m not talking about myself.” She grabs his arm, and they both stop walking. He won’t look her in the eye. “Hey, it’s okay, all right? Your secret’s safe with me.” Of course, unless he gets in her way. That’s a bridge she’ll cross if it comes to it. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s a great candidate for you.”

Bucky frowns, shaking his head a little. “...I don’t wanna talk about this.”

Sighing, she nods. “Of course you don’t. Look, you should just go for it. What do you have to lose?”

A flicker of pain flashes across his face. “Everything,” he mumbles, almost inaudibly.

“Sam wouldn’t leave you if he didn’t feel the same. You shouldn’t hide from him.” She winces, then, not quite sure why she’s giving him advice. If he knew the truth, he’d have left her to die. But she doesn’t dwell on that, feeling his hand on her arm to ground her, and they begin walking again.

Bucky doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Sharon. She might have gone down a different path a long time ago, but she still thinks they both deserve to be happy.

Unless, of course, they get in her way.

+1

It’s late when Bucky comes to Sam’s door, knocking quietly before opening it to stand in the doorway, offering a beer out to him. “Fresh air?”

Sam accepts, and they walk outside together, footsteps sounding in tandem on the empty dock. A fresh sea breeze whips past, but not enough for either of them to get cold, the smell of salt filling their noses and the last couple cries of the seagulls before they settle in for the night.

They stop in front of the boat, admiring the work they had done on it together. Sam breaks the silence first. “Thanks for helpin’ out. With everything.”

Bucky looks at him and nods. “You’re welcome.” A pause. “It’s nice here, you know. Quiet. Nothing like New York.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah, I think it is.”

They gaze at each other for a moment before turning to their bottles. Silence is filled by the quiet crashing of waves in the distance. There’s a tension there that hadn’t been there before; an unspoken understanding of the situation.

Sam looks at Bucky, noticing the way the shadows under his eyes look a little lighter than they had been before. Bucky’s jaw is clenched, showcasing the stubble he’s been letting grow out, and Sam can’t help but think he looks princely.

And Bucky looks at Sam, at the way the moonlight so perfectly etches his features, his eyes bright as they stare back at him. He remembers the way Sam’s eyes crinkle when he smiles, how he reminds him of a sunshine that had pulled him from the deep, dark abyss he had been stuck in after Steve left.

They aren’t sure how long they’ve been standing there, quietly. Two words tear from Bucky’s throat, like he has no choice in the matter. “Sam, I…-”

Instead of answering, Sam steps closer, cupping one of Bucky’s cheeks, smashing their lips together. It’s rough but sweet.  Sam tastes like vanilla. Bucky tastes like beer. And nothing has ever felt so right before.

Sam pulls away and chuckles. “I hope that was what you were gonna say.”

Bucky smiles, though his face is bright red, placing a hand on Sam’s hip to pull him closer. “Somethin’ like that. Want to say it again?”

“I like that idea.”

They suppose they can put the promise of ‘going their separate ways’ on hold for a little while.

[particularemu]

That Special Kind of Love | A Bang Chan Scenario

Word Count: 1161

Type: Fluff

Prompt: 9 (You’re soft and warm and I don’t want you to move.) and 15 (She’s/he’s not my boyfriend!)

Author’s Note: Tbh, I don’t remember which prompt list this was from, it’s been in my WIPS for so long lmao. 

Thank you for requesting, love 💖

@channiesmixtape​ I’m tagging you because it’s Channie :3 

It’s official. 

You were going to die. 

As soon as you walked through the front door, your mother was going to stab you thirty-seven times in the chest, bury you in the backyard, and dance on your grave. This was the third phone you’ve broken in the past month, but this time it wasn’t your fault! 

An hour ago you were at Felix’s house, playing video games and kicking his ass at Overwatch. You asked the boy to HAND you your phone, which was placed across the room. Felix threw the phone in your direction, and with your horrible hand-eye coordination, you managed to let it slip through your fingertips, sending the device crashing to the hard tile floor. The screen was permanently black, shattered, and now you’d have to explain to your mother that it somehow wasn’t your fault. 

You mentally cursed Lee Felix as you trudged up your best friend’s driveway, letting yourself in immediately. Chan’s mother waved at you with a smile, as you headed to his room, mood completely ruined as you trudged up the stairs. You barged through the door, surprising the brunette as he chuckled. 

“Yeah sure, come in.” Chan laughed when you collapsed onto the bed next to him, instantly curling up into his side. Chan’s arm instinctively wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his body. “Bad day?”

You sighed dramatically and slung your leg over his hips, hugging him the same way a koala would cling to a tree in a windstorm. “I don’t know what to do Chan.” 

Yeah, you were probably making a big deal out of nothing, but here you were, a young college kid trying to make your parents proud, but only managing to disappoint them one way or another. This broken phone? Yet another reminder that you weren’t the perfect kid they always dreamed of. Your best friend was your only solace in those trying times. 

Chan’s arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer if that was even possible. “What happened sweetheart?”

Ah, there was that nickname — one you were all too familiar with. Chan started calling you sweetheart when you were about thirteen years old. At the time, you found the nickname endearing. Now? Now the simple name sent your heart into overdrive. You knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but you secretly hoped one day you and him would turn into one of those cheesy ‘childhood friends to lovers’ movies. 

“I fucked up.” You nuzzled closer, pressing your nose into his neck. God, he smelled so good, despite being a messy college kid at home for spring break who probably hasn’t showered today. “I fucked up so bad.” 

Yeah, you fucked up. You were in love with your childhood friend, and you couldn’t even do anything about it. There was no way in hell you could ever chance ruining your friendship with the boy. You knew the boy would still want to be friends no matter what, but you couldn’t help but wonder...

What if?

What if all that changed as soon as your confession left your lips? What if you ended up deciding that being around him was too painful? What if he thought being friends with you would be awkward after you confessed? There were so many ‘what ifs’ in play, and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell the boy how you actually felt. 

“How did you mess up, love?” Chen rested his chin on your head, fingers running through your hair as your thumbs ran across his shoulders. 

Now that’s just unfair… 

Chan had never called you that before. Your heart panged in your chest as you replied, “I broke my phone.” 

Chan couldn’t help but throw his head back against the pillows and laugh. “That’s it? You’re this upset over a broken phone?” His boyish giggles echoed in the room as he teased you. “I thought you did something really bad.” 

“I did!” You smacked his shoulder. “You have no idea how mad my mom is going to be.” You sighed. “She’ll kill me.” 

“She won’t kill you.” Chan chuckled. “How did you crack it?”

You sighed. “Felix decided to yeet it across the room to me.” 

Chan couldn’t help but laugh at your choice of words. “He yeeted it huh?” 

“Quit making fun of me.” You groaned. “You’re going to be sorry when I’m dead.” 

“She won’t be that mad sweetheart.” Chan squeezed your shoulder while his other hand rested on your outer thigh. “It’s not like you did anything. Just blame Felix.” 

You couldn’t stop the dramatic sigh that slipped past your lips. “Just because your mom is an angel doesn’t mean mine is too.”

Chan’s mom was an absolute sweetheart. You wished your mom was half as nice as her. The woman constantly took care of you when your parents were away, allowing you and Chan to watch fun movies and play games all night so you wouldn’t feel lonely. 

“Okay baby girl, let’s watch a movie.” Chan tried to sit up, but you tightened your grip around his shoulders, forcing him to fall back down into your embrace. 

You pouted like a three-year-old child, ready to throw a fit any second. “No.” 

“I just need to put a movie into the DVD player you brat.” Chan chuckled, trying to remove himself from your iron grip. 

You merely squeezed him tighter. “You’re soft and warm and I don’t want you to move.”

Chan’s mother chose that exact moment to walk by his room. “Oh my goodness!” She beamed, pulling out her phone and snapping a picture. “I was wondering when you two were going to get together. We have to celebrate!” 

You immediately sat up and pushed Chan away from you, making the boy burst out in laughter at his mother’s words. “He’s not my boyfriend!” You exclaimed, making a disgusted face to hide the fact that you were in love with the boy next to you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I must be mistaken.” She wiggled her eyebrows and left, leaving you and Chan in a mess of giggles. 

“She set that up.” Chan held his sides as he laughed. “She SO set that up.” 

You snorted. “We’re not dating though.” 

Chan’s laughter died down as he looked at you. “We’ve practically been dating for years baby girl.” 

“Not really.” Your brows creased. “You’ve never had the balls to ask me out.” 

Suddenly his lips were on yours — the soft, gentle kiss taking you off guard. The kiss was quick and sweet. As soon as he pulled away you longed for more. “Well, this is me asking you out.” 

Your cheeks flushed a bright shade of crimson as you realized that the boy you’ve loved your entire life just asked you to be his girlfriend — and just kissed you. You just kissed the boy of your dreams. “Can we do that again?” 

Chan chuckled and pulled you closer. “I’ll kiss you anytime you want.” 

[gallavictorious]

So, chances are good that that's Mickey's money and weed Frank helps himself to, isn't it? Not sure if we've got any leads on anyone wearing that particular jacket (does it look like it's made of leather? Is it Ian's?) but let's face it: Mickey, like the Gallaghers, has exactly zero qualms about casually approrpriating someone else's clothes, so it can belong to anyone and still be his stuff in those pockets. And out of all the people in the house, he seems the most likely to carry around cash and pot nowadays, right?

Right.

So yeah, Frank has now robbed Mickey Milkovich, and while I can imagine Mickey just swearing up a blue streak and then letting it go because it's fucking Frank, right, what the hell can you do, I can also imagine him not taking at all kindly to this, and that's way more fun.

See, when Mickey first discovers the theft, I don't think he'll intially be too upset. He'll come ambling down the stairs to a bustling kitchen on a Sunday morning, yawning and jonesing for a joint, but alas! There's none to be found!

”The fuck's my weed?” he asks the room at large, and then, once he's put his hand down the other pocket, ”The fuck's my fucking money?” He glares at the Gallaghers gathered around the kitchen table: ”Any of you jokers went through my pockets? Gonna want that stuff back.” As I said, not too upset; it's family, it's whatever.

”Not me,” Debbie says.

”I'm ten!” Liam says (which Mickey doesn't actually think clears him as a suspect, but okay).

”C'mon, man, I'm a cop,” Carl says, and Mickey would ask him what the hell that's got to do with anything, but Ian interupts him, coming down the stairs and saying, ”It's probably Frank, I think I heard him yelling downstairs last night.”

And that's not whatever, because Frank ain't family, he's a fucking predatory worm, and if he think he can go through Mickey's stuff and take whatever, he's got another thing coming.

”He's a fucking dead man,” Mickey announces with great finality. ”Where is he?”

”Alibi opened about two minutes ago, so there probably,” Carl offers, then gives Mickey a meaningful look. ”You kill him, don't tell me about it.”

”Won't,” Mickey promises easily – as if he'd ever tell a fucking pig anything anyway – and grabs his (whoever's) jacket and heads out for a little terrify and retrieve.

He does find Frank at the Alibi, where he's already putting the stolen cash to good – bad – use by ordering a third shot of whiskey to go with his second beer. Mickey slams the door open, and he's got his full-on murder face on, grinning in horrible threat as he calls: ”Frank!”

And Frank looks up, startled, and he sees the jacket on Mickey and fuck.

”Oh shit,” he says, and he'd try to talk his way out of this – they're related now for God's sake, doesn't that count for anything?! – but he sees the look on Mickey's face and yeah, there'll be no talking if he lets Milkovich get hold of him, so he quickly downs the rest of his shot and rushes straight for the back door.

”It wasn't me! I swear to God, Mickey, it wasn't me!” he calls over his shoulder as he runs, and, ”It's just a loan! I'm going to pay you back!”

Now, Frank's got a few skills and running away is certainly one of them, so he actually manages to out-leg Mickey, turning corners and jumping fences until he's gained enough of a lead that he dares make it back to the Gallagher house. He storms through the door and finds – as he had hoped – Ian eating cereal on the couch.

”Your husband is trying to kill me!” Frank tells him indignantly. ”You have to call him off.” It's supposed to be a command but comes out mostly a pleading whine.

Normally, Ian's all about calling his husband off – or, more commonly, physically holding him back – before he does something violent and stupid, but this is Frank, so he doesn't even look up from his breakfast. ”Nah. Don't think so.”

And Frank groans because this is so unfair. How the hell was he supposed to know that stuff belonged to Mickey and not to one of his unloving and ungrateful but far less violent kids? This is Ian's goddamned fault, for marrying a fucking Milkovich... Typical Ian, always so inconsiderate, really takes after Clayton in that regard, and now he's going to stand by and do nothing while his man wife beats Frank to a pulp and leave him for dead in an alley?

He'd let Ian know exactly how unimpressed he is with his lack of proper respect and fidelity but for the second time that day a door slams open to reveal the deadly form of a homocidal Mickey Milkovich. Frank swallows his complaints and rushes towards and out the kitchen door.

”Hey,” Ian calls casually. ”So Frank's still alive, huh?”

”Slippery fucker,” Mickey tells him, flopping down next to him on the couch. He'll give up the chase for now; let Frank run himself ragged for fear of his vengeance while Mickey chills with his husband, that sounds about fucking right.

”Mm.” Ian pauses around a spoonful of Froot Loops, and gives Mickey a sideway glance. ”Just for the record, you're not actually going to kill him, right?”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. ”You'd have a problem with it if I did?”

”Told you, don't wanna be a prison widow.”

”Uh-huh.” He gets up and head for the fridge to fetch a couple of beers, calling over his shoulder as he goes, ”Didnt murder him when I thought he'd blab about us to my dad, not gonna off him over some fucking weed and a couple of twenties.” Returning to the couch and handing one of the bottles to Ian (who accepts it because yeah, it's only noon, but it is Sunday), Mickey adds. ” Asshole's not fucking stealing from me again, though. Gonna let him stew for a bit, then find him and have a few words, real friendly like.”

Ian hums noncommittally. Frank's been stealing everything he can lay his hands on for as long as Ian can remember, so he doubts he'll stop now – but then again, Mickey can be very persuasive and very scary when he wants to be, so who knows?

They drink in companionable silenece, enjoying the rare moment of quiet in the Gallagher household.

”Don't know how I feel about you chasing after another Gallagher with every intention of beating the crap out of them,” Ian notes suddenly, throwing a small grin Mickey's way. ”Thought that was our thing.”

Mickey grins right back at him, cocky and flirty and amused. ”Yeah? Want me running after you, Usain Bolt?”

”Wouldn't mind.” And Ian jumps up from the couch, snatching Mickey's beer out of his hand as he goes. He runs for the stairs, laughing at his husband's outraged protests, followed by the sound of feet in furious pursuit, because quiet moments on the couch are all very good and well but there's other fun to be had too, when you have the whole house to yourself and you're young and happy and stupidly in love with a man who’s rough and tough in all the right ways but still draws the line at murder.

[flowercrown-bard]

Jaskier has a mission. Nay, an important goal in life. He is going to feel Geralt’s muscles if it is the last thing he’ll do. Surely, it can’t be that hard to accomplish this noblest of goals. He has charmed his way into many a bed before. How hard can it be to convince Geralt to let him touch him a little?

Turns out, it is very hard. Not necessarily the touching itself – Geralt enjoys a nice friendly massage from his friend that is completely on friendly terms, with nothing but friendship in mind – but how on earth is Jaskier supposed to hide the fact that he may or may not feel something other for Geralt?

Massages are great, but Jaskier’s fingers twitch to feel his muscles in action. And his supply of the chamomile oil he had bought in Novigrad is quickly running low and that stuff was expensive.

Jaskier needs a plan. Somehow he will find a way to feel Geralt’s muscles without revealing that he was a bit more than just friendly with Geralt.

--

“Listen, Geralt, you’ve got this.” Jaskier’s hands are clutched tightly around Geralt’s upper arms. “You are a witcher. A little feast like that is not going to intimidate you.”

Geralt’s eyebrows knit together. “Jaskier-“

“You just have to believe in yourself.” He gives the muscles a little squeeze and oh they are even harder than he had imagined.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls again and naturally, Jaskier ignores him.

“You are already dressed up – rather nicely might I say. You’re welcome by the way for the clothes – you cannot run from this now.” He lets go of one arm and pats Geralt on the shoulders, sucking in a sharp breath. He definitely needs to find more excuses to touch those. “You just have to go in there and face those nobles like you would any other threat.”

“I have been ready to go in there for the past five minutes,” Geralt says with a roll of his eyes. He doesn’t shrug Jaskier’s hands off though. Jaskier counts that as a definite win. “You are the one delaying this. Are you nervous?”

Jaskier snorts. “Me? Absolutely not. I have been looking forward to performing here.”

Geralt’s lips twitches upwards a tiny bit. “Then why are you still out here giving me a motivational speech I don’t need?”

Jaskier’s mouth opens and closes, trying to find the right way of not saying Oh, you know, I just wanted to take the opportunity to feel those gorgeous muscles of yours.

Geralt thankfully misinterprets the embarrassed noises leaving his mouth. “So you are scared after all.”

“I, well, that’s…. true.”

“I’m not going to give you a motivational speech.” Geralt smirks, nodding his head in the direction of the hall, where people in fancy clothes are already waiting for music. “Come on then.”

Geralt makes to leave, when Jaskier calls out for him in once last-ditch attempt to be close to him for a little longer.

“It’s a formal event,” he blurts, mind racing with stupid ideas. “You are my plus one, so you’ll have to offer me your arm.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the nobles, none of which are walking arm in arm. Still, Geralt holds out his arm for Jaskier to take. Jaskier takes the invitation with a grin and the feeling that the first step of his plan was a thorough success.

--

“Say, what do you think about expanding my performance a bit?” Jaskier asks and if his words are already a bit slurred from the alcohol, then there is no one around to judge. At least no one sober.

“Hmm?”

That is unfair. How is Jaskier supposed to know if Geralt’s speech is just as warped as his, when he doesn’t even open his mouth?

“You know,” Jaskier said. “Expanding.” He spreads his arms, accidentally hitting Geralt in the chest. Nice.

“How?”

Jaskier can see the instant regret in Geralt’s eyes, when Jaskier stands up on wobbly feet, doing his best to drag Geralt with him. It doesn’t work. Damn those muscles. But also, thank the gods for those muscles.

“With a performance.” He makes a grand gesture and if he has to hold on to Geralt for stability then who can fault him? “Do you want to see what I have in mind?”

“No –“

“Here’s my epic tale

Our champion prevailed!”

At the last words, Jaskier grabs Geralt’s forearm, exposed by the rolled up sleeves, and lifts the arm high in the air like he had seen the athletes in Oxenfurt do whenever they won something. It had always looked stupid, but now, feeling Geralt’s muscles tense under his fingers as he clenches his fist, he suddenly understands the appeal.

“Performance of the year,” Geralt says flatly, when Jaskier finally lets go of his arm.

“Thank you so much, dear. Your praise means a lot.” He winks at Great. “And since you are so taken with this performance, I have even more suggestions.”

Geralt groans.

“I have always thought that you should add a little choreography for He thrust every-“

Geralt gets up and turns to leave before Jaskier can finish the sentence. “That’s it, you’re too drunk.”

“Maybe so,” Jaskier says with a grin. “But you, my dear witcher are blushing.”

--

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jaskier says and moves around Geralt to stand in his way, hands on his hips.

“Going on a hunt.”

“Like that? Your armour is completely loose” Jaskier gestures to the armour that is very much not lose. In fact, it looks as perfect as ever. “You’ll have to tighten it or it’ll fall off mid fight. Here, I’ll just...“

„What are you doing?“ Geralt asks when Jaskier steps closer, but he doesn’t move back when Jaskier reaches for his shoulder pads.

“I’m tightening them.” Jaskier loosens them, only to tighten them again. The more time spend like this the better. “Making sure they won’t come loose.”

His hands trail over Geralt’s chest plate to his abs.

Geralt grunts. “I know how to put my armour on correctly.”

He still doesn’t push Jaskier away, but Jaskier can feel his eyes burning into him, as his hands linger on Geralt’s abdomen. He can’t really feel anything through the leather, but maybe if he presses against him for long enough, the abs might start imprinting on the armour. It’s a stupid though, but a man can dream.

--

“Jaskier, get up.”

Geralt nudges him and Jaskier forces himself not to react. This was a brilliant plan. Foolproof, even.

“Come on, you have to get to bed.”

Oh, yes. But Jaskier isn’t going to walk up the stairs of the inn himself. He does his best to imitate the deep breaths of sleep, his head resting on his arms on the table.

“Jaskier.”

He pretends to snore a little, just for good measure. Maybe Geralt will finally get the hint that he is supposed to carry him in his arms, because surely, he can’t be cruel enough to wake a sleeping man.

Geralt huffed. “Fine.”

Jaskier felt Geralt move up from the bench. Jaskier opens an eye a tiny bit, to see Geralt reach for him. Ha! Victory is his!

Geralt carefully lifts him up – and throws him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

If Jaskier wasn’t so hellbent on getting carried by Geralt, he would voice his indignation. How dare Geralt turn what could have been a wholesome and sexy experience into this! The audacity!

On the other hand, this might not be the most comfortable way to get carried up the stairs, but it certainly allowes a great view on Geralt’s lovely behind.

Once in their room, Geralt sets Jaskier down on the bed, steadying him with a hand to guide him down gently in a lying position.

Jaskier keeps his eyes tightly shut. This is going wonderfully! He can’t believe he actually managed to fool Geralt! Oh, he is absolutely going to pretend to be asleep more often.

Geralt lifts the blanked over him and Jaskier can feel him lean in closer, until his breath ghosts over the shell of his ear. Jaskier’s heart flutters.

“You know I can hear your heartbeat. It’s way too fast for you to be asleep.” Jaskier can practically hear the smirk in his voice, but he still refuses to open his eyes. Maybe, if he just keeps on pretending, he can save his dignity. “Also, you were giggling the whole way up the stairs.”

--

Jaskier watches the fight with held breath. He has seen Geralt fight humans and monsters before. But seeing him spar with another witcher is something entirely different. What would Jaskier give to still live in a time when fighters didn’t wear armour in their sparring but instead rubbed oil all over their muscles to make them gleam in the sunlight? Jaskier would gladly give the little he had left of his chamomile oil to see that. Well, maybe not in winter in the witchers’ keep where it took forever to get warm.

Geralt finally manages to get Eskel in a choke hold and Eskel surrenders.

“Since when is he such a show-off?”

Jaskier turns to Lambert, who is standing next to him with crossed arms and a mocking grin on his lips.

“What do you mean?”

Lambert snorts. “Nothing, songbird. Just that Geralt seems to care awfully lot about looking stronger than Eskel and me ever since you came here. It’s almost like that moron is showing off.”

A smirk spreads across Jaskier’s face. “Oh is that so?”

He turns back to Geralt, who is coincidentally looking in their direction with a scowl.

“Time to test your theory.” Jaskier winks at Lambert, before shouting in Geralt’s direction. “You think you’re so strong, don’t you?”

Lambert snickers and Eskel and Geralt only stare at him as though he just said the stupidest thing. Which he did.

“What?” Geralt says and his eyes dart between Lambert and Jaskier.

“I mean” Jaskier gesticulates helplessly at Geralt. “You have this strong man persona. But are you actually strong? I bet you couldn’t – just an example at the top of my head – pick me up.”

Jaskier holds his breath as Geralt walks closer. He is going to do it! He is going to lift Jaskier!

And he walks right past.

“Hey, what are you-“ Lambert’s protests are interrupted by Geralt lifting him up and throwing him into the snow.

He turns to Jaskier with a lifted eyebrow. “That strong enough for you?”

--

This is it. He can’t do this anymore. It has been a month since Jaskier ran out of chamomile oil and the massages just haven’t been the same since. They are still great, of course, but now he doesn’t have the excuse of “Oh, Geralt, we can’t stop just yet. The oil still has to… absorb into your skin” anymore. To be honest, Jaskier isn’t even sure if that’s a thing oil does, but Geralt doesn’t need to know that.

The point is that Jaskier is touch-starved.

He is getting desperate.

Maybe he could try to teach Geralt how to play the lute, if only so that he could stand behind him, lay his arms around Geralt’s body – if he could even reach that far – and guide his fingers while his chest presses against Geralt’s broad back.

A dreamy sigh escapes Jakier’s mouth, at the image. It hitches, when a terrifying thought pops into his head unbidden. Geralt would probably crush his precious lute with his huge muscles. As sexy, as that would undoubtedly look, Jaskier can’t lose his lute to his raging desire to touch Geralt. Jaskier is desperate, but not that desperate. Not yet.

However ...

“Hey,” he calls out to Geralt, who is sitting on a fallen tree, sharpening his sword. “Don’t you think it’s time I learn how to fight?”

Geralt stares at him blankly. “Since when do you want to fight?”

“Well, um, since, you know..” Jaskier stutters. “There are angry spouses and um.. monsters and...”

“And I always protect you from them, don’t I?” Something twitches in Geralt’s jaw.

“Well, yes, of course you do,” Jaskier says, scratching his head doing his best to come up with an excuse. “But when we part ways again…” he trails of. That is not the kind of thing he wants to think about right now. Or ever, really.

Geralt frowns and stopps working on his sword to look up at Jaskier instead. There is something hesitant in his eyes. “You want to leave?”

“No!” Jaskier says so quickly it might be considered embarrassing.

Geralt huffs and it sounds almost fond. “Then I guess there’s no need for you to learn just yet.”

“Are you saying you like having to save my pretty arse every other day?” Geralt resumes his work with a grunt. It is probably supposed to look dismissive, but Jaskier can’t help but feel like Geralt is trying to hide a blush behind the hair falling in front of his face. Jaskier leans forward a bit. “You do like it! Admit it, that’s the reason you don’t want to teach me.”

“Piss off, bard,” Geralt grumbles, but Jakier is now sure that the tips of Geralt’s ears are turning a lovely shade of pink. Interesting.

Jaskier might not have achieved his goal for the day, but he certainly isn’t complaining about this development.  A new plan is already forming in his mind. His most brilliant plan yet.

--

“I am begging you, Priscilla, you have to help me. This is a matter of life and death.”

The girls lifts an eyebrow. “Yes, it is. But not because you are going to get your heart broken, but because your bones will break if you jump out of that window.”

“That’s exactly the point,” Jaskier says, brimming with excitement. “Geralt won’t let that happen. I am sure of it. He said he likes protecting me!”

“Oh did he now?”

“Well…” Jaskier rubs his neck. “Not in so many words, but he implied it.”

“Uh-huh.” She crosses her arms.

“Please! Priscilla. Dearest. My best friend and sun of my life. The most talented performer I know. Except for me, of course.” Priscilla snorts at his words, but the grin says that he is well on his way to winning her over. “All of those years of you studying acting have led to this glorious moment. The most important performance of your life.”

“Flattery will not always work, you know?” She says, but sighs in defeat. “But fine. I will play along.”

Jaskier beams and hugs her close. She swats him away.

“Alright,” Jaskier says and rubs his hands together in excitement. “we don’t have time to rehearse. Just improvise. Geralt will be back from the market any moment.”

“What is he doing there anyway?”

Jaskier shrugs. “I don’t know. Buying something very important, apparently. He was quite adamant about going to the Novigrad market as soon as possible.”

Priscilla doesn’t answer, but her brows lift as she looks out of the window. “Is that him?”

Jaskier sprints over to her and his heart starts pounding. It’s now or never.

“I think I understand you now,” she says with an appreciative whistle. “Who wouldn’t jump out of a window for this man?”

She winks. And in the blink of an eye she is in character.

“Jaskier, you croaking pheasant!” she shrieks. “Get your sorry arse out of here!”

Jaskier inches closer to the window and looks down to see if Geralt was close enough to catch him yet. Not quite.

“There is a misunderstanding. I didn’t-“

“The only misunderstanding here is the size of your dick!” Jaskier gapes. Priscilla’s eyes twinkle. She is having far too much fun with this.

“Now, there’s no reason to –“

“Tell that to someone else!”

Another look down. Geralt is still standing a few feet away from where he would land, but he was looking up at him. This is it. Jaskier sends one last look at Priscilla who is grinning at him, before he jumps.

The air rushes past him, ruffling his hair.

And then he is caught, strong arms wrapping around him as Geralt finally holds him bridal style. Jaskier can finally feel the strength of those biceps. He finally knows what it feels like to be pressed against that chest.

“I did it! I actually did it!”

The euphoria rushing through him vanishes as soon as he meets Geralt’s eyes. He freezes.

“Oh Fuck.”

From up above he can hear Priscilla snicker and what sounds like a smack against a forehead. But all he can focus on is Geralt.

“I swear I did not mean to say that.”

Geralt’s mouth twitches. “I gathered that much.”

Jaskier’s heart skips a beat. It doesn’t sound like Geralt is angry. At least a small mercy. Now he is only left with the embarrassment of having to explain himself. All while still being held in Geralt’s arms. This is not how he had planned this.

“I…” he sighs. Even as a master poet, there is no way he can find a believable excuse for this. He closes his eyes. “This is going to sound stupid. But I may or may not have wanted to be carried by you like this for a long time.” See, that wasn’t so bad. Now all he has to do is shut up. “Actually, I just really wanted to feel your muscles and this seemed like the best way. But really, any way would be great.”

This is it. The moment that Geralt is going to drop him like a cat, except that Jaskier will not gracefully land on his feet, but on the earth that will hopefully swallow him whole so that no one can witness is shame.

Instead the arms around him tighten.

“Should we have gone to Novigrad sooner then?” Geralt ask.

Jaskier blinks. “Sorry, what does what I just said have anything to do with us coming here? That was your idea not mine. It was a happy coincidence that my friend was here to help me.”

Geralt starts shaking slightly and it takes Jaskier a moment to realise that what’s wrecking Geralt’s body is silent laughter.

“My breast pocket,” Geralt says and there is a glint in his eyes.

Jaskier hesitates for a second, before reaching into the pocket. His fingers find something cool and smooth. With furrowed brows he pulls the small bottle out. His eyes snap to Geralt.

“I am sorry, but I need you to spell this out for me. Why exactly is this the reason why you needed to go to the market so urgently?”

Geralt looks almost sheepish. “You always say that you prefer massaging me with the oil and I … I like it when you touch me.”

Jaskier gapes at him. “Are you” he stabs a finger at Geralt’s wonderfully firm chest. “seriously telling me that all this time I could have just asked to touch you?”

“Sure, you could have asked.” Geralt’s grin comes back in full force and that glint turns mischievous. “But watching you come up with all those stupid plans to touch me was just so much fun.”

[buckyownsmylife]

v e l o c i t y - chapter i

The one where John’s your true mate, but he doesn’t want you to be his.

In a universe where fate grants you a new mate whenever you lose yours, John has lived quite comfortably for many years with the knowledge that he was alone after Mary. That all comes crumbling down the second that he meets you. How could the universe choose someone so young to be his omega?

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist. It’s being constantly updated

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I could see Bobby moving around from the corner of my eyes, but I felt too tired to even just stop focusing on the bottle of beer I was holding between my hands. People were all around us - actually, exclusively men, but I didn’t really know them and didn’t really care to introduce myself.

A feeling of loneliness had covered me, like a blanket I wasn’t too sure I would be able to push aside. Because the truth was, I was alone. Now that my dad was gone, I had no one to really count on.

Just then, I felt someone squeezing my shoulder and I forced myself to smile, because I knew I was being unfair. I knew Bobby would never leave me alone, not when he was my godfather and had always cared so deeply for me. But that didn’t make any of this any less hard.

Breathing deeply, I forced myself to get up from the couch and stretch my muscles before deciding to escape through the back door just so I could get a bit of fresh air out on the porch. Too many alphas in a single house and any unmated omega like myself would start to get crazy, even when we didn’t necessarily have any reason to feel threatened. So I stood there for a bit, looking out into the plain field, just pondering about what the future would hold for me until I heard a commotion coming from inside. 

Curious, I walked back into the living room just in time to see three men being warmly welcomed by the hunter community that had gathered in Bobby’s house tonight. I vaguely recognized the one who seemed to be the oldest, but his back was turned to me and so I could only really take notice of a well-used black jacket, until a strong whiff of men’s cologne took over me and I felt like I was about to faint. What the hell was going on? My insides were hurting and I thought I was going to melt, so I held myself in a tight embrace in the hopes of keeping myself together when Bobby noticed me and while he tried to move me closer to the newcomers, probably intending to introduce me to them, the smell grew stronger and stronger until I was quite literally salivating to the arome.

Bobby extended his arm to get the familiar man’s attention and I immediately stretched mine to wrap around his wrist, in need of support. “Bobby, I don’t feel so well.” I knew his head whipped to look at me but at the same time, the man turned around and the last thing I remember before fainting was looking at eyes the color of honey.

It was already morning when I came to be. The sunlight softly penetrated the thin curtains on Bobby’s guest bedroom I was already familiar with and by the sight of it, I had been quite unceremoniously dropped over the still made bed, still wearing the same clothes from last night. That much was expected, not only since there wasn’t a single female in the house and I highly doubted Bobby would have let anyone see me naked, but also since yesterday's reunion had a purpose. The hunters gathered in my godfather’s house had a strict timeline to follow, if they wanted to get rid of the vampires that had murdered my father.

So I didn’t think much about it, opting to get in the shower and wash away the sadness and confusion over yesterday’s events. I still wasn’t sure about what had happened - I certainly hadn’t ever fainted before -, but I supposed the heaviness of what I was going through had caught up to me. I hadn’t really been feeding myself properly either, I suddenly remembered. Yeah. That must have been it.

So I put on a yellow sundress that was my mother’s in the hopes that its color would cheer me up and prepared myself to get some breakfast, because by now I felt like my insides were clawing at me, begging me to get something to fill the hole inside of me. As soon as I closed the door to the room I was sleeping in, that smell hit me again. The same one that had threatened to suffocate me last night. What the fuck was going on? How did this perfume open up my already animalistic appetite?

By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was certain I was wearing a scowl on my face, something I had never once before sported.

“Sweetheart…” Turning to my right, I found Bobby staring at me with a deep frown.

John’s P.O.V.

I watched Bobby try to get a hold of her from afar, and a small part of me felt smug about the fact that he feared what I would do if he touched what was mine. Then I remembered I didn’t care about this girl and made sure the best scowl I had was plastered on my face for when she looked at me.

It didn’t help that she smelled so… yummy. I wanted to eat her up whole. Still, I knew I couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Didn’t really want to - I forced myself to remember.

Fuck.

It had been too long since I’d had to deal with a mate and I forgot how strong the urge to bond can be. It didn’t help that this time I had two kids older than my omega trying not to laugh at me from behind their mugs.

“Stop that.” I slapped the back of Dean’s head, effectively making him spill a bit of coffee over his shirt, which in turn made me grin. Now we’re talking.

When my attention focused back on the girl and Bobby, they were a bit closer to each other, only on the other side of the living room, and they were talking in low voices. Suddenly, her eyes met mine and I felt it rise in me again, the need to pounce over there and dominate her.

But then she focused back on Bobby and I was left confused.

He was obviously explaining to her what had happened and that we were mates, so why didn’t she seem bothered by it? In fact, she looked as far from it as possible. If her expression was anything to go by, she was… bored?

Before long, they approached us again, and I was expecting her to throw herself at me or at least to acknowledge me as her mate in any way. That’s what I was prepared for. I knew what I was going to say to let her down as gently as possible. But what actually happened is that she went around the table and directly into the kitchen, turning on the stove.

“How about eggs and bacon for breakfast? Does anyone want some?” I swear I could hear fucking crickets singing outside, despite the fact that it was early morning. Was she really going to completely ignore me? “Hello? Eggs, bacon, answer me or you won’t be fed.” My boys jumped to action at the threat and I tried to make sense of what was happening while forcing myself to ignore just how cute she looked with her head tilted and a hand on her hip.

She cooked in silence then, not even granting me a look. I was beyond surprised by now. What the hell was I supposed to do about this?

As the plate of breakfast was laid in front of us, she took her seat next to Bobby, which just so happened to be to my left, but even then, she didn’t even glance at me, opting to munch on her food quietly. I took notice of the fact that she had a healthy appetite, instead of being one of those girls who tried to diet for the sake of impressing men, but my mind was still all over the place. 

“Aren’t you going to say anything to me?” The minute the words escaped my mouth, whatever conversation my boys had been trying to maintain with Bobby immediately died down. Still, she didn’t look at me. The little girl had the nerve to seem unfazed by my presence and my question, even my irritation. She didn’t even raise her eyes to meet mine when she responded.

“Why should I?” The question caught me off guard, and the silence that followed revealed it to her. When no one intervened to break the ice, she chanced a glance up, her beautiful bright eyes meeting mine, and she sighed, at last dropping her cutlery before straightening up to talk to me. 

“I’m sorry if that came off rude, but the truth is… It’s very clear that you have absolutely no interest on me as an Alpha, and since it is your responsibility to take care of me, even if it was to let me down gently, I don’t see why I’m the one who has to take your feelings into consideration and pay you the attention you didn’t grant me.” 

God fucking damnit. She was already the most interesting woman I’d met in a very long time, and when I say a very long time, I mean way before she was born, when my wife - my first true mate - was still alive.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

John looked at a loss for words, and I took that as an indication that I could continue my meal without further idiotic demands. “Would you pass me the coffee, please?” I asked, pointing in the direction of the thermos, my eyes focused on my eggs. Dean reached out and poured some in my mug, which granted him a grateful smile.

“It’s huh… It’s very good coffee. Bobby tells me you’re the one who taught him how to make it like this.” That made me chuckle, and I chanced an amused glance to my godfather.

“Strong, you mean? Yeah, it’s the only way I know how to drink it.” Another uncomfortable silence. My absolute most hated thing. I quickly swallowed whatever food was left in my plate before pushing my chair away from the counter. “I have some stuff to do in the backyard… Leave the plates in the sink and I’ll clean them up when I get back. It was nice meeting you.” I nodded in their direction, stopping only to give a quick kiss on Bobby’s forehead, and left without another word or glance. 

I was only able to breathe again when the back door was closed behind me and I was already a few good feet from the house. Fuck. Suddenly, I felt the urge to cry, and I knew that despite the distress I had been put under the last few days, it wasn’t only the death of my father or the refusal from my mate that was making me sad. It was those stupid omega hormones, trying to force me to go back there and beg for a forgiveness I didn’t really want. 

Stupid fucking nature. I was stronger than that. I had to be. Even I had enough pride to stop me from throwing myself at the feet of someone who doesn’t want me. 

I tried to distract myself from whatever the hell could be going on inside the house while taking care of the few things I could do outside of it. Granted, there wasn’t much. But anything was better than being stuck in that place, having to smell that mixture of gunpowder, scotch and cinnamon that made my head twirl. Fucking John Winchester and that delicious musk of his. I didn’t fucking need him.

It was with that thought that I popped open the hood of one of the cars Bobby and I had been working on, trying to focus on something other than my stupid body and its stupid wishes. After a few minutes of actually forcing myself to do so, I was finally able to zone out of my real-life drama and get lost in the world of carburetors and grease.

“Have you figured out what’s the problem with the engine?” The familiar voice brought a smile to my face, despite all of my current circumstances, and I found myself whipping around to stare at the boy towering over me. 

“Jess!” The young beta smiled at me, always as excited to see me as I was. He’d been living near Bobby for years now, and I’d watched him grow up throughout my visits to my godfather. Now, despite being a year younger than me, he stood five inches taller, towering over my figure whenever he stood near.

“Hey there! Visitors?” He nodded towards the Impala, and I gave him a tight-lipped smile. 

“Something like that. Bobby had some… friends over last night, and those are the only ones left. They’re supposed to be leaving soon enough, though.” I returned my attention to the car’s motor but the lack of sound from my usually chipper companion made me raise my gaze up to him once more. “What?” I inquired, inadvertently already smiling as I waited for his question.

“Do you hate them or what?” Chuckling, I crouched to search for one of my tools before going back to work on the engine.

“Why the question?” I didn’t really mind answering it, I was always just curious about how Jess’ mind worked. I wanted to know if I had any major tells. As someone who had seen me practically every day for the last month, could he see that I’d met my mate? Had that encounter changed me somehow?

“You don’t seem very happy to talk about them. And you’re usually excited about everything and everyone.” The idea he had of me made me snort. I tended to be someone who saw the brighter side of life, that was true, but after my father’s death, I didn’t really think I’d been able to keep up that appearance. Guess I was wrong.

“I suppose you’re right.” That’s all I said, sending a quick smile his way before returning to the task at hand. Jess helped, giving me the tools I needed when I asked for them, and I absentmindedly listened to him babble about his last year of highschool as I kept my focus on my manual work.

It was one of the reasons why I liked to help Bobby so much. When I was fixing a car, even if it was just a simple job, my mind was occupied with something else entirely. It was like my own form of meditation, only a bit dirtier.

I was almost able to forget about John Winchester and his stupid scent. Almost. If it weren’t for the periodical cramps that I tried to ignore in order not to alert my company - I definitely didn’t want to talk about it with Jess - I supposed I would have been able to forget about the Winchester men before they disappeared from my life forever.

That was, of course, until they left the house and gathered in the Impala, catching the attention of my very hyper friend. “Oh, wow. Those are Bobby’s friends? I can smell them even from here.

A very unattractive snort escaped me, and it caught Jess’ attention. “Tell me about it.”

“Oh, did they try to disturb you?” I had to smile to myself at how cute he sounded, so defensive for me. 

“Not really. I’m just glad that they’re gone.” And with one last look over my shoulder, just in time to watch John back up the Impala and leave, I added, “I hope I’ll never have to see them again.”

Chapter ii ➡

[horansqueen]

New Angel - Chapter 1

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NOTES

☆ written from Niall’s pov ☆ i don’t proofread, I never do, I hate it. ☆ AU comedy/fluff/smut/romance ☆ 2.5k ☆ i accept requests and ideas for this story, so message me in my inbox! ☆ if you want to be notified when this story is updated (or be taken off the update list) CLICK HERE

NIALL

"I'm sorry."

I stared at the girl I spent the last year with, trying to find a glimpse of sadness in her eyes that would tell me there was hope, or that at least, that she felt bad for breaking my heart.

I had met Grace through friends and it had clicked instantly. She was gorgeous, funny and flirty, and as soon as my eyes met hers, I knew there was something between us. I know how cliché it sounded but it never really mattered for me. We did everything together and spent so much time together that I had neglected my friends and family, I knew that. Still, it was impossible for me to regret it : I was certain I would spend my life with her.

"Yea, me too." I replied, clearing my throat as she handed me a box.

I licked my lips and took it, my eyes roaming quickly inside. I noticed a bottle of my perfume, a few pictures of us and a sweater, and when I looked back at her, she got up, inciting me to do the same.

"Look, Niall." she replied as I walked passed the front door before leaning against the frame. "I just want you to know that... you'll always have a special place in my heart."

Great, because that made me feel so much better. My eyes roamed on her face, trying to remember every of her features, as if I could ever forget them anyway. I knew I loved Grace, but now that she was breaking up with me and that I was suddenly losing her, it made me realize just how much I loved her, and that it wouldn't be easy to get over her.

She pushed her brown hair behind her shoulder and sent me a sad smile. I knew I should turn around and leave but I was paralyzed, staring at the girl I loved as she took a step back and slowly closed the door in my face. I thought nothing could make the pain worse but that last move humiliated me even more and I shut my eyes tight, holding my breath for a few more seconds.

I don't know how long it took me but I finally walked down the stairs to the parking and reached my car, letting the box fall in the trunk before sitting in front of the wheel. I breathed in and sighed, leaning my forehead against the wheel as I felt myself tear up. Crying was inevitable but it still pissed me off. I honestly felt like I had given everything to this relationship and somehow, this is what I was getting back, and it was fucking unfair. I shook my head at that thought, knowing that there was nothing fair when it came to love anyway, and finally sat back up and started my car.

I drove home as a few tears fell down and just to make it worse, it started raining. The lights of the city reflected on the rain forming puddles on the cement and it brought so many memories to my brain that I had to wipe the tears off my cheeks.  I finally parked but leaned my head against the bench, closing my eyes, trying to stop the pain in my chest without much success. I needed a drink or ten, and I just hoped Louis would want to get drunk with me.

I threw my keys on the counter when I walked in, letting the box fall near the front the door. I heard the tv in the living room, guessing on a football match but when I walked closer, I realized it was actually basketball.

I sat on a couch, grabbing the attention of the two persons sitting on the other one. They both frowned at me but I stared at Louis, shaking my head slightly.

"Neil, what's wrong?" he asked, moving his upper body closer, hiding me from Millie. "Did you cry?"

"Grace broke up with me." I just replied, ignoring his second question.

I knew Louis and Millie since I was a kid. Louis was my best friend, we used to spend our days together, and although I didn't really want to admit it, I tend to follow him in all his crazy plans. One of them was for us to move in together. It didn't sound so bad in itself, but Louis was the messiest person I knew, and I was pretty much the opposite, which made this cohabitation slightly rough sometimes, but it got even worse when Millie moved in with us about a year later. She was not my favorite person in the world, and she didn't enjoy my company much either, but she needed a place to live and I knew she and Louis were close, so I decided to just deal with it. After a while, they started having sex randomly but I couldn't tell you the specific nature of their relationship. If they were dating, they never made it official with anyone else, and I didn't really want to ask.

It's not that Millie was a bad person, but she always made sure we knew her opinions and most of the time, it annoyed me. She had no filter, which was something she had in common with Louis, and she didn't care what people thought about her. Now that I thought about it, it was not surprising at all that they got along together so well.

"Shit, mate, I'm sorry."

I was tired to hear that. What would sorrys bring me anyway? Why did every time something bad happened, all people could say was that they were sorry? How was that helping in any way?

"Well, I'm not."

"Millie, come on." Louis replied in a soft tone, turning to her.

"No seriously," Millie continued, moving closer to the coffee table to grab her beer. "She was pretty much the most annoying person I knew. Even more annoying than you, Horan."

"Don't call me that." I mumbled, making her shrug.

"Whatever. You're better off without."

I frowned, shaking my head as I stared at her, noticing Louis getting up and walking away. "Are you serious?"

"Very!" Millie chuckled without amusement. "She was always here, talking about how pretty and skinny she was, how rich she was, and how everyone wanted her. She kept talking about all the men she dated or fucked before you and how horrible it was to be so popular."

"I smell a hint of jealousy." I replied with a frown.

"I wouldn't touch you with a six feet pole, Horan." she replied, raising her eyebrows as a small smile appeared on her lips.

I raised my nose with a low groan, making her laugh, and I moved my hand up, showing her my middle finger.

"Enough love display, kids." Louis replied when he came back, handing me a beer.

I took a sip of it and leaned against the couch, turning my head to the tv but not really watching the match. I didn't even notice when someone turned down the volume and I swallowed hard as the face of my ex girlfriend appeared in my head. My heart twisted in my chest as I tried to stop the tears and finally brought my free hand up, pressing my thumb anf finger against my eyes, breathing in and out slowly but deeply.

I couldn't believe it was over and I didn't want to accept it. We made plans together, we were perfect for each other... how could she just throw away all of that without any remorse or regret?

"This is the worst break-up I've been through." I admitted, pushing my fingers harder on my eyes and shaking my head.

"You always say that." Millie replied, a bit annoyed, making my eyes flutter open. She got up and my eyes followed her as she walked to the door. I turned around, my gaze still on hers, and frowned a bit.

"Can't you just, I don't know, feel sorry for me or something?" I argued, realizing as I was saying it that I actually hated when people actually felt sorry for me.

"You're asking me for pity?" she asked with a chuckle, making me roll my eyes. "Seriously, good riddance. I'm glad I won't have to see her annoying face every fucking morning."

She put the box filled with my stuff at my feet and sat in front of it as my eyes roamed on the content.

"Morning? You never wake up before noon." I argued, making her smile sightly.

"Shut up!"

She started rummaging through my things, placing a lock of her hair behind her ear before taking the stuff out. She smelled my perfume before putting it on the coffee table and when she grabbed the pictures, she  looked at all of them quickly before sighing.

"Okay, garbage."

"What? No!" I replied with a frown, bending down to snatch the pictures from her hands. "I'm keeping those!"

"So you can stare at them for hours and cry on what you lost?" Millie pointed out, moving on her knees to grab the pictures from my hands again. "No. Trust me, I know how to handle a beak up."

"Millie, babe, this isn't your break up, it's Niall's."

She turned around to look at Louis for a few seconds and finally turned back to me. She frowned slightly, her eyes getting smaller as she was thinking, and finally, she shook her head.

"Alright, compromise." she proposed, sitting on her legs. "You can keep two, but you can't bring them in your room. Oh, and you need to delete the ones in your phone, too."

"Who died and made you queen?" I asked rudely, getting slightly annoyed.

"Queen? No I'm the king here, literally." she argued, making me chuckle despite myself.

I kept silent for a few minutes, wondering if it was actually a good idea or not and after a while. I took two pictures and handed them to her. Louis showed me his hand and raised his eyebrows and with a sigh, I gave him my phone.

"Just delete the whole folder, but don't look at the pictures." I quickly said, making Louis smirk.

"Anyway you can't keep nudes from an ex, that's just plain wrong." We both turned to Millie and I raised my eyebrows as she shrugged. "What? I don't like her but that doesn't mean she deserves that."

I shook my head as Louis handed me my phone back and sighed again. "Are we done now?" I asked, feeling my heart break even more as Millie searched through my box. "I really need something stronger than that." I added, swallowing the last drops of my beer.

Louis got up again and sent me a sad smile. "I'm on it."

"Oh my god, I love that sweater so much!" Millie let out a bit louder, taking it out of the box.

"Keep it, it's yours."

She sighed, raising her nose up and shaking her head as she stared at it. "It doesn't fit me, Niall. None of your clothes do, you know that."

No, I didn't know that. In fact, I had never taken the time to even think about it, but I just shrugged and leaned against the couch. I couldn't stop thinking about Grace and how my life seemed to be over. It was stupid, it was not the first break up I was going through and I knew that pain would leave with time, but it was tough to be rational at that moment, and when Louis handed me a glass of what smelled like vodka, I swallowed all of it quickly.

"Niall, mate, slow down." Louis said in a soft tone, sitting back on the couch as Millie grabbed a glass of wine from his hands.

"Lou, let him. That bitch just dumped him, he clearly deserves to get pissed." she pointed out gently as I filled my glass again.

"Thank you, pet." I smiled, taking an other sip.

"I hate when he calls me that." Millie mumbled near Louis, making him smile and press his hand against his mouth to hide it.

My lips curled into a grin too but I just chuckled and she drank everything in her glass before getting up and walking to the kitchen. She came back with the wine bottle and filled her glass again before turning to me.

"Okay, we're all getting drunk tonight."

Louis grabbed a glass and filled it with vodka too, bringing it to clink it against Millie's. I started at them for a few seconds and finally moved closer to hit my glass against theirs, too, approving of the proposition. It took less than two hours for all of us to be completely pissed, but I realized that the more I drank, the sadder I was getting and when Millie straddled Louis to make out with him, I couldn't take my eyes off of them. It made me think of the first time I had sex with Grace at first, and then, it reminded me of the first time I told her I loved her. She was sitting on my lap and when her eyes had met mine, I knew it was the right time to tell her. I remembered the way her fingers felt on my cheeks, and how good her lips felt against mine.

I hated that feeling inside me and I had no idea how to get rid of it. I grabbed my phone and looked at the last text message I had received from her, earlier in the day. 'We need to talk' were the only words she had sent and every books and movies were right about that : those were the four most horrible words in the world. I blinked a few times, trying to see the words better, but I was clearly too drunk for that and I quickly typed something without thinking.

'I miss you baby'

I sent it quickly without an ounce of regret and finally got up, almost falling back on the couch as the room started spinning around me.

"Okay guys, I'm going to bed now."

It caught their attention and they watched me walk slowly to the hall, holding myself on every furniture on my way.

"Hey, Niall." I heard Millie's voice before turning to look at her.

She was up now and I sighed as Louis got up too. "Yea?"

"Don't text her."

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. "Too late."

I just walked to my room and opened the door when I finally heard Louis' voice coming from the hall.

"It'll be better tomorrow, mate."

Just the thought of doing everything I used to do daily but without Grace in my life seemed like hell and I shut my eyes tight, trying to keep the tears in. How was I going to keep on living my life without her? How can anyone eat, sleep, work, have fun, or even breathe without the love of their life?

"Yea, I doubt that."

[outofsstyles]

CITY OF LOVE

{part 1 }

a/n: IT’S FINALLY HERE!! This is the second and final part of my friends to lovers fic featuring italy!Harry!! If you haven’t read the first part (When In Rome) make sure to click on the link above before coming back to this one  :)) As usual, feedback is always welcome,  hope everyone enjoys this one!

tag list: @rainsoncornelias​ @mellamolayla​ @sushiabby​

Word count: 13.1k (got a bit carried away, oops?)

Pairing: best friend!Harry + reader

Rating: M

You visit the notorious City Of Love and Harry’s infatuated.

“We’re almost there,” Harry says, interrupting your daydreams as you stare out the window of the moving train.

You give him a small smile, checking the time on your wrist clock before going back to your previous position.

He loves catching you in moments like this. When you’re so focused on your own thoughts you become unaware of the world around you. It’s one of those moments where you look the prettiest, he thinks — not that you ever look anything below gorgeous to him. But there’s something about it, when you’re just so lost inside your head, not even trying to look beautiful, something about these moments makes his heart skip a beat. He wishes he could open up your head and read your mind like it was his favorite book. Learn your thoughts and your feelings. He wishes it so badly.

Instead, he takes the opportunity to admire your figure without the risk of getting caught staring — knowing you’d tease him to no end if you did. He takes notice of all the details in you he’s memorized over and over through the years you’ve known each other, but somehow never got tired of it. He doesn’t want to seem like a creep. And it’s not as if he does it on purpose either. He tries to concentrate on the book open in front of him, but only manages to skip through a few words before finding himself glancing up at you again.

It’s unfair to him how beautiful you look this early in the morning. The sunlight shining through the window next to you hitting your face so perfectly it makes his heart jump on his chest. Your hair’s cascading down your shoulders in a way that not even the most skilled painter could replicate in one of his masterpieces.  The dress you chose for the day hugs your body loosely enough so you have space to breathe underneath but still tight enough that makes him twitch on his trousers every time his eyes wander to your chest.

The scene seems as it should belong on the walls of an art museum. You’re glowing.

He makes a subtle move to reach for his bag next to him, keeping his eyes on you to make sure you don’t notice whilst he retrieves his small camera.

Pressing the camera against his face, he quickly pushes the button, capturing the sight in front of him. The ‘click’ sound of the photo being taken catches your attention, making you throw him a pointed look, lips parting with a small gasp.

“Harry!” You call out when you see him moving the camera from his face. “A warning wouldn’t hurt!”

“And what’s the fun in that?” He grins down at the picture shown on the small screen. “Don’t get to capture your natural beauty.”

He glances up at you, catching a blush creeping on your cheeks as you try to hold back a smile. “Does that mean I’m not pretty when I pose?”

“Course not,” he quickly denies, shaking his head. “Didn’t mean it like that, of course you’re always beautiful it’s just-”

“Harry,” you giggle as he nervously stumbles on his words. “I was just teasing.”

He shakes his head at you, “Just like the spontaneous moments s’all.”

“I know,” you smile fondly at him.

Now he feels like he’s the one blushing. Not even because of anything that’s being said but just by the way you’re smiling at him. It fills his stomach with the most beautiful butterflies. He glances down again so you don’t notice it, pretending he’s doing something on the camera, digits fidgeting with the buttons, mindlessly going through the menu that pops up. He peeks his eyes back up subtly, only to find you looking back out the window, but this time with the loveliest smile on your face.

It doesn’t take much longer until the train slowly comes to a stop. A vocal announcement coming from the tiny speaker above your heads lets you know it’s your stop, urging the passengers to step carefully out of the cabins. You quickly gather your belongings, joining the small crowd that’s drifting out to the platform.

The change in the atmosphere is abrupt when you step out. It almost feels as if you hit a wall of heat, the air around you is thick — making you reach for your water bottle hanging on the side of your backpack.

“Benvenuta a Verona!” Harry’s voice chirps from behind you, his hand adjusting his sunglasses on his face as he drapes an arm around your shoulders, hugging you close as you begin to follow the group moving towards the exit of the station. You arch your brows at him in a wordless question while you sip from the bottle in your hands. It doesn’t take more than that for him to understand your request, translating his previous words. “Welcome to Verona, darling.”

It makes an elated sigh to escape from your lips, “Fair Verona,” you say. “The city of love.”

“The city of love,” Harry repeats, letting his arm fall back to the side of his body once you turn to place your bottle back where you retrieved it from. “Excited?”

“Very,” you squeal, grabbing his arm and giving it a squeeze. “Only know this city through the words of our good old friend, William.”

He chuckles, “please stop referring to Shakespeare by his first name.”

“You know I won’t.” You joke, biting back a smile as you look up at him.

The shimmering sunlight hits the two of you as you walk out of the station, the sky painted a beautiful tone of blue. There’s a slight breeze hitting the spot on top of the entrance stairs, causing your dress to dance around your thighs as you step down to the sidewalk. You giggle as you bring your hands down, trying to keep the skirt from rolling up and revealing much more than you’d intended when you chose the outfit for the day. A few children run down the steps to catch the bubbles a smiley old lady blows from what seems to be a sweets stand, the sound of their laughter filling the surrounding space.

It seems like the perfect beginning for what Harry intends to be the perfect day. It nearly makes him sigh in relief when you glance at him with a bright smile adorning your face. If there’s anything he wants to get it right for you during your stay, it’s Verona.

He first visited the city when his previous roommate, Peter (a tall lanky Canadian boy that was almost as bad with Italian as Harry at first — and always managed to bring a laugh out of him) got offered a job at a small atelier located in the center of the city. Harry helped him with the moving part and in the midst of putting together wooden shelves and relocating couches, he found some time to wander around the streets nearby. It didn’t take much for him to fall in love with every corner, beguiled by every slight detail he noticed.

And it didn’t help how much of it reminded him of you, only consolidating how captivated he felt about it.

**

“This camera is so confusing,” you say once Harry approaches you.

You’re frowning down at the gadget in your hands, fingers pressing one of the multiple buttons next to the display screen, opening a menu screen that only reinforces your puzzled expression. It makes him smile; you look so fucking cute.

Harry makes a move to sit down next to you on the step next to the sidewalk, plopping in his mouth a piece of pineapple from the fruit bowl he had just purchased. He reaches for the camera in your hands, quickly pressing a few buttons so that the screen is back to displaying the pictures instead of the menu you had just opened. You mutter a quick ‘thank you’ as you shield your vision from the sun with your hand, squinting your eyes in a try to take a look at the screen under the bright sunlight.

“Why didn’t you bring your Polaroid?” You question, analyzing the photo shown on the small screen. It’s one he took of you when you walked into a no exit street because you loved the look of the flowers hanging from the balconies on the old buildings all the way down to the floor. You’re laughing at some dumb joke he had made, your eyes scrunched and your head thrown back in a big smile — it was probably his favorite picture he took of you. Your voice brings him back from his thoughts when he doesn’t answer right away. “Just would’ve been so much easier to use.”

“It’s broken,” he announces, focusing back on the fruits in front of him as he grabs a bite of a half-cut grape.

“What?” You gaze up at him in shock. “How?”

“Matteo,” he says, glancing up at you only to find your arched eyebrow. “My flatmate.”

You roll your eyes slightly, “I know who he is, Harry.” You say, “did he break it?”

“Sort of,” he starts, “we were drunk one night, and he wanted to take like some pictures on the staircase,” you frown at him, “don’t ask,” he chuckles, “long story short, he let the Polaroid fall down the steps, and she was never the same after that.”

“Oh my god,” you giggle. “Rest in peace, poor camera.”

“He bought me this one though, so it’s all good.” Harry motions to the device in your hands. “Was the cheapest nicest camera he could find, but it does the job just fine.”

You smile at him, moving your eyes back down to the small screen as you continue to go through the photos. Harry takes in the sight from where you two sit in comfortable silence, the loud mixture of different chatter surrounding the space. A crowd of people wanders around the small fair that covers the center of the open plaza. Some of them are clearly tourists with sunburnt skin and selfie sticks, he chuckles at a specific family wearing bright matching outfits, the two kids eating their small scoops of ice cream, but seeming to get it more on their own faces and clothes than inside their mouths. He can also pick out some that most likely are locals from around the area, ones that come with their reusable bags to pick out the fresh vegetables offered in the tents.

Harry picks up a piece of the fruit on the bowl with the plastic fork, holding it up near your mouth as an offer.

You peek at the food quickly, not really registering before wrapping your lips around it. “What is it?” Your voice is muffled as you chew.

“Watermelon,” Harry chuckles, “Do you not know how watermelon tastes?”

“Shut up.” He feels your elbow pushing him playfully as you let out a short laugh. “Just took me a second,” you look down at the bowl on his lap before meeting his again with a pout on your lips. “Can I have another one?”

And there’s no fucking way he could ever refuse. “Sure.”

He picks up another piece of watermelon, purposefully choosing the biggest one on the bowl, raising it up to offer you again. You lean towards the fork, your tongue poking out just a bit as you bite into the fruit presented to you. This would be fine, just a simple action, if you didn’t make sure to stare into his eyes while you do it.

The intention behind the gesture is unknown to him, but it doesn’t stop his breath from catching on his throat. He can feel his blood rush down his body, his cock plumping just slightly as he peeks down to watch your tongue poking out to lick a bit of the juice that’s on your lips, you chuckle slightly. The scene seems to happen almost in slow motion to him, and he can’t help but start feeling flustered, breaking his gaze away from you quickly. Of course, you couldn’t have done it on purpose, and he wonders if it was all a speck of his love deprived imagination once he peeks up to find you fiddling with your backpack sitting by your feet.

A blush in creeping on his cheeks as he looks down again, resting the fork back inside the bowl to reach for his sunglasses that rest on top of his head - with the purpose of holding back his curls.

“God, why did I pack so much stuff?” You ask yourself, completely unaware of his pounding heart, closing the backpack with a small laugh. “we’re only staying for a night and I brought like, three shirts.”

“Is it too heavy? I can carry it for you,” he offers, mentally cussing himself out for not doing it sooner.

“It’s fine, H, I can manage it.” You assure.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind,” he insists. “Should’ve asked Peter to leave a copy of his key under the doormat or summat, so you wouldn’t have to carry your stuff around all day.”

“Harry,” you giggle as he stops rambling. “It’s fine, not heavy at all.”

You reach to pick another piece of fruit from his almost empty bowl - this time a squared-cut apple.

“So, where are we headed next, boss?” You inquire, leaning your body against his.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, taking a second to recompose himself. “You’ll see.”

You buff out an annoyed breath, “thought we agreed to stop with the surprises.”

“This is a special one, though,”  he smirks. “You’ll like it, don’t worry.”

**

Just as he predicted he hears a gasp leave your lips as you turn around the tunnel, your face lighting up in excitement as you recognize the place standing in front of you.

Juliet’s house.

The building is simple, nothing too out of the ordinary when compared to other houses around the city. Except it’s the meaning behind the exposed brick walls and the notorious balcony poking out from the second floor that makes it so memorable. In the courtyard in front of the entrance, there’s a small group gathered up, some lining up in front of the house to go into the museum, and some crowded around the statue of Juliet positioned across from the front door. It’s not nearly as packed as it can usually get, though, and for that Harry lets out a relieved sigh, not wanting the mass amount of bodies crushed together in the limited space to spoil your experience.

This was the place Harry was most excited for you to visit, imagining how it would be to watch your glistening eyes from the moment you’d announced you had bought the tickets to visit him.

He knows how much you loved Romeo and Juliet, even being probably one of the most overused love stories ever written, you still gushed about it since the moment you first read it way back when you were in high school. It was the story that sparked in you the love for literature. The one you used in your final thesis - which even though Harry couldn’t really understand much of, he still read all the way through.

“This is amazing,” you breathe out, your eyes scanning every inch of the place around you — so caught up at the moment, you don’t even realize Harry’s watching you.

“Is it like how you imagined it?” He asks, biting into his cheek to stop him from smiling too hard when you look up with a slight grin.

“Well, I’ve seen it before, you know,” you say, gazing around the graffiti-filled walls. Harry raises his brows at you in a silent question,  “I’ve watched Letters For Juliet.”

“Oh,” he follows you as you amble around. “Do they show this house in it?”

You gasp, turning to look at him with a dramatic shock in your face. “You’re telling me, Harry Styles, the king of romcoms, has never seen Letters For Juliet?”

He rolls his eyes at your teasing, chuckling softly, “unfortunately not.” He rests his hand over his heart, looking down, feigning shame. “Guess I have lost my crown.”

A giggle erupts from your lips, he looks up to watch you shake your head at him. “It’s just like I thought it would be, though,” you say, voice softer. “It’s beautiful.”

“You have to get your picture on Juliet’s statue,” he motions in the direction of the monument as you get closer to it, reaching for his bag to retrieve his camera. “Go grab her boob.”

“Don’t say it like that!” You snort, poking him playfully as you move to stand next to the motionless figure.

“But that’s the ritual!” He giggles, pointing the camera at you when you position your hand over her bust -- the bronze on the region already worn out from the numerous people that touch it every day.

You wait for the camera’s click, indicating the picture had been taken before jumping down from the step. “You rub her right breast to have luck in love, it’s a tradition,” you tell him, walking around the statue to glance at the wall, facing away from him. “You say it like it’s something… Cheeky.”

“So it isn’t cheeky?” You throw him a pointed look, causing him to chuckle as he raises his arms in defense. “It’s just an odd tradition, that’s all,” he glances down at the small camera screen to check the photo that was taken. It takes a moment of him smiling at it to himself before he realizes you didn’t say anything in response to his tease.

The silence makes him look up, searching around for you, quickly finding you standing not too far by the tunnel you had come from, your eyes focused on the ancient wall. He approaches you, earning a quick glance as you sense his presence getting closer. His eyes wander to the surface you’re focusing on. Every inch of it is covered with notes, some written in paper and glued to the surface, the edges of it marked with time stains, some written directly on the bricks. But all of them had the same feeling draped all over their words: love. It being the uncertainty of finding their other half, or the heartbreak of being separated from them. Most of them were as simple as just two initials, meant to mark the passion of a couple that had been in this exact same spot he stands on somewhere in time. A few of them, however, - mostly the ones written on paper - go more in dept in all kinds of tales of love.

Harry feels as if he could waste days just reading them all, and for your similar fascination, he assumes you could, as well.

“Look at all of those, H,” you gesture at the notes covering every inch of the stone walls. “Each one of them tells a different love story, isn’t it crazy?”

“It is,” he answers, his eyes focusing on a particular pink note in front of him. The writing is a bit smudged from time but he can still understand the words of a woman professing her love for her partner, their names written inside of a heart at the bottom of the paper. He finds himself wondering more about their story beyond the words written. “Do you think some of these couples are not together anymore?”

“Absolutely,” you say without skipping a beat, causing Harry’s eyes to peak over to you. You glance up at him, a small smile taking over your lips. “But you know what’s nice?”

“What?”

“Even if they’re not together anymore,” you begin, gazing back at the wall. “A part of their love will always stay here. Intact.”

He pauses, letting your words linger in the air as he gazes back at the note he was looking at. “That’s true.”

There’s a silence between you two, both quietly admiring all the different stories told in the few-worded messages splattered in front of you. It seems like something he could get lost for hours, just imagining how they all played out. Thinking about the moment that brought all of them to this place.

“Don’t waste your love on somebody who doesn’t value it,” you break the silence, reading the words written a bit lower in dirty white paint — the writing is big, taking over some of the notes. You let out a quiet sigh, voice so low he almost misses it, “William Shakespeare.”

Harry gazes down at you, trying to find some sort of indication on your intentions behind reading those words out loud but only being met with the side of your face, your eyes never leaving the words written in front of you.

“Maybe I should’ve listened to him, huh?” you let out a dry laugh as an attempt to mask the meaning of your words with humor, but your voice gives out just a bit, unveiling the hurt behind it.

The words you say hit Harry like a truck, his heart twisting as if someone had just ripped it out of his chest. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, knitting his brows together as he calls out your name just above a whisper. His voice is soft and tender, and he holds back the heaviness in his heart because this isn’t about him, you’re the one that needs to be comforted.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to be a downer,” you chuckle again, looking down at your shoes and facing away from Harry, your hands quickly moving up to rub your eyes. He calls you again, this time making a move to reach for your shoulder, but you turn around suddenly, giving him your best smile in an attempt to distract him from your watery eyes. “I’m fine, H, really. It’s just the feeling of this place making me a bit emotional,” it’s bullshit, you know it, he knows it. “How about we go back to that ice cream place we saw on our way over?”

“Do you not want to go inside the museum?” He inquires, the worry still visible in his features.

“It’s fine, I’ve read it’s mostly a cash grab, anyway,” you let out a dry laugh. You’re trying to make him smile, he can tell. “So, what do you say? Gelato?”

He wants to pry, wants to question you. But he swallows back his words, something he’s been perfecting with you over the years. Holding back his feelings, pretending they’re not there. It suffocates him sometimes, but he knows losing you is not worth it. So he does the same as always, smiling down at you and ignoring the knives on his heart. “That sounds lovely.”

**

There’s no mention of the occurrence at Juliet’s courtyard for the rest of the day. You don’t give him any opening to even bring it up as well, immediately changing the subject as soon as you go through the tunnel again. So Harry just pushes the subject to the back of his mind, in order to enjoy your company.

Eventually, you’re both sitting at a stone bench in front of Peter’s apartment building, waiting for him to come home so you can relax from walking around all day. He had been clear on his texts to Harry as for him not to take you out for dinner, arguing he wanted to teach you his - now improved, in his words - old spaghetti recipe. It’s something that brings a smile to his face, how his friends are so welcoming to you, being eager to meet the girl he rambles about so much.

So as the twilight settles on the sky above, and just in time for when you first complain about your groaning stomach, a loud voice greets the two of you. It makes you jump in your seat, causing Harry to laugh, recognizing his friend’s voice.

Peter greets you with a tight hug, barely giving you any time to get up from the seat. “Can’t believe I’m finally meeting you!” His voice sharp next to your ear. You gaze at Harry with slightly widening eyes from over his shoulder, only to be met with an amused grin as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. Peter pulls back from you, holding into your shoulder as he bends to give you a kiss on the cheek. “Heard so much about you, it’s almost as if I know you already!”

“Good things, I hope,” you chuckle, the earring dangling from his ear catching your attention as it shimmers with the bit of sunlight still glaring.

He reaches for Harry to give him a quick hug, quickly focusing back on you. “As if this man could ever say a single bad word about you.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, watching a blush creep on his cheeks as he shakes his head. “Everyone is out to embarrass me in this country.”

“Spare me of your drama tonight, Styles,” he reaches to lock his arm around yours, guiding you inside the building. “She’s the star today.”

You look over your shoulder to Harry’s face, a grin eminent on his lips as he follows behind. The way up the staircase to the apartment is spent with Peter’s voice echoing around the flat stone walls, babbling about a story of when he used to live in Rome. More specifically, one that involved Harry having too much to drink and rambling to him for hours about you. He doesn’t get to go into much detail, though, with Harry himself interrupting him with warm cheeks and eyes glancing at the back of his friend’s head, refusing to meet yours every time you smirk down at him.

You walk into his apartment and are instantly hit with a small furry cat snuggling against your legs, making you coo as you crouch to scratch behind its ears.

“That’s Romeo,” Peter points, reaching to pull the strap of his bag over his shoulder, throwing it on the couch next to him. “I’m very creative with names, as you can tell.”

“I love it,” you say, murmuring some compliments to the tiny creature before getting up.

“I’m gonna get everything started for dinner, your room is the first door on the right down the hall, you can get settled and meet me in the kitchen for your culinary lessons.” Peter doesn’t leave any room for questions, striding towards an arched entrance you didn’t notice next to you.

Harry starts to follow you as you go to the place Peter had indicated, but as he gets close, he notices Romeo chasing you curiously, trying to reach for your untied shoelace. He crouches down much to play with the cat, not paying much notice to you as you enter the room. The animal pursues his wiggly fingers, as Harry waves them in the air, moving them away in sudden movements every time Romeo get close to catching them.

“Uhm… Harry?” You call him from inside the room, appearing at the doorframe with a frown between your brows. You look in the direction of where Peter had disappeared, lowering your voice a bit. “I think we might have a little problem.”

“What is it?” he gets up, nearing you and stopping next to the open doorway.

“There’s only one bed here,” you step away to give him a visual of the room.

“Oh,” he walks in, taking a look into the small guest room, and just as you said, he only spots a single bed tucked right under the big window. He hadn’t even thought about that detail, “That’s a problem.”

You nod at him, eyes moving back to the bed a frown trying to find a solution for the issue in question. The bed is just simply too narrow for the two of you to even share without one having to sleep on top of the other, and as much as Harry wouldn’t mind that he would never suggest it out loud. So he just follows your gaze, as if staring at it would magically bring a resolution — apart from the most obvious one.

“Is everything okay in there?” Peter’s voice echoes at the end of the hallway once he spots the two of you hovering by the door.

You part your lips gazing at Harry expectantly. “Kind of,” he begins, “Is there only one bed here?”

Peter chuckles, leaving the books in his hand on top of a shelf before making his way to where you stand. “Forgot to show you, sorry about that.” He says, walking past you as he enters the room, leaning forward, he pulls out a mattress from under the bed. “There we go, no need to break your back on my tiny couch, H.”

“Hey!” Harry drags the word out in a dramatic manner, “who said I would be the one on the couch?”

A chuckle leaves your lips, your hand patting his chest playfully, “always a gentleman.”

“I would never let a guest sleep on the couch, Styles,” Peter argues. “As far as I know she is the guest here.”

You smile brightly at his words, bringing your hand up to meet his in a high-five. Harry rolls his eyes at the scene, “I should’ve never introduced you too.”

As promised, Peter teaches you how to make his improved sauce recipe, the kitchen quickly becoming filled with your giggles as you try to follow his instructions. Harry watches you two as he makes the pasta, every so often sneaking to your counter to steal a piece of whatever you’re cutting, earning a playful scolding from you. And soon, the scent of boiling tomato and fresh herbs takes over the air, Stevie Nicks’ voice singing lowly in the background while you chat. It’s such a simple moment, but he just feels so happy he wishes he could live the rest of his life like this.

After dinner, he notices your heavy eyelids and eventual yawns signaling your sleepy state. Still, you insist on washing your dishes, even after Harry persisting on doing it for you. So you stand quietly side by side, washing the plates and humming along to Dreams, bumping occasionally on each other hips. And not long after, you’re finally changing into your nightwear and tucking yourselves in your respective beds. Harry takes the mattress on the floor, not leaving any room for you to argue with his decision.

He can almost feel the sleep taking over his body, the soft sound of his own breathing and the low humming of the small fan tucked in the corner lulling him into slumber.

“I’m sorry for today,” your voice suddenly breaks into the quiet room, making him open his eyes to see you’ve moved to the edge of your bed, looking down at him. The moonlight from outside shines through the cracks of the closed curtains behind you, allowing him to only make out your silhouette, but not quite see your face. His lips part, but before he can say anything you whisper again, “Didn’t mean to cry.”

His face softens at your words, body shifting to get closer to you. “Don’t have to apologize for that,” he reassures, “Never have to apologize for it, love.”

He can tell your smiling, even with the shadow casting on your face. “I know,” you say. “Just didn’t want to be a downer.”

“You’re not,” he says in a heartbeat, “If anything you’re the one who brightens my day.”

You breathe out a laugh, “always a charmer, aren’t you?” You bring your hand to rest under your head. “Don’t have to use that with me.”

“I’m serious,” he props himself up on his elbow.

“Thank you, H,” you reach a hand down, to which he grabs it without a thought, enlacing your fingers together.

The room falls silent again. You stare into the ceiling, Harry’s thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand as he watches you. He watches your chest moving with your breathing; the frown adorning your face makes him want to reach up and caress it away, but he holds it back.

“I don’t think I ever even loved him, you know?” You confess quietly, the words coming out of your mouth quietly but rushed as if you’d been holding them back.

It takes him back a bit, not just due to new information presented to him but the meaning behind it. He lets it linger in the air for a moment, not sure how to respond. It’s the first time you’re even openly discussing your past relationship with him. He hesitates, but feels like it’s best to ask what he’s always wondered, “Why were you with him for so long then?”

“I-” you stop, exhaling when you turn to gaze at him once again. “I don’t know,” it comes out in a whisper, yet he can still sense the vulnerability in your voice. “I guess-” you begin, sighing frustratedly. “I guess I just didn’t want to be alone.”

There’s a familiar pang in his heart at the way you say it, knowing how deeply he could relate to the words but hating it that you had to go through it. He squeezes you hand in a silent attempt of comforting you, “you weren’t alone.” He asserts, “always here with you.”

You squeeze his hand back, “I know.”

He lets the air fall quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours, even in the dark he can still make out the glistening in them as you stare down at him. A part of him wants to question you more, ask why you never told him you felt like that, and then he asks himself how could he not notice it? He can feel himself frowning, his thoughts rushing inside his head. But before he could even begin beating himself up for it, your voice interrupts him.

“Harry?” You say a bit hesitantly, he hums in response, blinking the invasive thoughts away. “I know this might be a bit weird.” Your voice traces off.

“What is it?”

“Do you think-” you gaze down to where your hands are grasped together, avoiding his eyes. “Do you think I could sleep down there… with you?”

His breath hitches on his throat, “Oh.”

“It’s just- I just- Dunno… wanted to be close,” you breathe out a nervous laugh. “God that was weird, I’m sorry, just- forget it.”

You try to pull your hand back but he prevents you from doing so, tightening his hold just slightly. “Hey, stop that,” he shimmers back on the mattress. “not weird at all, come here.”

He lets go of your hand to pull back the thin sheet draped over his body, inviting you in. He ignores the ways his heartbeat picks up when you drape a leg down, allowing yourself to fall next to him, not wasting a minute as you snuggle closer to his body. The citric scent of your hotel shampoo mixed faintly with sunscreen takes over his senses once you lay your head down on his shoulder.

It’s not the ideal position to be in on a warm summer night, the heat of your bodies only enhancing the high temperature. But Harry doesn’t mind in the slightest, only pulling you closer as he fights the urge to press a kiss on your head.

**

Your last day comes with a sorrowful feeling settling itself on Harry’s mouth.

It’s true what they say about time flying by when you’re having fun, the whole week of your stay seeming like had gone through in a blink of an eye for him. The simple thought of having to see you through the screen of his computer, face pixelated due to the poor internet connection, brings an unsettling ache to his chest. And he doesn’t like it one bit. As much as your visit wasn’t nearly as long as he wishes it could’ve been -- granted if it was in his way you would’ve moved in with him since the very beginning. Still, it was enough time for him to grow used to your presence every day. Enough for him to know what it feels like to wake up in his favorite place with his favorite person around. To know how it is to have you wander around the narrow streets of the city, and he fears your absence will just make them look dull in comparison.

He tries not to think about it. To waver off the thoughts of you leaving as soon as they prompt themselves into his mind. But it’s hard not to let reality hit him when he has to watch you pack your bags. Sitting in the old armchair arranged at the corner of your cramped hotel room. You try to make a light conversation, joking around about the number of souvenirs you bought as gifts — most of it being small magnets for your mom’s fridge collection. He only manages to force a short chuckle out of him, focusing back on the small window to watch the movement (or lack of) on the street.

The midday sun was shimmering proudly on top of the sky, reminding him the morning had already come and gone. He had told you the day prior that there was no need to wake up early for the day, telling you to rest so you could enjoy the night out Giorgia had invited you to. You were grateful for the extra hours of sleep, considering the hectic schedule of early rising and walking around all day was already starting to take a toll on you. But you still managed to wake up not so late, wanting to use the morning to pack your bags. Sealing the fact that it was almost time for you to leave him.

“You know, pouting in the corner is not a lot of help,” you say, a smirk adorning your face letting him know you’re just teasing him.

“Not pouting,” he mutters turning his face from you and snuggling further into the chair.

“I can see that,” you giggle, reaching for a cushion from the bad and throwing it at his lap, making him shoot a look at you, a small ‘hey!’ leaving his lips. “C’mon, the sooner I’m done with this, the sooner we can start the day properly.”

With that, he gets up from the chair just to plop himself back down on the bed in front of you. He takes a look at your clothes neatly folded next to him, watching as you grab a sock to wrap around a small statue of Romeo and Juliet so it wouldn’t break on your trip back home. He can’t help the sigh that escapes, “Not much planned til later in the afternoon, though, so you’re good.”

You raise your brows at him, “yeah?” A grin grows on your lips. “No more surprises up your sleeve?”

He breathes out a laugh, “thought I could give you a break on your last day,” his voice is soft, not matching your playful tone. “just want to hang out in my apartment for a bit before we have to leave to meet everyone.”

“Oh, so will I finally get the honor to visit the Styles private residence?” you gasp.

“It’s nothing much, you’ll see,” he says, fidgeting with his nails. “But I do have the slimmest balcony in the world, that we can partially sit on.”

“Well, I better hurry up and finish with this then,” you gather a pile of clothing lying on the bed and place it inside the open luggage resting on the floor.

It doesn’t take you much longer to finish up arranging your clothes back inside your bag, leaving a few pieces out for you to change into when you eventually go to sleep. You don’t bother to pick out a different outfit to catch your flight in the early morning, arguing that you’re not trying to impress anyone at the plane so you might as well just go in your pajamas and make your life a bit easier.

And soon, Harry guides you around the familiar blocks that lead back to his apartment building. Just like he had warned you about, it’s very much a student’s home, the best one he could afford with his savings from some jobs he could get here and there. It’s still more than enough for him to fill the sense of being home after a stressful day. He’s got a few plants around that he bought from a girl in his photojournalism class that was obsessed with botanics. There are a few books splattered around his center table and he realizes he had completely forgotten to clean around before having you here.

“Is Mateo in here?” You ask as he urges you in the direction of his room before you can take notice of the mess in the living room.

“I think he’s out with his girlfriend,” he rushes you in, closing the door behind in once you enter the room. “It’s just us here.”

You hum in response, looking around the place he’s been making his own for months. He reaches for the folded chairs leaning against his closet doors. They’re usually used by him and Mateo during the weekends when they feel like staying home and drinking as they watch the sky turn dark around them. But now he gets to do it with you — except the night sky, considering there are still hours left of sunlight upon you.

“Look at her!” You utter suddenly, causing Harry to glance at you over his shoulder as he opens the glass doors that lead to his balcony. He catches a glimpse of his broken Polaroid camera in your hands — having completely forgotten about it. “Can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Me neither,” he sets the chairs down on opposite ends, but still close enough thanks to the narrow space. “I’ll get someone to fix her soon enough, though.”

“I’m glad,” you set the camera back down to where you found it. Harry leans back on the open door behind him, watching as you snoop around his room.

He can’t contain the smile that rips through his lips when you look at the pictures he had spattered on the wall next to his bed, reaching to touch one of the two of you. It’s a picture from your last birthday before he left for Italy, ironic enough, one that had been taken but your then-boyfriend. Harry had his arms wrapped around your shoulders, chin resting on top of them as you both smiled widely to the camera.

Your back faces him as you keep looking around, preventing him from knowing your reaction. He zooms out for a moment, eyes fixed on a random point of his wooden floor of the quiet room. A gasp from you causes him to break away from his thoughts, jumping a bit with the sudden sound.

You turn to look at him, mouth agape in shock, your hold up a small bottle of black nail polish — something that Harry had completely forgotten about it. “Is this yours?”

“Yup,” he nods. “Peter gave it to me a couple months ago.”

“You’ve never told me you painted your nails!” You shake your face in disbelief. “I’ve never even seen you with your nails painted!”

He chuckles, “Haven’t done it a lot, love, probably just once or twice.” he shrugs, looking down at his clear nails, “I’m proper shit at it, if I’m honest, always get it all smudged.”

“Not anymore,” your grin grows. “You gotta let me do your nails, H.”

“Course you can,” he breathes out a laugh. “When do I ever tell you no?”

A squeak leaves your mouth as you jump to him, giving him a quick hug. “You’re gonna look so good with your nails done.”

Harry simply rolls his eyes, ignoring your comment as he feels a familiar warm feeling on his ears. You motion towards the chair he had prompted on the balcony, bouncing to the other one as he props himself down on it. Crossing your legs under your bum, you take one of his hands, resting it gently over your knee as you bend down to start the process. He stares down at you, appreciating your concentrated features, a frown adorning your forehead, tongue sticking out just barely as you focus on applying a thin coat over his nails. His heart skipping a beat as you peek at him from under your lashes, making him look away quickly, eyes wandering mindlessly through the surroundings.

The apartment is not high enough so you can have a perfect overlook of the city from it, but it’s still a nice view nonetheless. There’s a modest park just by the corner of his street, and from where he sits there’s a perfect view of the greenery arranged around the perimeters. At this time he can discern some families enjoying their summer, some children’s pitched screams as they run around in the small playground echoing through the otherwise quiet street.

“Can’t believe you’ve kept this secret from me,” your voice breaks the silence between you two.

He glances back at you, meeting your eyes as you lean down briefly to blow air at his nails, making him realize that you were done with the hand. He places his other one on top of your knee before you even tell him to switch, arching his brows at your words. “Hardly a secret, told I don’t do it a lot.”

“Well, that’s about to change,” you say as you start to work on the blank nails presented in front of you. “If it was for me you’d never leave your nails unpainted ever again.”

A short laugh erupts from his lips, “if only I knew how to paint them properly.”

You click your tongue, holding his ring finger as you flick the brush carefully over the nail. “Guess I’ll have to move here then,” you joke, looking up with a smirk. “So I can be your personal nail technician.”

He bites back a smile, dismissing the warmth in his chest from the simple suggestion behind your words. “Guess you’ll have to.”

**

Harry’s upset.

And he knows he shouldn’t be. He doesn’t want to be. But he can’t help it.

It’s your last night before you catch an early flight back home, and he’s barely seen you since the moment you stepped in the bar.

And what’s even more upsetting to him is that going out to this place wasn’t even in his plans, to begin with. Originally, he had planned on having a simple relaxing day, just the two of you. To have you sitting next to him on the terrace of his building, feeding you his perfected recipe of bruschetta while you share a bottle of wine. He can almost picture it, the sky a perfect mix of colors as the sun sets behind the buildings, your cheeks flushed and lips reddened from the alcohol. He can see your full smile whilst you exchange stories from the time you’ve spent apart or recall fondly memories of the times you were together as the night flies by without either of you noticing.

But none of that actually happened, of course. All due to his inability to say ‘no’.

Instead, here he is, in a bar he doesn’t even like that much — it’s always way too crowded and the music is way too loud to even attempt on having a conversation.

It was Giorgia’s idea; she insisted you had to experience a night out in Rome, and with her being so excited to meet you he couldn’t find it in his heart to say no. At the time he didn’t even consider the possibility of not being by your side. Thinking it would be nice to go out with you for the last time, expecting to have a fun night drinking fruity shots of unknown drinks. Maybe deep down he even thought about the possibility of being able to have you all over him, knowing how clingy you can get after a few drinks.

But those thoughts were snatched away from him almost as quickly as you were once the two of you stepped into the bar. The girls pulled you from his side to show you around, and all he was left with was a quick glance from over your shoulder before you disappeared into the crowd.

So here he is. Sitting at the table with a bloke he doesn’t even know (he was presented to him at some point, but Harry didn’t really bother to register his name). The man was rambling about something Harry couldn’t really care less at the moment, only nodding along to his words and offering short replies every so often. He’s aware of the deep frown between his brows, his eyes peeking at you every minute or so.

You’re standing near the bar with Giorgia leaning in to say something into your ear. He can see a smile breaking into your face and at this point, he’s aware that he’s staring. Your eyes meet his and for the first time, he doesn’t break eye contact when you catch him watching you, offering a weak smile instead. He can tell even from afar that you notice his grouchy expression, saying something back to the girl next to you before you strut in his direction.

“Are you okay?” You question as you get close to him, your brows meeting in a frown, and your worried eyes meeting his own. “You’ve been a bit distant, what’s wrong?”

His heart flutters in his chest, just the fact that you’re checking up on him is enough to make him feel warm in all the nicest ways. He takes a sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly as he breaks his gaze from you. “I’m fine,” he begins, knowing he would never tell you in a million years what’s really making him so grumpy. “Just not feeling so well.”

You don’t believe him, of course you don’t, knowing him way too well to figure out he’s lying through his teeth. But thankfully for him, you don’t press it further, knowing this isn’t the best place for this discussion. Instead, you place your hand on his knee, rubbing it softly before you lean in. “Do you want to leave? We can go back to your apartment.”

“It’s okay, love,” he reassures, “can’t waste your last night here.”

“Wouldn’t be a waste,” you argue back, so quickly he knows there’s not a doubt in your mind as you say it. “Just wanna spend it with you, doesn’t matter how.”

And now he feels as if his heart could beat right out of his chest, just rip a hole right through it and give itself to you. He feels his bloodstream running through his veins, his whole body warming up to it as if every cell was lighting up with the words coming out of your lips.

He wants to tell you that’s all he needs as well. He wants to tell you how being with you it’s enough for him. He opens his lips to do it, but one look into your eyes just makes his mind go blank. So instead, he just blurts out, “I’m gonna take a wee.”

And just like that, he gets up from the booth, barely giving you enough time to nod in response as he rushes towards the bathrooms. The sound of the shame in his mind for choosing the easy way out is so loud he can almost hear ringing in his ears. He thanks all the outer forces in the world when he finds the man’s room unoccupied, walking into it before closing the door behind him with a shaky breath leaving his lips.

Harry doesn’t know what exactly is making him feel like this. If it’s the fact that it’s your last night with him and he’s barely got a single minute with you. Or if it’s the weight of the unspoken words between the two of you starting to overwhelm him. It’s almost like a game you two play, tiptoeing around the emotions that dare to appear every time there’s a lingering touch or a knowingly look shared between the two of you. It’s those moments of intimacy without necessarily touching each other, when you allow yourself to feel vulnerable with a simple act of sharing words. There’s something overpowering about those moments, Harry thinks. And it’s all coming to him now.

He looks up to meet his eyes on the small dirty mirror hanged on the bathroom wall. There’s nothing much different from the reflection he saw before leaving his apartment to come to the bar, maybe apart from the deep frown still marking the skin between his brows, and his hair a bit messier from running his hands through it so much. His eyes hold back an ache from the thoughts wavering around his mind.

It’s pathetic, really. That’s the best word he can come up to describe how he feels. Being in a grimy bathroom on a packed bar the moment he realizes how in love he is with his best friend. This is not a new discovery for him, of course, he was gone for you since the very first moment you got introduced to each other. But this was a feeling that, as time passed by, he’s learned to overlook for the sake of keeping you close, even if it wasn’t the way he yearned for.

Maybe he perfected his own capacity of ignoring his emotions that for a moment he convinced himself they weren’t there anymore. He scoffs at himself, shaking his head almost in disbelief. Pathetic.

He really thought that the distance it would just eventually dull the longing in his heart, but what he didn’t expect was for it to have the complete opposite effect. Seeing you just lit up this part of him he had buried deep inside of his heart.

There’s no reason anymore keeping him from telling you. There hasn’t been one for months now, ever since your last breakup.

He takes a deep breath, splashing a bit of water on his face as he wishes he could’ve had enough to drink to give him the burst of courage to even face you after this moment of realization with himself. He’s aware of how long it’s been since he excused himself, so with a final look to his reflection he leaves the small bathroom with the same rush he had gotten in.

His mind is rushing with too many thoughts for him to even keep up with as he approaches the booth he left you waiting in. But as soon as the table comes into his vision he freezes in his place, taking in the sight in front of him.

You’re sitting there in the exact same spot you were when he left. What unsettles him is the figure sitting next to you. It’s the same bloke that was talking to him after you left with the other girls - the one he still couldn’t remember the name if his life depended on it.

The man had clearly scooped closer to you after Harry left the scene, his arm conventionally resting on top of your seat. It’s evident on the stupid smirk growing on his face as he pushes his dirty blond locks from his face, his undoubtfully charming Italian accent probably apparent while he chats you up. You don’t seem to be minding the attention either, your lips turning into a smile as your fingers fiddle with the straw of your drink.

It feels like someone punched Harry in the stomach, maybe even the actual act wouldn’t hurt him as much as it does to see you flirt with a guy equivalent of a Hollister model. It brings a suffocating ugly feeling to take over every cell of his being. The words that had been playing in his mind completely disappearing.

It’s at this moment he wishes he could’ve drunk enough to cloud his senses. Wishes he could blame the drinks for his irrational decision of intervening the conversation. But it’s not the alcohol that makes him stride in the direction of the booth, it’s something much stronger - jealousy.

You can feel his presence as soon as he gets close, turning around to look at him with the smile still splattered on your face. He doesn’t even register how your eyes light up, shooting a stern look at the man still leaning towards you. “Harry—”

“We should go,” he interrupts you, cringing as his voice leaves harder than he had intended to.

“Oh,” your smile drops, frowning at him. “Are you still not feeling well?”

“I just--” he softens his expression when he meets your eyes. Looking down, the embarrassment of his thoughtless reaction getting to him as he tries to find an excuse for his request, breathing out in frustration when he can’t think of one. “Just think we should go.”

“Okay,” your voice is calm and causes a pang to hit his heart when you shoot him an understanding smile, not questioning the reasoning behind his words any further.

Soon, after saying your goodbyes, you are walking silently side by side on the sidewalk that quickly had become so familiar for the two of you - the one leading to your hotel. Harry can’t help but beat himself up the whole way back. He mindlessly pokes at his nails - a bad habit of his when he’s too anxious - not even realizing he was chipping the nail polish you had carefully applied earlier.

He can feel you gaze up at him every so often, your lips parting as if to say something but never doing it. And as the lights from inside the glass front doors of your hotel get closer, he can feel the heaviness in his heart weighing down, the guilt of cutting short your last night together settling into his mind. He keeps his eyes glued to the sidewalk as you come to a stop just before you reach the entrance of the building.

It takes him a second to notice you stayed behind, making him stop in his tracks and look up to meet your eyes. The lighting on the street is dim, but it’s enough for him to make out clearly the worry in your expression.

“Harry,” you call him, your voice small but tender. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

His eyes break from yours, focusing on the detail of the exposed bricks behind you, moving to the streetlight a few meters away, looking at anything but you. After his scene back in the bar, he doesn’t even know what to tell you, racking his brain for the right words but whenever he thinks of a way to confessing the truth, there’s something holding him back.

It’s the second time in the night he wishes he had more to drink earlier in the evening. Maybe with a few drops of alcohol on his bloodstream, the words would fly easier from his lips.

From the corner of his vision, he can see you step closer to him. Your hand comes up to caress his cheek, moving his head gently so his eyes are locked on yours once again. “Please, H, I know something is up,” you plead, retracting your hand leaving only the ghost of your touch lingering on his skin. “Don’t wanna leave with this weird feeling between us.”

You’re right, and he’d be damned if he lets you go with this last impression of him. “I don’t think there’s a right way for me to say this,” he says his thoughts out loud, “seeing you again — having you here with me, just made me, I guess, admit to myself something I’ve been holding back for way too long now.” his heart pounds in his chest as he searches into your eyes for a single clue of your feelings.

He can tell you’re confused, your brows arching up as you wait for him to continue, but any other thought going through your mind is a mystery to him, which only makes it harder for him to get the words out.

“I just--” he lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding, fuck it. “I just don’t think I can go another minute without knowing how it feels to kiss you.”

The words come out near to a whisper, visibly taking you back as you widen your eyes slightly at the confession. It takes you a moment to process, his eyes looking desperately into yours in a search for a trace of reciprocity, or rejection, or anything really.

“Harry,” you finally say, after what seemed like an eternity to him. “Is this — does this mean—”

He allows himself to take a step closer to you, this time he’s the one reaching to caress your cheeks. His moves are still hesitant, but once he realizes you’re not pulling back he cups your face, thumbs rubbing lovingly at your cheekbone. “Means I’m in love with you, darling,” he’s done holding back.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, the closeness between you two makes him aware of the tears that poll up on your waterline. “I love you too,” your voice cracks, the word coming low as you swallow back a cry.

He still hears them, though, he hears them just fine. His own eyes well up as he lets his forehead fall against yours, his lips parting in a smile so big it almost rips his face in half. “Oh baby,” he lets out a relieved chuckle, “could get used to hearing that.”

The most beautiful giggle comes out of your mouth, your hand moving to the back of his neck pulling him in. “Thought you said you couldn’t take another minute without kissing me,” you bite down a smile.

He gives you one last look, his eyes so loving it feels as if there’s nothing else in this world apart from the two of you. His hand moves to tangle into your hair when he finally leans down to close the space, meeting your mouths in the middle. The kiss is soft and slow, the nerves behind it still radiating from the two of you, but slowly fading away with the excitement of fulfilling the long-overdue desire shared.

It’s a new feeling to you, knowing how it is to have his lips against yours, but somehow it still gives you a sense of familiarity. The excitement of a new discovery, yet the comfort of the intimacy. But the last thing occupying your mind is the duality of emotions in your heart as his tongue smooths your bottom lip. He steps forward, gently pushing you until you can feel your back against the wall of the long-forgotten building behind you.

Not once does he breaks the kiss, only deepening it when your back meets the exposed bricks. His hand massages the hair on the back of your neck as he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you as close as possible — almost as if to convince himself that this was, indeed, real.

You stay like this for a moment, exploring each other’s mouths, getting used to the feeling of being closer than you’ve ever been in the years of friendship. Eventually, he pulls back to catch his breath, pecking your lips softly before he lets his forehead rests against yours.

For a moment, you just stay like this. Looking at the other without being able to hold back a smile. Simple enjoying the exciting bliss surrounding you with heavy breaths and puffy lips.

You decide to break the silence, your voice low. “Would you like to come up to my room?”

The cutest giggle erupts from his lips, “so polite.” He leans to give another peck at your lips. “Of course I would, baby.”

The way up to your room is a bit of a blur. Both too entranced on one another to pay attention to it, sneaking touches on the elevator ride while exchanging knowing glares. You feel like a teenager sneaking with her boyfriend without her parent’s knowledge, both trying to keep their hands to themselves, that is until you open the door to your room.

At the moment your door clicks behind you his lips are back on yours, this time more desperate, not wasting a second as he licks into your mouth. His hands grip onto your waist moving up to rub at the side of your breasts.

You move your own hands to grab at the hem of his shirt before slipping the underneath it, scratching where you know his inked ferns lie upon his skin. He grunts softly into your lips, breaking the kiss to slip the shirt off of him completely.

“Someone’s eager,” you tease, smoothing your palms over his chest as you push him gently in the bed's direction.

He throws the clothing blindly on the floor before reaching his hand on your jawline. A smirk grows on his face, his irises dilated with lust staring down at you. “Been waiting for this for too fucking long, darling.”

Once the back of his knees hit the mattress, he sits back on it, pulling you in by the back of your thighs so you’re on top of his lap. As you relax into him, his hands reaching for your hips to pull you closer, the new position makes you well aware of the growing bulge under his trousers. He leans forward to connect his lips on your neck, spattering kisses down the side of your neck, sucking a few spots on your skin.

You tangle your hand into his hair, pulling at it with a small whine when he bites into the one spot under your jawline. He grunts into your skin, sucking on it again this time causing an actual whimper escape from your throat.

“Christ, baby,” he pulls back to look up at you, his rosy lips forming a cocky grin. “You’re a fucking dream, aren’t you?”

You just giggle in response, drawing him in to connect your lips once again. His hands move on your back as if he’s trying to touch you everywhere at once, settling themselves on the straps of your dress, playing with it for a second before pulling it down your shoulders. What he’s not expecting is to be met with your bare chest underneath, nipples hardening from the exposure.

He breaks the kiss to look down shamelessly, hands moving to the side of your breasts. “Fuck—” he mutters under his breath, bringing his thumb to hover over your nipple, barely touching it. “Trying to kill me, angel?”

Harry’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you in so you arch your back towards him, almost seeming like an invitation. To which he gladly accepts, leaning now to envelop one of your buds with his mouth. He sways his tongue over it, the warm feeling enhancing the sensitivity of it. You don’t hold back the moan that escapes your throat, grinding your hips down at his in a quick movement. This makes him pull off with a groan, spattering open-mouthed kisses along the valley of your breasts.

“Arms up, babe,” he says, pulling back to look at you as you oblige, holding your arms above your head. His hands fiddle with the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head so quickly you barely register the piece of clothing leaving your body.

Once you’re almost naked apart from your simple pastel pink underwear, he wraps an arm around your waist once more. This time, however, instead of pulling you close, he turns his torso, making a move as if to get up, but only switching positions so that you’re lying on the bed. You back hits the covers maybe a bit too harsher than he had intended too, but you don’t mind one bit, the roughness in his actions only contributing to the growing damp on your core.

He stands at the end of the bed, shifting off of his trousers as he looks down at you. It’s not simply a lustful gaze, from having you laid out in front of him — a thought he had entertained himself with for years. It’s more than anything a loving gaze, his darkened eyes glistening at you as he gives you the sweetest smile, causing his dimple to mark his cheek. He takes a moment after getting rid of his pants to just take your sight in, just for a second. You get shy under his eyes, but before you can even think of hiding away from it he’s crawling towards you.

Once he gets to your eye level again, hovering above you, silver cross hanging from his neck, he kisses you. But unlike the other hungry filled ones, this time it’s tender, his mouth moving so slow it makes you melt under his touch. “You’re so beautiful, baby,” his lips brush against yours. “The most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

You chuckle, pulling back to look at him. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s true,” he spatters kisses along your cheek before bringing his eyes to meet yours. “Reckon I could hang your picture on the walls of a museum, let everyone see how beautiful you are.”

There’s a blush creeping on your cheek, the warmth taking over the back of your neck as you feel goosebumps rising on your skin due to the low tone of his voice. You’ve always known Harry for being a sweet talker, knowing he could charm anyone with his words. But something about hearing him say it to you in such an intimate moment, voice raspy as he mutters in your ear, makes your heart stutter in your chest.

You wrap your legs around his ass, pulling him down so his crotch meets yours above the fabric of your underwear. He grinds down slightly, grunting down as he lets his head fall on your shoulder, mouthing down at your neck.

“Wanna taste every inch of you,” he moves to kiss the corner of your lips.

His lips start to move down, peppering kisses along your jawline, but you only let him get as far as the base of your neck, pulling at his shoulders to prevent from moving further. “Later,” you whimper when he brings his hips down to meet yours again, the action only building up the desire bubbling at the pit of your stomach. “We have all night for that.” He looks at you with arched brows, “just need you close.”

“You have me,” he says, his words somehow seeming like much more than just lustful thinking.

His hands hold on to your thighs, digits digging into your skin. He sits back on his calves, leaning in to suck into a spot on your stomach before straightening his posture so he stands tall above you. There’s a moment of teasing when his fingers waver over your skin, the ghost of his touch sending chills down your spine straight to your damped center. It makes you whimper with anticipation, raising your hips upward.

“Someone’s eager,” he repeats your words with a smirk, bringing his fingers to meet the waistband of your underwear.

You lift your hips when he begins to pull the material out of your body, raising your legs so he can pull it off completely. His breath noticeably hitches once he takes a look down at your glistening folds, your arousal beginning to pool.

“Shit, baby--” his fingertip brushes over your core, gathering some of the wetness. You inhale sharply, moving to support your body on your forearms, looking down to watch his moves. “Fucking drenched for me, look at that,” he breathes out.

He eases two fingers into you, without much of a warning. The easiness to which you take him makes him mutter a ‘fuck’ under his breath. He starts with a slow but steady rhythm, stretching you out. There’s a needy moan that leaves your lips once he brings his thumb to nudge at your clit, hands grasping the covers. The sound makes him snap his eyes at you, crawling back to hover above you without stopping the movement of his digits inside of you.

You move your hands to clutch at his hips when he’s in your eye level again, nails digging into the skin as you try to bring him down, but he’s restricted by the position of his own hand between your thighs.

“Harry,” you cry out, opening your eyes you didn’t even register had been closed. “More, please—” you grip at his hips again as if to assert your request.

His fingers pull out of you completely, you clench around the emptiness, sighing in frustration. He makes a show of bringing them between his lips, sucking into them and letting out a satisfied hum. Your eyes keep locked in his, nails clutching at his briefs, trying to pull them down.

He supports himself above you with one arm moving the hand that was previously in his mouth to meet your desperate one grabbing at his underwear. He shifts awkwardly as he removes the last piece of clothing separating you two. His cock slaps back at his stomach, a line of precum already accumulating at the reddened tip.

You hold your breath when he wraps his hand around himself, giving it a few pumps. He lets out a pleased breath, smiling cockily as your hips buck towards him impatiently. A few strands of his hair fall charmingly against his forehead when he looks back at you, lips puffy when he leans to give you a peck.

“Ready?” He rasps, lips brushing against yours. You nod almost desperately, trying to bring him closer. “Let me know if you need me to stop, okay?”

Your head falls back on the cushions once you feel him glaze his tip between your folds, circling it at your clit before he finally nudges his hips forward. A gasp escapes from your throat as his length fills you in, his forehead falling against yours with a low moan. He pushes it all the way in, allowing you a moment to get used to it. He reaches for your hands, enlacing your fingers together and lifting them just above your head.

“God,” he chokes once he’s fully inside, thrusting his hips involuntarily when you clench around him, earning a low mewl from you. “Feel that, baby? Feel me all the way in your belly?”

You whine his name, “So good, please--” you grind your hips in a silent plead to get him to move.

He doesn’t waste another second, pulling back only to thrust in again. You let out a high moan this time, hands gripping tighter on his, noses brushing. He drives his hips down at your in a slow but hard pace, the sound of your skin slapping mixing with your whimpers in the hot air surrounding the two of you. With each thrust, there’s a delicious burn between your thighs, only helping to heighten the rush of pleasure taking over your body.

“So good— Feel so good around me,” Harry groans, quickening the pace in which his hips meet yours. “Thought about it for so long, baby. — fuck, needed you for so long.”

“You have me,” you let out a sharp pant, cursing his name when he hits a spot inside of you, toes curling on the back of his thighs. You repeat with a quiet moan, your mind hazy with desire. “You have me.”

“I love you,” he says with a sharp grunt, and you feel like your heart might hammer right out of chest at any moment. “Christ, darling, hear that? So wet around me, gonna make me slip right off.”

His words only intensify the bubbly feeling taking over your stomach, your walls pulsating around him. He swears with a pleased moan, rhythm faltering. One of his hands untangles itself from your fingers, moving down to rub swift circles over your clit. You cry out, arching your back, feeling an electric bliss consuming every cell of your body.

“Cum for me,” he pleads, only increasing his movements when you feel you burst under him, riding out your high with sloppy thrusts, feeling his own orgasm creep at the pit of his stomach.

“Harry,” you let out a mewl once you come down, the sensitivity becoming almost overwhelming.

It doesn’t take much longer for him to quiver above you, his cock twitching inside of you. His face buries on your throat, a drawn-out whine vibrating on your skin as he releases his orgasm.

You stay like that for a while, a mess of sweaty limbs, trying to catch your breaths. Your mind is still cloudy from the bliss, trying to wrap itself around what just happened. With a pleased sigh, you unwrap your shaky legs from around his waist, letting them fall limply on the covers.

With that, Harry shifts his body with a tiny grunt, weakly rolling on his back so he’s lying on the spot next to you. You turn on your side to face him. There’s a tender smile painted on his face when you lock eyes, his arm wrapping around you to pull you closer, pressing his lips on the top of your head.

“Maybe they’ll delay your flight again,” he jokes, but there’s a hint of hope sweeping in the back of his mind. “So you can stay longer.”

“Shh,” you bring your hand to caress his cheek, poking out your thumb to line at his bottom lip. “Let’s not think about that just yet.”

“Okay.”

And for a moment you two just stay there, admiring each other without saying a word. There are a thousand unanswered questions waving around the room, but none of you feels like going into them. So instead, you just enjoy the other, your breaths still a bit heavy and chests fluttered. But melting into each other's touch.

Harry’s fingers are gentle as they smooth on your cheek, the feeling so soothing it makes you close your eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he pleas, his voice just above a whisper. “Don’t want this to be over.”

Your smile is tender and warms his heart in the most beautiful ways, your eyes fluttering open as your hand reaches up to move a strand of his hair from his forehead. “It doesn’t have to be.”

[oikawaplssteponme]

PART 8 | previously: part 7 | masterlist

pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem! reader

ratings/warnings: swearing, fighting

synopsis: When UA’s hot heads, Katsuki Bakugou and you, are forced to put your hatred for each other aside and plan the third year Prom, things end up getting a little heated...

a/n: hi hi!! 💕okay so the prom that im describing throughout this fic is like your ‘basic’ prom so to say. that’s simply because that’s just how i personally know how prom works :) i just wanted to clarify that in case some of you were confused since i didn’t really mention that before and i hope you don’t mind :)) anyway, enjoy xx

��

Eight: tantrum

To say you were embarrassed was an understatement. You felt awful for not giving Deku an answer, and even worse for running away. You didn’t even realize you were moving until you found yourself locked in your room. You felt so stupid. Why didn’t you just say yes to Miydoria? It’s not like Bakugou was actually gonna ask you. So why did it matter?

It was the next day and you were seated in homeroom. You didn’t even want to look at your classmates, let alone Deku. You felt so bad for blowing him off like that.

You watched as Deku took a seat next to you, as he usually did. Trailing behind him was Bakugou, who didn’t give you some witty insult as he did most mornings.

“H-Hi Deku,” you said nervously.

“Hi Y/N!” He smiled brightly. Your eyes widened.

Is he not mad at me?

“How are you?” You asked.

“Good! A bit tired though, I was up late doing some training,” he replied. You nodded.

“Uh, look about yesterday-”

“It’s okay if you don’t have an answer just yet. I can wait,” he reassured you. You sighed.

“Mind if we talk at lunch?” you asked. He nodded.

“Well aren’t you two cute?” huffed Bakugou. You looked at him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you groaned. Bakugou just shrugged and before you could bother him again, class began.

As the morning passed, you found yourself at lunch. You sat with Deku and Iida as you usually did. You felt kinda awkward, not engaging in conversation as you normally would.

“Hey Deku mind if we talk now?” You interrupted. Deku looked at Iida and watched as he got up from the table.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” smiled Iida. You now faced Deku and took a deep breath.

“Look, Deku, I really appreciate you asking me to Prom. It was super sweet and I loved the poster,” you began. Deku just smiled at you, nodding at every word you said.

Is he even listening to me?

“But, um, here’s the thing. I-uh, I don’t think I’m gonna go with a date. I kinda wanna just enjoy the dance with everyone...as a group, you know?” Deku stopped smiling.

“But we're going in the same group anyway?”

“Yeah, true. It’s just that I’m-“

“Wait did someone already ask you?”

“No, no, uh it’s not that. I just...gosh I’m really sorry Deku. I just would rather go without a date. Anyway, I’m gonna have to be running the dance so I probably won’t be having fun away. I’d hate for you to have a shitty time because of me,” you explained, which was the truth. Odds are you’d be scrambling around the dance making sure things are going well. It would be unfair to Deku to drag him along. Nevertheless, Deku looked disappointed.

“But I’ll save you a dance! How’s that?” You attempted to cheer him up. Deku looked back at you.

“I’d like that,” he smiled. You felt a wave of relief fall over you.

“Perfect. Thanks for understanding,” you said. Izuku nodded.

“Of course, but I sorta already told my mom you were going with me so do you mind if we still take a picture together on the day of Prom?” You laughed.

“Yeah that’s fine Deku.”

~

After school you followed your normal routine of changing out of your uniform and into something comfortable then going down to the basement. Prom was approaching quickly and you knew there was still much that had to be done.

The door was locked but you could see light peeking out from underneath. You began to knock on the door, hoping Bakugou was inside.

“Katsuki!” You continued to knock.

“I know you’re in there dumbass, it’s me!” You finally heard footsteps approach the door. The door swung open, revealing an annoyed Bakugou.

“Woah what’s with your face?” You asked. Bakugou didn’t say anything, he just turned around and sat back down.

“Uh okay...hey did you ever contact Present Mic about DJ-ing? Apparently he actually charges for school events,” you said. Bakugou paid you no attention.

“Well I called the flower shop for the centerpieces and they said they can give us a deal for 20 but we would have to buy the larger size.”

Still nothing.

“Bakugou? Hello? I’m trying to talk to you.” You went over to him and nudged him. Nothing.

“I know damn well you aren’t giving me the fucking silent treatment right now,” you huffed. You had to clench your fists to stop yourself from doing something stupid. Bakugou shrugged.

“THAT'S IT!” You grabbed the back of Bakugou’s shirt and pulled him to stand up. You dragged him to the wall and pressed your forearm against his neck.

“WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM RIGHT NOW? HUH?”

“I bet you wish I was Deku right now, don’t you?” Your eyes widened.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bakugou just shrugged. You began to get more heated so you applied more pressure to his neck.

“So that’s what your little tantrum is about? Deku?” Bakugou huffed angrily. He pushed you off of him and pinned your wrists to the wall.

“I AM NOT HAVING A TANTRUM!”

“THEN WHY THE HELL ARE YOU ACTING LIKE THIS?!”

Bakugou opened his mouth as if he were going to yell at you again but he stopped himself. He let out a frustrated sigh.

“Did you say yes?” he asked. You gave him a confused look.

“Yes to what?” Bakugou sighed.

“God you are so fucking stupid…”

“I AM NOT!”

“WELL DID YOU SAY YES TO HIM OR NOT?” You suddenly realized what Bakugou was talking about.

“Do you mean about Prom?” You asked. Bakugou looked down, nodding slightly. You groaned.

“No Katsuki. I told him no.”

Bakugou looked at you with widened eyes.

“Wait, you didn’t choose Deku?”

“What? No, I didn’t choose Deku. Why would I choose Deku?” You questioned. Bakugou looked back down at the ground.

“Everyone chooses Deku…” he mumbled.

“Well I didn’t so clearly not everyone,” you smirked.

Bakugou let go of you from the wall. You rubbed your wrists. Bakugou leaned against the table, his face resting in the palms of his hands. You walked over to him and gently moved his hands so you could see his face.

“Anyway, I don’t think Deku can handle all this,” you joked, gesturing to yourself. Bakugou let out a small laugh.

“I hate you…” he mumbled. You chuckled.

“I hate you more.” You let go of Bakugou’s hands and sat down on the table as you usually did.

“Now that you’re done throwing your fit, will you please go pick up the streamers we re-ordered? They’re in the office,” you said. Bakugou groaned.

“Fine dumbass.”

“Thank you Katsuki,” you smiled.

“Whatever.”

~

“Why are suits so expensive?” groaned Bakugou. You chuckled.

“Just rent one or something,” you suggested. You and Bakugou were still in the basement, though little planning progress was being made.

“Why are there so many different options?” Bakugou was struggling to find the correct attire for the dance. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Here let me see.” You moved to sit next to Bakugou, taking his laptop and scrolling through the page he had opened.

“Did you want to get a specific color?” You asked. Bakugou shrugged.

“I don’t know how this shit works.”

“Well if you wanted you could get a colored suit but that also depends on if you have a date or not. You’d look pretty stupid if you and your date had clashing colors,” you explained.

“So if I have a date I have to match with them? That fucking sucks.” You laughed.

“All you’d really have to do is find a tie that’s the same color of whatever dress or clothing that they are wearing. It’s not as difficult as it seems.”

“Hmmm okay…”

“The easy choice is just to get a black suit and tie. That never goes out of style. Like this one.” You pointed to the nicely tailored suit on the computer screen. You couldn’t help but get excited at the thought of Bakugou dressed up.

“And uh, those flower things that people wear. Do people still do that?” He asked. You chuckled.

“You mean corsages and boutonnières. Yeah but again you only need to worry about that if you have a date. Like the tie, the flowers you pick would probably match the colors you two wear.”

“For someone who hates Prom, you sure do know a lot about it,” said Bakugou.

“It’s kinda common knowledge dumbass,” you teased.

“Oh shut up!” Bakugou took back his laptop. “Don’t you need to get your dress or something?”

You groaned.

“Don’t remind me. I have no idea what kind of dress I’m gonna get. And the worst part is that it has to be long,” you complained.

“Why don’t you just ask Yaoyorozu to make you one?” He suggested.

“I asked and she said no because that would be ‘damaging to the economy.’ I just think that she’s gonna force me to go shopping with her and the rest of the girls in class.”

“Ha well have fun with that,” teased Bakugou.

“Hey isn’t it way past your bedtime explosion boy?” Bakugou looked at the clock on the wall.

“Not past yet. But I’m going to bed.” He began to pack up his things.

“God, you’re like an old man,” you joked. Bakugou rolled his eyes.

“Well maybe if you got more sleep you’d actually beat me in a fight for once.”

“Seriously?”

“Did it sound like I was joking?” You huffed and followed Bakugou up the stairs.

“Fine I’ll get some stupid sleep Katsuki.”

“Good. Night Y/N.” Bakugou walked back to the dorms and you stopped to take a deep breath.

That stupid boy is gonna be the death of me.

•

[taglist OPEN: @vangoghpoets @vangoghmusings @bokutory @complimentaryhugsgirl @cloudswritings @kriswu46 @neodnyl @evivn1 @jazzylove @mileven-reddie @whalerus @misssugarless @random-fandom-girl-24 @fanfiction-and-stress @ushiwakatrash @minhoswife @addictofsupernatural @the-shota-king-masayuki @freyafolkvangr @fourteenow @tamaguchi @lalayy @athenarosaline @blxck-coffee @katsukibabe @thatonegeekchick @that-chick212 @bibly @nxynxy @theunknownrandom @flustered-blue-eyed-sex-muffin @94potterhead @moonlightaangel (if your name is bold, i couldn’t tag you) ]

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Pushed Around

Prompt: i looooooove you protective knights Merlin drabbles from over quarantine, the frantic energy of these large children fretting over Merlin is hilarious and so precious (': would you ever write your take on the classic "a visiting knight/noble is a dickwad to Merlin but he doesn't tell anyone bc of either worries of diplomacy or something else and then when Arthur and the knights do find out they have to have a serious chat w Merlin about his priorities and self-worth?" bc,,, it would be awesome

Thanks for the req! I do love this trope...

Read on Ao3

Pairings: merthur, but can be platonic or romantic, you decide

Warnings: uhhh nobles can be dicks

Word Count: 3372

The problem with Merlin is that he doesn’t say nearly enough for all the talking he does. Honestly, the man can ramble on for hours and hours without being interrupted and never say one word about himself. He’s spoken about how Arthur sits wrong for longer than a council meeting for goodness’ sake. And yet in all that time, he’s never said a single thing about himself.

 It would be impressive if it didn’t get them into nearly so many stressful situations that could’ve been avoided had he asked for help.

In fairness to Merlin, servants asking for help from anyone other than fellow servants isn’t exactly normal. In unfairness to Merlin, when has ‘normal’ ever been very high on his list of things to strive for?

 They’ve all gotten fairly used to it. Merlin will be doing something and one of them will notice that perhaps there’s a…better way to do that. Or perhaps he’s doing it with a little less skill or proficiency than he normally does and gods, Merlin, how long have you been hurt for? Merlin will shrug and smile sheepishly at them and say that it’s nothing to worry about. Only Gaius seems to be immune to that, raising the Eyebrow of Disappointment and Merlin will bow his head and let him tend to whatever he’s done to himself this time. The problem is Merlin seems to know this and does all he can to avoid doing these things in front of Gaius. Which leaves the rest of them to struggle frantically to keep track of Merlin while he’s frantically keeping track of them.

 But they’ve gotten used to it.

 Arthur is allowed to be an absolute prat—Merlin’s words, not his—in the mornings, insisting Merlin do all sorts of ridiculously elaborate chores to assess whether he’s hurt himself, whether something’s wrong, or whether he’s done something to upset Merlin more than tossing the occasional boot at him. If Merlin doesn’t snipe back or calls him ‘sire’ unironically, something is definitely wrong and everything is on pause until they fix it. No exceptions.

 Leon, as the closest thing to Arthur’s right hand aside from Merlin, takes every opportunity to stand next to him, regardless of how proper it is. Leon may not be immune to Merlin’s impish little excuses, but Merlin is not immune to the protective-older-sibling looks Leon gives him or the gentle way Leon arranges his cape so that Merlin looks even more inconspicuous behind the copious amounts of red fabric. Leon never says a word, and Merlin would never admit it, but there are times when, if you looked at them from behind, you would see Merlin reach out to clutch Leon’s cape and Leon reach to hold his hand.

 Percival is not a small man. Anyone standing opposite him better think very carefully about whatever they’re about to fight over. Odds are it won’t be worth it. Often all he has to do is stand up and they’re babbling apologies or excuses. Merlin, on the other hand, is a slight man who looks as if he’s always about two seconds from tripping over his own feet. Percival makes sure to stand in front of him.

 Elyan has a way with words. Not that he’s the most loquacious speaker, nor the most forceful, but he’s got a voice that makes people listen. It’s not Arthur’s authority, nor it is Uther’s unmistakable iron, but it is a quiet power. Oftentimes, people don’t seem to respect Merlin. Some go so far as to refuse to remember his name. Elyan’s never had a problem making them see reason.

 Gwaine is not known for being discreet, nor is he especially reserved in demonstrating that he’s here for Merlin, not for Camelot, not for Arthur, but for Merlin. Sometimes Merlin just needs a little reminder that he’s worth fighting for, and not just because he’s fighting for something bigger than himself.

 Lancelot is the only one that can actually get Merlin to talk, reliably. The man can see through Merlin’s nonsense in a way that rivals Gaius. Unlike Gaius, Merlin won’t fight him on it. It’s difficult to get Lancelot to tell the rest of them, despite what he’ll have you believe. But if Merlin looks a little happier afterward, then it’s all fine.

 So yeah, they’ve gotten used to it. What they haven’t gotten used to are the people that go out of their way to make life for Merlin harder.

 “There’s another tournament?” Merlin huffs as he throws the blanket over Arthur’s bed. “Didn’t you just have one?”

 “That was a joust. This is a melee.”

 “You’re all throwing yourselves at each other with various pieces of metal,” Merlin remarks dryly, “what’s the difference?”

 Arthur rolls his eyes as he gets up, glancing out the window to see the approaching knights. There aren’t nearly as many as the last tournament, thank goodness, but that does mean that this one won’t be nearly as easily decided.

 “As long as I’m not cleaning up after all of you this time…”

 Arthur frowns, looking back at Merlin straightening the bed covers. “What do you mean?”

 “Last time. I was working non-stop. Had another knight almost as demanding as you are.”

 “I’m allowed to be demanding,” Arthur says, “you’re my servant.”

 “Mhmm, sure.”

 “No one else is.”

 “You tell them that, sire.”

 “I will. Who was it?”

 Merlin shrugs. “Don’t really remember his name.”

 Arthur sighs, walking forward and resting his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Yes, you do. That’s what you say when you don’t want to tell me someone’s name.”

 “You don’t know that.”

 “I do,” Arthur says softly, turning Merlin to face him, “so you can tell me.”

 “That’s not how it works.”

 “Sure it is.”

 “No, it really isn’t.”

 “Merlin,” Arthur huffs, “if something is wrong, you know you can tell me.”

 “But nothing’s wrong!” Arthur just gives him a look until he sighs, picking up the laundry basket. “Alright, fine, his name was Tobias, are you happy now?”

 “Yes, I am, thank you.” Arthur gives his shoulder another pat before moving away. “The next time he’s here, I’ll make sure you’re nowhere near him.”

 As it turns out, that doesn’t go as planned. Because Sir Tobias didn’t just sign up for the joust, he’s here for the melee too.

 “Arthur Pendragon,” the man roars, clapping Arthur firmly on the shoulder, “thought you’d seen the last of me, eh?”

“Thought that bruised backside you got from falling off your horse would’ve kept you away.”

 Tobias throws his head back and laughs. “You’ve got spirit about you, lad. It’ll serve you well if you can hold your nerve.”

 “My nerve has never failed me before,” Arthur replies cooly, gesturing up the stairs, “though I’m sure you know that by now.”

 “We’ll see come the melee.”

 Merlin is out of sight, helping the stablehands tend to the horses. As Arthur walks up the stairs, he sees Tobias glance around and huff softly to himself.

 “Is there something wrong?”

 “No, no,” Tobias says quickly as they enter the hall, “just glad to see you’ve not assigned me the same servant this time.”

 Arthur straightens. “Excuse me?”

 “The gangly boy that tended to my chambers last time,” Tobias says, waving his hand, “right awful he was. Glad you’ve fired him.”

 “I see…”

 Arthur does not, in fact, see, but he makes a point to tell the knights not to let Tobias near Merlin.

 As it turns out, they don’t have much of a choice. Arthur needs Merlin to help him get ready, and Tobias is of high enough rank to be near the prince as he does so. Luckily for Merlin, he just has to stay inside the tent.

 Unluckily for Merlin…

 “Arthur,” Gwaine calls from outside, “they need you to come look at the shields.”

 Arthur gives Merlin’s arm a squeeze and steps away, ducking out of the tent. Gwaine leads him over to a table laden with shields, each with a different insignia painted on it. The Pendragon crest gleams in the light, next to the sigils from each of the other knights fighting. None of them has so much as a scratch.

 “Very good, sire,” the attendant says, sweeping them along to finish the final preparations. Arthur follows Gwaine up the hill to where the others are standing, Leon turning and nodding solemnly ate his approach.

 “Are all of you competing, then?” Arthur leans against the wall.

 Leon shakes his head. “Lancelot and I will be sitting this one out.”

 “Not growing weary are you, old friend?”

 “Weary of people attempting to kill you while I’m already engaged in combat,” Leon replies wryly, “and weary of Merlin being the only one able to do anything about it.”

 “They won’t listen to him when he calls for a stop to the tourney,” Lancelot adds.

 “And so you can keep anyone away from him,” Gwaine says firmly.

 “Precisely.”

 They head back down the hill, just in time to see a flutter of movement from Arthur’s tent. Gwaine frowns, rushing forward and throwing it open.

 “Merlin?”

 “I’m here,” Merlin says, getting to his feet, “just fell.”

 Arthur rolls his eyes fondly and reaches down to help him up. “At some point, Merlin, I do have to wonder.”

 “It’s fine, I just picked up something without realizing it was attached to something else.”

 “I see.”

 The rest of the knights glance at each other over Arthur’s shoulder and Elyan stalks off toward a neighboring tent. Leon bows deeply and tells Merlin that he and Lancelot will wait for the others to finish their training before coming to collect him.

 “There’s still a few more days to go,” Merlin says softly, “I don’t see why you all had to come here so early.”

 “It’s to make it fair, give the knights the chance to get used to fighting in the same place.”

 Merlin grumbles to himself as he goes about finishing up. Arthur catches him gently by the elbow as he turns to leave.

 “Are you alright? Really?”

 “Arthur, I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

 Arthur sighs. “I would really like for one of these to go off normally for once.”

 Arthur does not, in fact, get what he wants.

 Not that anyone is particularly surprised that there’s a knight who managed to sneak a poisoned weapon into the training grounds, but someone clips Arthur through his armor and he winces, immediately aware that something’s wrong. Merlin spots it a mile away, because of course he does. The knight is quickly escorted away and Arthur shakes his head, calling for a search of all the knights’ belongings and weapons.

 “You’d think we’d get better about this,” Lancelot mutters as he and Merlin approach, Merlin rubbing his shoulder, “and that they’d stop trying.”

 “At least we caught it before the actual melee.”

 “Merlin, there you are,” Gwaine says, pulling Merlin to his side, “good. Now, you and I are going to have a talk.”

 “About what?” Arthur looks around. “What’s going on?”

 Lancelot just mouths that they’ll be back as Gwaine sweeps them both along the corridor. Arthur brushes it to the back of his mind. That’s not the first time they’ve done something like this.

 It’s the night before the melee. Merlin is late. Arthur paces up and down the length of his quarters. The knights have all vanished hours ago. Merlin is late.

 A knock.

 “Enter.”

 Leon sweeps inside, a stony look on his face. He glances around the quarters and bites back a curse. “Merlin’s not here, is he?”

 “No,” Arthur says, his blood beginning to run cold, “no, he isn’t. Where is he?”

“Gwaine and Lancelot are already looking,” Leon says, shutting the door, “but…sire, may I ask a question?”

 “Always,” Arthur says immediately, “you don’t need to ask.”

 “How long has Tobias been…allowed near Merlin?”

 “He hasn’t,” Arthur growls, hustling down the corridor, “but what has he done?”

 “He was more brazen during the joust.” Leon shoulders a door open. “But now—“

 “Merlin!”

 Arthur rushes forward as Merlin turns the corner. Startled, Merlin barely has time to turn all the way before Arthur’s wrapping him up in a protective arm and turning him back toward the safety of Arthur’s chambers.

 “Where were you?”

 “I was, um…”

 Arthur bites back a curse and hurries faster, Leon hot on their heels. Along the way, they come across Elyan and Percival, coming up from the armory.

 “Arthur, we need to—“ Elyan breaks off when he sees Merlin in Arthur’s arms. “Merlin?”

 “My chambers,” Arthur growls, “now.”

 “What about Gwaine and Lancelot?”

 “They’ll find us.”

 “Guys, whatever this is, it’s fine,” Merlin tries but Arthur simply opens the door to his quarters and sits Merlin down. “Really!”

 “Merlin,” Leon says quietly, “where were you just now?”

 Merlin glances at Arthur. Then back to Leon. “Helping Amelia.”

 “And who were you helping Amelia help?”

 Another glance at Arthur. Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

 “Merlin,” he says slowly, “I need you to answer me honestly, please.”

 Merlin nods, evidently a little taken aback at how soft Arthur’s voice is.

 “Were you helping Amelia because she asked for your help, or were you helping her so Tobias would get angry with you instead of her?”

 The silence that fills the room is more than enough of an answer.

 “I’m going to kill him,” Gwaine announces, kicking open the door, “now where’s—there you are.”

 “Gwaine, I—ah!”

 “Don’t break him,” Lancelot chides gently as Gwaine sweeps Merlin into a hug, “he’s probably still hurt.”

 “Hurt?” Arthur looks from Lancelot to Merlin. “Merlin—“

 “It’s fine.”

 “Can you allow us to be the judge of that,” Leon asks, settling a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder and moving him away, “please?”

 “It’s just a few bruises, he doesn’t even hit that hard.”

 “Not exactly helping your case here,” Gwaine snarls, stalking toward Arthur.

 “Merlin.”

 “…why’re you guys so upset?”

 Arthur winces. Merlin looks back and forth between them.

 “No…really, I don’t—I don’t understand. You lot hit me.”

 “Not like that!”

 “It’s fine, I don’t—“

 “This isn’t fine, Merlin, you’re being hurt.”

 “So?”

 The room falls silent. Leon draws back as if Merlin reached out to smack him across the face. Percival bows his head as Elyan bites back a curse. Lancelot stares at Merlin like he’s grown a second head. Gwaine looks at Arthur.

 Arthur’s chest clenches so painfully he fears he’s going to have to send for Gaius. Merlin…Merlin doesn’t believe that he’s worth worrying about when he’s hurt? Merlin doesn’t care that he’s getting hurt? Merlin is letting someone hurt him?

 “Merlin…”

 “What?” He looks around at all of them in confusion. “What it is? Why do you all look so…so…”

 “Upset?” Leon tilts his head. “Because you just told us you don’t think you’re important.”

 “But…this isn’t that big of a deal. It happens all the time. Why is this time any different.”

 “How often,” Lancelot says, “would you say this happens then?”

 “Every time there’s a tournament.”

 “Every tournament,” Leon repeats quietly, “there is a knight that does this?”

 “Sometimes more than one.”

 “And you…let them?”

 “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

 No.

 No, no, no, this isn’t right.

 This isn’t right.

 Merlin is the man who waltzed right up to Arthur on his first day in Camelot and told him to stop being a prat.

 Merlin is the man who spat in Uther’s face as often as he could.

 Merlin is the man who demanded that everyone is treated as a person, be they servant or noble or royal.

 This is wrong.

 “Merlin,” Arthur manages, “Merlin, of course you have a choice.”

 “If I don’t do it, they’ll hurt someone else. And I’m used to it.”

 “But you never should’ve gotten used to it,” Arthur cries, rushing forward and grabbing Merlin’s shoulders, “damnit, Merlin, why don’t you protect yourself?”

 “I’m fine, Arthur.”

 “You’re letting yourself get pushed around and beaten by someone, you’re not fine.”

 “I have to put up with you, don’t I?”

 Arthur burns.

 Something in his chest squeezes so tight it breaks. He takes his hands off of Merlin like he’s been stung, backing up until he hits the poster of his bed. His mouth is open in shock and he can scarcely draw breath.

 Merlin thinks…Merlin…did he do this to Merlin?

 “I don’t understand why this is such a big deal,” Merlin is saying far, far away, “it’s not like I’m not…why’re you all looking at me like that?”

 No, no, Merlin is Arthur’s Merlin, he—he’d never hurt his Merlin, he’d never—no, he hasn’t—but—Merlin—

 “Arthur, are you—are you crying?”

 This is Arthur’s fault. This is Arthur’s fault, isn’t it, he’s messed this up, he’s messed Merlin up, he’s ruined it—he’s ruined everything.

 “Sire,” comes Leon’s—is that Leon’s?—voice from somewhere to his left, “you have to breathe, come on…”

 Arthur gasps, the air burning the inside of his throat. He does it again, frantically blinking to clear his eyes. Tears stream down his cheeks—so he did start crying—as the image of Lancelot and Gwaine talking to Merlin swims into view in front of him. Merlin’s brow is furrowed and he keeps shooting concerned looks Arthur’s way.

 “I never meant—“ Arthur swallows— “I never meant to hurt him. I didn’t—I never meant any of them, I—“

 “Shh, sire,” Leon murmurs, “we know. Nothing is simple right now.”

 “But that’s not what Arthur does,” Merlin protests, “he—is that why you guys are so worried?”

 Merlin turns and flies at Arthur, hands immediately coming up to cup his cheeks and numb away his tears, muttering all the while.

 “That’s not what I meant, Arthur,” he babbles, “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—you’re not like them, I just—that’s what I’m used to, I didn’t know that there was a difference—“

 “I never meant to hurt you, Merlin,” Arthur says, gripping Merlin’s arms tightly, “I just—you must believe me—“

 “I do, I do—“ now Merlin’s crying too— “I just—“

 “Alright, you two,” Leon hushes, gently laying a hand on both of their shoulders, “let’s have you two sit before you fall over.”

 The knight guides them both to the bed, sitting them on the edge. They’re no help; they’re too busy crying and clinging onto each other.

 “Now, why don’t you two have a chat, and we’ll be outside.” Leon ruffles their hair affectionately and sweeps the others out into the corridor despite Gwaine’s protests.

 Arthur swallows. “I never meant to hurt you, Merlin,” he mumbles, “nor do I believe that you’re—a fool or an idiot or stupid or anything.”

 He clutches Merlin tightly. “You’re important to me.”

 Merlin nods. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you lot, it’s just…that was how the older boys in Ealdor treated me. I got used to it. And it always made sense.”

 Arthur shakes his head furiously. “It doesn’t make sense, Merlin. They were hurting you. People are hurting you. That’s not alright. That’s awful. And I’m going to stop it.”

 “You can’t just fight all the nobles who don’t like me.”

 “Watch me.”

 “Your father will—“

 “To hell with that,” Arthur snarls, “they’re hurting you. And I won’t stand for it.”

 Merlin sighs, slumping forward. Without a thought, Arthur catches him, pulling him closer and tucking his head over Merlin’s.

 “…you really would fight them for me?”

 “Yes, Merlin. I would. And I will.”

 He feels Merlin grin against his shoulder. “You’re going to make Tobias never come back to Camelot, aren’t you?”

 “Perhaps.”

[svtskneecaps]

crew and cast

(gender neutral) reader x jihoon

genre: fluff + some?? angst? listen i tried lmao; words: 2.8k

well howdy @toxicsocial​ tis i, your tct secret santa. so uh, i can’t actually make people cry in a timely manner and i didn’t figure most people would be down to read like 9k of buildup, so!! the angst is minimal!!! but i tried really hard and i hope you like it i love you so much also i forgot to title it again until right now so don’t look at it too hard

You loved your high school’s theatre crew. From freshman year they’d been a staple in your life. It was refreshingly stable to be able to walk into the tech room anytime and reliably know what would be going on. Except, there was one thing about theatre you couldn’t stand: Lee Jihoon. You’d avoided him since freshman year, but unfortunately for you, you’d taken over the position of Run Crew Head and Prop Master, and he was the Student Director. You were forced to sit through every production meeting with him.

Which, fine. You’d do anything for the show to run well. But that didn’t change the fact that he made you want to commit a crime.

Or three.

“Great news guys!” you yelled, sweeping into the tech room. “The crutches still aren’t right and Jihoon wants us to repaint the brickwork on the platforms to be less ‘garish’ and the typewriter is from the 1940s when it should be from the 1890s and I’m going to set something on fire!”

Chan slammed his head against the nearest cabinet. “This is the third time he’s rejected the brickwork, oh my god.”

“Fourth time he’s hated the crutches too, and I’ve told him that the only period accurate typewriter in the basement is literally one wrong keystroke from breaking onstage but I guess he’s willing to take that risk for a typewriter that’s going to be in one scene.” You massaged your forehead. “I’m gonna stay late Wednesday so we can have our shit together by Hell Week.”

“I’ll have to join.” Chan peeled his head off the cabinet, cracking his knuckles. “You think Mingyu’s got time to spare? I might get him to help; there’s way too much platform for me to do in time.”

“Dunno, he’s pretty busy.” Vernon scooped a loose screw out of a sawdust pile and swept the whole thing into the dustpan. “Makeup’s been working hard to get the ‘ragged urchin’ look right.”

“I’ll con Soonyoung into it then, I don’t think they’re rehearsing the dance numbers tomorrow so he might be free.”

“I wish you luck with that, dude.” You scooped the crutch off the floor. “I gotta go beg costumes to let me into the basement storage and see if there’s another goddamn piece of fabric I can use for the crutches.”

“You have fun.”

You ended up getting lucky; Minghao already needed to go down there so you wouldn’t have to fight for cell signal to make sure you were allowed to deface the cloth scraps you’d found.

“You seem stressed,” he noted as he unlocked the basement door.

You snorted. “Stressed is an understatement.”

“Jihoon again?”

“If he tells me to redo the damn crutches again I’m going to nail him to the wall.”

Minghao lead the way down the stairs. “I really thought you had it that time.”

“Nothing is good enough for that guy.”

He shrugged. “He just wants the show to go well.”

“Yeah, well, so do I. He doesn’t have to get up everybody’s ass sticking his opinions where they don’t belong. He’s never been crew, why does he get to make us repaint the entire damn set anyway?”

“He’s the director.”

“Everyone else thought the bricks looked fine!”

Minghao looked at you sideways. “What’s your deal with Jihoon?”

“Like I said, poking his nose where it doesn’t--”

“No, you had beef before he got appointed Student Director.”

You sighed. “I don’t know. He’s always kind of been a pain even when he was ensemble.” You drove your finger into your temple. “And he broke a crucial prop that wasn’t his the night before the show opened and didn’t tell me.”

“You did props?”

“Buddy I was Prop Master. I literally didn’t find out until the Stage Manager tried to run that scene before school.” You glared absently at the shelves of typewriters to one side of the walkway. “I literally had to skip my last three classes and dinner to get a replacement and he never even apologized for it.”

Minghao whistled. “That’s unforgivable.”

“Tell me about it.” You waded through the costume racks to get to the bins of scraps in the back.

“And you’ve never considered forgiving and forgetting? I mean, it’s been two years.”

You sighed, leaning the crutch against a shelf. “I mean. . .”

He snickered. “Come on, it’s just you and me and the ghosts down here, you can say it.”

“I mean. . . he just makes me so mad!” You yanked the lid off a tote with a snap that echoed across the basement. “Like, every time I start thinking maybe he’s not so bad he pulls some other shit on me and I slam right back into hating his goddamn guts.”

“You’re on the same team,” Minghao called down the row. “You’re just trying to make the show better.”

“Making the show better shouldn’t involve painting the entire set three times.”

“I’m just saying, it’d put at least three years back on your lifespan.”

“Yeah yeah.”

You managed to update the crutches by the end of the day, and repainted the entire set on Wednesday--although you had to sacrifice your lunch and free periods and several hours after school to get it all done. Thursday left you with a finished set and another production meeting.

He didn’t like the bricks.

You saw red.

In the hallway, you pulled him aside.

“What don’t you like about the bricks?”

He frowned. “They detract attention from the actors.”

You wanted to seize him by the shoulders and shake him like a maraca. “It’s gray! It is the darkest most nondescript color we have in the buckets and you’re telling me it detracts attention from the actors? You haven’t even seen them rehearse with it!”

“It’s gonna be too much,” he argued. “It’s the same color as half the costumes--”

“I have seen every single costume in the show, it’s not even close to the same pigment!”

“Even still--”

“Listen,” you snapped, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, “if you want the set redone in time for Hell Week then I expect to see you in the goddamn tech room tomorrow after school wearing something you don’t mind getting paint on because I’m not going to make Chan and Vernon repaint the entire damn set by themselves for the fifth time and I have to figure out how to keep that 1890s typewriter from falling apart, do I make myself clear?”

He looked almost disgusted at the prospect, but he nodded stiffly. “Crystal.”

You turned on your heel just as stiffly, striding away before you lost all composure.

To your complete surprise, Jihoon actually showed up the next day, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a shirt so faded that whatever decal had been on the front had long washed away.

“So he arrives!” Chan yelled from his perch on the desk, where he’d been watching you wrestle with the typewriter.

Jihoon looked distinctly uncomfortable, but he squared his shoulders. “Where do you need me?”

“We gotta move all the set pieces in before we start,” Chan said. “Then I’ll probably have you start on the legs. We gotta wait for Vernon before we can move the tall stuff. One sec, I’ll--” he bolted into the hallway.

Jihoon stared after him, then looked to you. “Where is he going?”

“To tell Vernon we’re actually doing the repaint.” You shrugged. “Honestly I’m surprised you showed up.”

“I said I would.”

“Actually you just said you understood the ultimatum; we had no idea if you’d show or not.”

“Oh.”

You shrugged. “Good to have you anyway.”

Chan returned with Vernon before the silence could get too awkward, and you helped them move all the platforms back into the tech room. From there, Vernon set up his speaker and the real work began.

Jihoon helped choose the color of the bricks (and Chan threatened to really break his leg if he changed his mind about it later), and they got to laying down the base coat. You went back to glaring at the typewriter and reading through every antiques article you could find online.

After trying seven different methods to no avail, you shoved your chair away from the desk. “Typewriters are hellspawn created by the Devil himself to punish unfortunate Prop Masters.”

Vernon snickered. “That good, huh?”

“I’m going to put a screwdriver through the keyboard,” you said mildly.

“Okay maybe don’t do that.” Chan paused to pull a clean paintbrush out of his pocket and throw it at you. “You know where the overalls are; come take a break.”

“Why do you just have that?” Jihoon asked.

“A painter is always prepared.”

Jihoon glanced at you. You shrugged. “I don’t question it.”

Between the four of you, you managed to finish all but one platform by the time Chan and Vernon had to go. Being older, you had infinite time, so you cracked your knuckles and sat back at the typewriter. Jihoon lingered in the doorway.

“You need any help?”

You looked up. “Nah, I think I got it. Thank you, though.”

He shifted. “Listen, I know we didn’t really get off on the right foot but, I’m sorry. I know I never really apologized for the prop, and I’m sorry for how long it took, too.”

You sighed. “It’s fine. It’s kind of unfair of me to hold it against you this long anyway, so, I’m sorry too.” It wasn’t the only reason he made you so angry, but that chip on your shoulder made a lot of other offenses you would have normally overlooked seem larger.

“Can we maybe start over?” he asked. “Freshman year all over again?”

You actually found yourself nodding. “As long as you don’t make us repaint the set ever again.”

He laughed, running a paint-stained hand through his hair. “No, I won’t. I can’t do that to your crew again.”

“Good. Cause we weren’t kidding about breaking your legs.”

“I will keep that in mind.” He hiked up his backpack. “I’ll see you on Monday, then?”

“Happy Hell Week.”

Hell Week was hell (and the sky is blue).

Three of the actors lost their voices four days before Opening Night. One of the glasses for the restaurant scene shattered during the dance number--even though it was supposed to be offstage already--and the third lead got very close to twisting her ankle after landing a jump wrong. The actors could never manage to find their light, there were technical glitches with the backstage mics, and you were so on edge that if you heard the word standby you’d jump so bad you’d bruise your knee on the table.

The typewriter gave you more anxiety than it was worth. The actress using it had strict instructions not to actually touch the keys, because the only thing holding it together was gaff tape. You’d put Jun and Wonwoo in charge of bringing the desk it sat on onstage, because you trusted them to have it under control and keep it from tipping, because if it tipped at an angle any more than about 30 degrees, the keys would get out of alignment and that required time and experience to fix, of which you had neither.

Needless to say, you were two steps away from tearing your hair out.

At least you weren’t fighting with Jihoon, though. You’d even gone out to grab takeout with him for dinner, once, and yelling about all the problems in the car was really cathartic and you came back refreshed and relaxed, for once (only for every muscle in your back to clench at once because an actor bumped the prop table in their hurry to get in costume and one of the glasses fell over).

But it was Opening Night, and you were wound tighter than a spring waiting for everything to go wrong.

And it did.

Jihoon was in the hallway behind the stage, giving Joshua a few final notes about his big solo, and he didn’t check his surroundings closely enough. In his wild gesturing to demonstrate the level of enthusiasm, his arm clipped the typewriter.

And it fell.

He stared at it. Joshua stared at it. You could not tear your eyes from it.

The keys had tilted out of alignment. The bar holding the paper was skewed. The decorative paneling to one side had cracked down the middle. You didn’t have time to fix it before it went on. Maybe you couldn’t fix it at all.

“I am so sorry--” Jihoon started, but you stopped him with a hand, balling the other into a fist.

“Don’t,” you forced through your teeth, because you didn’t want to start yelling at him; it was an honest mistake and it was your fault for not resettling it on the desk after the last run. You were just seething with rage, at yourself, at the typewriter--you didn’t want to project it.

“Ten minutes to go!” someone yelled down the hall. You forced yourself to exhale, gingerly picking it up, flinching with every shift of the keys.

“Is there anything I can--”

“Get to the booth. Tell Seungcheol what happened, just-- be in your place. Jun!” you yelled into the tech room. His head jerked up. “I need you to take over headset for me, can you do that?”

His mouth fell open seeing the typewriter and he nodded, wordlessly, leaping to his feet and hurrying backstage.

Jihoon still stood there, looking between the typewriter and you with an anguished expression. “You’re sure you don’t--”

“I got it,” you said again, clipped. “I can handle it. I can-- just get to the booth, Jihoon!”

You hadn’t yelled. You knew enough not to yell when the audience was already in their seats. But your words had the same effect, because he flinched, and he nodded, and he turned the other way and ran.

Your rage was turning inward as fast as it was dulling, but you had a show to put on, so you placed the broken typewriter carefully on a counter in the tech room and sprinted for the basement.

You managed to get the 1970s typewriter back upstairs and on the desk before it went on, and the show went on without a hitch. The actors hit their marks, all the props found their way back to the prop table, and the pit orchestra didn’t have to loop a section for a missed cue even once.

You waited until everyone was gone before you let yourself cry.

“I really am sorry.”

You looked up.

Jihoon stood in the doorway, twisting his hands.

“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s partially my fault for not making sure it was centered right.” You rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands, hoping to disguise the redness. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Do you want help?”

“I don’t know if it can even be fixed,” you said, staring blankly at the remains of the typewriter in front of you. “It might-- it might be beyond my help.”

For a long moment, you stared at it, mind spiralling.

You pushed yourself up. “They’ll want to lock up.” You slung your backpack over your shoulders. “I’ll just come in before the show and work on it. Maybe get Jun to grab me some McDonald’s or something and eat during the intermission.”

Jihoon’s brow furrowed. “That’s not healthy.”

“I’ve done it before.” You waved him off. “The show must go on, you know?” You slung your backpack over your shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The day came by in flashes as you researched the typewriter with a renewed vigor. You could probably use hot glue and some kind of putty to hide the crack in the paneling, you could probably put the keys back or at the very least tape them to look like they were back, from a distance. The bar at the top would be much harder but you hadn’t really inspected it the night before so maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as you thought it was?

You didn’t feel particularly hopeful when you stopped by the tech room to pick up the typewriter.

Until you saw the typewriter.

“What the fuck.” It was fixed. The keys aligned, the crack sealed, the bar sitting on top just as it was supposed to be. It looked exactly like it had when you’d first set it on that desk.

Jihoon came around the corner, dried putty staining his hands. “Hey,” he said, seeming tired but absolutely beaming at you.

“Did you do this?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I didn’t want you putting your health on the line.”

“Oh my god, thank you. I can’t-- this is incredible!” You kept tracing your fingers over the ridge formed by the sealed crack, but you couldn’t see it.

“I did a good job, then?” He put his hands in his pockets, grinning.

“Better than good, oh my god I could kiss you!”

Your cheeks burned when you realized what you’d said, but he laughed. “Whoa, buy me dinner first.”

“Bet,” you said, accepting it like a challenge. “You pick the place, I’ll pay.”

“Okay,” he said, and then lifted his hands. “I gotta wash up.”

“Meet you by the front door in five?”

“It’s a date.”

[bigboomboi]

Fated~ Poly BakuDeku x Reader

Words: 5,469

Warning: Burn injuries, an angry Pomeranian trying to be sweet and it kinda working but only because of the broccoli baby.

Staring down at her wrist, Y/N inspected the small orange mushroom cloud tattoo on her skin. It sat below her first mark; a cute lavender bubble symbolizing her own quirk. Both appeared years ago, one burned bright into her skin the day she manifested her quirk and the other sat, fading in months later.

It’s said the marks are to connect you with your soulmate. It seemed to be another evolution to come with the quirks as the quirkless didn't get the same predicament throughout life. Actually, there were even a few quirked people that never gained marks. While it seemed unfair and people hated that quirked people got the ideal life and were handed their other half almost straight out the gate, some loved the fact most quirkless people had the option to find their soulmate naturally.

There were even people that covered their mark with another tattoo, to try and avoid searching for their person. Some invested their entire being into finding that special someone. They even made dating apps to share pictures of your mark to help you find your match.

Y/N fell in the middle, she didn’t despise the idea of finding her soulmate, but she didn’t want that to be a major factor in her mind. She didn’t want to spend her life trying to find a person that very well could reject you.

Yes, even if fate had intertwined your hearts, you could reject the idea. While you could only reject your soulmate after meeting them, it was only done with a simple two words- ‘I reject’- and the idea scared the hell out of her.

So here she was, hiding her mark under bracelets or long sleeves, scared of finding her soulmate because two stupid words, but even more terrified because of one stupid thing. The pretty colourful cluster of stars tattoo… sitting just right of her soulmate’s mark.

She had two soulmates.

Of course, there were people out there that dated their soulmate and another set of soulmates, or a fated couple found their third in another kind person. But never has she heard of being given two soulmates.

Now she could be rejected…twice.

“Okay, so since it’s just us girls, I say we watch shitty chick flicks and whine about being single.” Mina huffed, plopping down on the couch.

“Mina… Toru has a boyfriend… and Jirou is dating Mo…” Uraraka pointed out.

“Okay, but I am single I would like to whine about it.” Mina groaned as Y/N sat down. “You and Y/N are single too so, we could still complain.”

“Hey, hey. Don’t bring me into this. I tried my hand at dating, that’s just bleh.” Y/N cringed.

Jirou scoffed. “That’s because you keep putting all your heart into people who aren’t your soulmate.”

“Hey, I like keeping my options open! It’ll happen sooner or later.” Y/N defended herself.

“It could be sooner if you stop hiding the mark.” Mina cheesed. “You know the point is to find the matching tattoo?”

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe I just really like surprises.” Y/N sighed, trying to focus on the two women trying to hide the baby from the rambunctious fairy god mother on the screen.

“Your person kinda has to see the mark for it to click in your heads.” Uraraka hummed. “So, if you hide it…”

“It’s not completely invisible, I don’t always cover it. Any one can see it at anytime.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Mmm, okay… Y/N didn’t notice the look Mina gave to Jirou. “Then let us see-.”

Both Mina and Jirou went to tackle Y/N but an instant bubble appeared around her, bouncing them off. “You always try this, Mina.”

“Damn it…”

Leaving the matter to rest, the girls continued to watch the poor obedient fifteen year old send away her only friend. Okay, so yes… Y/N hid the marks for the most part. She wasn’t trying to avoid people seeing the marks per say, but she was just trying to keep it out of… people’s sight…

Actually, she was trying to avoid them being seen, but really, in her defense. The last time someone saw two soulmarks on her wrist she was harassed and bullied until she had to move. So, she felt it was in her best mind to hide her marks and keep a lookout for two matching her own.

And she hoped the girls would leave it alone but-

“Okay… Just a little peek.” Mina whispered.

“No.”

“Just for me?”

“No, Mina.”

“At least describe it a little.”

“No.”

“I just wanna see it.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m you’re best friend, please.” Mina dragged out the word, as long as her breath held out for.

“Aright, you know. I’m really tired, ladies. So, I’m gonna wrap this up and head to bed.” Y/N sighed standing, letting Mina and Uraraka fall into her now vacant space. “Goodnight girls.”

Ignoring their mixed groans and pleas, Y/N continued to leave, irritated with Mina’s questioning. She didn’t even stop to collect her small throw blanket, but Mina yelped and rushed up the stairs to apologize. She hadn’t meant to piss off her friend, but-.

“Wait! Wait, Y/N, I’m sorry!” She squeaked, slamming into the door that was closed in her face.

“Go away, Mina.” Y/N. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not…” Mina whined.

Y/N bit her lip and started at the door. Her first real best friend stood on the opposite side of the door and would probably sit there until she opened the door, like she always did when they fought. But really, she thought about leaving her there and sneaking out the window in the morning, because she was pissed, truly.

“Look, Y/N, I know you don’t like talking about your mark and it’s not okay I kept pressuring you to show us-.” Mina mumbled.

Angry, Y/N yanked opened the door, watching Mina stumble in from leaning on it. “You’re right! It’s not okay! It was mean and stupid and I honestly don’t know why you were so hellbent on seeing it, you never are! Our entire time of being friends- which is three fucking years- you never bugged this much to see it! What is your fucking deal-?”

“Mine rejected me.”

“With trying… to… what?” Y/N continued her rant, before fully recognizing her friend’s words. “What did you say?”

“My soulmate rejected me.” She repeated. “He goes to another school; Asaki Eizo. He’s top of his class, an adorkable nerd. He’s already probably got collage recommendations… he um… He feels that such a um, eccentric personality would distract him form the real things in life. ‘Honestly, I feel you’re too childish to live the life I want.’ His exact words.”

“He called you childish?” Y/N blinked.

“Yeah, but we could still be friends! We hang out every now and then! Just not as… soulmates.” Mina whispered the last part.

Y/N clicked her tongue and nodded slowly, before deciding and grabbing a hoodie. “I’m gonna need an address.”

“What? No. No!” Mina yelped and pushed her friend back in her room. “You can’t go kill him!”

“I never said I would kill him. Just maim.” Y/N tried to press past her friend, but she held fast.

“No, no. People get rejected all the time! It’s okay!” Mina flailed her arms, looking comically like a bird before she tackled her friend to the floor. “I just, I just wanted to see yours because I like the idea of my best friend getting her forever person, even if I don’t…”

Y/N sighed. “Honestly, I might be in the same predicament as you, babes.”

Mina furrowed her eyebrows and sat up on the girl’s lap. Y/N tugged off the bracelets she was wearing and pushed her sleeve up a bit. Mina did her best to keep eye contact with her friend, just incase she wanted to hide it again. But Y/N didn’t, she raised her wrist in between them, revealing the several marks on her skin.

“You… There are… That’s an odd soulmate mark…” Mina muttered.

“No, it’s two. I have two soulmates…” Y/N groaned falling back. “I have two chances of getting rejected.”

Mina pouted and laid down on Y/N, to cuddle her. “I don’t think that would happen. Maybe they’ve already found each other, and they are just waiting on you.”

“I feel like I’d be intruding on a happy relationship.” She sighed.

“I don’t think the fates would have intertwined you to just hurt you.” Mina said.

Y/N played with Mina’s hair. “Mina… You literally just told me that your own soulmate rejected you because you’re a fun girl. So, I don’t think the fates were thinking too many things through at their round table.”

“Mm, yeah, but you know what they say. When you get rejected by your soulmate, it’s the fates realizing they found someone better for you and a new mark should form.” Mina mumbled, sleepily.

“Yeah, yeah. When I see a new mark glow on your skin, I’ll believe it.” Y/N snorted.

 “Today’s task is simple. Save the victim before the building comes down.” All Might said.

“Before it comes down? As in actually collapse?” Mineta already had tears filling his eyes.

“It’s what you’ll have to do as heroes.” Tsu commented, before smacking the small grape boy with her tongue. “Stop crying.”

He continued to cry anyway. All Might sighed. “There’s no hidden objectives, or priorities. But it is an incredibility dangerous situation, so you’ll actually have to thinks the entire thing through and when you think you have a plan, you’ll have to make a backup. Stay on your toes, save the victim and don’t get crushed.”

“What happens if we don’t get out in time?” Y/N asked.

“There is a timer, the building won’t actually fall if there is anyone still inside, but you will have failed the test if you can’t get the victim out before it ‘falls’.” All Might answered, surely.

Now each team went through the buildings while the rest of the class watched. There were three separate building, each with different hazards. The timer was set for thirty minutes, the story plot was villains attacked, blah blah blah, the building would fall in thirty minutes and there was still someone trapped inside. A basic training op.

“Hey, you’re not wearing your bracelets today.” Mina noted, holding her hand.

“Yeah, guess I should try and put myself out there.” Y/N sighed. “Plus, can’t let you find your soulmate first, markless.”

“Oh, ha ha. You think you’re funny.” Mina rolled her eyes, playfully.

“I think I’m fucking hilarious.” Y/N grinned, before raising her friend’s wrist. “I wish it would manifest already, looking at bits and pieces of it for the last month is aggravating.”

“Yeah, me too. But think about it, I’ve spent the last four months soulmate-less. Maybe I’m emotionally shellshocked and my body’s trying to fight fate off.” Mina giggled.

It had been two months since their conversation in Y/N’s bedroom and since then, Mina had convinced Y/N to not hide it when they went out into the real world. Especially when they went out without their classmates. Which they’d done a lot more, in hopes to find one or both of Y/N’s mates and maybe to kick start Mina’s new mark. Still she hid it whenever she was at school, this had been the first time she hadn’t tried to hide it. And she prayed it wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass.

“Y/N, Bakugo, Midoriya. You’re turn.” All Might, clapped her on the shoulder.

“Be careful.” Mina let her friend go.

“Probably won’t.” Y/N cheesed.

And here she stood in between the childhood frenemies, staring up at Building B that bent halfway up at an uncomfortable angle. “I’ll bet you boys my left arm that are victim is up at the top…”

“Probably.” Midoriya sighed. “Any ideas.”

“Stay out of my way.” Bakugo muttered.

Y/N rolled her eyes and turned to glare at the blond. “Yeah, no. We’re a team. So, we work as a team. Otherwise, I will bubble you right here and now and have you follow us like a an explosive toy.”

“I’ll blow your stupid bubble open.” Bakugo snarled down at her.

“Oh, really?” She asked, scoffing.

“Wait, guys, the test is about to start. Maybe we should handle this later…” Midoriya tried.

Y/N ignored him and softy booped Bakugo’s nose. “Do it then.”

A loud shrill echoed through the air, signifying the start of the test and Bakugo was encased in a see-through sphere. Midoriya blinked at Bakugo’s entrapment and then at Y/N who raised her brow expecting him to say something, but her look convinced him to just turn around and head inside the building.

The two quietly searched the building and made their way up and over each obstacle, Bakugo screaming and exploding in his bubble every five seconds. Coming to a two sided elevator shaft, they all paused. The elevator itself was tilted and seemed to be caught on the walls of the shaft, making a bridge way to the otherside.

“Alright, I’m gonna bubble you two through first… Because I feel like if you breath on that thing… it’ll fall.” Y/N sighed.

“We could probably just jump it.” Midoriya suggested.

“We should avoid shaking the building at all, we should treat it as if it would actually collapse. Which, honestly. It might…” Y/N carefully peeked out into the shaft and looked up to find another elevator several stories above. “Also, I’m pretty sure if we put too much weight on this thing, it’ll pull the other one down.”

“I’m gonna push the angry Pomeranian over first and then you. Alright?” Y/N stated.

“Angry Pomeranian?!” Bakugo shouted, his palms crackling.

She giggled and stuck her hand into the bubbled and pat his head. “Yep, keep being an ass, I’ll get you a collar.”

He snatched her hand and tugged her close, trying to force her into the bubble. “Let me out of this damned bubble.”

“I was going to after I got you across, stop being a dick for five minutes or you’ll stay in it!” She snapped, pinching his cheek.

“You had better or I swear I’ll…” He trailed off, looking at her arm. At her multiple marks.

She hadn’t noticed where is eyes locked and hurriedly thrusted him across the opening, before turning to Midoriya and bubbling him as well. She, much more gently, pushed him across the opening before following them herself. And true to her word, she released Bakugo from his soft cage.

“Now, be good or I’ll put you back.” She warned.

“Piss off.” He grumbled. “We got fifteen minutes left, let’s find this idiot doll and get out of here.”

Midoriya and Y/N nodded in agreement and hurried through to the top of the building. Surprisingly, without many words, they worked together well. And when ideas were shared everyone listened, for the most part. They were a good team together, despite, being randomly thrown together.

Y/N gently, bubbled debris out of the way, unaware of the blonde analyzing her and Midoriya. Her soulmate mark matched the one Midoriya had on his own wrist. She’d been there, right under his nose for the longest time, and the dipshit didn’t ever notice.

But Bakugo didn’t notice either. Hers matched his as well. Neither boy noticed that their soulmate was with them every day.

Smoke filled the air as they cleared a hole through the floor above. They could hear the crackling of flames and see the orange light fill the hall above them. Carefully everyone climbed up to the next floor and eyed the fiery hall before them.

“Alright, boys, bubble time again.” Y/N sighed, and looked over at Midoriya who opened his mouth. “Don’t you dare say ‘we can jump it’ because again, unstable building.”

Midoriya turned red, at having been caught. “I- I wasn’t going to say that…”

“Yes, you were.” Both of his teammates said.

“I just don’t want you to overexert yourself, Y/N. You’re the only one whose used their quirk the most here.” Midoriya justified.

“It’s the safest one to use in this situation.” She shrugged, bubbling him. “I’ll only be tired if I use my bubble for an extended amount of time.”

“You had my in a bubble constantly, earlier.” Bakugo pointed out.

“Yeah, see. We can just jump across!” Midoriya tried, but she flicked him across anyway.

“For like three minutes. Five at most.” Y/N rolled her eyes and bubbled Bakugo as well. “I’m fine.”

After she dropped him off, she followed and landed softly. “See, no harm done. I’m a big girl, boys.”

“Well, cool it a bit, dumbass, we’re not useless.” Bakugo grunted, flicking her forehead.

Was that what this was about? “I never said you were, guys. Sorry, if I made it seem that way.” She apologized, following Midoriya to the second elevator tunnel.

This building was so tall, stupidly its elevator shafts had been stacked with a thin base floor between them. Bakugo peeked through, to deem it safe and carefully stepped across, Midoriya moving to follow when the building shook violently, knocking them all to their knees. Not a moment later did the creaking elevator a few floors above drop.

Bakugo yanked Midoriya out of the way, just in time as the elevator crashing into the base floor. Y/N yelped, flying back into the fire from the impact. She shook away her dizziness and stared at the flames surrounding her bubble- thankfully, her reaction time was fast.

“Y/N!” She heard Midoriya yell back at her.

“I- I’m fine. Just caught me off guard.” She panted, looking up at the elevator that almost crushed him. “What about you?”

“We’re fine, no damage.” Bakugo called back. “You’ll have to climb through the elevator to get over here.”

“Alright, well, uh.” She rolled herself back towards the elevator. “You guys go on ahead, I’ll catch up.”

“We can’t leave you.” Midoriya started to come back for her, but a bubbled filled the elevator blocking him.

“Just go, damn it. We’ve got just under ten minutes left, go find the damn vic and I’ll catch up.” She ordered. “I’ll be right behind you guys.”

She lied. Unintentionally, but still. She was trapped against the ceiling in her bubble, protected from the burning flames around her but unable to move. Her bubble had been stuck for the last three minutes, and it was actually starting to get hot inside, the walls of her bubble burning her skin a bit. She needed to get out of the fire, quick before she was seriously burned.

Y/N attempted, again to roll out of the flames but really all she succeeded in was rolling herself in the awkward crevice she was stuck in. Now she was mostly upside down, her forearms pressed against her artificial wall. It was almost like she was pressing herself against hot glass and granted her bubble kept out the black smoke, she had no fresh air. So, the air she did have was getting thick and stuffy and she was going dizzy. 

"Y/N!" A voice shouted at her.

Gasping, Y/N looked around to find Bakugo and Midoriya with the victim doll. They managed to find their way back to her part of the maze of death and she just about cried.

"Oh, I could kiss you two right now!" She grunted, her flesh burning. 

While Midoriya blubbered, turning twenty-five different shades of red, Bakugo rolled his eyes at her, smirking. "And here I thought you were going to be right behind us.”

"Oh, screw off." She tried to laugh through her pain. "Now please, figure out how to get me out of here, I'm actually being poached."

Thinking for a small moment the boys had to put together a plan. If Midoriya were to full cowl into the flames, this floor would probably give away from the force, taking them all down. Bakugo could have probably blasted her out of it onto the other side, but again they were stuck with their partner being unreachable. 

"Boys, just go. You got the victim, the place is supposed to come down in minutes." Y/N coughed.

"Can't leave our partner in here, shit face." Bakugo grumbled.

"Well, you gotta or were all screwed." Y/N argued. "Look I'll be fine, I’m sure someone will come in and help me in a few minutes."

“And you’ll boil alive, yeah right.” Bakugo glared, still thinking.

“Nah, I’ll be fine. A few burns never killed anyone.” She huffed.

Bakugo gave her a look as to shut up, but she kept going. "C'mon Deku, you know I got this. You guys finish the mission."

As soon as Midoriya opened his mouth to try and side with someone, Bakugo leaned down and pulled off his com so she wouldn't hear what he said. Whatever he said made the poor little broccoli boy's jaw drop and eyes grow to the size of moons. Not finding the room to care, Y/N closed her eyes, panting and waited for them to leave.

She heard footsteps and looked back to see Bakugo hauling ass while Midoriya just stood there. "I'm pretty sure you're supposed to follow him."

"Ah, well…" Midoriya coughed, nervously. He seemed way jumpier after what Bakugo said.

"Izuku Midoriya, you will not jump into this fire!" She realized what he was going to do.

"I'm technically going to jump through it." He winced at hearing his full name.

"I think the hell not!" She snapped. "There is not enough space for you to jump. You will just launch yourself into that wall and probably take down this whole floor!"

"Yeah, that's the plan." He nodded.

"What about Bakugo and the hostage?" She glared.

"Part of the plan." He answered, vaguely. 

"Yes, the sudden plan you didn't tell me anything about." Her scolding made his face twist into a pout, like a sweet little puppy that got kicked.

"You would have been mad at the plan." He argued.

"Deku… I'm mad right now. If you jump into this fire, I will beat you with Bakugo and then strangle him with your intestines. Don't. You. Dare-." Her threats were cut off by Bakugo's voice in the coming.

"Oi, shut up and trust us. Now hurry it up, damn nerd!" 

Y/N groaned knowing they weren't going to listen to reason and they'd probably end up failing this exercise and end up in the nurse's office. Really, she was just overwhelmingly scared her partners would be hurt. She almost certainly didn't care about the grade or herself but just them. 

Y/N watched Midoriya spark, before lunging at her. He hissed at the heat of her bubble burning through his costume and onto his skin. Once again, she watched green sparks travel up his arm as he reared back to punch out the cracked wall.

Once they emerged into fresh air, Y/N let her bubble drop fell fully into his arms. As she warned, the building started to crumble from where they emerged and continued downwards. The building began falling over, dropping debris everywhere. As she and Midoriya fell through the air, Y/N watched the building, internally fretting over Bakugo.

Suddenly an explosion erupted from a window and out came the devil himself. Bakugo launched out the window and directly into the two hurling towards the ground. He snatched them out of the air, redirecting their bodies out of the way of the falling building parts.

Panicking, as they came closer to the ground, Y/N quickly encased them in a bubble, despite Bakugo twisting around to take the brunt of the impact. They hit the ground and bounced a few times, rolling around inside her bubble. They rolled to a stop and she let her bubble pop.

They all looked at each other, dirty, burn and dazed and the victim doll safe. The timer dinged overhead, signifying the end of their simulation. Y/N laughed and fell back to lay on the ground, prompting the two boys to look over at her.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” Bakugo huffed and leaned back on his hands.

“That was way more dramatic than it had to be.” She snorted, bringing up her arms to cover her face.

“Y/N… we should probably get you to the nurse’s office.” Midoriya mumbled out, looking at her burns.

Later that night, Y/N grumbled glaring at the angry burns on her arms. Recovery girl managed to reduce them to minor second degree burns, but they still needed to be taken care of outside of the nurse’s office. She had been sitting there for a solid ten minutes, at least, trying to tell herself to just pick up the damn wet cloth and press it to the burns… but it hurt so five seconds after doing so she dropped the towel back into the bowl.

She needed to clean and wrap the burns before she could go downstairs. She took a deep breath and reached for the wet rag again, but thankfully, a soft knock echoed from her door. She jumped up to answer her savior and pulled it open to find her most recent teammates standing there.

“Oh, hi guys.” Y/N greeting, briefly noting Bakugo’s arm hanging over Midoriya’s shoulder. “What’s up, whatcha need?”

“H-Hi, Y/N we just wanted to, uh, um. Well-.” Midoriya tried to stutter out. “We brought you this for your burns!”

Midoriya thrusted out a small bottle of cream. “Aw, thanks. That’s sweet of you.”

“Yeah, yeah. We gotta talk. So, you gonna let us in or what?” Bakugo grumbled, tugging Midoriya closer.

“Ah, blunt as always, Bakugo.” She rolled her eyes and stepped back and gestured into the room. “But, yes, come in.”

Y/N closed the door as they stepped through and took opposite seats. Bakugo in her previous seat and Midoriya on the edge of her bed. The air grew tense and awkward as Y/N moved to stand next to Bakugo.

She played with the cold water in the bowl, still trying to convince herself to clean her burns, but as the minutes dragged on, she became distracted by the two boys in her room. She would absolutely be lying if she were to say she wasn’t attracted to them.

Midoriya; sweet and kind. Probably has killed a fly on accident and cried about it. A cute little broccoli babe. Bakugo; hot-headed and loud mouthed. Probably tells Midoriya he killed a fly just to watch him cry. A hot angry porcupine. She wasn’t stupid enough to try anything with either of them, but a girl could dream, yeah?

“Fuck, come here.” Bakugo suddenly yanked her arm and grabbed the cold rag before pressing it to her arm.

“Ow! You asshole!” She yanked her arm away. “That fucking hurt!”

“Well, I’m tired of sitting her watching you play with the towel instead of cleaning them like you’re supposed to be doing, shitty woman.” He grumbled reaching out to grab her arm again.

“Kacchan, you can’t be so rough.” Midoriya stepped in and stopped him. “Sorry, he get’s like that when he’s worried.”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to worry, though.” Y/N sighed, letting Midoriya take her wrist, the one that was unmarked. “What did you guys want to talk about.”

“Yeah, um…” Bakugo handed him the wet cloth and tugged Y/N to sit in his lap. “Sorry, for being an ass today during training.”

Y/N blushed at her new seating predicament, but she covered her embarrassment with an attempted joke. “Okay, Midoriya what have you done with Bakugo? He’s openly showing he’s worried about his friends and he’s apologizing?” She winced as he patted her wound with the cold towel.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re not his friend.” Midoriya coughed. “Neither of us are.”

For some reason that made her heart hurt. She talked to both boys relatively often, not enough to be as close as she and Mina were, but she was sure she could call them both friends at least. “Well, ouch. Was I that bad of a teammate today?”

“No, you idiot.” Bakugo grumbled, wrapping his arm around her waist tighter and reached over to grab the gauze she was supposed to use and handed it over to Midoriya. “You weren’t great, but you weren’t shit either.”

“Kacchan, be nice…” Midoriya warned, weakly.

“I am, this as nice as I’m gonna get, nerd.” Bakugo muttered laying his head on her shoulder.

Y/N winced again, when the green haired boy wrapped her arm. “I’m sorry? What the flying fuck is going on?”

“Um, I- we… Um.” Midoriya stared at her arm, before looking up at her. “We match.”

Y/N blinked, confused at first. What did they match? Clothes? No. Grades for the match? No. she was two points below Bakugo and one above Midoriya. What did they- Oh.

“Oh.” She breathed.

“Yeah. ‘oh’.” Bakugo grumbled, raising his own wrist up to reveal his marks to her as did Midoriya.

Y/N sat frozen, staring at the matching nine marks shining against their skin. Midoriya began to pull his arm away, to finish dressing her arm, but she was quick to grab him. She brushed a thumb over his tattoos, not noticing the bright colour washing over his face. She grasped Bakugo’s arm and did the same, a gently shudder running through him at the contact.

They matched.

“Y/N?” Midoriya called, bringing her attention back.

“Yeah?” Her voice cracked, and his fingers reached up to brush across her cheek.

“Why are you crying?” Bakugo hugged her a bit tighter at Midoriya’s words.

Y/N sniffled and laughed. “I’ve been so scared to meet you two, I hid my marks for so long.”

“What the hell you do that shit for?” Bakugo grunted, handing her arm to Midoriya so he could finish. “We could have been gotten this over with three fucking years ago.”

“Exactly, I’m not ready to be rejected by one of my soulmates, let alone both.” She cried.

“Rejected?” Midoriya choked. “You think we’re going to reject you?”

“Why the hell would we do that?” Bakugo snapped.

“Any number of reason, really.” She sniffled, pulling open a drawer and pulled out a small legal pad. “They might not be gay. They could be gay for each other and not want a third. They could think multiple people in a relationship is gross. One could think I’m ugly-.”

Bakugo ripped her pad out of her hand and threw it in the trashcan. “All I’m hearing is bullshit. What is with you two thinking this way?”

“Shut up and hand me the gauze.” Midoriya glared up at Bakugo. “You told me to jump off the roof, so could you blame me for being scared you’d reject me.”

“You didn’t even talk to me about it. You ran away, avoided me and then tried to reject me yourself!” Bakugo reached over and thumped him in the forehead. “Almost fucked up everything, dumbass.”

The boys argued back and forth for a moment, Bakugo reaching to attack Midoriya and the latter crying and swatting at the explosive hands gripping his collar. Y/N laughed, easily breaking up their bickering. Both boys smiled, hearing her laughter, if sounded different hearing it now. Especially with what they now knew.

It sounded better.

“This is gonna be one hell of a ride.” She laughed.

“Fate probably said we’d need someone to maintain the speed on this roller coaster.” Midoriya joked, kissing her wrapping after he was done.

“Yeah, better hold on tight.” Bakugo kissed her shoulder.

“I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

 Bonus:

“What the fuck is it supposed to be?” Y/N tilted her head looking at Mina’s fully formed mark.

“I don’t know, I’m really confused.” Mina sighed. It honestly looked like two red jagged planks crossed in the middle making an ‘x’ shape.

“Watch it, Pinky.” Bakugo huffed, dropping on to the couch and thumped his boyfriend’s nose who laid cuddled into Y/N’s stomach.

Midoriya grumbled and curled further into Y/N’s tummy and Y/N swatted away Bakugo pestering finger.  “Stop that.” She ordered.

“He’s gonna ruin his sleep schedule.” Bakugo kept pestering him. “He’ll be up at two am and I’m sending him to bug you.”

“And I’ll call you to come help tire him out.” She smirked, pecking his lips cheekily.

“You guys are so cute, it’s fucking gross.” Mina gagged. “Anyway, I wonder what their quirk would be?”

“I dunno, maybe they’d a treasure finder… like ‘x marks the spot.’ Or something.” Y/N offered.

“Or hardening… because I’m pretty sure that’s Shitty hair’s mark.” Bakugo informed dryly.

Mina blinked at him and then at the person of interest as they popped into the room with Sero. Y/N bubbled Midoriya and leaned to the side, just because she knew what Mina was going to do.

Three…

Two…

One.

“Kirishima show me your wrist!”

[starshineandbooks]

Come away with me, one last adventure?

Chapter one, in which Logan is woken up

Words- 1058

AO3

ship -Logince

summary- Faced with going to diffrent colleges Roman decides to borrwo Logan, at too early in the morning.

Trigger warning -None that I can think of!

Inspired by This post by @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors

Logan groans loudly in protest as he looks at the man on his doorstep.

Roman Lopez-Muniz-Crowne, Logan’s childhood friend, and eternal gay love of his life, stands on Logan’s doorstep. Roman wears a pair of light jeans and converse paired with a cherry colored hoodie Logan had gotten him. The hoodie is a personalized hoodie to have the Dear Evan Hansen logo on the back.

Logan raises an eyebrow, groaning louder, brain relaxing and slowing at the realization that he’s with Roman.

“Come on one last adventure with me?”

“What?”

“Come on one last adventure with me before we have to go to college.”

“Roman- I don’t- It’s- What the fuck time is it?! If it’s between one and six in the morning I won’t forgive you.”

“Three fifty eight.” Roman supplies, looking up from the watch Logan had given him for his fifteenth birthday.

“I hate you.” Logan’s voice is harsh as his lips quirk up.

“I doubt that.”

Logan laughs gently, “Get in here, let me grab clothes and tell mom and dad.”

"God you’re the best.”

“Coffee pot’s empty, start some now.”

“Anything for you specs.” Roman smirks, but his voice is softer than he meant.

“Except letting me sleep.” Logan grumbles, slipping back up the stairs.

Roman makes it to the kitchen before he groans, cursing himself and pulling down the pre-ground coffee to make a pot that he knows Logan will drink all of but the bit Roman steals. Roman needs a moment, so he takes a sit down once he has the coffee pot set up.

He sets his face in his knees and groans again slowly, it’s so unfair. Logan is so pretty, and perfect, and Roman really would like his heart to not throw itself into a blender when Logan is even thought of. Logan shouldn’t be able to brighten and ruin Roman’s days with a simply look at him.

Logan returns, twenty minutes later, “Hey Ro, ready?” Roman doesn't respond and Logan sighs, setting his bag on the ground and moving about the kitchen, grabbing to go cups and making coffee to their desired sweetness and creaminess.

Logan takes his bag and the coffees to Roman’s car, setting things in the trunk and the cupholders before he returns, picking Roman up, cradling the older man in his arms closely.

Logan kisses Roman’s forehead softly, then he begins to carry the elder man out the door, knowing Roman’s been sleeping horribly lately. Logan struggles, but manages to get Roman into the car's passenger seat to then lock up his house. Logan takes the driver’s seat, starting the car with the keys he’s gotten off of the counter, pulling away from his house.

Roman sleeps soundly as Logan switches on the radio, humming along gently to the fallout boy song humming along, eyes scanning the road.

“I’m in love with you,” Roman whispers, sleep talking, again.

He does that a lot. Logan swallows hard, nodding as he takes a left, following the directions taped to the dashboard. Logan can’t help it, singing along as the song changes, lulled into safety by the lack of listeners.

“I've been reading books of old, The legends and the myths,

Achilles and his gold, Hercules and his gifts”

Logan has read a million books, and then some probably. He’s going to school to be a doctor, he studied the myths more than he should have perhaps, because it made him happy. He liked them, he’d always admired the idea of the greek heroes. Even though they generally had problems of their own. The song makes him smile softly, Roman loves this song, he’s always telling Logan about how much he wants something like the song. There it is, admiring a song and Roman comes to mind.

“Spider-Man's control, And Batman with his fists

And clearly I don't see myself upon that list”

Logan never had seen himself on that list had he? Someone worth loving, someone extraordinary. Not even a little, he never has been. Logan will never be the kind of person Roman wants. Logan crosses that off the list of things to think about, he needs to let go of this stupid fantasy. After all, Roman and Logan will have their own soulmates, it won’t be each other. When Logan turns eighteen he will wake up with a mark on him that is black, assuming he isn't a soulmate less, that will tell him where his soulmate will first touch him after his birthday -Also assuming he is the younger person in the relationship. And the universe would never give Roman someone like Logan, Roman deserves so much better.

“But she said, where'd you wanna go?

How much you wanna risk?”

If Logan lets himself fantasize, as he sees no harm in it while Roman lay sleeping and no one watches him but the stars and the moon, he’d go anywhere with Roman. Logan would risk it all if he got a single chance, soulmates be damned.

“I'm not lookin' for somebody With some superhuman gifts”

Logan has never needed a whole lot from anyone, he’s always been self sufficient, he likes it that way.

“Some superhero, Some fairy-tale bliss

Just something I can turn to Somebody I can kiss”

Logan knows full well happy endings aren’t what they seem, and you have to work at anything, especially relationships. But he would like someone he knows will always be there for him. Someone like Roman. Logan bets Roman’s lips are soft, if a little chapped. Logan chides himself, that’s not what to think about right now.

“I want something just like this”

Logan looks to Roman, the boy’s face pressed against the window, slumped to the slide and drooling a tiny bit where his mouth hangs open. Wrapped in a large hoodie still, face lax as he breathes slowly. The stars and sky above, his best friend at his side, the simultaneous flood of tight, warm flutters paired with claws and teeth in his heart aside, this is a moment Logan would live even with the rush of emotions gladly over and over. In this one moment, everything is right, and it’s enough to dull the vortex of fears with his impending soulmate, and Roman in general, and starting a new college in a new state, and anything else that might be wrong.

Masterpost    Chapter two