#Think thought has been percolating in back of brain for long while

[radiotransmissionaac]

Realising quite suddenly why ‘Sunday resets’ (do all chores on one day) don’t work for me is because, drumroll, I’m chronically ill. Who could have foreseen this? Watching videos and knowing people irl who do all weekly chores one day. Realise could put 10 minutes effort into tasks & then need lie down 1+ hour afterward.

But not give up. Just means have find own way to do including ask other for help.

[gabessquishytum]

Hey, Gabe. I’m so happy you're doing better and taking time for yourself.

I've had this thought percolating in the back of my brain for a little while, for Dream and Hob, and their darling wives, Calliope and Eleanor to have a lovely poly/qpr style thing happening, because, as much as I love all the romantic, sexy, and unhinged shenanigans on here, I would like to see something similar to my own situation floating about.

Dream and Hob have been attached at the hip since childhood, when Hob punched another kid for trying to kick them out of the sand pit. They love each other fiercely and have been through all the ups and downs of adolescence: the conflict of who they were as individuals, the struggle to stay together in a world that told them they were too close, exploring sexual identities, mapping out their dreams of the future, and last, but not least, figuring out how to share with a dating partner.

It's surprisingly difficult to find someone that doesn't assume you're cheating on them with your best friend when you're so close. If they trust sex isn't happening, they tend to get angry about the casual intimacy. Feeling blocked by or jealous of the already established bond.

At one point, Dream and Hob's friends told them they were so close they should try dating each other. So they did. Sadly, it wasn't meant to be. The sex was fun and engaging. They learned a lot about themselves, explored kinks and the kink community. There wasn't another person's feelings they had to navigate, but beyond the lust there was no spark of romance, no passionate love, no mystery. There was comfort, devotion, and the soft, mellow love of their friendship.

They amicably broke up with a new, physical dimension to their friendship that only made dating harder in the end. Still, they persisted.

Eventually, Hob met a wonderful, dark-haired woman named Eleanor. She was fiery and beautiful, willing to barge into Dream and Hob's life and demand they make room for her. She was a raging river, filling in the ravines and creating estuaries where Dream and Hob had long ago learned they didn't meet. She was new life and new paths, and Hob fell hard and fast.

There’s a certain point, early on, in a relationship where you have to explain the complex dynamic between you and your best friend. It's the breaking point for many people. It's hard, to share, to be unintentionally excluded, to learn secrets from a third party, but the people that stand their ground and thrive are breathtaking.

Eleanor, when she is told, demands space. She does research, talks to people in similar situations, takes the time to suss out her own feelings, tries to feel out the edges of compromise and expectation she requires. In the end, she flows back into their lives with a willingness to try and an adventurous gleam in her eye.

She proposes a new dynamic between the three of them. She wishes to pursue a romantic relationship with Hob, but wants to learn how comfortable she can be with Dream in the bedroom.

Hob's quick to assure her that he and Dream don't have physical relations when dating.

Eleanor, brave woman that she is, tries to explain why she thinks that's part of the problem they have with dating. They're so entwined in each other's life that removing them from one area only causes more stress. “You're practically married already,” she snorts. “You just need to find people who can live with that. I’m willing to try. Are you?”

It takes work and patience, respect and communication. They still hurt each other. Life gets in the way. People judge them and cause problems. They make it, in the end, to a place where they are content and no one is left out. Eleanor and Hob are happily married. Dream has a special place in their hearts and marriage bed whenever he needs or wants.

Years pass, Dream has proof now, that he can have romance and his best friend. That he doesn't have to sacrifice a portion of his heart for love. He has taken lovers, tried to bring them into the dance that is his relationship with Hob and Eleanor. Reluctance, timidity, and selfishness ended those relationships. At some point, Dream starts to give up, maybe Eleanor was special, a miracle.

This is, of course, when someone new enters the scene.

Calliope, stunning and witty, drifts on the edge of their existence, darting forward and back to a tune only she can hear. She flirts, flutters, and flees. She's looking for something and she won't be caught until she wishes it.

Dream watches her from the corner of his eye, intrigued and wary. He watches, in the hopes of learning what he can before approaching. He knows what to look for now, those early signs that will tell him if she wouldn't be a good fit. He isn't nearly as subtle as he wishes.

It doesn't take long for to Calliope notice. She glides closer, flitting back when others pursue.

There are clues to be found in who she lets close, and why. The outline of what she wants takes shape as partner after partner fails to meet certain criteria.

They start to circle each other at parties, a corkscrew winding tighter and tighter. He waits with hard learned patience. She slowly grows bolder.

Eleanor and Hob poke gentle fun at him, waiting on the sidelines, wishing him well. No matter how it ends, he'll always have them.

When Dream and Calliope finally crash together it's quiet, a gentle brush of fingers, a soft touch at the hip or arm. There are walks and dinners and music. They go to theaters and museums and libraries. She slots into Dream's life seamlessly, confidently.

There are the typical growing pains of partnerships and cohabitation, discovering how to be part of a couple separate from Hob and Eleanor, and learning where the four of them line-up and interlock.

People outside the relationship try to cause problems at times. They look at Dream and Eleanor or Calliope and Hob and notice how visually similar they are and accusations of cheating fly around. Sometimes someone close-minded will notice their closeness and try to enforce ridiculous religious views. Those that are covetous and jealous try to tear them apart.

They've worked too hard to let such things tear them apart.

Dream looks up one day to realize he’s curled against Hob's chest, in love and happy. Eleanor and Calliope are plotting something a few feet away, smiling. The future is unfolding before him, full of laughter and affection, understanding and belonging. The long journey and heartache was worth it.

—🏵

This is such a delightful and loving depiction of a beautiful poly/qpr relationship! I particularly love the way that Dream and Hob manage to work out their situation in the way you've described. Because not all friendships are meant to develop into romantic relationships, and platonic love certainly isn't worth less than romantic love. I genuinely enjoy the idea of them trying out romantic dating for a week and mutually deciding that it just isn't meant to be! The way they express love (romantically) is so different - Dream is all wild grand gestures and extremes, and Hob just. Isn't about that life. It just isn't going to work, and that's absolutely okay because the sex is still wonderful, and they're still best friends. They still want to grow old together, doing kinky things occasionally. They've both kind of accepted that they're lucky to have each other, and wanting more is probably a bit greedy.

But it's okay to be greedy.

With Eleanor and Calliope, life is never dull. In the large house where the four of them live, there is always music. Always laughter too, unless somebody is upset - then the other three will descend on them, and do everything they can to make it better. There is always a queue for the bathroom (even though they have more than one bathroom, all four of them tend to gravitate together into one space - you'll find Hob trying to shave while Calliope does her makeup and Dream tries to shower and Eleanor sits on the loo singing along to the radio). Somebody is always available for a cuddle (it's usually Dream who wants a cuddle, or some kind of physical touch, and it's great because he never has to worry about being too much. there are three people to take the load). Sex is just... easy. Even if somebody doesn't want to participate, they're always welcome to watch.

Hob loves silly jokes, loves it when Eleanor says "this is my husband Robert, and this is my husband's boyfriend, Dream". But he also secretly loves arguing with people who are rude about their relationship. He loves it even more when he's able to throw a punch. Dream and Eleanor might try to hold him back, but he can always rely on Calliope to join him for a scrap. She's taught him some wonderful Greek insults.

And life is basically very good. Turns out that more partners DOES equal more happiness, as Hob loves to say. Dream will never admit it but Hob is generally absolutely right.

[hotshotsxyz]

still everything beautiful

(buddie) (673 words) (5x17 spec)

Eddie should be asleep. They both should, really. The hour is well past late, and neither of them has said a word in over ten minutes. But the lamp beside the sofa is still casting its warm light across the room, and Eddie’s missed Buck. And he thinks, maybe, that Buck missed him too. 

He studies Buck, tracing the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw with his eyes. It’s nothing he hasn’t memorized before, but he finds he never gets tired of looking. And he gets it now. God does he get it. Eddie doesn’t know how he missed it before, but he understands now. 

And he wants– there’s a lot that he wants, actually. Which Frank would probably call a long-overdue realization. Or maybe not, actually, because Frank’s usually nicer than that when Eddie’s making progress. And this, he knows, is progress. He wants Christopher to be happy, yes, but he wants himself to be happy, too. He wants to be a firefighter. He wants to sleep eight hours straight and wake up refreshed. He wants to make a frittata in the morning, because Linda sent him a recipe and he thinks he might actually be able to make it taste good. 

And he wants Buck. Eddie wants everything with Buck. 

They’re not there yet, no, because Eddie got back from El Paso not even four hours ago, and Buck broke up with Taylor while Eddie was on the plane. But he thinks maybe they will be, eventually. For the first time in his entire life, everything Eddie wants feels like it’s in reach. 

It’s that thought that makes the words that have been percolating in his brain all week finally tumble from his mouth. 

“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like?”

Buck blinks at him slowly, frowns a little, clearly trying to push through the haze of exhaustion for the context Eddie hasn’t given him. It makes the corner of Eddie’s mouth tick up in the smallest of grins. 

“If we’d met before, when we were kids,” he clarifies. 

The confusion clears from Buck’s expression, and his eyes drop away from Eddie’s. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’ve thought about it.”

“Me too,” Eddie confesses. “All this week, I’d drive past the places I used to know and imagine you in them.”

“I missed you,” Buck says quietly. 

“I missed you, too.”

“Sometimes,” Buck starts. He pauses to bite his lip. “Sometimes I think I’ve been missing you my entire life. Like a part of me knew you were out there and was just waiting for you to find me.”

Eddie closes his eyes and reaches out blindly, trusting that Buck will catch his hand. “I wish I had,” he whispers. “Or–”

“I get it,” Buck says. “I wouldn’t change it either. We sure would’ve raised some hell, though.” He squeezes Eddie’s hand, and Eddie can just imagine the smile that follows. He opens his eyes and is rewarded with the sight of it, small but genuine, and maybe just a little bit sad. 

“Yeah we would’ve,” Eddie replies. “I think there’s a lot I would have figured out sooner, too,” he admits quietly. 

“Like what?” Buck asks. His expression is soft and curious, and god, Eddie loves him. He really loves him. 

Eddie swallows, throat suddenly dry. “I’m gay,” he says. “Or- or bi, maybe. I’m still figuring that out. But I’m not–” he cuts himself off with a huff. 

Buck’s eyes go a little wide. “You– Eds,” he breathes. “I’m so proud of you.” He pulls Eddie into a bone crushing hug that kind of maybe a little bit makes him want to cry.

“For what?” Eddie mumbles into Buck’s shoulder. 

“For everything,” Buck says. “For– for therapy, and for learning how to cook, and for talking to your parents. For being you. You’re my favorite person, you know that?”

Eddie settles his arms around Buck’s waist and allows him to take his weight. “You’re mine too.” 

It’s a long time before they move.

[jacksgreysays]

Out of curiosity, have you watched/read Demon Slayer?? Firstly, it's been really great and I think you might enjoy it, but secondly, I haven't seen much on the DoS forum about it which is surprising...! I've always thought a period with demons au like Demon Slayer or Inuyasha would be interesting for a character like Shikako. Plus, it's so full of characters like her overall who are wickedly competent and trying to survive but still maintain their humanity and loved ones. And I think the idea of her being a Slayer and developing her own Breath Style would be very very cool.

Tysm for all your hard work and writing btw!!

Thank you for reading and also reaching out :D

I've not consumed any Demon Slayer, unfortunately. There was a several years gap in my manga/anime consumption a while back and I think that's when Demon Slayer was first coming out/most popular and by the time I was back in other things were coming out so I just never circled back to it.

I did grow up on Inuyasha though and consider it one of my, like, foundational anime but I think because of that my brain forgets that it can play with it as more than just a ctrl find and replace type thing that I did so long ago in these tiny three sentence fic

There is something to be said about the different genres of DoS recursive fic and how more than the strict AU setting, the most defining factor is how easily Shikako can handle the main problems. Or, rather, what the problems that she can't wave away are more indicative of the genre than anything else. Maybe I'm using these terms incorrectly... maybe tone is more accurate.

Because I've read, for example, several "Shikako goes to the Warring Eras fic" that felt like different genres depending on if Shikako could feasibly beat Madara/Tobirama/Hashirama/etc in a fight. If she can't, then it becomes a high stakes horror/thriller where any wrong move could get her killed. Whereas if she can then it becomes a political drama.

I'm maybe getting too off topic. The reason why I brought it up is mostly because it would be interesting to see a recursive fic where Shikako's abilities only just allow her to keep up with the setting as opposed to her usual steamrolling. Don't get me wrong, I also love OP!Shikako enters a new world/dimension and runs around doing whatever she wants, bewildering everyone who witnesses her. But it's rarer to find her in a new world/dimension where she has access to her shinobi abilities but they aren't OP.

(As opposed to the fic where she reincarnates into a new world, but because that world doesn't have chakra she only has her memories/tactical experience. Which isn't nothing, but also isn't the impossibilities of sealing. I mostly am thinking of Leaf/Tavina's the world will hear us roar series in which Shikako is reborn as Tywin Lannister's twin which is fantastic)

So to see Shikako in a world where demons are definitely real and everything she's learned from the Naruto world is only just enough to survive would be very cool!

... I am now letting thoughts of a proper Inuyasha!AU percolate in my brain, lol...

Thanks again for reaching out and for the recommendation I will definitely add Demon Slayer to my list. :D

[2n2n]

Tsukasa’s got a really interesting mental state--! I wanna add a little to Bird’s thoughts here.... it feels as if, his ability to perceive time/order events properly is scrobbled, as a result of the Nowhere space/Red House. 

This story is itself, disordered. We now know Tsukasa met Nene-chan at age 4... and Amane met her briefly at both 8, and 13. Tsukasa seems to be the most cognizant of what he’s doing, but not at some cost. He’s not quite well put together... but for what he’s managing, its impressive. 

He doesn’t seem to easily respond to people/things coherently or appropriately. And it seems to take him at times a second to ‘catch up’ with where he currently is, and what’s happened....

(what difference does 10 or 20 or 50 years make, to someone like Tsukasa? He’s not even kind of right about ‘how long its been’ if we consider maybe ‘time of death’ as the ‘last time’ (pretending the roof never happened).... he accidentally sees this as their ‘first meeting’ but, woops-- ah, it’s not!)

Every time Tsukasa sees Amane, he’s excited and exuberant and defaults to complete and utter joy as if it’s the first time he’s seen him in years--!! 

I often feel like Tsukasa both interacts with Amane as if they were just picking back up where they left off in their touchy-feely childhood.... and also hasn’t seen him in ages.... at once somehow. He seems really bad at remembering ‘where they last left off’. Whatever vibes they are presently upon, Tsukasa’s not good at keeping tabs.... the oeuvre of being together all the time, and missing Amane for a long time, are all mushed together in his little pea brain.

The Red House itself seemed to exist outside of time, so while Tsukasa was gone for ~6-8mo in the living breathing timeline, it’s clear many, many people passed through the Red House (and it was an infamous/ominous feature for long enough that grandma Minamoto and others involved in the unknown were speaking of it), and it persisted outside of those literal constraints (as it literally was where Amane was living, but ‘kept’ Tsukasa inside its other-worldly boundary, etc etc, obvious mumbo-jumbo).

We really don’t know how to measure ‘how long’ Tsukasa spent there, at 4. But I think between this, and the likely ~50 years as Amane’s Yorishiro in Hanako’s (as of yet unseen) boundary, time has become sortof... disordered, for Tsukasa. Reality is a tangle.... he’s adapted wholly to a mindset which is abnormal. He’s good at moving through it for a greater plan, but he trips and bungles a bit once he’s got to have conversations at all.

He doesn’t seem to always know where in the timeline he’s at or what timeline he’s precisely in. I like how he seeks this anchor from Nene very earnestly:

.... if anything, I think Tsukasa can’t react to events in a ‘normal’ way at all due to his bizarre experiences, which make up the bulk of his existence....

I’m always curious about the Red House incident. It feels as if, once the timeline-possibility to return to Amane is opened up to Tsukasa’s mind-- something that wasn’t ever going to happen on his own (making it officially Kou and Nene’s fault, lol)-- he starts experiencing those memories dawning upon him, as the timelines form ??? That’s my best interpretation of this scene... glass shards in this manga always represent memories (you’ll see them most commonly during Yorishiro breaking, but you’ll also see them peppered about in little ways while any character is reminiscing about something).

..... it seems like a new timeline manifests as he percolates for the first time, the idea of returning. This timeline didn’t exist before, but it does now.... Does this sort of thing happen... often, to Tsukasa? As events unfold, does he have to process the eventualities and consequences as potential memories entering his psyche? What’s it like to merge with a God? What is a God’s perception of time/space/memory? How does his human psyche fare?  Maybe Tsukasa has great reason to always seem out of it and ditzy, while also being a sortof chessmaster ... 

...I don’t think words like ‘traumatized’ or ‘stressed’ apply to Tsukasa at all, though ‘disordered’ applies in droves to him.

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes ending author's notes

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 8/?: Grasping

Sasuke awakens abruptly, nausea clawing its way out of his throat like a soup of sepsis that’s been left percolating on a stovetop for too long, finally boiling over and soiling everything.

Stomach churning, he tries to aim it at the floor - he’s gotten better at doing that, over the years - but he doesn’t quite succeed. Hot bile, acidic with mostly digested dinner, coats the side of his bedding and part of his sleeve.

He coughs, gagging on acid and torment and hyperventilation. Then his stomach lurches again, and he turns to retch another round at the floor. Part of it floods his nostrils, stinging, and he rasps more.

That triggers another round, after which he waits a minute, sharp coughs punctuating the stillness, familiar at this point with what his stomach’s settling feels like. He shrugs off his shirt once it does, and makes his way to the kitchen, hacking on a foul aftertaste and vomit-inducing visuals flashing before his eyes.

A glance at the clock tells him it’s half past midnight as he gulps water, snorting in a manner very undignified to clear out his nasal passages and soothe the putrid taste overwhelming his insides. Then he chokes more of it down, feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache.

There are times when having a near photographic memory is not a good thing. He is very tired of recalling crackling electricity, of stumbling over body after body with lifeless eyes. Men, women, children, all with charcoal irises like his.

And teammates, with irises decidedly not like his, luster flattened to single dull colors.

And himself, at the end, deranged and dispiteous, standing where Itachi had stood a long time ago, looming over remains as if he himself is the final obstacle to defeat before it just ends, the culminating villain in some fucked up fable. All at once, he’s a child again, gagging on a demented form of truth, left to stew there for years and years and years, rotting him from the inside out.

He's noxious. He knows he is. He wishes he could spit himself out along with partially digested yakitori.

Sasuke takes another sip of water as his vision blurs, trying desperately to focus on the wood grain of the cabinets and not daring to close his eyes, lest another flash snake its way into his ocularity and undo the mild soothing the water is providing. He coughs again, throat raw. Then his mouth starts watering, a telltale sign that he’s going to throw up again, so he walks carefully to the bathroom, bottle in hand and trying not to jostle his stomach more than is necessary. Switching on the light and flipping up the seat of the toilet, he makes it just in time.

This round it’s mostly just water, and it burns a little less. The murky brown color he’s faced with seems very reflective of what he feels inside, ignominy and wretchedness and self-loathing, no substance at all, just a bitter aftertaste of that which was left behind on a wood floor a lifetime ago. There had been saliva then, too, seeping from his mouth to the floor in his cowardice.

He swallows once, a gargantuan effort. Then he takes another sip of water, studying the text on the label to try to distract himself, vile and unsettled as he is.

He doesn’t deserve Sakura, not after what he’s done. When his vision starts to blur again, he can’t read anymore anyway, so he looks at the mangled mess left of his left arm instead.

He deserves that, a maiming to fit the crime. He wishes he were a better man.

Slowly so as not to further disturb his stomach, he lies down sideways, pressing his cheek to the coolness of the floor. He feels disconnected from everything, at a loss for proper coherent thought, a mess of misery sprawled on a tile too clean for his own rancidness.

Nothing matters for a long time. He just stares into nothingness, a mild burning in his throat and eyes on a void of pure white that he doesn’t belong in, thinking about how it matches the skin tone of bodies that have been drained of all their color. It’s like he’s barely there, nothing seeming real except the hollow feeling in his chest and the buzzing sensation tempering the edge of his consciousness, like his brain has been stuffed with cotton but parts of it are burning away to nothing. Everything of substance singes away in a controlled burn, destined to always have gaping holes of meaning scorched away at random wherever the fire takes hold.

He doesn't know if there ever even was anything in the first place, deep down. Maybe corrosion is a terrible metaphor, because what's left, at the end of it? Layers and layers of useless shale and sandstone and limestone, packed atop Precambrian filth that’s been decaying there for what feels like centuries. Or magma, set to burn anything he touches.

Or electrocute it.

XXX

Suddenly it’s hours later, and a bird is chirping outside, twitters resounding through a metaphysical tunnel of distortion. Gradually it shifts into an audio that doesn’t sound quite as echoed, accentuated by light filtering in through the miniscule bathroom window.

This happens, sometimes, the nightmares and the absconding into abeyance where his brain seems to shut off, a resulting loss of significant chunks of time. Not sleeping, just staring at something dully for a while, stuck on the same cycle of repeating thought. The memorial stone is a trigger for it, he thinks. It’s why he dreaded going there, upon his return, although it's complicated. Occasionally, visiting it seems to bring feelings that are almost positive, where it feels like he’s reaching out to reclaim tiny shattered shards of what used to be his heart. Mostly, though, it’s just mourning. The reading of names may be what compels the worst of them; sometimes he thinks if he looks too long, he’ll learn things he doesn’t want to know.

Exhausted, he drags himself to his feet and begins wryly picking up the pieces, chest hurting from heaving. He throws his bedding and his shirt haphazardly into the washing machine, drowning them in soap before he grabs cleaner to do the same to his floors.

It smells disgusting, like it’s been petrifying in his stomach for years. He supposes that makes sense; a lot of things have.

Once the surface is clean, he gets in the shower, not caring that all of the hot water is being used for the laundry; the icy cold helps wake him up. He’s fatigued, lethargic, but he knows better than to try to go back to sleep at this point.

As he fights shivers in the towel afterwards, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks awful. Pale and sickly, repulsive, purple sallow staining his skin the same color as the Rinnegan. His normal eye is bloodshot, vacant charcoal that pollutes everything it touches. He lets the black of his hair shift over his Rinnegan eye in a manner he's well accustomed to by now.

His remaining eye inches to the corner of the mirror, the front of the medicine cabinet.

He carefully procures a cough drop, and then makes sencha tea, hoping the caffeine will dull his headache. There’s a part of him that still feels like he’s hardly there, like he’s a ghost just going through the motions. When he takes a sip, it feels good on the throat, but the vomiting earlier has partially singed away the surface of his tongue; he hardly tastes it.

Sasuke then takes the photo from when they were Genin to the living room, grasping onto it for dear life in more ways than one. He alternates between studying it and gazing out the glass, to the cherry blossom tree across the street.

An hour passes, slowly, sitting there thinking about what he does and doesn’t deserve, a mess of thoughts swirling down the drain of his mind. Then another. The luminescence of the day begins trickling in more, green buds across the street gaining back their pigment.

He’s not sure if he should even go to Sakura’s still, because he feels like he’s going to make even worse company today than he usually does, as tired as he is. But he’s weak, and he selfishly wants her; there’s an equanimity only she can provide, the swingback of a pendulum briefly through a sense of normalcy, and he needs the chance to look into jade eyes, to see the light hit them, to ascertain that the chatoyancy has not been dulled. And she’s not dead, despite his inner psyche screaming at him that she would be, had Naruto or Kakashi arrived just a second later. He needs to thank them for that, when he gets the chance, though the timing has never felt right to bring it up.

And he loves her. He's not sure if his love is worth anything, contemptible as he is, but it’s the main reason he can make sense out of the absolute mess that is his inner thought process this morning. So he goes.

XXX

It helps. He’s enormously exhausted, and the light of day hurts his eyes, even once he’s inside and is only absorbing its rays from the diamond window, but it helps.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets in a voice like honey as she opens her door to him, dimple on open display. She really is so lovely, multi-faceted jade sparking with life that nearly instantly calms some of his anxiety.

He is briefly concerned about what he looks like to her, today. He checked prior to coming over here, brushing his teeth thrice in the hopes that his breath wouldn’t be bad, that he could drench his innards in enough clarifying mint to be even remotely deserving of a small amount of her affection. His eye was a little less bloodshot at that point, but overall he still looked like hell, sickly and pallid.

“Sakura,” he murmurs in response, voice hoarse from being put through a ringer of his own making.

There is a prolonged moment in which she examines him, wearing an analytical expression that reminds him of clinician Sakura. Then the spell is broken, as if she’s forcibly turned that part of herself off, and she’s stepping aside and telling him softly, “Come in! I made onigirazu.”

He steps inside her entryway, setting his book on the console table momentarily beside where Hazel Wood lies, ready to be returned. He then shifts out of her way so he can remove his shoes. He’s not particularly hungry, but he’s glad it’s something fairly simple and heavy on the rice; he should be able to eat it fine.

He follows her inside, appreciating the subdued luminosity of her lamps along the way. The blankets are already laid out on the couch, a promise of simple warmth and companionship that he is very much looking forward to.

As his eye adjusts and he enters the kitchen, ready to grab a plate, his gaze locks on remnants of sliced tomatoes atop a cutting board he recognizes, though it’s familiar to him from his own apartment, not hers.

It’s exactly the same design as the one Naruto gifted him.

A fire roars to life in his ribcage as he freezes for a split second, an exhausted icy hot appreciation. It’s an implication that means the world to him, and particularly well timed.

She wants him around, to help prepare future meals.

“I put some sliced tomatoes in yours. I hope it’s okay,” Sakura says as she hands him a plate, not addressing the elephant in the room at all, as if she just needed a new cutting board and happened to pick up that one, though he knows that cannot possibly be the case; he'd seen at least two in her cupboard, before. “Would you like tea, or maybe some water?”

He nods stiffly, vision a bit blurry, then comprehends the second question.

“Water is fine,” he manages thickly.

They sit in front of her window, supple sunshine streaming in. It’s not too bright here, angled just right.

“...How was your morning?” He asks after taking a sip of water, voice still gravelly. He is beyond content to be sitting here, just looking at her, so much better than a picture.

“Good. Ino and I walk or jog in the early morning on Sundays, if it's nice. Hinata comes sometimes; she did today.” She chews a bite of her rice sandwich.

Sasuke blinks; she hasn’t mentioned that yet. Another chunk of her schedule falls into place. “...Where?”

A half smile blooms on her lips, dimple pushed into being. “Sometimes we run laps around the village, but usually there's no real destination; we just walk and visit.” She takes a sip of her own water. “It’s nice when Hinata comes; it tones Ino down a notch.”

He would snort, if he was in a different sort of mood.

“We went to the southeast part of town today,” she continues. “Ino wanted to see a new building they put up. Her mom has a big order of flowers to deliver there later this week.”

Flowers. In the chaos of the night he’s had, lily bulbs fell to the wayside of his mind.

Sasuke carefully takes the first bite of his own food. It’s good, as he expected; a mixture of salmon, tomato, and salted rice, simple enough to hopefully help settle his stomach. He can kind of taste it.

He chews slowly, reverently, alternating between eating and taking small sips of water as she chatters animatedly. “The flower shop's orders are really taking off now. Ino’s usually busiest once May comes. Hopefully things stay peaceful, so she can stay in the village for the most part; her mom can always use the extra help.”

They wash and dry the dishes together, afterwards, a routine that is beginning to feel familiar. She still doesn’t say anything about the cutting board, but Sasuke greatly appreciates the way it feels in his hand when she gives it to him, weighty and with a designated home under her roof. It slides into place easily in the cupboard with the two others.

They read for a while on her couch again, wrapped in their respective blankets; Sakura keeps her apartment fairly cool. It’s cozy in a way that makes his head feel funny, like he could fall asleep in minutes if he really tried, lulled by the soothing scent of berry and cleanliness. He wonders if it would be restful, if he did. Usually once enough time ellipses, well into the next day, his brain cuts him some slack, though it could be that he's just too exhausted from being up most of the night for the neurons to fire up again to such a frenzy.

Sasuke finishes the last chapter of his book sluggishly and contemplates the ending, a lengthy description of the fisherman gripping the solid railings of the dock with both hands as he comes ashore for the first time in months.

When he flicks his gaze to Sakura tiredly, she’s a third of the way through a new book, titled Among the Ruins: Post-War Reflections. It appears to be a memoir; he assumes it must be one she’s purchased, as it doesn’t have the library label. Perhaps it’s new, picked up this morning while she was out, or it could be one from her bookshelves. He would like to peruse the titles she has, sometime. He drowsily wonders which war it’s about.

He takes a careful breath and just revels in it, being here with her, mere feet away with his eyes closed but able to sense her presence, worn out with thoughts that have edges as frayed as he is. He would like to stay for dinner, too. He thinks it’s perhaps becoming implied that they’ll eat together if she doesn’t have other plans, but he doesn’t want to be rude or overstay his welcome.

Sasuke hopes he can stay awake. Maybe he shouldn’t have said no to tea earlier; the additional caffeine might have helped. He could offer to make them both some, he thinks fuzzily, but then he starts wondering if that would be odd or overstepping. It’s her tea, and her kitchen, and her cups.

Then he sleepily remembers the cutting board.

“You can take a nap, you know,” Sakura murmurs kindly, soft words echoing a little in the stillness of her space. “If you’re tired. I don’t mind.”

He blinks his eyes open, vision adjusting as he realizes he nearly dozed off.

She’s smiling from the other end of the couch. “I can make dinner later, and wake you up when it’s ready. You should rest until then.” She pauses, then adds, “I can grab you a better pillow from my room, if you want.”

His brain catches up to his auditory processing, and then his ears warm.

Oh.

The offer is tempting, though he doesn’t want to be rude. If it were any other day, he would force himself to stay awake, to spend more time with her. But it’s not any other day, and he’s drained, enervated in a way that makes him want to give in. He should ask, to make sure it’s okay, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t.

“...Here?”

A flush inks its way onto her cheeks as her expression turns thoughtful. “Yes. Or... you can use my bed, if you want.”

Sasuke forces his gaze away from hers, because his face feels extremely warm all of the sudden. “...I meant… here, at your apartment.”

“Oh.” Sakura laughs in a way that sounds nervous; he hears her fiddling with the book in her lap. “I, um… just meant whatever’s most comfortable.”

When he hesitantly looks back to her, she’s red, too.

“...What will you do?”

She gestures with her hand in a waving motion to indicate it's fine. “I can read, or do some laundry or work stuff. It’s no trouble. Really, Sasuke-kun.” Her blush deepens. "...I would like you to stay… And to have dinner later. If you’re free."

He swallows before slowly nodding his acquiesce, and then Sakura is up and heading to her bedroom in a blink of mismatched eyes. Muffled footsteps pad back moments later, a pillow with a lavender pillowcase clutched in her hands.

Her bedding must be a variant of violet, then, a pastel contrast to the black of his own. He is curious about the color of her bedroom walls all over again, but then she’s handing him the pillow, and he’s too tired to continue thinking.

“...Thank you.”

The smile she wears is so soft, treasured. “You’re welcome.”

He’s out within a few minutes of laying his head on the pillow, drowsing eyes barely catching the lamps flickering off one by one as she meanders around her space.

The pillow smells like her, too, cogent in its beckoning. He sleeps like a rock.

XXX

Sakura nudges him awake hours later, leaning forward to rest her upper body against the back of the couch. The scent of miso and roasted tomatoes drifts into his nostrils while lively jade peers down at him. The light coming from her window has dimmed quite a bit. It must be well into the evening; she let him sleep for a while.

“Dinner’s ready,” she murmurs softly, wearing an expression that is incredibly fond.

He stretches slightly as he rises from her sofa, working out a crick in his shoulder and thinking that he feels much more rested. Sasuke is about to head to her kitchen to get his own bowl, until Sakura turns towards the table, and he sees that she's already set out food for both of them, green market light switched on overhead.

There's onigiri, too, and a steaming cup of sencha placed on his side that he's sure is decaffeinated.

His side.

The realization, albeit a good one, disarms him.

He has a side of her table. And a side of her couch.

Sakura recites a story Hinata told her this morning as they eat, about how Naruto initially buried every single flower bulb in their garden beds six inches deep instead of reading the directions, so they had to dig everything up and salvage the instructions on the package from the trash to replant.

“He mixed them all together, too, instead of planting them in sections like a normal person.” She laughs, and his lips turn upwards in shared amusement. “She said she hopes they didn’t miss one. Iris and echinacea can sometimes multiply out of control. She was happy she didn’t add bee balm to the list, too, or they’d really be in trouble; those can grow anywhere, even in gravel.”

The soup and tea feel good on his throat, and the rice is filling in a way that would be difficult to throw up, absorbent of moisture and chunking together to expand in his stomach until he is full, in more ways than one.

He can taste again, the richness of tomato and miso and calming ubiquitous green on his tongue and in his heart, thoughts of flowers and their idiot teammate helping to cast aside his earlier melancholy.

Sasuke loves her so much in that moment that it physically aches, her voice a balm that puts the rawest parts of him at ease.

"Thank you," he says quietly at the conclusion of the meal, grateful in ways he's not sure he'll ever be able to put into words.

Her response is simple, gentle, pure. “You’re welcome.”

As they wash and dry the dishes together in the dim light of her kitchen, Sakura tells him softly, “I put leftovers in containers for you in the fridge. Please take them with you tonight.”

He nods as his eyes sting with appreciation. When he turns to put away the teacups, he blinks to clear them as she wipes down the sink one last time for the evening.

As she sorts through her movie selection afterwards - it’s her turn to pick - he asks, “How is the poison antidote coming?”

Sakura glances at him curiously for a second from where she’s perched on the wood floor, rifling through the lower cabinet. “I think we might have it solved. Blarina toxin from a southern short-tailed shrew, and then possibly lionfish toxin, laced with algal bloom cyanobacteria. The lionfish toxin is part of the trouble; it’s such a trace amount that it was hard to identify, not enough to cause swelling on the exterior body like you’d see if you were stung by one in person. We’re still running tests, but the neutralization seems to be working on the mice so far.” She blanches a little. “Or, rather, the mice we have left. It’s diminished our stocks; shrew venom is particularly deadly to them.”

Sasuke knew it was likely to kill several of them, but not quite to that extent. He’s interested in her work, so he asks, “How many?”

She turns back to sift through her cabinet as she answers, pulling out another movie to examine. “A gland-full of venom is potent enough to kill up to two hundred of them. It’s why it took us longer than usual; we had to give them the absolute tiniest dose in order to not kill them within hours. I guess it makes sense; they’re one of the things they eat in the wild. The dose in the poison sample was high, though, venom from multiple shrews. A single bite usually isn’t enough to do any harm to humans, but when it’s quadrupled in dosage and laced with other things, it’s more severe.”

“...What’s the treatment?”

Sakura rattles off the extremely complex answer as if it’s nothing. “An antihistamine, steroid, botulinum toxin, and an antibiotic. We’re also giving them blood transfusions and flushing out the blood as it comes to the exterior machine, to get rid of the cyanobacteria. Kind of like conventional water treatment… just more complicated. More steps, filtration, and obviously we can’t use chlorine, so it takes longer.”

Sasuke blinks somewhat in awe. She really is so intelligent.

“...That sounds lengthy.”

She shrugs, movie still in hand. “It is. It’s why we’re not one hundred percent sure if we’ve solved it yet; the lionfish venom is still the weak link, and will be until we can see that the other portions of the treatment have worked to isolate it.”

“...I’d like to learn the process.”

A smile plays at her lips and a flush inks its way onto her cheeks. He supposes it was a roundabout sort of compliment; he could have worded it better, but she seems to have understood him anyway. She does about a lot of things, he thinks.

“I can bring home a kit, sometime, and teach you the basics. It could be useful.”

He nods; he would like that.

There is a long pause as Sakura bites her lip before further examining the movie case in her hand.

Then, she asks, a tentative expression on her face and peeking at him to gauge his reaction, “Want to watch a bad one?”

Sasuke wonders if she knows he would watch any movie with her, if it means he gets to be in her company like this, saved from a room with white tiles or dark wood.

“...Sure.”

She wasn't exaggerating; it is truly terrible, riddled with plot holes so nonsensical that it’s almost funny. The acting is bad, too, though perhaps that’s more to blame on the script rather than the actors.

“Even the camera work is awful,” Sakura says at one point, gesturing towards the left side of the screen. “If you look in the background here, there’s an extra that just… walks into the wall.”

He watches, and sure enough, behind the main characters, a girl walks directly into a corner and just stands there.

He snorts, genuinely enthused in a manner he would not have thought possible hours ago. Sakura laughs at the other end of the couch. It’s a sound he could listen to forever, sweet and chiseled into his heart.

They play an extensive round of go afterwards, venturing well into the night with the plinking of small pieces into place. It’s nearly eleven when she finally walks him to her doorway, two containers of tomato miso soup and onigiri in her hands. As he pulls on his shoes, Sakura sets them by his library book on the console table.

“Would you want to read tomorrow afternoon?” She asks as he rises to his full height.

He nods. “...I’ll meet you here.”

Her dimple makes a reappearance. “One fifteen?”

He inclines his head again in agreement, then decides to ask. It’s becoming easier, now that she has said yes so many times.

“Dinner, after?”

Her smile widens. “Of course. I was thinking gyudon. Light on the sugar. You could…” She bites her lip and shifts a bit. “...You could help me cook, if you’d like.”

Something turns over in his belly. “...Okay.”

She glows at him. He swallows once before reaching out to skim her freckle, enjoying the feel of her cheek against the pad of his thumb.

And then her fingers against his fingers, holding him there against her cheek, soft and steady.

Then he leans down, and his lips are on hers, a breath exhaled in unison as her entryway falls away. Her free hand twists around his neck, delicately brushing the fabric and a fraction of his skin in a way that nearly makes him shiver. It’s a long moment of quietus, a finishing stroke to a day that could have gone very differently.

It is also the longest kiss they’ve shared yet, and it is over far too soon.

He’s pulling away to look at her, letting his hand drop away, when she wraps her arms tenderly around him.

He can hardly breathe, taken off guard by the absolute sensation of comfort he’s enveloped in.

She doesn’t say a thing; just hugs him tight, her fingertips spreading across his back and face pressed to his sternum. Berry invades his olfactory senses.

Slowly he lifts his arm to carefully return the hug, swallowing a tender sort of truth, a kind that goes down easy, the evidence and action of her affection. He can feel Sakura’s heartbeat against his chest, a tempo teeming with life.

They stand there together in her entryway for a long time.

XXX

He sleeps wrapped in a clean comforter, and though it’s not for very long, it is dreamless.

He’s eating leftover onigiri when he receives a mission summons, barely past seven in the morning. He finishes his meal and pops a cough drop in his mouth before departing for the Hokage’s office.

It’s a nice day, he thinks as he walks, coming to a decision as he admires vernal greenery lining the streets. The sun is just lifting over the horizon, painting everything pale amber.

“Sasuke,” Kakashi greets as he walks in; he’s the first one there again, apparently. “Good morning.”

“Kakashi.”

Their old sensei smiles at him in the strange all-seeing manner he has. Sasuke notes the presence of a new picture frame present on his desk, replacing the one he’s given him.

He is extremely grateful to have that picture to grip onto in his darker moments. Sasuke considers thanking him then, for Iron, but then Naruto is barreling in noisily.

“Whaizzit?” He yawns raucously, as if he just woke up, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes. They are multi-faceted, too, even in their barely aware state, and Sasuke inwardly breathes a sigh of relief, normalcy shifting fully back into place as the door clicks behind his teammate.

Then Naruto registers that Sasuke is present. “Eh? Teme?!” Cerulean scans the room as if he’s searching for something, then he frowns, directing a lengthy glare Kakashi’s way.

“If you've called me here at seven in the fucking morning for anything that isn’t a Team Seven reunion mission, I’m going to lose it.”

Ah. He was looking for Sakura.

“Afraid not,” Kakashi answers cryptically from his desk, and Naruto’s sleepy glare tightens. Then the Hokage smiles, as if something is incredibly amusing. "Guard duty. Kotetsu and Izumo deserve a break. Things are slow this week, and we have the extra numbers.”

The copy ninja skillfully dodges Naruto’s sandal as it flies towards him. “You’ve got to be kidding. You woke me up for this? You could have told me later in the day or something!!”

“Future Hokages don’t receive special treatment, and it’s professional to give more than twenty-four hours notice if possible.”

Naruto grumbles. "All week?"

Kakashi grins. "Tuesday through Friday."

Inwardly, Sasuke twitches.

"I should specify; nine to six, Tuesday through Friday."

Outwardly, Sasuke twitches.

It's not exactly her work schedule for all four days, but it lines up closely enough that it's fairly obvious what Kakashi’s doing.

Naruto barely reacts; just snorts in a way that is caustic, as if he finds the times unsurprising. "Cool. Can I go back to sleep until it’s time to kick teme’s ass now? Hinata-chan and I were cozy."

Sasuke rolls his eyes; when they spar in the mornings, it’s typically between eight and nine. He’ll have around an hour's extra sleep at best, though he supposes he’s not in any position to judge at this point, given his nap on Sakura’s couch yesterday.

Kakashi’s smile widens, mask wrinkling. "Sure. Dismissed."

They both watch on in faint amusement as Naruto stumbles sleepily out of his office, neglecting to collect his missing shoe.

“...Some things never change,” the Hokage murmurs, sighing.

“...No, they don’t.”

“Well, anyways, before you go…” Kakashi turns to him, tapping the pen at his desk absentmindedly. “How are things?”

Sasuke blinks, recalling leftovers and a new cutting board and the feeling of Sakura’s arms around him.

And kissing. Mostly kissing. Probably too much, if his neck’s sudden warmth is anything to go by.

“Good.”

A lone visible eye crinkles at the corners. “Great. Don’t hesitate to let any of us know if you need anything.”

He lets the words hang in the air for an extended few seconds before nodding slowly.

"I was thinking…” Kakashi continues, gaze flicking down to the photograph on his desk. “...Perhaps we could make Team Seven dinners a monthly thing. It would be good, don’t you think?"

“...Yeah.”

A dark eye locks on him again. "Sai could come, too."

Ah.

"...Sure." He really should make an effort to get to know him better. His replacement seems nice enough, peculiar as he is.

"Wonderful. Let's plan on the first Saturday of every month at six, shall we? If we're all in the village, that is. I’ll let him know when I call him in later this morning."

“Okay.”

A long moment passes, then Kakashi is procuring the shoe from the area behind his desk. Sasuke notes that he holds it as far away from him as his arm will allow.

“...I don’t suppose you’d return this, when you see him later?”

Sasuke says nothing.

“...Though I suppose I could assign it as a mission to some Genin.” Then he's sighing, setting it on the farthest edge of Naruto’s work area. “Too bad I just gave an assignment to my last two.”

Shooting him a withering look, Sasuke departs the Hokage’s Office. He gets the distinct feeling as he goes that Kakashi is incredibly pleased with himself, solidified by what he calls after him.

“Tell Sakura I say hi.”

Guard duty is easy in theory, but spending thirty six hours with the dobe may be… a challenge. He supposes if the reward is being able to see Sakura after she works most of those days, he'll take it. He's sure Kakashi won't keep him in the village forever; eventually duty will call him away for extended periods of time.

It solidifies his decision; he should take the opportunity of being here to plant something.

He stops by the market vendor on the northern end to buy two packages of lily bulbs on his way home. The market is fairly slow, so there are few other people around.

The packages feel good in his hand, lighter than he expected.

Sasuke works through a section of one of his other books before Naruto shows up on his doorstep, still appearing for all intents and purposes half asleep. Their spar ends in another draw; luckily there are no cracked bones this time.

He eats more leftovers for lunch after, appreciating the taste.

XXX

Sasuke feels at home in Sakura’s kitchen, cutting scallions easily while she broils beef and prepares the egg mixture for gyudon just a few steps away. The meal comes together quickly between the two of them, savory with a sauce that is heavier on the mirin and sake than the sugar.

Food they prepare together somehow tastes even better. It’s late when they finally sit down to eat dinner, gazing out through glass at the streets below as they take their first bites.

The sauce is perfect; not too sweet.

“...I have guard duty this week,” he mentions after a while.

“With who?” She asks, though her lips twitch upwards.

He rolls his eyes. “...Guess.”

She bites her lip, and he tears his gaze away from her mouth and up to her eyes. The green is filled with mirth, twinkling with illuminated flecks.

“Good luck,” she says sincerely. “What times?”

He glances away, ears warming and wondering if Kakashi has mentioned anything to her about them being… together.

“Tomorrow through Friday, nine to six.”

There is a long pause. When he peeks back at her, she’s blushing.

“...Kakashi-sensei is nosy.” Sakura takes another bite of her food, looking shy for some reason, and suddenly Sasuke is certain that their sensei has said something to her, perhaps on multiple occasions. He wonders what.

“...He is.” He thinks, then adds as an afterthought, “...He says hi.”

They do the dishes together and play two rounds of chess. Sakura wins once, and the second round is another stalemate, though he suspects he was close to beating her.

It’s close to nine by the time they’re putting the board away. As he works on packing up the last of the pieces to store in their allocated compartment, he notices she’s gazing out the window, scanning the sky as if distracted.

The way she’s angled puts the freckle on her cheek in plain view, pale hair loosely tucked behind her ear.

Then she turns to him, pink flooding her complexion, and Sasuke realizes he’s been staring, the remaining few pieces still clutched in his hand, frozen in midair in his distraction. He hastily finishes putting them away as his own face warms. Sakura rises from the table to put the box away, footsteps echoing softly through her living space.

He looks outside quizzically for a moment, embarrassedly trying to will the color away from his face and wondering what she was looking at. It’s a clear evening, calm without a cloud in sight.

"I was wondering if…"

His vision snaps to her expectantly across the room, and her cheeks flush darker; he can see it even though it’s dimly lit, shifting from one foot to the other. She seems nervous.

"If you would maybe want to… go stargazing for a bit tonight?"

His pulse quickens, pushing at the seams of chambers and ventricles in a way that makes it feel like the vines have twisted their way in, taking hold of whatever they can clutch.

She apparently does still like that sort of thing.

And she wants to go with him.

He nods immediately, struck speechless with elation before he manages to form the question, "...Where?"

Her expression is one of relief. "I was thinking just outside the village. There’s…” She looks away, smiles. “There’s a place Ino and I go to sometimes; we went today for a bit, after training. There are wild lilacs blooming right now.” She shifts her gaze to him again. “It's supposed to be a little cooler, but the sky’s clear. We could bring tea in a thermos; I have two."

Heat creeps up his neck as he agrees, heart stammering in his chest a little, because he’s started thinking about it now, and stargazing together is very clearly romantic in nature, amongst flowers even more so.

Sakura brews tea for the both of them as he distracts himself by slicing a lemon for hers. When he glances at her surreptitiously, she’s still blushing, and jade eyes snap away as if this time she’s the one that’s been caught staring. That makes his heart pound, to the extent that he’s glad she’s a few feet away, because it’s so loud that she might hear it.

They meander to the edge of the village as evenfall settles, into the forested area just beyond the gates. As Sasuke trails behind her, divagating through subtly flattened pathways between the trees, his thoughts wander to bygone seasons.

There once was a pond, three quarters of a mile outside of the village, beyond where the Uchiha District used to be. It wasn’t officially a part of their grounds, but it was remote enough that it wasn’t easily happened upon by anyone other than their family, off the beaten path and through thicket and thistle as it was.

Itachi used to take him fishing there.

He thinks they’d gone four or five times in all, but he remembers it well, because he had been terrible at fishing, not a shred of patience. His brother caught most of them, but he would sometimes set the hook before passing off the reel to Sasuke to help him learn. It was quiet, peaceful in the way that only the wilderness is, away from the pressures of expectations. Wildflowers poked up everywhere in the later summer months, situated on a hill towards the far side of the pond. They picked some together for their mother, once; Sasuke clutched them in his hands while they made the trek back to the village, Itachi carrying their bucket of perch and bass.

It was nice in the autumn, too, warm tones flooding everything. One could sit in the swaying overgrowth flush with falling leaves for hours taking it all in and still not see it all, an overwhelmingly pure sense of peace, made heartier by the taste of freshly grilled fish later in the evening.

The walk had seemed like it took forever back then, on short legs looking upward. He’s never returned to that place, not once, since he was eight. It would hurt too much, for different reasons now than when he was twelve.

He remembers passing wild lilacs then, too, on the way there and back. He supposes they probably thrive in the chaparral throughout Fire Country, if one cares to traipse through the foliage to look for them. He stumbled upon many on his journey, just passing through on roads less traveled.

The small clearing Sakura leads them to reminds him of the pond a little, wild and flush with fading hues, framed by fragrant lilacs in bloom as she said, but there are no memories tied to it yet, so it’s better. Huge bushes of them grow unaided here, wispy purple redolence scattered by the wind into the earth's cracks, ushered in by whispers through the trees.

The wilds are not so far from Konoha, really. Like the cherry blossom tree on the hill, it's a good reminder that some things can grow easily even on rougher terrain.

Sasuke sits rather close to her, so they can drink their tea together. The sun slips just below the horizon, a cloudless sky awash in a shifting gradient. He catches jade as he takes a drink, appreciating the taste, a small bit of warmth on a cool night.

The way she’s looking at him makes his heart rate accelerate again, a serene expression that implies there is nothing she would rather be doing right now than be here.

With him.

Eventually stars begin inking into existence overhead one by one, the last bit of sun lingering just on the horizon, a muted blur of violet bleeding into black. Things are slightly clearer here, beyond the boundaries of the village, no glass or light pollution to obscure the retinas.

Once she finishes her tea, Sakura lies down the same way she does on the hill, so he does, too, trying to calm his heart rate, because he is very close to her, just within reach. The forest breathes around them, coating everything in a lilac perfume.

He used to think about her, when he looked to the stars, feeling worlds away and wondering if she thought of him that day. Being next to her is better, revered, the calm din of an evening he has craved for a long time.

When he turns to steal a look, her eyes are already on him, and there is something about that moment, as the last light fades, being here with her, that makes his chest go aflame.

And then Sakura turns slightly, reaching out towards him with her right hand, and he blinks.

She sweeps his hair away from his Rinnegan eye, a thumb gently skimming his cheek as he has hers, before her hand falls away. Though they are cloaked in the gloaming of dusk’s darkness, enough he hopes to hide the warmth that has crept into his face, there is adequate light left to see her expression, so tender, jade eyes desaturated to dark sage.

He feels seen in a way that he hasn’t felt before, recalling soft words in an exam room.

Not me.

The sky is fully lit in short order, beautiful and dark with only a tiny sliver of the moon visible. It is truly lovely, Ursa Major, Leo, and Hydra scattered before them like a painting a million years old, ageless messengers traveling from who knows where, as he did. It took many steps to get here to her, scattered revolutions passing wide arcs around the sun, yearning for a day to close the gap, to feel like he was close to ready.

It was worth every single one.

A question is on the tip of his tongue, so he decides to ask it, to give in to the impulse.

“...Any poems?” He wants to learn the words she likes, what kinds of meaning she applies to things, intelligent as she is. Sasuke imagines the inner workings of Sakura’s mind to be quite complex, teeming with all of the things she’s read, research and fiction and nonfiction. He would like to know her favorite pieces of poetry, what she holds dear in her own heart.

She shifts slightly; he thinks she must be looking at him for a split second.

There is a lengthy silence punctuated by crickets before she finally answers, “A short one,” voice hushed like the breeze around them; if he wasn’t so close to her, he wouldn’t be able to hear.

He shifts his gaze to her on his right, barely able to make out her silhouette in the dark.

“Take notice of what light does - to everything.”

The words sink into him like rain on freshly tilled soil, triggering a bricolage of recollections. Instantly he is reminded of light through the window of his bathroom, stirring him from a pit of self doubt and guilt. Then light through the windows of Sakura’s apartment, cooking and doing the dishes together in her kitchen. A nap, comfortable on her couch as day fades into dusk, lamps switched off for a period of much needed rest. Flowers, grown by a doorstep with the sun’s rays seeping in through diamond patterning. The shadow of a jasmine plant, inked onto her cheekbone, and neon lights reflectant atop pale pink hair.

The intricate stitching of an uchiwa fan, thread catching iridescence as she holds it daintily in her hands as if it is something important, to be cherished.

Her eyes when she is happy, hints of gold flecks, catching like fractals of color atop shifting seafoam.

The way white nerine lilies looked drenched in sunlight, on days that are decidedly not summer monsoons.

Stars are a form of light, too, and despite being far away, they are refulgent in their luminosity, a beauty that cuts through murk and offers much for contemplation; the gaps of darkness between them are what allows people to make meaning out of them, constellations strewn together.

He is home, surrounded by spring. It is something to behold.

“...Did you write letters to Naruto?” Sakura asks after a lengthy period of reflection, so softly that her voice is almost a whisper.

The concept is so ridiculous to him that he would snort, if not for the moment they are sharing right now and the way she asked it, no hint of a joke in her tone.

So he answers seriously, just as quietly. “No.”

There is a long pause.

“...And Kakashi-sensei?”

Ah. He understands what she’s really asking. “...Other than missions, no.”

It’s hard to tell, but he thinks he sees her fingers grip in the grass next to her, gently as if in reflex.

Sasuke tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

When they were on missions as Genin, she used to lay sprawled out like this, hands spread next to her. So did Naruto. It bothered him then, because he liked his folded together on his stomach and he was very particular about personal space, which they both invaded.

Sasuke doesn’t have another hand to fold his with anymore, though, and he’s less concerned about personal space with her than he used to be. The darkness helps bolster his confidence, too, nyctophile that he is; she won’t see the heat that’s spreading to his face here, lit merely by distant flickering stars.

Take notice of what light does - to everything.

The luminaries above them offer only a little of it, yet it's a transfixing sight, something of the epochal and the divine present that he has been drawn to for years.

So he reaches out to skim her hand with his, a tentative sort of constellation in itself, recorded in points of contact and palm prints on the skin rather than etched in alembic light in the sky.

There are soft fingertips, a knuckle gently gliding by. Then she’s interlacing her fingers with his, and suddenly it’s not tentative at all. It’s leal, steady, her small hand in his as if it has always belonged there, the scent of flourishing blooms wafting around them and painting everything in his head lilac starlight.

Her thumb brushes his skin once, twice, thrice, achingly gentle.

He should have reached out sooner, but he supposes they’re young, still. There is a lot of time ahead of them. The stars will align eventually, slow in their revolutions around common centers of mass as he is in letting people in. She accepted his apology for being late already, fine fingertips clutching an uchiwa fan with a touch just as gentle as now.

If he can only hold her hand in the dark, maybe that’s enough for now, a single star he can reach. He hopes he'll reach the others eventually.

Hours pass with her hand in his, and he is a small bit closer in revolution by the time he walks her home.

Lilac and raspberry and starlight coalesce against his lips when they collide with hers, an allegorical perfume he could easily get drunk on. He skims the freckle again, tenderly osculant, and realizes that is the start of a constellation, too, a novitious star burning brighter every time he reaches out. Kissing makes three.

Her hands around his neck make four. This time he does shiver, but he doesn’t pull away.

Sakura’s lips are so soft.

XXX

He plants the lily bulbs shortly after they say good night, under the cover of the caliginous dark that shepherds in the dew of the morning, tiny drops of moisture beginning to collect on nearby blades of grass. The stars are still out, bright enough to be beautiful but dim enough so that he can’t read the names.

Sakura would help him if he asked, he knows, but he doesn’t think he’s quite ready for that yet. He settles for trying to make his touch as gentle yet sure as hers, an elegy of calloused fingers digging carefully through the dirt, grasping and placing lily bulbs one by one. There are four bulbs in total, so he plants two on each side, nine inches apart, allowing them to poke up through the soil slightly and frame the stone; he reread the instructions when he stopped by his apartment earlier. It’s a different brand of corrosion, manually digging up layers of dirt rather than hoping they slough off, but it’s progress, and it doesn't require digging too deep.

There has to be something beneath the layers of sediment, he thinks, to feel the way he does about her. He hopes that what he feels is enough, that his slow revolutions will be worthwhile for her, in the end.

I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.

Being in Konoha is not easy, after everything, but being with Sakura is.

When he’s lying in his own bed a short time later, he recalls the love in her fingertips against his. It lulls him to sleep.

[neonponders]

Head canon time:

Okay okay okay okayokayokay so this post has super cute art, but the reblog comment on it aligned with something that’s been percolating in my brain for a ~while~ now:

Eleven as Steve’s sister.

Obviously neither Steve nor Eleven have any idea. From the time El escapes the lab, they don’t interact much. Even if they’re in the same room, they kind of bounce around each other, because...why else would they? Steve’s at least five years older and she’s still building her social skills/confidence, especially around men.

But then Steve gets his hair cut short, and the back likes to curl very similarly to how El’s did when hers was short. Their hair needs its own weight to pull it straight.

And it’s dark brown. Followed by clear brown eyes.

It’s not enough for anyone to connect the dots, of course, but then El’s “mother” dies. Her mind had been a flickering light for a long time, eventually her heart began to match. But when a heart stops, it stops.

Her sister calls Hopper, in case El wants to know, and they show up, at the very least, to attend the funeral and to help the sister go through dusty boxes. Maybe there’s a picture of El’s mother that she wants...

Instead they find surrogacy papers.

Old bank statements.

Apparently at the time of her involvement with government conspiracy, she had been very down on her luck. She made the mistake of doubling up on volunteering to be a surrogate mother, as well as whatever the hell the Hawkins Library did to her.

But the names on the papers are John and Eliza Harrington.

“Like...Steve?” El asks when he finally has gaped at the papers for too long.

Hopper inhales because he isn’t sure when he did that last and scratches his face. “Yeah...like Steve.”

He has mixed emotions: the empathetic devastation at losing a kid, but also the relief that this involves someone already in the know.

They go over to Steve’s house.

The guy answers the door with a slice of pizza in his hand, still chewing. “Hi, Hop. Ellie.”

She offers a small smile. “Steve.”

“Are your parents home, kid?”

He shook his head and swallowed. “Just left this morning. They have a time-share condo in Mexico.”

“You didn’t go with them?”

Steve scoffs while turning around back into the house. “My idea of a good time isn’t with my parents. What d’you need?”

“Well,” Hopper sighs, feeling too big in the foyer. Eleven stabs his hip with a finger and he begins the tedious process of unlacing his boots. “I need to go through your parents’ papers. You got an attic, a cellar, an office?”

Steve, bless him, looks genuinely clueless. “Uh. Yeah...are we in trouble for something?”

“Not in trouble, no. I just wanna cross reference something.”

Bless him twice, because he actually lets Hopper into his attic. His father’s office. Then his mother’s.

He finds it in his mother’s bedroom. It was just a shot in the dark to try the safe in the closet, but so many people actually keep their safes unlocked for easy access.

Hospital documents. Even ultrasound photos.

“Jane Elizabeth...Harrington?” Steve chirps over his shoulder.

He looks up at the chief, who’s rubbing his beard again. Their heads turn to Eleven sitting on Mrs. Harrington’s bed. “My name’s Jane.”

Those big brown eyes blink between her and Hopper. “How do you know that? I thought you came from a lab?”

Hopper intercepted, “She used her,” he gestured vaguely to his own head, “to find her mother. Or...the surrogate your parents paid for.”

“And where’s she?”

“Dead,” said Eleven.

Hopper reiterated, “She passed about two weeks ago. We found your parents’ names in her paperwork.”

“But - what happened? How does a baby just go missing? Better question: why don’t I have super powers?”

Hopper had already read the hospital’s apology and refund of the Harrington’s funds, insurance, the works. “I think that asshole...Brenner...claimed the baby for his work, early enough that it could be written off as a miscarriage. Whatever they did to El’s mother, whatever went on in that lab, landed her with her abilities. It’s nothing to covet, all right.”

Steve looked winded. He crossed his arms and let himself collapse against the wall. “So...what do we do?”

“Uh...” Hopper fanned his face with the ultrasound pictures. “There isn’t a lot we can do. Telling your parents would open up a lot of closed doors that we can’t really afford to open. Dr. Owens, being the swell guy he is, provided me paperwork that grants El as my kid.

“But.

“You already know each other. You already contributed to saving the world together. So...I think that’s up to the two of you.”

Both of them, for all they’d been through, just looked like kids. They were kids, even if Steve now stood in his twenties. And he stood off the wall, now, to approach his sister.

“Can I, uhm...can I hug you?”

El slid off the high bed, easily falling against his body for arms to wrap tightly around her. They stayed like that for a long moment, then Hopper joined them to rub between their shoulder blades.

“Oh god. You’re dating Mike Wheeler.” El hummed a curious sound and he elaborated, “Am I gonna have to pound on him if he pisses you off?”

“I wish you would,” Hopper confirmed.

Fast forward to Mike being extremely confused at his girlfriend suddenly spending a lot of time with Steve Harrington, of all people.

“Maybe she’s gotten a taste for older men?” Lucas teased, and got punched in the shoulder for it.

Max’s eyes rolled but she didn’t grace that with an answer.

Mike fumed, “She was supposed to be with me today! Then she called and said she had other plans - ”

Max chimed, “Are you sure you had plans? Or that you had a plan but she beat you to it?”

“It doesn’t matter! I see her walking around with Steve Harrington all the time and it’s weird!”

Will said for nobody in particular, “We’re not the ones to judge weird anymore.”

Lucas countered, “Or we’re the experts on weird. Speaking of, where the hell is Dustin?”

“With Steve,” Max grinned right at Mike, and stood up. “Speaking of, my ride’s probably here.”

“Where are you going?” Lucas asked.

“Over to Steve’s.”

The boys looked at each other and ran for their shoes. Sure enough, they left the Wheelers’ basement, circled around the house, and found the blue Camaro waiting in the cul-de-sac. 

“Woah woah woah, what the hell is this?” Billy said hoarsely. He peered over his sunglasses at the teenagers filing into his backseat.

Max shoved a bottle of water towards him. “You’re not drinking enough, again.”

“Don’t bitch at me. Tell your friends to scram.”

“Are you really going over to Steve’s?” Will began.

“What do you know about Steve hanging out with my girlfriend?” Mike joined.

“Steve’s got a pool, right?” Lucas directed at Max.

Billy revved his engine with a sharp right turn, throwing all of them to one side of the car. Max held her head from where it had hit the window. “Cool it, you shouldn’t even be driving in the first place.”

“My blood did not turn black for this bullshit.”

The kids in the back stared out of the windows like Loch Nora was a safari tour. At the sound of the Camaro’s engine, Steve trotted down the slope of the lawn in swimming trunks with a towel around his shoulders, waving them through the gate.

Will and Lucas sprinted after him. Mike followed at a skeptical pace while Max lingered for Billy’s sake. No one noticed that Billy wore pink and turquoise swimming trunks that fit more to Steve’s taste.

Mike sure as hell noticed the red and purple, woven friendship bracelets that El and Steve wore, though. The pale, skinny nerd just stared, dumbfounded between Hopper floating contently over the pool, El laughing in a one-piece covered in hibiscus flowers, and Steve sitting at the foot of Billy’s lounge chair.

Then Robin strolled through the gate with a stack of pizza and chicken wing boxes. “All right, we ready? What are you doing, dweeb? It’s a 101 degrees out. Get wet.”

And shoved Mike Wheeler right into the pool.

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

Chapter Two of See You in the Morning Time

The third in a Rafael Barba/Reader/Frederick Chilton threesome verse written in collaboration with @pascalispretty . Gif by @mrsrafaelbarba . Yep. We did this. Was it necessary? No. Did we enjoy it? Sometimes. Are you going to read it? I sure hope you do and that you like it! Cross posted to ao3!

Part Three of the series So Much Easier than You Realize

Chapter One: A Different Feeling Entirely Chapter Two: Show Me the New

Warnings: Frederick being an anxious (and sad. and repressed) little weenie, discussions of period typical homophobia, bi panic, completely invented backstory (you got on this ride folks lol), Rafael being surprisingly supportive, cuddling, and of course a little bit of teasing Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 2293 Summary: It's not often that Fred instigates anything with Rafael except an argument.

It’s late by the time Fred and Rafael finally make their way to bed. They shower and put pajamas on while waiting for the food to arrive and once they eat, they finish the bottle of wine that Fred had opened earlier and spend the rest of the evening chatting and watching some dumb movie on TV.

Lying in Fred’s bed in his borrowed clothes, Rafael can’t help but smile to himself. After weeks of skittishness from Fred he had finally made it past some of the walls that the doctor had put up. Fred curled close to Rafael while they watched the movie, dragging a blanket over the two of them and cozying up entirely unprompted.

When Fred comes out of the bathroom and flicks the lights off, he’s even more pleased that Fred doesn’t seem to hesitate to lie close to him in bed or reach out for his hand.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” Rafael murmurs, to break the silence more than anything. He hears Fred scoff.

“I was hardly going to kick you out as soon as we were done.” As best as he can, Rafael turns on his side trying to make Fred out in the darkness of the room.

“I know. I just wasn’t sure how you’d feel.” He’s not at his most eloquent or subtle, but he wants to acknowledge what happened between them. “You were… hesitant at first and I just want to make sure you didn’t feel like you had to do this. As of a few days ago you were still pretty clear that you were not comfortable with the two of us having sex.”

Rafael doesn’t want to force a confidence, but he feels like he has to make sure. He’s coming to care too deeply about the arrogant chronically awkward man next to him to just let this go with vague assurances. He hears Fred shift onto his back and wants nothing more than to drag him into his arms and kiss his stupid, conceited face, but he holds himself still and waits for Fred to answer him, giving him the space he clearly wants.

“This wasn’t as sudden as you think it was,” Fred assures him eventually, face still pointed at the ceiling. “I’ve been thinking about this since, you know, that first time.” Rafael can practically feel Fred’s blush from his side of the bed and grins. “And my reticence was never about you, you know that, yes?”

Rafael nods, realizes Fred probably can’t see him, and clears his throat.

“Yeah, I figured as much. I am, after all, a damn catch.”

Rafael yelps as Fred reaches out, faster than he thought was possible for a well-fed psychiatrist who sits behind a desk all day, and smacks him on the chest.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, together in the dark cocoon of Fred’s bedroom, before Rafael sighs. He can’t help but notice the similarities between the blank peacefulness of Fred’s minimalist design and the deliberately organized calm of a therapist’s office and wonders if he did that on purpose. Maybe it’s a natural inclination, he muses idly. It invites honesty. The sharing of secrets.

“I’m only eighteen months younger than Benn, you know,” Fred says eventually, and it’s so unexpected that Rafael finds himself frowning a little in confusion. “All the way through school, I was Bennett Chilton’s younger brother; just the little brother of the handsome quarterback that everyone adored.” Rafael has seen photos of Bennett, tall and painfully handsome. He can see that it might have been hard to grow up in that shadow.

“He came out when he was sixteen, and I was fourteen. And I’m sure you can imagine what that was like at an all-boys Catholic school in Virginia in the eighties.” Rafael winces in the dark. He remembers well enough the attitudes in his own high school, in marginally more liberal New York. He can’t imagine what it must have been like in a place without a visible community to look up to.

“People were mostly smart enough not to say anything to Benn’s face--he was a six foot two starter who never backed down from a fight, they would have had to have been stupid--and our parents were supportive. But the things people said about him behind his back--” Fred shudders, an involuntary shiver that makes Rafael want to wrap his arms around him and never let go.

Instead, he just squeezes Fred’s hand reassuringly and waits for him to continue. For someone who has trouble shutting up at the very best of times--staying silent isn’t Rafael’s forte--he is doing an admirable job tonight. His desire to prove he’s worthy of this unexpected vulnerability from Fred is more than enough to keep him quiet. Rafael is desperate to know more, to know everything about Fred; about what makes him tick, about why he was so reticent, so reserved, when clearly this is something that he enjoys.

“It was awful. The kind of things you never want to hear about somebody you love. And I was hardly in any position to be giving out bloody noses or black eyes whenever someone called him a fag, or made some crack about AIDS.” Rafael shifts slightly nearer, still not saying anything. He smiles to himself when he feels one of Fred’s hands reach up to rest on Rafael’s hip.

“I was a short, scrawny child--I spent a lot of time in the hospital and home sick--and I couldn’t afford to give the other boys in my school one more reason to pick on me so I just… didn’t say anything. I’m not proud of it, but it’s not like Benn had any trouble sticking up for himself. I doubt he would have appreciated anyone stealing his opportunity to get into one more fight anyways.”

Rafael covers the hand Fred has on his hip with his own, deciding now is not the time to joke that he can’t ever imagine Fred as scrawny. Fred clears his throat again and continues in the same calm, rehearsed manner. Like this is something that he witnessed happening to someone else.

“It wasn’t long after that that I had my own month of absolute pure terror and confusion. It was one of Bennett’s teammates from the swim team that actually sent me over the edge. His name was Bobby and he was gorgeous. He had never made any jokes about Bennett, never joked about changing somewhere else in the locker room. He was a little stupid, I can admit that now, but back then I thought he was perfect. I worshipped my brother and this pretty boy clearly did the same.

“Well, I was horrified. Up until then I had been fully and completely in love with a girl I had known practically since infancy. Was all of that a lie? Was being gay genetic? Was Billy going to go through the same thing? It took me a whole month before I had the guts to ask Bennett and I nearly stabbed him with our father’s letter opener when he laughed at me.”

Rafael winces again, knowing how touchy Fred is now, a grown adult well-respected in his professional field and still a little obsessed with slights, perceived and real. Fred huffs, forcing any trace of bitterness out of his voice.

“He told me that you can like girls and boys at the same time and that I should go see if I still liked jerking off to pictures of Jennifer Connolly.” Rafael isn’t able to suppress his snort.

“I always liked Carrie Fisher,” he tells Fred, smiling over at him.

“You would, you pervert,” Fred shoots back. “Probably loved that bikini, didn’t you?”

“I think I’ll plead the Fifth on that one.”

Fred shakes his head and sighs deeply.

“Well, naturally, that was enough humiliation for me for one afternoon and so I threw a throw pillow at him and bolted for my room.”

“Did you jerk off to Jennifer Connolly?”

“Rafael, I can still kick you out of this apartment.”

“Sorry.” Rafael is silent for all of twelve seconds before he asks again, “Come on Fred, I’ve got to know; did you?”

“...Maybe,” Fred reluctantly admits. Rafael laughs and squeezes his hand.

“Moving on from your prurient obsession with my teenaged masturbatory life,” Fred says pointedly, managing to sound arch, offended, and haughty all at the same time. “I contemplated for a while what Benn had told me. A long time actually--that percolated in my brain all throughout the rest of high school. I only ever dated girls, I ignored it completely every time I was even remotely attracted to another boy, but I kept thinking about that. Not only did I have a lifelong conviction that if Bennett said it it must be so, but it just sort of felt right, you know?”

Rafael nods, remembering a similar feeling he had when he was younger. Despite what the other boys in his neighborhood said about “queers”, despite what the Church said, and despite what he knew his father would do to him if he heard Rafael’s thoughts, he was what he was and that was that. Fuck anyone who said different, he remembered thinking. It’s not like he could change it, even if he wanted to.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he answers when it’s clear that Fred requires some encouragement to continue. Fred twines his fingers with Rafael’s before carrying on.

“I lived with Benn in college. Our father bought him an apartment in Cambridge the day he got his acceptance letter from Harvard, and it only seemed logical that I’d move in once I got accepted too. And, I don’t know. It was a little easier there.” Rafael thinks he grimaces, but it’s hard to tell in the dark.

“It has been a while though, since I’ve indulged. And I've never participated frequently.” Every word seems like it’s forced out of Fred’s mouth.

“All this to say, Rafael,” Fred murmurs, inching closer across the sheets, “Is that the problem was never you.”

Rafael gathers him into his arms this time. Fred goes willingly, releasing a heavy, shaky breath and clearly relieved to not be talking about this anymore.

“I know,” Rafael reassures him. “I know it wasn’t me. I was just… I don’t know. I was worried.” He smiles, giving Fred another squeeze. “You’re a delicate little flower Freddie, I want to make sure I don’t trample all over you.”

“Get out of this bed this instant.”

Rafael laughs and they settle down to sleep.

***

The three of them celebrate in Rafael’s tiny Brooklyn apartment when Fred returns from Baltimore. He insists that he wants to cook and, though he had his doubts about his equally minuscule kitchen, manages to turn out an incredible ropa vieja. His mother would be proud.

When the empty plates are discarded on his coffee table, stacked haphazardly and waiting to eventually be washed by whoever loses the inevitable game of ‘who had the harder day’, Rafael sinks back into the couch and smiles benignly basking in the praise of the two of them and their company. Four days is starting to become too long to go between times when they’re all together and though he wants to frown at the unpleasant feeling of missing the both of them when they aren’t around he loves it a little bit as well. Every other wandering thought was of the two of them and he can’t deny that it's nice to feel these first desperate stirrings of a relationship again.

“I don’t know how you made all of that, Rafael. I’m pretty sure my cousin Caroline had a bigger kitchen in her dollhouse.” Fred surprises him when he leans closer to Rafael, snuggling contentedly against him. Rafael had told the third of their little trio that he and Fred had finally slept together--hiding things in a threesome was the quickest way to hurt feelings. Everyone was going to eventually do things without everyone involved and it’s best to just let that out in the open--but he hadn’t expected Fred to offer such casual affection so freely.

Rafael catches her looking at the two of them with a soft smile on her face and returns it with one of his own. She hid it well but she was a little disappointed during their FaceTime when he had warned her that Fred might not be overly demonstrative yet. Rafael knew she felt a little--guilty wasn’t the word she would use, he knew, if he could ever get her to talk about it--uncomfortable about how much more open Fred was with her than he was with Rafael. He loves how hard she tries to remind him that Fred is just anxious, cautious, a little scared. Rafael is a grown man and doesn’t need his hand held, but the fact that she tries to anyways makes his heart feel like it’s growing through his ribcage sometimes.

When Rafael looks back down at Fred he looks like he’s about to fall asleep with his head nuzzled against Rafael’s shoulder. He would describe it as endearing until Fred moves one of his hands high onto Rafael’s thigh. Rafael smirks.

“All it took was one night and he’s already falling for me,” he says to her in a stage whisper. Fred is unfortunately still awake enough to jab Rafael in the ribs, settling down only after the air is knocked out of Rafael’s lungs with an “oof”.

“As long as you remember to invite me to the wedding,” she teases. Rafael watches her duck admirably as Fred throws a cushion at her head.

“You’re supposed to throw a bouquet at me, not a pillow!”

[bereft-of-frogs]

Doctor Strange, Antman and the Wasp, Avengers Infinity War and Loki

I hope those are not too many :-)

not at all!

doctor strange - describe the process that leads up to publishing your fics. do you outline the whole thing? obsessively edit it? create moodboards?

It definitely depends! There are like 3 tiers:

- most complicated: aka multiple outlines/drafts - ex. ‘alone amidst the ruins’. For big complicated things I like making multiple outlines, usually one ‘conversational’ one right at the top of the document where I in paragraph form explain the plot like I’m explaining the plot to a friend, then a point-by-point plot outline (like A. Prologue....i. scene one...B. Chapter One...i. scene one...ii. scene two....), then a ‘worst’ draft, and a second/final draft. I usually do all the prep work and the first draft in Scrivener, and then the second draft back in Pages

- medium: similar to the first, except it’s all in Pages, the ‘point-by-point plot outline’ is in [brackets] right in the document. This is the most common.

- easiest: I usually just like....have the idea, write the idea, for the short fics (and also the not-so-short but kind of scary ones where I’m like ‘hm idea’ and then like 12 hours later I have 6k words and am like....’uhhh ok thanks brain u ok?’. ex. ‘the sleepwalkers’ iirc...haven’t had one of those in a while, I miss them). I’ll often write it out of order, starting with the most vivid scenes and then going back and filling in plot-necessary info

For all fics, I usually just reread a few times (until it gets to the point where I’m like ‘oh no it’s boring’), then format for AO3 in the google doc script thing, but even then I usually still have to go through and fix italics but that’s okay because the change in font usually makes random typos start to stand out, then I turn on Grammarly for a last typo pass (lol or really, let’s be real, rethinking some of those commas pass...) and then post! and run away. XD

I don’t really make moodboards...I do often research stuff while brainstorming/while the idea is percolating. A few I have actually read nonfiction books for inspiration (’alone amidst the ruins’, the medieval-ish fantasy AU). I do feel like I need a new way to get inspired for a couple fics I’m feeling like are sort of slogs/I’m stuck, maybe I’ll consider moodboards. Or playlists.

I don’t know, for people who do make moodboards or other creative inspiration for fics, any advice?

ant-man and the wasp - what’s your favorite type of comment to recieve?

I mean here’s where I should say ‘all comments’ because technically yes, all comments, even just short ones, but yes the best comments are the long ones with yelling and where you can tell the reader was really engaged. I’m most likely to respond to those because, that one post going around is true, honestly it’s not about just getting comments, I mostly just want to yell about my fics. XD (I’m sorry if I haven’t responded - there’s one in particular right now in my inbox I’ve been meaning to respond to for like...several weeks, maybe I’ll do that when I get back from my run.)

avengers: infinity war - do you have any fanfic recs?

I glanced through my bookmarks which are a mess but you can trawl through there. I usually respond with ‘he’s been dead for years’ because I still think it’s one of the best concept+executions of a fic I’ve ever seen (and also #calledout it is sooo accurate when I first read it I had to check whether or not it was roleplaying). And also unironically whenever someone asks me about depictions of death/funerals in media, internally I think ‘**sob** jacob and esau say their goodbyes’ before out-loud saying something about like...The Haunting of Hill House or whatever XD

loki - what’s the most outlandish (or it could just be your favorite) au you’ve ever read/wanted to write/thought of?

Hmmm. I don’t usually do big AUs unless there’s a reason for it, which is how I ended up with the “all-human AU” **cough** of dark underground//violent sky, I guess the medieval-ish fantasy AU is the most dramatic I’ve ever written. I’m honestly a bigger fan of dramatic canon divergence AUs. I would like to finish my ‘Loki wins Avengers 1′ AU one day, or the Sam/Bucky apocalypse AU (where the other set of people get snapped) but inspiration has currently stalled, I’m trying to be patient with it. :-)

[mcu asks]

[freneticfloetry]

5, 11, 21, 37 (would love to hear about PPFT if you’re up for sharing!) & 38

5. Share one of your strengths.

I mentioned this in a previous answer, but I'm good at endings! I love finding great end beats — quite a few times, the last line is the first thing I've thought of after a new bunny is born.

If that doesn't count, then I'd say dialogue, I feel like, is a strength of mine? I think I'm good at making characters sound like themselves. Or at least the people they are in my head.

11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

Somewhere in between, probably. Writing fic is a hobby I'm passionate about (particularly in Magicians fandom, where it's fueled by vengeance). I've taken a stab or two at making it my profession — a couple spec scripts, two pilots, a half-finished novel — but that never quite stuck.

21. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

Do people count this? Is this something I'm supposed to count? Because if so, I am in trouble.

I edit as I write. And by that, I mean that I edit constantly. Line by line, sometimes, until I feel like it's right (and even a "right" line could change if some subsequent line three lines on then makes it wrong). A freneticfloetry first draft has never existed, because I can never put down my red pen long enough to write something straight through without revising.

Trust me, I know this is not productive. (Though it does save a hell of a lot of time on the beta back end.)

37. Talk about your current wips.

Oh my goodness. Well, the evermore fic is still underway. It's unlike anything I've done (or planned to do) in this fandom so far, but it is kind of a return to my sparser snippet-to-snippet Yuletide fic days. I thought perhaps the humor was lulling people into a false sense of security (which I felt really bad about), but apparently it's painful for people already? To that I say: I'm so sorry, the part I thought would actually be painful is still to come.

I recently pulled out of the Magicians Big Bang, because I completely switched the fic I was doing, like, last month, and while I love the idea and the outline and the bits and pieces I've pulled together for it, there's no way I can actually execute it in the time that I have. It's still going to happen (as will my original idea), because I'm already so enamored with these versions of these boys, but it won't be for June. And that's because…

PPFT has finally decided to cooperate! I had a bit of a breakthrough on a scene that's had me stumped since November, and now it's basically all I can think about. That said, this chapter is a beast. It's a monster. I keep calling it Cerberus, kinda sorta jokingly, but it's true — it's a lot, content-wise; hard and heavy and hugely emotional, which is both gratifying and exhausting. It's the chapter I've been waiting to write since I started the fic, which — I'm sure you know — is so often the hardest one to execute. And these two are not making it easy. (Also, I'm fairly sure it's going to double the word count, all on its own.) I am so happy to have delightful folks like you, who are still interested in reading it. :)

There are a million other things percolating — Vampire!Eliot, the next MHEA, a book fusion that’s going to make people hate me... my brain is full of bunnies. So many fics, so little time.

38. Talk about a review that made your day. 

Your recent comment on PPFT is definitely up there! Especially at a time when I was just getting going on it again. It was the perfect motivation at the perfect time. @rubickk7​ and @yourtinseltinkerbell are constant sources of smiles in my inbox. The comments on scenes from an unfinished story, in general, have been some of the best I’ve ever received — really thoughtful and enthusiastic, a lot of them in-depth in really lovely ways — but there was one recently that touched on things no one had mentioned, little moments I included as nods to canon, and it made those choices really worthwhile, for me.

Thank you for asking!

[boxoftheskyking]

Something Good, Part Seven

So I was going to edit and revise, but my house is full of flies and I’ve spent most of the night trying to murder them.

This is the best I could do.

In which Wei Wuxian gets yanked around like a fish on a hook.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

---

Wei Wuxian always gets a little cocky after a month of anything. A month into life at Lotus Pier he talked back to Madam Yu for the first time and met the back of her hand. He may have started getting in trouble on his first day of indoctrination at Cloud Recesses, but after the first month he really started his campaign to bother Lan Wangji into giving him a decent fight. Or at least a minute of his time. 

So he recognizes this pattern as he sits among the rabbits, watching the disciples roll around in the grass and play fight with crooked little sticks. The children all wear white, every day. As an aesthetic choice, it’s quite striking—it also appears to give some validity to Su Ming’s claim that misbehaving Lans are turned into rabbits. But as a practical choice, it leaves Wei Wuxian up nearly every night scrubbing out grass and mud and tea and berry stains.

He lets his idea percolate for a bit before acting on it, watching Madam Xiao carefully every time she measures a quickly-growing junior for a new set of robes. 

On a sunny afternoon the youngest juniors—those under ten—are held back by Lan Wangji for a lesson in sect and clan history. Wen Ning tells him it’s a regular occurrence, certain lessons and stories that the older ones heard back when multiple teachers covered different material. It feels private, Lan-Sect-only, so Wei Wuxian takes the older six fishing in the river. 

“Your poor Wei-qianbei never gets to hear secret Lan stories,” he whines as they scramble down the hillside towards the water. The juniors tumble over each other to tell their favorite stories in a fragmented rush—this Lan elder who invented a new path of healing, that student who famously saved a young Lan Qiren from a fierce ghost, litanies of born and adopted cultivators to make one’s head spin. He always enjoys the children’s enthusiasm, but part of him regrets missing Lan Wangji’s calm and steady storytelling. He imagines him sitting down on the floor with the children gathered around him, elegant hands gesturing just enough to clarify, no movements wasted. His patient nod as little Jingyi bounces on his heels to ask a question—not a smile on his face, per se, but not a frown either.

He’s interrupted from his ill-advised reverie by a giant splash as Su Ming slips and falls face first into the water. 

“A-Ming! For heaven’s sake, I’m trying to teach you to fish! Please do not scare every living creature away right at the beginning.” 

He makes them stand knee-deep in the water, still as they can, until the fish return. With all eyes on him, he manages to grab a carp on the first try. Still got it, he thinks to himself, preening for the applause around him.

Remember when it was swordplay that brought you praise? Your incredible skill, your shining golden core?

But the cheers of little ones is the best he’ll get now. And it’s enough. It is. It’s enough.

If a ritual doesn’t take the first time, repeat it.

Wen Ning, kind heart that he is, has placed himself on the shoreline to collect caught fish in gathered-up skirts of his robe. As the others dive and wait and dive again, Wei Wuxian watches him solemnly wrap the wriggling fish in cloth, holding each firmly but gently in his hands until they stop moving. His face is set, lips pulled in, and he nods to himself after each death, setting the fish aside in a delicate row on the shore. Wei Wuxian wants to wade over and hold him, pet his hair and tell him it’s all right, death is hard, but he recognizes the moment of growing and lets it happen.

All in all, they end up with eight fish. Five may have been from Wei Wuxian himself, but he praises the juniors at length as they shake off their feet and try to find their own shoes. Su Ming, as always, is precariously balanced on a rock and engaged in a shoving match with Lan Ting. He’s about to fall, and Wei Wuxian has a flash of the walk back to class with his wet, squelching shoes, so he reaches out and grabs him by the neck of his robes, nearly wrenched off his feet himself. Everyone laughs uproariously and Su Ming apologizes in a mumble, Wei Wuxian tugging on his hair and clicking his tongue in admonishment.

It’s not until they get back to the main compound that Wei Wuxian notices the pain in his shoulder and neck from yanking Su Ming out of danger. He sends the children to clean up for dinner under the direction of Wen Ning and heads to the kitchen to do something with the fish. Gutting and cleaning fish is second nature, and he tosses chunks of meat into a pan and hopes for the best.

He’s glad he’s not the primary cook for the juniors. It’s shameful that he’s so haphazard in the kitchen, given that he’d grown up watching Yanli, so tidy and deliberate, every action perfectly timed. He’d stopped watching after a while, around when he was thirteen. Madam Yu hated her behaving like a servant, so she’d get word from her little spies and swoop in in a swirl of purple and crackling energy to berate them both. It was always Wei Wuxian’s fault, in the end, as most things were. But no matter how much blame he accepted, demanded, it was never enough to make her leave Yanli alone. Eventually, he just stopped going to the kitchens at all. Had he known what was going to happen, that the last time eating lotus root and pork soup would truly be his last time, he would have gone back and watched her, he’d have written down every step and asked her to explain each technique, let him taste every ingredient as she added them. But there’s no use wishing for things already past.

He does grin to himself as he remembers her working, tiny and delicate but steadfast, while Madam Yu scolded and paced and Zidian crackled around her. She never left a dish unfinished. Perhaps he did learn more from watching her than he thought. Maybe she’ll be proud of me. Maybe someday.

He shakes the fish around in the pan, throwing in a dozen odd dashes of chili oil, and grunts out in pain as a spasm goes down his neck to his shoulder. He drops the pan down with more force than intended, grabbing at the muscle and twisting his head around, seeking relief.

“Wei Wuxian.”

Startling and whipping around certainly doesn’t help with the pain, so he faces Lan Wangji with an unpleasant grimace. The bow he makes is sincere but crooked, and when he looks back up, Lan Wangji has come closer, brow furrowed.

“Why are you cooking?”

“The older children caught fish. Well, they tried. So I said I’d cook it up for them. Well, I said I’d try.”

“The fish is sticking to the pan.”

“Damn it!” Wei Wuxian spins back around to take the pan off the heat, but freezes midway to jerk back around and bow. “My apologies, Second Master.”

“You’ve injured your shoulder.” It’s not a question.

Wei Wuxian rolls his neck again. “Just a bit. One of the children fell and I should have used two hands to grab him. I forget sometimes, how slow I am to heal without a golden—” He bites the inside of his cheek, looking down at his hands. “Pardon me, Hanguang Jun.”

He turns back to the fish and takes the pan off the heat, hacking at the chunks of skin that have adhered to the surface. He assumes Lan Wangji has left, but after less than a minute he feels an unexpected hand on his injured shoulder. He reaches back and strikes out with the wooden spatula, nearly missing the side of Lan Wangji’s face. 

“What are you doing?” he gasps. He doesn’t think Lan Wangji would attack him in the kitchens, but it hasn’t been so long since we was hunted by all the clans together. Is that why he’s here? My sentence has changed?

Lan Wangji glares at him. “Helping.”

“Helping what?”

“Your shoulder. Turn around.”

Wei Wuxian stares at him and does not move. Lan Wangji sighs, sounding so much like his uncle, and pulls Wei Wuxian back around. He’s beginning to feel dizzy. Before he can open his mouth to protest, one big hand covers the side of his head and presses it to the side while the other digs into his pulled muscle. Instead of yelling “What are you doing?” again, he can only make a loud choking sound and clap his hands over his mouth.

“Stop. Moving.” Lan Wangji demands, so Wei Wuxian folds his hands primly at his waist and waits for whatever it is to be over.

Lan Wangji’s hands are not just warm, they’re hot, and not just long but big, broad across the knuckles and palms. Wei Wuxian hasn’t really noticed this before, but he certainly does now. First Lan Wangji pinches the muscle hard between thumb and forefinger, sliding his hand down from the base of his skull to his shoulder. After about a minute of this he works his knuckles in, rolling them as he goes. It hurts, more than he expects it to, but underneath the pain is a deep relief. The massage stops suddenly, and Wei Wuxian is just about to turn around when he hears an impatient tsk sound from behind him. It’s his only warning before Lan Wangji tugs his robe over his shoulder, baring his skin.

“Lan Wangji!”

“Wei Wuxian. Stand still.”

Wei Wuxian can’t help the nervous giggle that bursts out as the massage continues. “You know,” he begins, while his brain very loudly tells him Stop this right now, Wei Wuxian, don’t say anything more. “You should just call me Wei Ying.”

The massage stops for a moment, then resumes. 

“That would not be appropriate,” Lan Wangji says stiffly.

Wei Wuxian laughs louder. He’s starting to feel a little drunk as Lan Wangji’s hands move to the back of his neck and lower down to his shoulder blade. “That’s inappropriate. I see.”

“Hm.”

“But I am a servant, you know. There’s no reason for me to have a courtesy name.”

The hands pause again.

“Not just a servant.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. “Well, no. None of us are. None of us are just servants.”

Lan Wangji says nothing and tugs the robe back into place. He doesn’t let go, though, big hands radiating warmth into him through the fabric. There’s a long moment of held breath and the smell of burnt fish.

“Wangji,” a voice comes from the doorway, and Wei Wuxian feels him step back. He feels better than he did, but oddly cold.

“Brother.” 

Lan Xichen inclines his head politely as he steps inside the kitchen. “I apologize, am I interrupting?”

Wei Wuxian turns and bows, trying to assemble a polite smile. He thinks it’s coming off a bit manic. “Not at all, Sect Leader. Hanguang Jun was graciously helping this humble servant with a pulled muscle. Thank you, Hanguang Jun.” He bows again.

“Ah, the new techniques you learned?” 

Lan Wangji’s ears turn pink, but he nods, looking away from Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian is fascinated. Like a kid watching a new game, he has to stamp down on the loud internal I want to do that. How do I do that?

“See, Wangji, there is no need to worry. She will be glad to hear you’ve practiced. You will make a fine husband.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t drop anything, but only because he’s not holding anything. He’s sure his jaw is somewhere around his belt but there’s nothing to be done about that. Lan Xichen, ever the noble, doesn’t comment on it. 

“Wei Wuxian, I was looking for you.” 

Somehow this afternoon in the kitchen has become like a drunken dream, pulling him from the warmth of pleasure and comfort into terrifying waves where nothing makes sense. It’s not a reassignment, he tells himself, but his stomach still sinks to his knees. There’s a smear of chili oil on his left wrist, curving around and disappearing under his sleeve like blood.

“What can I do for you, Sect Leader?”

“I wanted to check in on the children. I know that the incident with the water ghouls was frightening for them, particularly the younger ones.”

Wei Wuxian laughs nervously. “Yes, we were lucky Hanguang Jun is so quick.”

Lan Wangji still doesn’t look at him. 

Husband. A fine husband. Stop it.

“How are they holding up?”

Wei Wuxian chews on his lip. Lan Xichen has always had a quality that inspired complete honesty, but the last thing he wants is to accidentally talk himself back to laundry duty. “Some nightmares. A little nervousness walking by Cold Spring, for the younger ones, but we’ve talked about where the ghouls live and how the Abyss is formed. They’re pretty resilient.”

“But do they feel safe? Here, I mean?”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “In Cloud Recesses? Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t they?”

“After the ambush, things were a bit chaotic. And they haven’t had a guardian for this long in, well, a number of years now. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the older children expect you to leave.”

Lan Wangji’s head snaps up, looking between the two of them.

“Leave?” Wei Wuxian spreads his hands, aiming for casual. “But where would I go?”

Lan Xichen smiles at him. “Indeed. Thank you for this update, it is helpful for me to know how the children are feeling. Wangji, if you are finished here, I would speak with you further.”

As they turn to leave, Lan Xichen pauses in the doorway. “By the way, how did you do what you did with the talismans?”

“Sorry?”

“At the lake. Your talismans were stronger than any I’ve seen created by a non-cultivator, but I did not sense any resentful energy when you used them.”

Wei Wuxian feels another set of eyes on him, strong and burning like his hands, but he doesn’t turn to look. He tries a shrug. “It’s not too difficult. Just a little extra blood, extra intention characters. We common men do the best we can.”

Lan Wangji leaves the kitchen without another word, and Lan Xichen gives him an odd smile before he follows.

Wei Wuxian finds a stool and collapses on it, wiping his sweating palms over and over on his thighs. The chili oil smears down in a sin-bright line. He’s about to rise and figure out what to do with burnt fish when a teetering pile of midnight blue fabric stumbles past the door. 

He manages to catch the pile before it falls entirely and catches a glimpse of Lin Biming beneath it, red-faced and panting.

“Master Lin! Here, let me help you.”

“Wei Wuxian, what are you doing in the kitchen?”

“Why is everyone so shocked? Here, Master Lin, what is all this?”

“New curtains are going in to the library pavilion, so I’m taking these old ones to—”

“Can I take them?”

Lin Biming glares at him, but the top half of the pile slides directly into Wei Wuxian’s arms.

“Please? Unless they have some important place to be.”

Lin Biming sighs and dumps the rest at his feet. “Fine. Take them. What’s burning?”

Wei Wuxian sighs and hauls the curtains into the kitchen. “Don’t worry about it, Master Lin. I’ll clean it all up.”

 Lin Biming tuts and bustles off, leaving Wei Wuxian with a pile of dusty, discolored fabric, a pan of half-burnt fish, and the hole in his gut churning like a storm.

Part Eight

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Nine, “Another Day”

Clickable Links: 

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and Character Surveys

- Inspo tag

- Hecky Playlist

- Read Becky’s FULL dream here

- Read on Wattpad 

Music Inspo: Another Day by Paul McCartney (click to listen)

WARNINGS: Some Smut

                                  SNEAKYYYYYYYY PEEK

A soft ‘thank you’ leaves me in reply, and I think for the first time the silence isn’t awkward. I wonder if for him too it’s full of so many unspoken words that I’m dying to say, or if that’s just me. So often, I doubt that he feels the same way about me, but God, when he looks at me like I’m the only person in the world, I can’t remember what doubts are. And I swear he looks at me that way every single time.

Standing here before him, I remember the plan I made, and like he keeps his promises, I decide to keep this one. No matter if it’s the hardest one I’ve ever made in my entire life, and I know it’ll be the hardest one to keep.

                 “It’s still you, it always has been you, it always will be you.” 

                                                     - B.D.

His eyebrows knit into a question and I finally return to devouring his lips once they fall from the confines of his teeth. Hurried breaths escape us as I nudge my hips against his, sighing when his hand returns home to its place on my ass. He echoes my groan when my dripping center brushes against his warm tip, and I whimper when it tickles my clit. Goosebumps crawl across my flesh at the sensation, and at the sounds he makes. A smirk grows on my lips as I drag myself over him again, a high pitched sound leaving him. 

“Becks,” he sighs before I quiet his lips with a kiss, moving my own with his. 

The remnants of his morning coffee tickle my tastebuds while I massage his top lip between my own. I hum a question back to him, letting my fingers wander from his unshaven cheeks and down to his toned chest. My name leaves his lips once more while my wet folds drag over the slope of his cock below me. I try to replace my lips on his, but he won’t let me, and instead I find his dark eyes with mine. 

“What?” I huff, searching his eyes for an answer as I grind down onto him again. A giggle flies from my mouth when his bottom lip comes between his teeth, accented by a roll of his eyes. 

My laughing is forgotten when he presses down on my hips as he thrusts upwards, and his cock enters me suddenly. Now, it’s his turn to laugh as a surprised moan escapes me. 

“Not so funny bein’ teased, ‘s it, Becks?” Harry purrs, a smirk curling into his cheeks while my insides stretch around him. His breathy laugh tickles my neck as he leans forward to plant whispery kisses above my mother’s necklace he had gifted me. “Now, fookin’ ride me already, babe, befo’ I lose me patience and flip ya ova.” 

“I’d like to see you try,” I tease, feeling his warm breath waft over my face when he exhales while clucking his tongue. 

“Becks, Becks, Becks. I thought we were way past this ‘playin’ hard t’ get’ shit.”

“What, it’s fun?” I giggle, leaning forward slowly as I stare into his eyes before his lips meet mine. 

“Ya, fer you it ‘s.” My laugh dances across his lips as I lift my hips before letting them fall, feeling his groan against my mouth while his cock slides back into me. “Y’know jus’ what t’ do with me, dontcha, bug?”

I nod with a ‘shhh’ against his cheek where I trail kisses, whining when his thumb presses against my clit to draw circles. Curses fall under my breath when his hips meet mine in a thrust. 

“Fook, Becks, I love y-.” 

Bleeeeeeeeep! 

Flying to a sitting position, heavy breaths rack my chest as my bedroom comes into a blurry focus. Swallowing against my dry throat, I cough as I try to come back to reality, but that’s easier said than done after what just happened. Anything and everything is going to be difficult after that dream. 

“Holy fucking shit,” I mutter under my breath, letting my hands relax where they grasp at my sheets. With an attempted deep breath, I move back to sit up straighter in bed, the images from before burned into my brain. Harry’s face. The blush suit. His naked torso. His coc-

“Okay, Becky, it was just a dream. Just a stupidly amazing dream. Oh my God,” I whimper into my hands, letting my fingers card through my hair as I try to collect myself. “God, that dream was so amazing. Ugh, Harry,” I sigh sadly, a long whine spilling into the air as I recall every detail of the dream. Our made up daughter, the blissful feeling of his lips upon mine, and our naked bodies so close and then meeting. 

It was a dream indeed, because as if I wasn’t sure of it before, I know now that I want that more than anything. I want to be able to steal a kiss from him whenever my heart desires. I want his hugs whenever I need one. There’s a sharp pang in my chest when the next thought hits me. I want to have a family with him, and to have mini Harry’s running around, both girls and boys. 

“There’s so much that I want with you, Harry,” I murmur aloud, the floral design on my comforter growing hazy as tears fill my eyes, but nothing could ever cloud the dreams that sit behind them. The multitudes of dreams that all take place with him, and that my heart yearns for so badly. I want to finally be able to call him mine, and even if he doesn’t know it, I’ve been his for longer than I’ve known.

The churning sound of the percolating coffee pot rouses me from my bed where I’ve been stuck, unable to leave for far too long. Belatedly, my feet touch the floor as the images sting inside of my head.

“You’re just getting up? You’re gonna be late, Ree,” Skye scoffs when I finally drag my feet into the kitchen, limbs heavy with tainted dreams and sleep. “Aren’t you going to have any coffee?”

My head goes from side to side in answer, hopefully scrambling the ideas and images that ache within my mind. I had already slid on something decent looking and ran a brush through my hair, stuffing any makeup I could find into my purse for a later time today. Grabbing a banana and a muffin from the box on the counter, I make my way for the door, feeling like a zombie, after all that’s already happened this morning.

“Ree, are you alright? You won’t be late, you know, you still have ten minutes before you need to leave. I was joking,” she calls after me, but when I don’t reply as I pull my black Chelsea boots past my black jeggings, I hear my name again. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

I refrain and push away for as long as I can, but when I reach for the closet door, her fingers painted three different colors stops me. Again, that nickname I’ve had for almost my entire life falls from her lips as she guides me over to the sofa.

“What is it? Did something happen?” she implores, but with my eyes glued to an unraveling tassel on the rug, I continue to ignore her until I can’t any longer.

“I had the weirdest dream of my entire life,” I confess softly, surprised at the sound of my own voice, and how much it sounded like that of the voice in my dream. The continuity of it all, as well as the numerous discrepancies only confuse me the more.

“Tell me about it, it must have bothered you. I can tell,” she encourages softly, running a hand through my wavy curls.

“I was at the firm with Harry, working with him,” I begin, soon hearing her question of how that was so weird until I shake my head, eyes still elsewhere. “I had just come back after a maternity leave, because we had a baby together. A girl. Her name was Iris, and I don’t know why because I don’t even like that name. I must have been working there again for a year or so, and his mum was taking care of her while the two of us worked. He got mad at me for not finding a good client for a new case, and then he said I could have anything I wanted to make up for it. I told him I wanted to play Strip Scrabble and we did in his office, and then we had sex on that very sofa in his office, Skye. Sex, like every single detail of it was in my dream. How could I know what his dick looks like if I’ve never seen it before? And we were talking about our daughter together so casually, and we were kissing, a-and-,” I come to a sudden stop, the words expiring from my lips as my eyes widen.

“Holy shit, that’s one intense dream, Ree. But, why was it so- Oh,” Skye replies, her hand falling to my arm that she runs her palm along soothingly. “Sorry, I haven’t had my coffee yet this morning either, so I’m a little slow to the punches.”

“It’s what I want, well besides naming my daughter Iris, because that was the name of the bully in our third-grade class who kept stealing my favorite erasers. I’d never name my daughter that. And ugh, how do I get there? I don’t even start for another five days, and I already miss him even though we’ve been texting. Now, I miss him even more because of that stupid wet dream,” I sigh, letting my head fall into my hands as my heart aches, another chip falling from the disintegrating armor within my chest.

“It sounds like to me that maybe you should pay a special visit to see a certain somebody today,” she suggests cheekily, her words lifting my head and turning it to her. “Come on, it’s not that hard, Ree. Make up an excuse to go and see him! Oh, you were just in the neighborhood, or you had to drop off a document that you didn’t actually have to do, or-.”

“Or, I could bring Asher lunch,” I suggest feebly, extending a hand forward in question.

“Yeah, make him jealous! Make him think that you’re there to bring him lunch and eat with him, but really it’s for Asher! He’ll go nuts, please do it or else I’m not talking to you for the rest of the day,” Skye squeals, hands coming together in a prayer-like fold. A shy giggle escapes my lips as I nod, the idea knitting together within my head, soon pushing away the dream. It’s not that easy though, because I know it’s going to take a long time to remember that vivid as fuck dream. Oh yes, a very long time, indeed.

“Who knew that four hours could feel so long,” I huff, standing to my feet and quickly sliding on my coat, hugging Skye as I begin to count down the minutes until my lunch break at one o’clock. I just hope to God that he’ll be around at that time. My monstrous doubts are silenced when I remember from last Friday that he waited until around that time to eat lunch, keeping his entire hour free to do just that.

Here I come, Harry. Well, Real Harry, not Dream Harry, but maybe one day he’ll be both of them. I can only hope, very hard. Maybe one day soon, it’ll finally pay off, all this hoping and dreaming.

+

“Since when do you bring me lunch?” Asher questions, confusion painting his face in waves as he stares dumbfounded at the brown paper bag in front of him.

“Because you’re one of my best friends, and I’m nice,” I answer feebly, shrugging my shoulders as I unwrap the greasy paper around the burger. An unsure laugh escapes his grinning lips as a golden chip disappears between them.

Soon, my burger is gone and so are my chips and drink. Meanwhile, Asher is still crunching away on his as I steal nervous glances at him. Wringing my hands in my lap, I nibble at the inside of my cheek anxiously.

“Okay, go already,” Asher sighs, waving a hand at me to shoo.

“What?”

“I know you’re not here for me,” he begins firmly, but when my eyes narrow at him, his face relaxes. “And it’s okay. I appreciate the lunch, but go see him already, Becky. I’m sure he’s dying to see you too.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, get out of here already,” he grins while picking up another chip dotted with salt.

“Thanks, Ash!” I exclaim with a beaming smile. “You’re the best!” I finish on the way out his door.

“I’ll remember you said that!” he laughs in return as I already trek down the hallway, failing to ignore my heart hammering against my rib cage. There it is again, Asher speaking for how Harry feels, as if he knows him when I thought they’ve spoken like three times in total? Hmm, weird, again.

Like it so usually is, his hallway is empty, and I just hope that I won’t be interrupting something. An important phone call. A meeting. A consultation with a potential client. Or that all of this is for nothing and his office is empty, because he’s at one of the courthouses around town. God, I really hope it’s not that last one.

Again, like so many times before, his door is closed when I arrive in front of it. Somehow, it sends a tingle down my spine reading his name etched into his door, and the boasting title below it. Something I can’t remember doing very much, and I can’t recall why. It catches me off guard, which is rare, because most of the time he’s just Harry. My Harry. Then, I remember that he’s this insanely successful and well-known lawyer who co-owns this law firm, and it throws me for a loop. Not to mention the stunner that he’s my boss, again.

With a deep breath, I bring my fist to the glass and knock. I straighten my black Columbia opened to my floral blouse and smooth down my black slacks. I just hope I look more than decent after swiping mascara onto my lashes before coming here. But after waiting a few moments, I realize that I’m worried about it all for nothing when there’s no answer. I did this all for nothing.

Turning around, my chest falls with a sigh and my head hangs low, until I hear a sound. My name. Glancing up, a smile breaks it way onto my lips at the sight in front of me.

“Dunno if I can trust me eyes. ‘s that Becks I see waitin’ at me door?” he rasps with that adorable breathy laugh, walking towards me with the ancient messenger bag strewn across his chest. “Hullo, darlin.’ T’ what do I owe tha pleasure?” Harry asks, stopping just a step away as a smile clings to his lips, its exit nowhere in sight. Yeah, my smile feels rather eternal as well.

“Hi, Harry. I almost thought I had missed you,” I shrug, realizing too late the irony in my words, but all of a sudden, I don’t really care what he makes of them. After all of this time, I’m so sick of hiding my secret.

“Yer right on time, bug. I jus’ got back from me mornin’ in court,” he murmurs, the honey sticking to every word he speaks. He nods his messy head of chestnut curls towards his office as he unlocks it, and I gladly follow him. “Seems tha last thing we were talkin’ ‘bout in our texts was what food we’ve been cookin’. Do I get any o’ those brownies yet?”

“Not quite yet,” I grin, keeping my hands hidden behind my back as I observe his movements.

“Shucks, ‘ve really been lookin’ forward t’ ‘em, ya make ‘em sound so good,” he giggles softly, draping his North Face over the back of his office chair.

His long legs clad in a pastel purple suit carry him over to his sofa where he drops his messenger bag with a plop, and it all comes rushing back to me. The sofa. That baby pink suit. The Scrabble game board and tiles that I don’t know the next time that I’ll be able to touch without that dream ruining it for me. The stupid name, Iris, that funny enough doesn’t seem too bad now. That confusing dream, and all that it entailed.

“Alright?” Harry says, his deep voice pulling me back to the present. I blink hard and focus my eyes back on him, soon nodding. “Good. How ya been since yer orientation last week? Sorry we haven’t spoken much, ‘ve been busy with this case ‘m finishin’ up.”

“It’s okay and I’m good, maybe this will help,” I answer, setting down the striped white and blue paper bag. His eyes fall to it and his smile grows, reaching all edges of his blushing face.

“Becks, you didn’t,” he chuckles, reaching forward and prying open the bag. “Aw, love, ya rememba’d. Thank you, ‘s been too long since ‘ve had one o’ these muffins, they’re me favourite,” Harry finishes, setting down the bag smelling of croissants and sugar cookies.

His favorite muffin in the entire world sits inside wrapped in waxed paper, a lemon poppy seed muffin with a powdered sugar glaze. It took, let’s just say a lot in me to not eat it myself in the lift, because after he introduced them to me, I became addicted to them too. They have to be the most delicious and light muffins I’ve ever had, and not to mention incredibly flavorful and yes, moist.

“I hope ya got yerself one, I know ya like ‘em too.”

“Don’t worry, I couldn’t resist. I ate a little bit on the way here, and then I’m going to save the rest for later,” I tell him, clasping my hands together and twirling the ring around my finger anxiously.

“Jus’ how I taught ya, ‘atta girl,” he nods with the happiness consuming his features - eyes, cheeks, and all. “Thank you, Becks . . But I hope ya didn’t make a special trip jus’ fer a muffin.”

“It’s okay,” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders, my attention lingering on the sincerity held in his thank you, and in his eyes during those three simple words. Not simple enough. “I picked up burgers to have with Asher, so I was uh, in the neighborhood.”

“Ah, I see,” he nods, rolling up the lip of the bag to keep it fresh. Scratching at his cheek, he avoids my gaze and sure enough, Skye is right.

Is he jealous?

Oh, girl, he is jealous indeed. You better use it to your advantage.

I just might, but I don’t know if I have it in me for those kinds of games, anymore.

Becky, you better.

“‘m glad ya stopped, ‘s good t’ see you. Are ya on yer lunch break or sumthin’?” he wonders aloud, bare nails tapping along the head of his chair his hands drape over. Why oh why, does he have to stand so far away? It’s killing me. He receives his answer when my head rises and falls with a nod. “Mmmm, I figured.”

“I should probably go, I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” I announce suddenly, lies laced through every single syllable I regrettably speak.

The heaviness in my gut at having to leave grows another few pounds when I watch the disappointment leech the happiness from his face. I’m sure Sophie wouldn’t mind if I was late returning after my break if I told her who I was with. This is due to during each free moment we have, I may or may not be telling her all about him. She may or may not be loving every second of it, and so do I.

“Yer neva a botha, Becks. I dunno why ya’ve always thought that. I love seein’ ya, but if ya hafta get back t’ work I undastand,” Harry mumbles, fingertips pressing into the black leather quickly. “But hey, next week this will be yer place o’ work again, kinda mad t’ think. Inn’a good way, tho.’”

“I know, I can’t wait,” I smile, his echoing mine already as the dimples live in his cheeks covered in more dark stubble than the last time I saw him. Holy hell, am I not complaining about it. “I like the stubble by the way,” I blurt out, ghosting a hand over my cheeks to refer to his.

A buttery laugh flows from his lips as he runs his long digits over his cheeks, suddenly turning me into the jealous one within seconds. “Thanks, I dunno what ‘m doin’ with it really. It doesn’t make me look too old or anythin’, does it?”

“No, it looks really good on you. You look great, Harry,” I confess, waiting for that hot embarrassment to cover me in waves, but it doesn’t. Instead, a sense of contentment washes over me, and I’m grateful for finally telling the truth, however insignificant.

“Thank you, bug. You do as well, in yer uh, courthouse outfit. I shoulda stopped t’ say hi this mornin’ when I was there, sorry I didn’t think o’ it. This case has jus’ been mad, I can’t wait fo’ it t’ be ova.”

“I guess it’s okay, as long as you say hi the next time,” I tell him, hands clasped behind my back again. Another titter sings from his lips as the words hit me, knowing full well that that would be tomorrow, and boy, do I want to show him off to everybody. Even if he’s just my new boss and my friend right now. For now.

“Ya have me promise on that one, and I like yer hair longa again, y’know. Ya look like me Becks again, it was different bein’ all short befo’. Still pretty, jus’ different,” he comments, nodding his head at me once again, helping him talk. Yeah, I’d probably have to do the same thing if it was me, because I would undoubtedly be struggling for words after what he just said. Man, oh man.

A soft ‘thank you’ leaves me in reply, and I think for the first time the silence isn’t awkward. I wonder if for him too it’s full of so many unspoken words that I’m dying to say, or if that’s just me. So often, I doubt that he feels the same way about me, but God, when he looks at me like I’m the only person in the world, I can’t remember what doubts are. And I swear he looks at me that way every single time.

I wish I could do it all right now, or even just one something. One kiss, but I need to wait. I should wait until he comes back from that case, and things are established with my new job. Standing here before him, I remember the plan I made, and like he keeps his promises, I decide to keep this one. No matter if it’s the hardest one I’ve ever made in my entire life, and I know it’ll be the hardest one to keep.

“I’ll leave you to your muffin and your case then, Harry. It was good to see you, I’ll um, text you,” I announce finally, feeling the weight in my words. The longing. The anticipation. The regret. The excitement. The everything.

“Thanks fer stoppin’, Becks, I enjoyed yer li’l surprise visit. ‘s always so good t’ see you. Have a good rest o’ yer day, and I can’t wait fer tha muffin. Thanks again. ‘ll talk t’ ya soon, bug,” he smiles before I return it with a breathy ‘bye’ and then turn around, and wonder why this was so hard.

I wonder why I was nervous about this all morning, and also why I never took Skye’s advice before in the last two years and stopped to say hi to him. Lastly, I soon realize why, because it even hurts to walk away from him now when everything is so close. I know now if I had done the same thing all of those times Skye had told me to, I don’t think I could have handled leaving him and not being able to come back in just a few more days, like I get to do now. I have so much ahead of me, and he’ll be there every day, just as he promised.

Finally.

+

For some godawful reason, my department is always the busiest in the middle of the week, and two years after working here, I still don’t know why. The number of forms I’ve had to distribute, collect, and then do the job of submitting already this morning boggles my mind. Finally, I found a gap in the craziness to grab a cup of tea and a chance to catch my breath. Unfortunately, the fancy teas that I had been enjoying my few moments of peace and quiet with have since disappeared, and nothing but green tea and English Breakfast remain.

“It looks like I need to do some shopping, I’m sorry for the depressing tea drawer, love,” a voice murmurs from behind me as I linger there with the drawer open.

“It’s okay, I don’t have English Breakfast enough, anyways,” I comment, feigning complacency because I was really looking forward to a refreshing fruity cup of tea. I craved something exciting to break up the monotony of today, and training my replacement in. An experience I’ve never once enjoyed.

“You only have a few days left, love. How’re you feeling about it?” Sophie questions, arriving at my side with a pat to my arm. “Wait, I dunno why I asked. If I were you, I’d be itching to get out of here too after the shit storm this morning was,” she laughs as she opens the fridge, muttering about the lack of anything good to eat or drink around here. Our laughs mingle with the other’s during the next few minutes as I debate whether or not to make a cup of tea, finally deciding the need for caffeine is greater than that of my stubborn taste buds.

The rest of the day was rather steady with the flow of people in and out, making it unfortunate for my ‘browsing lawyer outfits’ time, and fortunate for my replacement’s training. Thank God, they dipped out a few hours before we closed, so I could stop feeling like somebody was breathing over my shoulder. At least by now, they seem to have mostly everything down pat, and I soon got to take over the role of ‘the breathing over the shoulder.’ Not soon enough, though.

The tea hadn’t quite done the job, and my lunch was rather unfulfilling as well, but I had gotten used to that sensation recently. With only a few hours left of the work day, I saw my end in my sight, and yet every time I looked at the clock, only a few more minutes had passed. Then of course, we had run out of copies of a certain form, leading moi to have to make more. Yipee!

It was just one of those days, because next thing I know, a stranger is almost biting my head off for telling him he needs his birth certificate for a form, as if I made the rule or something. It all only kept reminding me of how happy I was to be leaving this job soon, no matter how good it had been to me over the last two years. I couldn’t leave soon enough, I was on my last straw.

“Becky, you’re being requested,” a coworker of mine tells me from over my shoulder. I hurriedly slide the new copies of yet another form onto the shelf behind the front desk.

“What now?” I grumble under my breath, trying to turn around without bumping into her behind the front desk where we handle all of the customers, if you want to call them that. The public, the people, the clients- the whatever.

A huff passes my lips and by now, I’m done slapping on a cheery smile for a stranger, because it doesn’t even pay to do it anymore. But when I find the smiling face that awaits me, I don’t even have to think about putting on a happy face, because a smile is already claiming my lips.

“Harry, h-hi,” I say, the words tumbling clumsily from my lips.

“Hi, Becks. How are you?” he asks adamantly, lips settling into a content smile with one corner greeting his cheek. I could never see enough of those dimples, I really couldn’t.

“I’m okay,” I sigh, my eyebrows touching my forehead before falling.

“Rough day, love?” he hums softly, and I nod in response, somehow hearing all of the extra words inside of his. “‘m sorry, seems we’re both havin’ a shitty day, but I hope this’ll help,” he finishes, bringing forth an arm draped in his familiar warm gray blazer, setting down a tall white Starbucks drink in front of me. I know without needing to taste it that it’s my favorite drink, my drink. I already know that he remembered, and soon the name of the drink falls from his lips.

“Thank you so much, it’s much appreciated. You’ve always had a good memory, it’s something I know you for.”

“‘s it now?” he titters softly, his thumb and forefinger finding a distraction with his bottom lip for the twentieth time, not at all to my dismay. “‘m glad it’ll help, bug. I jus’ got in a few minutes ago fer anotha day o’ arguin’ me case.”

“Oh, well thanks so much for thinking of me, it was sweet of you.”

“‘Course, Becks, I couldn’t not come and say hi t’ me favourite person here at tha courts,” he smiles, and the combination of that grin and those words light that fire inside of me that was rekindled when I got to see him yesterday.

My oh my, two days in a row now. I am one lucky girl.

Only a few more days, Becky, and you get to be lucky every day!

Maybe you even get to be a certain kind of lucky, hehe.

Stop.

“Are those blushin’ cheeks, I see?” he teases, setting down his arms to rest them on the space where people usually lay down their forms and the like. Yet, here he is standing there in that warm gray blazer he wore for my class lecture, a suit I’ll never forget.

“Stop,” I laugh, trying to fix my hair, and soon remembering the embarrassment that is my lack of makeup. Once again, I didn’t even try this morning, and I admittedly spaced that I told him to come and say hi today.

And here he is, just as he promised he would be.

Yes, just he like he promised. God, can he get any better?

Yeah, if the two of you fucking kissed already.

Tell me about it.

“Ya look even prettier when ya blush, y’know that?” he snickers, that familiar song leaving his lips and finding its way to my heart, just like it so often does. I have a feeling he’s not letting up on the brake either in the honesty department, and I’m so surprised I don’t know what to do with this onslaught of feelings.

My glowing smile that couldn’t grow any bigger doesn’t get a chance to let any words out, because we probably look like idiots just staring at each other. Yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way, and I think that’s becoming my tagline for this whole entire thing. Sure, I wish things could have been easier from the get go, but I’ve come to peace with not being able to change the past. Especially, when I’m so excited about the future and all of the multitudes it holds.

“So do you, you know,” I reply mischievously, suddenly wishing I could pull off a wink like he can so effortlessly as he does that very thing.

“Good one, Becks,” he tsks, shaking his head as he wags a finger at me. What I would do to be able to touch it and to hold that hand. Wow, I need to get myself under control, but I really don’t want to. “Ah, ‘s this yer lovely boss I spoke t’ on tha phone?” Harry says, turning his attention to Sophie who had slipped behind the desk to grab something, but now her eyes are on him.

“Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met,” she announces, taking his hand that he holds out. Silently, I applaud how she pretends that she doesn’t know who this is, as if I haven’t shown her a few pictures of him already. It may have been a few, or enough that she’s decided she prefers him with the longer hair from before. “I’m Sophie Waters, Court Administrator here, and you are?”

“Harry Styles, Attorney at Law, from Styles and Lawson. ‘m uh Becky’s former boss, and well, new boss now. I jus’ stopped t’ say hi befo’ continuin’ me case t’day down tha hall,” Harry replies with a warm smile, once again any hand shrinking in comparison to his massive one. There are very few things that surprise me about him anymore, and yet I’m still surprised by the attentiveness, kindness, and professionalism he carries every time I’m present for him meeting somebody. I’ve witnessed it a handful of times now, and it still makes me melt as if it could never grow old.

“Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Styles. I’ve heard a lot about you from Becky,” she responds gently, faking the brightness in her eyes at the realization of connecting the dots. I think we have him fooled, Sophie. Yes!

“Please, call me Harry. I get enough o’ ‘Mr. Styles’ as it ‘s,” he tells her, lifting a hand into the air to accentuate his words. “Oh, has she now? Should I be worried?” he wonders aloud to Sophie, peeking an eye over at me with a raised eyebrow, stroking his hairy chin. The dimple sits in his left cheek again, and he surprises me with another wink before returning his attention to Sophie. It continues to amaze me how he always devotes his attention to whoever he’s speaking to, and yet he still seems to be fully present with me.

“No, not at all, it’s all been very nice. She’s quite fond of you as well, and I know she’s excited to come back and work with you, even though I’ll miss her.”

My eyes dart from Sophie’s bittersweet smile to that of Harry’s whose eyes linger on me without my knowing, and I wonder what they hold. As if I haven’t asked myself this question time and time again, I wish I could know what he’s thinking. I wish I could ask, and that he would tell me.

“I can’t wait t’ have her back with me at me firm next week. Thank you fer takin’ such good care o’ her here tha last two years. I know she’s enjoyed it, and tha experience will help her loads fer when she comes back t’ work with me as my mentee,” he continues, and I swear that somehow he manages to be sexy while talking about him being my mentor. I think he knows, and that perhaps he has some inkling that it’s my favorite part about this whole thing. I could never hear too much about it.

“You’re very welcome, and I trust you’ll take good care of her again. I’m certainly looking forward to seeing what our little Becky will do, and running into her in the halls here. Speaking of which, why don’t you walk him to the courtroom? I think things are dying down here as of now,” she encourages, goodbyes soon bid between the both of them. A tight lipped smile plays on my lips as I look at her over my shoulder while he leads the way. She just shrugs her shoulders with the tiniest of waves, and I silently thank her repeatedly.

“She’s very nice,” he comments once we reach the hallway, and it all feels new. Then again, it’s hard to tell when there are so many new things going on in my life as of late.

“Yeah, she is. She’s been a really great boss and friend,” I respond, clasping my hands together as our footsteps follow the other, both in sounds and in distance. “But you’re my favourite boss of all time.”

“Am I now?” he boasts, flitting his eyes to mine with a effervescence behind them as his dark eyebrows dance overhead. I only nod, but it’s soon captured by a giggle when his arm comes around my shoulders and pulls me against him. “Good. I better be yer favourite, Becks.”

“Don’t go messing it up now!” I squeal when I feel his fingers on my side, finding my ticklish spots that he still remembers.

“Don’t worry, I neva would, Becks. Neva again will I mess it up with you,” he whispers, long fingers drifting to my shoulder that he squeezes. Glancing upwards, I find his sincere eyes waiting for mine and they take away another chunk of the wall around my heart. There’s not much left of it now.

“Am I your favourite, too?”

“Favourite what, bug?” he inquires, eyes darting away at times to watch where we’re going, but by now we’ve wandered to the side of the hallway and stopped. I too wonder where I’m going with this.

“I don’t know, maybe-.”

“Ya, yer me favourite one,” he answers, interrupting suddenly.

“I didn’t even get to say what,” I protest, but it all collapses into a giggle that he soon copies.

“Doesn’t matta, ya still are, no matta what it ‘s. Oh hey, looks like we’re in tha right place, this ‘s me courtroom fer tha afternoon.”

Although painstaking, my eyes leave him to find the wooden doors of Courtroom #3 just across the way. The confession that just fell between us and the reminder that he has to leave combine into a tragic concoction. In the same breath, they fill me with something I haven’t had for a long time. Bravery.

“I should let you go then, literally,” I giggle, stepping away and letting his arm fall from my shoulder, a triumph in itself. “Good luck with your case today, I hope everything goes well. You’ll do great, Harry, I know it,” I tell him, taking hold of one of his hands like I’ve wanted to do for the last ten minutes, and possibly much, much longer.

“Thank ya, bug. Maybe ‘ll do good afta seein’ me good luck charm,” he mumbles, a warm pink filling his cheeks as his eyebrows lift with a nod to me. “Hopefully ‘m all finished t’day, or at tha latest t’morrow. Then I get some time t’ relax and plan ahead befo’ you come along next week.”

“Hey!” I scoff, and he surrenders with that delightful song his lips create as I squeeze his hand.

“I didn’t mean it like that, jus’ gotta get ready fer t-this new beginnin’, bug. That’s all. Y’know ‘ve been lookin’ forward t’ it . . eva since ya got tha job,” he insists, but I was never upset. He was right that one time, I can read him as good as anybody else I’m close to. His expressions, his tics, and the words he doesn’t say.

“I know, I’m just giving you a hard time, which you better get ready for, Styles. You won’t need it, but again, good luck today, Harry,” I announce, the syllables shaky as they fly from my lips. I just hope he can’t feel the trembles devastating my body in this very moment as I stand on my tippy toes and press my lips to his prickly cheek. “You’ll have to let me know how it goes.”

“I will, Becks. Promise,” Harry says, the two dimples alive and well in his reddening cheeks when I dare to look him in the eyes after that. A gentle squeeze from his hand accentuates his words. A short breathy laugh escapes his happy lips as he looks back at me, and even though we again look dumb staring at the other, I think we shared a few more words in that moment. Ones we weren’t sure of how to say or when to say them, but we still did. “Have a good rest o’ yer day. ‘s always a treat t’ see ya, bug.”

“You too, Harry, thanks for saying hi. You may have made my day.”

“May have, hmm? ‘s that right? I wonder what I could do t’ actually make it,” he ponders aloud, doing that dorky thing again where he strokes his nonexistent beard. Dorky or not, I love it more than I could know. An eyebrow nears his forehead wrinkled in his quizzical expression that’s dissolved by another breathy laugh, all while his thumb draws circles onto my knuckles. “Maybe I should take one from yer book, hmm?” I barely have the time to think about what he means or for the emotion to play on my face, because he dips down and places a kiss on my cheek. To top it all off, his other hand comes to cup my head as he presses another kiss there, his fingers affectionately tickling my hair as he does so.

“Bye, bug. It made me day two days in a row gettin’ t’ see you. I dunno what ‘ll do gettin’ t’ see ya e’ry day next week, and two weeks afta that, and e’ry week afta that,” he reveals in a whisper against my hair, giving my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

If there weren’t theoretical butterflies in my tummy before now, they’re surely alive and well now as I watch him walk away, and give me a wink over his shoulder before disappearing into the chambers. All because of the words he just said, and the proximity of his lips to mine just a few moments ago. I think he just might know how I feel about top of the head kisses, and it’s all thanks to him. I have so very much to thank him for.

I think I know what I’m going to do about it, Harry. Oh yes, I do and you’re making this waiting game all the harder when you do things like that.

+

The next few days until I started back at the firm sometimes went painstakingly slow, and at other times, they flew by like a breeze. I think the long texting conversations with Harry helped the time pass. It went by with the speed of molasses when I sat at my desk during my last few days wishing I was sitting at another desk, longing to be somewhere else. More than once, a random text from Harry brightened my day, whether it was a song he thought I’d like, a recipe for a baked good, more often a mixed drink, or something about the show FRIENDS.

Now, with shaking knees I reverse my steps until my back runs into the little rest on the wall of the lift. As I watch the number climb higher, the thrashing of my heart quickens as it nears the one I wait for. Quickly, the pan held in my hands and the jade-colored blouse I wear both feel stupid and inadequate. I’ve been dying for this day to come, and yet here I am, feeling as if I’ll die from my overactive nerves, now that it’s here.

The doors soon part with a ding, and Seventeen comes back to me, too quickly and at the same time, not quick enough. I can’t get my legs to move as the anxiousness attempts to consume me, but as the doors begin to slide shut, I make it out just in time. Few people linger in the lobby this morning, seemingly waiting for appointments and trekking back and forth from the printer and other places. The very person my eyes, and perhaps heart, search for this morning is nowhere to be found. On my way down the hallway, my feet stray to my office that beckons for me, and it’s like the first time all over again.

It’s cozy and the lights inside of it are warm and mellow. The natural light seeping in through the window to London might be my favorite part, although there are so many good features to it. I say hi to the succulent as I set down my handheld laptop bag, over the chest purse, and the covered pan. The sight of it all and what it means, brings tears to my eyes that I knew were coming, but I weakly attempt to whisk them away. Sniffling, my lips greet my cheeks as I take another look around. This is all mine, and all thanks to Harry whose touch I can see in so many places.

“Alright?” a voice murmurs from behind me, and I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. But I do, and there he stands, waiting for me with a smile brimming with warmth. Slowly, this all feels too good to be true, and yet it feels so right and so overdue. “Come and give yer new boss a hug, will ya?” I don’t need to be told twice and within moments, his spicy vanilla scent engulfs me once more, welcoming me home.

Finally, oh finally, I’m home again.

“Jus’ gonna assume those are happy tears,” he hums from above me, and I nod into his shoulder with a giggle that matches his own. “Good, I may have shed some o’ my own, but ‘m not revealin’ all o’ me secrets t’day.”

With dried tears on my cheeks and a song inside of my chest, he squeezes me before I pull away to find his sparkling green eyes.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hiya, Becks. Ya ready fer yer first official day as a lawyer at Styles and Lawson?” Harry beams, brushing his thumb across each of my cheeks briefly, lastly tapping my nose.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Sure? I was expectin’ mo’ excitement outta you. Why dontcha sound so confident ‘bout it, bug?”

“I’m just nervous. I don’t want to screw anything up, or do something wrong,” I reveal slowly, feeling the weight of my words that hold more meanings than I can accept. I can’t even fathom the thought of him reading into all of it, knowing how well we know the other.

“Deep breaths, Becks. Ya did wondaful on yer orientation day, and I know you’ll do bloody amazin’ t’day. ‘m here t’ help with that, t’ guide ya and help ya learn. We’ll start off slow t’day - we have a team meetin’ in half an hour at nine-thirty. There, ya can meet e’rybody ‘gain properly and they can meet you. I know they’ll all love ya too, bug,” he explains with a gentleness to his speech, and yet it doesn’t help me relax, and only makes my heart slam against my rib cage harder. “Hey, relax ‘kay? Then tha rest o’ tha day we’ll start t’ work on me case I have next week. Afta some o’ that, we’ll take a break, and prolly play some cribbage while we eat lunch. Durin’ all o’ this, ‘ll introduce ya t’ some stuff, and tha processes we have t’ use. I know we went ova ‘em durin’ yer orientation, but this will all be a refresher. We went ova most o’ tha legalities and borin’ proper rubbish last time, so we can dive in this time. Ya ready?”

I nod and begin to turn away, but then I feel his hand squeeze my arm. Looking back, he winks at me with a few encouragements behind his eyes. I try to hold onto them after they disappear when his eyes dart to my desk.

“Becks, are those what I think they are?” he almost groans through gritted teeth, but happily. His hands escape from his wine colored pockets and slowly reach for the pan sitting on my desk.

“Mmmhmm, but you can only eat one right now.”

“Yer no fun,” he pouts as he brings a dark, chocolatey square to his lips. The war being fought within my gut, or so it feels, rages on as I wait for his reaction. “Fook, these are incredible brownies, and ya made ‘em from scratch? Yer bloody amazin’, Becks.”

“You’re welcome, I’m relieved you like them. I forget to ask if you like cakey brownies, or fudgey brownies.”

“Fudgey, all tha way. ‘m no pussy,” he cracks, picking up the pan and plopping onto my sofa with it held possessively in his lap.

“Oh good, I’m so glad you said that. If you had said anything else, I don’t think we could be friends anymore,” I reveal sarcastically, falling onto the pillow cushions beside him.

“Bloody hell, ya’d neva break up with me ova sumthin’ as stupid as that, although brownie preference ‘s very important,” Harry scoffs, his eyes falling to the pan where he plucks another small square from, handing it to me. “Alright, afta we’re done with our brownies, are ya ready t’ start this thing, bug?” he wonders aloud and earns a nod from me, knocking his knee against mine casually. I try not to freak out when he leaves it resting there, or when I have to pull away to use the bathroom.

After taking my time in the bathroom, noting the extensions of the remodel to even this part of the firm, I wander into the break room with the same intentions. Memories are thrown at me from every direction, and I try not to dwell on the negative ones, but they overwhelm me. All of the shared lunches with Asher venting about Harry. Hiding from Harry in here when he had gotten mad at me for whatever ungodly reason it was that day. The pathetic cold lunches I would bring. I especially feel the sting when I remember that time I walked in on Harry kissing Amber, and he came here to look for me afterwards. That one perhaps hurts the most, because it brings up all of the others that revolve around her and what she did to me. She was the real reason I left in the first place, because she got the dominoes falling.

“How’s your first day been so far? I hope it’s off to a good start,” somebody comments from behind me, curiosity behind their words. Looking over my shoulder, I find Myles strolling in with an empty cup that he sets down by the electric tea kettle on the counter.

“It’s going good so far, thanks. I just got here a few minutes ago, but it’s a little daunting, I must say.”

“Yeah, it can be, but don’t let it get to you. Harry will be there every step of the way, and I know he’s over the moon about having you back, and working with him on top of it all,” he assures me with a gentle smile as he rinses out the mug. There it is again, him and Asher keep doing it, and it’s not helping with this whole ‘trying not to go crazy over Harry thing’ all over again. Well, too soon, that is.

“Thank you, really,” I nod appreciatively. “Hey, while I have you here, I was wondering if you have any plans for his big birthday on Friday?”

“Eh, not really, he doesn’t want anything. He’s already upset about turning thirty.”

“What, how come? I tease him about getting old, but it’s just a number, and it’s really not that old,” I comment, watching his shoulders rise only to fall as he rips open a packet of tea I didn’t catch the name of.

“Yeah, I know, but I dunno. He said he thought he’d have more to show for being thirty, and that it’s depressing to him, or something.”

“Oh, so co-owning a renowned law firm, and being one of the most successful lawyers in London isn’t enough for him at thirty?” I scoff, observing the smile bending his lips upwards while the hot water gurgles into his mug.

“I told him the same thing and I’m sure you know him well enough to know how swimmingly that went. It seems you know him better than me in some rights,” he tuts, jigging the bag of tea up and down in the steaming water.

“Sometimes I think so, and other times not so much,” I comment, the words getting the better of me as my voice falls to a melancholy whisper. “We should do something for his birthday, though. We could at least do a cake and lunch.”

“That would be perfect. I’ll order pizzas from that pizzeria he likes over on Juniper Street, and we can have some drinks too.”

“Sounds great, I’ll take care of the cake. I remember he loves chocolate a little too much sometimes,” I laugh, and he nods while one sits at the edges of his mouth. “All we have left to do then is to tell everybody, well except for Rory, because I don’t know, he seems like he can’t keep a secret. I hear he has a big mouth, so that’s probably why, and he’s also too flirty.”

The laugh finally explodes from Myles’ lips as he adds a fresh spoon to his aromatic mug, fitting a finger through the handle as his lips part, “Right you are, Becky. I knew I was right to let Harry convince me to hire you, because you’re as smart as a whip.”

My own chuckling soon matches Myles’ and it continues for a few more moments, before we part our separate ways, and soon I get to meet the entire firm. It was overwhelming, which seemed to be the word of the day for me. I had recognized only a few of them from when I had worked here before, but a few more of them I’d never met, even though they’ve worked here for years. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to memorize the names of the dozen or so lawyers that make up the legal team at the firm, but with Harry by my side, I could breathe a little easier.

“How d’ya think yer first day went, Becks?” Harry hums, playing with his bottom lip from his perch across from me.

“Good, I think I’ll feel better now that it’s done. There’s so much pressure on having a good first day,” I answer, exhaling when I place my last card down. “Twenty seven for six.”

“Ya did bloody great per usual, and a go ‘s seven, which makes you tha winna,” Harry tsks, shaking his head while he tosses the rest of the cards down in a huff. “Looks like ya got some luck from yer first day right there. I thought I had ya at tha beginnin’, but I reckon yer gettin’ good at this game. Beginner’s luck right there, beatin’ me in our first game in years.”

“Thank you, boss,” I reply, trying to forget the connotations of that word from that confusing dream I had. When I lift my eyes to his, stretching out my hand of cards, his grin grows a fraction as his hand surrounds mine. “Good game.”

“Good game, love. Ya should head out now, ‘s already five-thirty, unless ya’d like t’ grab a few celebratory drinks with me. Again.”

“I’d love to. Did you drive the bike to work this morning?” I inquire, letting the expectant happiness loose on my face as I watch it unravel on his.

“Perhaps, and I may have packed an extra coat in case sumbody gets cold again.”

Once again, words escape me as we pack up the cribbage game while laughing, setting the board and cards on the bookshelf above us on the sofa. A few words suffice an escape to my office where I pack up, realizing I never touched my laptop, glancing over to the brand new rose gold Macbook Pro he surprised me with. I swear he can pull a tear from me like no other person can, in a good and bad way, and it didn’t help when he explained he chose it over a cheaper iMac. The tears came harder when he ended it by telling me that it’s because I’ll be spending so much time with him in his office, and it’s easier to tote around.

“Ready t’ go, bug? I found this new shot called a B-52 that I want us t’ try, sounds like sumthin’ we’d like coz it’s a creamy coffee type o’ one,” Harry says, catching me off guard from his stance leaning against my doorway. Once again, I swear he knows the things he does to me, especially in that wine colored suit hugging his trim body. My favorite color, and he knows it too. I murmur a short response as I slide on my coat, placing my back to him as I drape my purse over my shoulder. “Figured we could grab dinna befo’ if ya wanted, me tummy’s makin’ all these weird noises tellin’ me ‘s hungry.”

“That sounds great,” I hum happily, peering down to fasten the buttons on my coat. I wonder where that melancholy went from all of the times I dreaded the end of our visits, unsure of when I’d see him next. A thought finds its way up my warming cheeks when I realize that it’s here at last, the end of that and the beginning of getting to see his smiling face every single morning. Again. It grows bigger when another thought rushes on by.

It’s one more day of keeping my promise, and the end of it is in sight. It’s just another day, and one just like it will be here tomorrow and all of the tomorrows after that.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 7: Hush, Hush, Hush •

    The children walk single file as they descended from the brush from where they had escaped, Eddie in the lead, Richie taking up the caboose. Y/n had helped Mike up the rocks, and shortly after found herself in the middle behind him. Mike cast a glance in her direction as well as the others.

    "Thanks, guys," He said, redirecting his gaze to the ground. "But you shouldn't have done that, they'll be after you too, now."

    Eddie was the first to chime in. "Oh, no, no, no, Bowers? He's always after us."

    "I guess that's one t-t-thing we all have in common," Bill added.

    "Yeah, homeschool!" Richie chirped. "Welcome to the Losers Club!"

    Y/n smiled at the boy's remark, shaking her head lightly. It was then that Y/n was reminded of the fleeting thoughts from the night before that bounced around her tired, foggy brain. And a familiar feeling bubbled back up to the surface along with it; a sense of belonging. Y/n did not have much luck when it came to getting close to people, aside from Beverly of course. Until that day at the quarry, she had never truly felt at home. And now that they had a new member - the last piece of the puzzle - she knew as long as she had them, she would be whole.

    In fact, they would never say it aloud, but each and every member of the Losers Club shared these same feelings. That day marked the beginning of a beautiful and powerful bond that would last a lifetime. Each and every one was just as important as the next and if you were to pluck any from the line, they would never quite be the same. Each of the eight children felt immediately at home with one another, a comfort so deep and profound it could quiet any lurking anxieties or fears.

    For a short while, no one said anything, just a peaceful ambiance blanketed the atmosphere as they descended the small hill of grass. Each of them could feel the tall green blades brush their legs, and the silence was filled with the low yet loud rumble of the train traveling along the tracks, yards behind them. When they reached the bottom of the small hill, Y/n  scurried up to the front and joined Eddie by his side. Everyone else disperses, scattering amongst one another, Ben silently taking the lead.

    "Hey Kaspbrak" Eddie looked to her, a little taken aback but attentive. "I'm counting on you,"

    Eddie blushed uncomfortably until he realized what she had been implying. She had been holding her left arm, just below the shoulder, and gestured to it with her eyes. She blushed herself and played it off with a weak laugh.

    "My arm?" She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. "If you anyone has a band-aid it's you."

    He laughed nervously as well, as he reached into one of his fanny packs, careful to watch his step as he was still walking. He pulled out a bandaid and handed it to her, she smiled in thanks. She wished she could have said she was surprised when he continued to pull supplies out one by one. And she'd be lying if she said she didn't find that a least a little impressive. It reminded her of clowns packed into a clown car. Ugh, she shivered slightly, bad analogy, nevermind.

    "Here you go. Also, here's some ointment, it's a special disinfectant - who the fuck knows all the germs that were on that rock, you'll need all the help you can get. I also have gauze, normally I don't carry gauze but since your leg is still pretty bad, I figured I should carry some, just in case. Here you take it, I think I have some more, also, I kept a small wrap of ace bandages, you really need to - wait you have been changing them frequently, right? You always, always change bandages, the bigger the wound the more important it is you change it. Seriously, this is really important because-!"

    "BEEP BEEP BEEEP!" Richie shouted suddenly, strolling up and walking between the pair. "Hear that sound, Doctor K? That's the sound of her flat-lining. You took too fucking long, genius, if you were a real doctor she would have bled out on your table already!"

    Y/n snickered under her breath, several of the Losers smiled as well. Eddie felt his face grow hot, and he turned angrily to Richie, his face contorted in an angry pout. He was struggling for words, but before he could form a proper sentence, Richie continued.

    "Quick tip, Doc, don't talk your patients to death!"

    Stan laughed dryly, "Yeah, you're one to talk."

    "Hey there, woah, woah, woah!" He threw his arms up in defense. "I'm just givin' the people what they want!"

    "Great!" Y/n said excitedly, her face lighting up briefly before falling. "How bout some silence? Beep beep, Richie."

    Mike, who had blended into the group so effortlessly and had been silently processing - still adjusting to the group dynamic - laughed suddenly and loudly. Everyone looked to him, taken slightly aback by his sudden, but infectious laugh. And it wasn't long until that laughter spread, everyone had cracked a smile and there was scattered laughter that melted away any previous tension.

    By now, Y/n had applied the ointment and the band-aid easily. She handed the tube of disinfectant back to Eddie as well as the gauze.

    "Thanks, but the band-aid will do just fine. Luckily, this one is only just a little cut."

    Eddie nearly tripped, he had been so lost in thought as he stared anxiously at the gauze outstretched in her hand. He licked his lips nervously, and his eyes flickered to hers. She noted his tentativeness and waited expectantly, but he could hold his tongue no longer, crush or not.

    "...Seriously, have you been changing those bandages, you never answered me and I'm sorry but that's disgusting if you haven't changed them cause the wound really needs to air out and if it doesn't you could end up-"

    "Christ, Eddie! I've changed them!" Y/n blurted, falling into a small fit of chuckles to show she wasn't truly mad.

    He tried to conceal his blush, but he played it off with a vigorous shake of the head and change of topic.

    "Hey, where are we going anyway? I can't be out too long or my mom will kill me. One time, I was like, two minutes late for curfew and she had a panic attack."

    Ben looked over his shoulder, he had taken the lead and while no one had mentioned it yet, everyone had instinctively followed him.

    "Well, I was hoping to show you guys something."

    Everyone gave one another an odd, questioning look but they followed Ben into the trees, nevertheless.

×××

    Night had fallen the day of the rock fight and another day began. The group of misfits had found themselves in town, where the annual parade was taking place. Wracked with guilt and the unpleasant feeling of being pitied, Y/n was trying to talk Eddie out of buying her the delicious frozen treat she had been ogling. Eddie had noticed the longing in her eyes when she spotted a young child with one of their own, and it was then that he really noticed the effects the sun had on her. Her baggy clothes were sticking to her arms and legs, and he could see beads of sweat percolating above her brow.

    Once again, their previous exchange on the fire escape popped into his head and he was reminded once more of how fortunate he was that he could afford such little things he took for granted. The power of suggestion had already gotten to him as well when he saw a frustrated father shoving an ice cream cone at his crying child, and although the sight made him cringe he couldn't quite shake the sudden craving of the sweet treat. Hence their detour to the ice cream cart, he could practically hear Richie ragging on him for getting her something with the audacity to leave him out - What, you skimping out on me now, Eds? - Eddie opted for a vanilla cone for Rich, just to be safe. But none of that stopped Y/n from protesting against it.

    "Eddie, you really don't have to do this,"

    The young L/n girl looked between the hypochondriac kid and the disgruntled teenager behind the cart, slinging ice cream. Ignoring her protests, he dropped the small pile of coins he had retrieved from his fanny pack onto the metal counter of the cart. The overheated employee slid it towards himself to the end of the counter, plucking the quarters from the surface and handed Eddie two vanilla cones. Eddie gladly took them in each napkin-clad hand - he had already grabbed several napkins so as to not spill or drip anything. Y/n watched defeated, albeit a bit excited, as the young man behind the counter opened another compartment and retrieved the y/f/f popsicle and handed it to her.

    She hesitantly took the popsicle, trying her best to mask the ravenous look in her eye.

    "Eddie-"

    "Look, it's best you have that anyway, it's supposed to get like, really hot out today so it's best you keep cool or you could be one step closer to heatstroke. And let me tell you, that is not fun, not fun at all! Did you know that-"

    A loud burst of noise disrupted their conversation and they turned to see the cause. Richie had gotten his hands on one of the marching bands instruments - a tuba by the looks, and sound of it. The owner of the tuba was angrily reaching for it but Richie managed to keep it out of his reach. His cheeks puffed and his face turned pink as a few short bursts of noise came from the instrument.

    Eddie and Y/n shared an amused look and Y/n's eyes fell to the popsicle. She sighed lightly, trying to tame the pit in her stomach that always occurred when she was pitied. Now Y/n appreciated the gesture, she really did. It was awfully sweet of the boy, and she would be lying if she said it didn't make her stomach do a small flip, but all that was easily drowned out by how small she felt. She hated being a charity case, it was bad enough Beverly had basically kept her fed all these years but Y/n reminded herself that their friendship was symbiotic - they each had something to offer the other. But this made her feel like she owed Eddie, and she didn't like that.

    The two left the cart and walked along the sidewalk at a steady pace. Nervously, she looked at the boy.

    "Eddie, I appreciate it, but I don't want to owe you or anything. I-"

    Eddie's face contorted into a confused frown. He chuckled weakly before taking a quick lick of his ice cream. He shook his head.

    "You don't owe me! It's just a popsicle, it's no big deal."

    Words failed her and she looked at the popsicle tentatively. Eddie noticed this and was scrambling to put out the small fire he had caused.

    "Think of it as a favor to me,"

    Y/n showed no efforts to hide her confusion. "A favor?"

    "Yeah, you stay cool, and I don't have to take care of you when you suffer from heatstroke."

    Her frown stayed cemented to her face as she stared at the boy, and Eddie feared his message was lost in translation. For fuck's sake, he didn't mean it like that! Great, now he sounded like a total ass.

    Y/n broke out into chuckles and Eddie felt the enormous weight leave his shoulders. He chuckled with her, though they came out more strained and nervous. She shook her head, eyebrows raised.

    "Man, you must care if you're willing to make up that load of horse shit." Y/n's tempted eye fell to the popsicle in her hand. "Thanks, shrimp, I appreciate it. But just this one time, okay? I always end up feeling like I owe people whenever they do stuff like this. Even if it's small things, cause a lot of stuff that might seem small to you, are kind of a big deal to me, does that make any sense?"

    Eddie nodded.

    "To tell you the truth, I've never tried one before."

    Eddie's eyes widened and he looked frantically between her and her dessert.

    "You gotta try it! They're really good!"

    Y/n smiled weakly.

    "Eddie, I mean it. Do you get what I'm saying?"

    Eddie nodded eagerly, his eyes frequently falling to the popsicle.

    "I get it, won't happen again. I promise. But seriously, you gotta try it! Really though, before it melts."

    Y/n examined the frozen y/f/f pop and noticed the ice was thinning. She shrugged at Eddie and tried the popsicle. Her eyes widened and she gaped at the boy.

    "Holy shit."

    Eddie grinned eagerly, and by now the two were approaching Richie.

    "Right?"

    "Dammit, Eddie! You really shouldn't have done this, I'm gonna want another one!" She whined, though her voice held a twinge of humor.

    She switched the popsicle to the other hand to lick the melted residue that had made it on her fingers. Eddie was quick to supply her with an extra napkin which she thanked him for.

    Eddie laughed at her words and he noticed he had caught Richie's eye. More specifically, the extra ice cream cone did. Richie abandoned the tuba and waltzed over to the boy, gladly accepting the treat and the trio found themselves joining the rest of the group just inside the alley. They were all somber, Y/n couldn't help but notice.

    "What's wrong?" She asked, drawing all eyes to her. "What are guys talking about?"

    "What they always talk about," Richie said simply.

    "I actually think it will end," Ben said, ignoring the interruption. "For a little while, at least."

    "What do you mean?" Mike asked.

    "So I was going over all my Derry research and I charted out all the big events. The Ironworks explosion in 1908, the Bradley Gang in '35, and the Black Spot in '62. And now kids being... I realized this stuff seems to happen-"

    "Every 27 years," Bill and Ben finished.

    Y/n looked up from her frozen pop and licked her lips, for some reason feeling silly for enjoying such a thing during this discussion. She found her stomach was twisted in knots, though at least, she thought, Eddie was right. She was feeling cooled down. But none of that seemed to matter now. Like it was all a matter of time before all of these fleeting feelings, these little moments, were being packed and stored away for a long time. It was a strange feeling that she couldn't quite identify, a feeling each of the Losers Club was experiencing: that while everyone around them was laughing and playing, enjoying the blissful moments of summer, they themselves each felt as if they were enjoying their last day on earth.

×××

    "So let me get this straight," Eddie began, fingers drumming nervously on his right knee. "It comes out from wherever to eat kids for, like, a year? And then what? It just goes into hibernation?"

    The Losers found themselves in the park, frozen treats long gone, the pits in their stomachs however still very much present. Bev, Stan, Mike, and Ben were splayed put on the bench, backs to the infamous statue of Paul Bunyan. Richie sat on his parked bike, unfortunate enough to be facing said statue - he never said it but the thing always creeped him out, just something about it. Bill and Eddie each found a seat of their own on the long back of Silver and Y/n laid in the grass before them in between the two bikes. She was propping herself up with her arms and legs splayed out before her. Her leg was healing fast but she didn't want to risk sitting on it and making it worse.

    So here the Losers sat, lost in discussion and despite the hot weather, there was a chill in the air that only these eight misfits could feel. Looming over them, watching them, much like It did their own town.

    "Maybe, it's like-- What do you call it?" Stan paused, searching for the word. "Cicadas. You know, the bug that only comes out once every seventeen years."

    "My grandfather thinks this town is cursed," Mike said. "He says that all the bad things that happen in this town are because of one thing. An evil thing that feeds off the people of Derry."

    An evil thing.

    The three words that lurked in the back of Y/n's mind all her life. She could feel herself falling back into the pit, the black hole that swallowed her up every time she thought of the looming threat. She could feel herself disconnecting from the world again, watching herself being ripped away from this moment in time and tossed back to that awful night, though she could still hear the worried voices of her friends speaking. Completely unaware of her state of mind. The words were fuzzy and distant, background noise as she felt herself being transported to that day.

    "I ain't got much time left, but at least I'm safer than you. I'm old, I've lived my life but you? Well, you're closer to death's door than I am."

    "But it can't be one thing. We all saw something different." Stan said, his voice now began to fade out.

     The voices were now blending together as memories of her past became her present reality.

    "Cause this town, I tell you, this town... There's an evil, evil thing in this world," the man said.

    She could hear her younger self whimper in fear, her own voice was squeaky and very frightened. The old voice continued, it shook with fear and the terror was as ripe as his memory, like only seconds had passed, not decades.

    "monsters are all too real my child, I've seen 'em with my own two eyes."

     Mike's voice found a way through her skull, echoing softly as all the details of the day she worked so hard to forget, came flooding back.

    "Maybe. Or maybe it knows what scares us most and that's what we see."

   "The Devil himself lives here, right here in this very shit hole and I've waited a very long time for this moment; to be free."

    There was a moment of tension-filled silence as the young h/c girl looked up at the slouching figure. The girl clutches her teddy bear tightly to her chest - the sad old thing nearly worn down to threads - tears pooling in her e/c eyes as she stares on in horror at the distant relative. Old and senile he was, why her mother brought her here she didn't know. Y/n would later figure out that it was a final visit of sorts. A last chance to meet some of her family. And while her mother stepped out of the room to retrieve a simple glass of water for the man, he turned unexpectedly to his grandniece and imparted the words she would never forget.

    "He's in your closet, under your bed. He's everywhere, always, watchin' you. Waiting for the right moment to snatch you up. And he will get you. He always gets you... he got her, I told her not to go, but she was adventurous you see, much like you kids are these days, and mother didn't like that and she always told us; 'you mind yourself or I'll tell him. I'll tell him...'"

    The old man's glossy eyes drifted away, his voice trailing as he was lost in the memory; reliving it all over again.

    "Tell who? Who is he?" The young girl asked tearfully?"

    He broke from his trance and he looked at her with cold and fearful eyes.

    "The Boogeyman." Y/n croaked, breaking from her stupor.

    The Losers all looked to their friend in the grass. The color was drained from her [s/c] skin, and her eyes were distant and glassy. Her left leg had inched gradually up and was now clutched tightly against her chest protectively. Seven pairs of eyes were now fixed on her and she gulped.

    "My great uncle Henry, I only met him once when I was about five or six, but he- he told me about how he saw the Boogeyman. Not much else, but the way he described It... I don't know, it always stuck with me. I've been afraid of It ever since and then-" Her eyes met Beverly's and she knew she had connected the dots.

    "Your ankle." She finished.

    Y/n nodded. She shifted in the grass uncomfortably before looking around at her friends. Some of them confused, others connecting dots of their own, but still intrigued and listening.

    "When school got out, Bev slept over." Y/n began, filling in Mike especially. "We both fell asleep with the TV on, it woke me up so I got up to turn it off, and then, just as I started to drift off I felt Bev pull on my leg several times. But, I woke up and realized she was fast asleep."

    She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the nerves that came crawling back even now. She fixed her eyes on the grass below her, and her fingers worked themselves into the ground. Y/n began fiddling with eh blades of grass, twirling them and ripping some from the ground as she continued.

    "Next thing I know, It's pulling me across the carpet and my leg is torn to shreds. It looked like what I always imagined the Boogeyman to be, but... but it also looked like-"

    "A clown."

    She had to turn her body slightly to look at Eddie, but she nodded, confirming everyone's suspicions from the day before.

    "Yeah, I saw a clown too. But It was also a leper." Eddie saw the confused looks scattered across his friends. "He was like a walking infection."

    Eddie felt himself fighting his bodily instincts to vomit, still repulsed by the vivid memory. Stan, who had been squirming in his seat the entire exchange, fought desperately to deny the gory truth that lay before them. Trying to convince everyone, himself especially, that this thing couldn't exist. Cause if It did, it would be all too terrible.

    "But you didn't," his voice trembled. "Because It isn't real. None of this is. Not Eddie's leper. Or Bill seeing Georgie, or-or woman I keep seeing." His voice broke, he looked down at his feet and the others knew.

    He was trying to convince himself.

    "She hot?" Richie asked with a half-smirk.

    Stan gave Richie an incredulous look, and his voice rose.

    "No Richie! She's not hot! Her face is all messed up. None of this makes any sense. They're all like bad dreams."

    Mike spoke up, unable to tiptoe around him any longer.

    "I don't think so. I know the difference between a bad dream, and real life, okay? Besides, look at Y/n's leg! How do you explain that?"

    Y/n gave Mike a thankful nod, and Eddie asked the question she had at the end of her tongue.

    "What'd you see? You saw something, too?"

    "Yes," Mike answered somberly, and he took a deep breath. "Do you guys know that burned-down house on Harris Avenue?"

    Y/n nodded, encouraging Mike to continue.

    "I was inside when it burned down." Mike began fiddling with his hands nervously, and Bill could feel his heartache. "Before I was rescued, my mom and dad were trapped in the next room over from me. They were... pushing and pounding on the door, trying to get to me."

    Mike's voice broke and he fought hard against the tears that threatened to spill. His heart was breaking in two all over again, he rarely spoke of the incident, always much too saddened by it and each time he did he could hear their frightened screams and the scratches against the door.

    "trying to get to me." There was a pause, and Mike swallowed the swollen lump in his throat. "But it was too hot. When the firemen finally found them, the skin on their hands had melted down to the bone."

    "Mike," Y/n felt at a loss for words, but all she could manage was a simple few. "I'm so sorry."

    He shrugged, and everyone could tell he was already beginning to rebury the memory.

    "We're all afraid of something."

    "You got that right." Richie quipped.

    Everyone looked to the boy and Y/n asked gently.

    "What about you, Rich? What are you afraid of?"

    His eyes flickered to Eddie against his will, and he ignored the spike in his heart rate when he did so. Everyone was staring at him now and he gulped, looking over his shoulder to see a clown on the stage across the field, staring at him. He returned his gaze to the group, and swallowed nervously, adjusting his bulky glasses.

    "Clowns."

×××

@seasidecrowbar​​ @milliehatespeople​​ @supernovavisionary​​ @readyforitbitch​​  @geniedocroe​​ @sivords​​  @ravenclawsprincess​​ @pigwidgexn​​ @kricketwritesstories​​ @beep-beep-tozier​​ @plum-duels​​ @edmunds-torch​​ @eddiegaykaspbrak​​ @rosi3e​​ @welcome-to-derry​​ @beepbeep-pennywise​​ @candycorntroll​​  @bibliophilesquared​​ @ongaku-ato-kakikomi​​ @cocastyle​​ @peachysinnermon​​ @mochiuris​​ @captainshazamerica​​ @kaitlynjones12​​ @songbird-writes​​ @traceylader​​ @eggytozier​​ @annimalq​​ @lexylovesfandoms​​ @russian-romanova​​ @paigey-mcfreedomly​​  @whitetrash12345  @witch-of-all-things-soft​​  @thatsjoemazzellosbbg​​ @blogforhoes​​

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[sherlolly-siya]

Magnum P.I. S02xE18-20 spoilers and tidbits

I thought i’ll give a prologue first 😅 Remember i pet project where i was trying to decipher the episode names? yea i didn’t get very far on that.. but i have come to a conclusion, that each title is a convention for what the clients in that episode, and/or our P.I. is going through. Eg. S02xE16 : Farewell To Love

Episode starts with Gladys and Bert who had given up on love but eventually found it in one another. The fact that Gladys narrated this part makes it poetic in a sense that she was the one who had to say bid farewell to Bert.Then TC and Teresa, they found the one that they always loved. The one who made them happier, but TC had to let her go go, he bid farewell to his love, instead of ruining 3 lives.In the beginning of the episode, we see magnum all in for online dating, but after what happened with Dylan, we see him coming to an abrupt conclusion that online dating is just isn’t the thing for him, also adding to the fact, the girl who met through an app (Abby) had just recently broken off with him. So magnum kind of bid a metaphorical farewell to finding love online.

Spoilers for S02x18, S02x19 and S02x20 under the cut if you wish to continue. Warning: My rant got hella long, longer than i planned and there are lots of pics and links below. Thanks @maggiesoa​ and @lizzysfavs​ for providing some food for my thoughts  😊

So.. lets begin with S02x18 : A world of trouble I’m just grouping together the pics that I’ve found so far which seem to be related to episode 18: Perdy and Bobby discussed about having a scene together ignore jay’s comment here, I’m all for #TeamJin and I will riot if they ever kill him. I believe the episode starts with Jin, showing up at Robin’s nest, where he ends up in a situation where he has to change in magnum’s clothes (note the t-shirt magnum is ironing... (Edit: DIDN'T HAPPEN!!?? I MEAN!! This could have been cute.. didn't have to be a total BTS for once!!) Where we get this scene, All i can guess right now is that is a tab in Jin’s had, and he’s being a fair judge for miggy while they prepare for their visa interview, or he could be here with today’s case

Which takes us to to the primary promo for 2x18, where they solve the case at hand. Now my guess is that the case doesnt take up entire 47 minutes, because this promo also exists. What this secondary promo also shows is them at a office(?) guessing visa or may be its a school where the current client works? where magnum/higgy blurts out that they’re marrying and some lady says that they don’t look like a couple. We also see Katsumoto warning Higgy about the consequences of marrying their business partner. (Edit: this did happen and fueled Higgy’s resolve to back out.. nothing wrong there..but as Jin said.. may it be with Magnum or TC, u’re still breaking the law Mrs. I can figure out how pretending with TC is going to get good results? if anything.. it only comes out of nowhere) I’m sensing a connection here again with the title of the episode: A world of trouble:  - The current client, the case was definitely given to them by some one else because they approach the lady coz Higgy says “You’re in trouble, we just want to help you.”, which means she might have refused help at one point. - Literally 2 people in a 2 min worth promo have commented on their wedding, does this not sound like trouble to you?

When magnum is possibly heading out to go to La Mariana, (Edit: DING! DING! DING! This was indeed before the bar scene.. which kinda broke my heart.. but we’ll talk about that in detail later) she tells him that she’s reconsidered her decision that she will be marrying TC instead (which is weird, but for the sake of it, OK). Which also implies that she’s going to have a heart to heart with TC how she had one with Rick before in 2x13. (Edit: Umm.. i would have liked to hear the entire convo here.. but i guess its going to come back a flashback some day?) Magnum than heads to the bar, with Jin where he meets up with his friends and we get this, going by past experiences, this is going to be the last scene where he’s with his friends. Now what leaves me confused is this guy below, the one that magnum rescued and now has a food truck (Rem S1x01, they got him all the way from there now). He’s not listed for 2x18, but the actors caption says 2x18? So is he like the caterer for the wedding? (i thought kamekona was doing that?) or he’s there for entirely other reason?

Now this all leads up to S02x19 :  May The Best One Win Again the title is the synopsis here,

Magnum and Higgins are each hired by a different spouse who are in the middle of a contentious divorce to dig up dirt on the other, and Thomas and Higgins soon find themselves competing over resources. 

But i don’t think them competing again each other is the only thing here, remember this gem from TV guide magazine? - Jay mentions there being an odd jealousy there, and there is something percolating between the duo which magnum doesn’t want to address just yet. I think the competition is not just between Magnum and Higgy, for magnum it is also between him and TC. May be he’ll be still trying to show her that he is the one she should be marrying, even if that’s fake.  - And for the implied element we also have this garage fight, where they’re up against “just one guy, but a very big guy”. This again i don’t think takes forever to solve since, there’s an upcoming wedding everyone has to attend, we’ve all seen the famous pics, but this:

Him again!! And looks like he is in fact catering the event. Now since S02x19 and S02x20 are to be merged into one mega episode, lets slip into: S02x20 :  A Leopard on the Prowl 

Magnum and Higgins help Rick when his father figure, Icepick , just out of prison and battling terminal cancer, gets double crossed on one last score. Also, Magnum makes one last bold move to help Higgins stay in the country.

This is the rick centric episode the viewers were promised, Adding pics of Zac coz he looks great here:

But do you see anything missing here? My sleep deprived brain does. Icepick seems to be have fallen pray to something on the run, nothing pre-planned, the guy has terminal cancer, he’s dying any day now, why would someone spend any time to plan something against him? (He’s probably going to die in this epi..he only had few months.. the article says “reluctantly try to help him” seriously guys why do you have to be reluctant? And below pic is probably of the same related fight scene Jay talked about in the TV guide snippet:

And if the video Jay uploaded is even close to the actual scene, it could be because the guy hit Rick/Higgy and Magnum picked up another fight with him.. or that’s just for insta.. I’ll leave it open. There’s a fight scene with TC as well i suppose. Now what does the title have to do with the episode? Here’s my theory: - Remember Dr. Kim i already mentioned twice above. He’s gotta be here for more than just “catering the wedding”, magnum said he was a code breaker, he was mentioned in one of Robin’s books, he instantly identified the co-ordinates which Nuzzo left for Magnum, (which is duh!  u’re telling me that magnum was a navy SEAL and can read waves but cant piece together actual co-ordinates?!!). Magnum was kidnapped by Ivan’s people coz he needed something from him which was in the books, later Ivan had magnum delivered to himself on a secret mission of retrieving Hayek, who was a weapons dealer but he got away with drones instead.. I think this is all related somehow, there has to be something in this episode that points to this.. I thought may be its in Robin’s books.. but they have never mentioned the same book twice.. I’m still looking for answers though.. But going ahead, see this ,

“ Magnum makes one last bold move to help Higgins stay in the country.” “You see Higgins in a unexpected position, which magnum is very uncomfortable with and where he is not sure about his place”

Soo.. the wedding didn’t happen? So that’s not helping her stay in the country? 

It didn’t bother me much before.. but think about this, what if since the wedding plan backfired, she has to go back to London until her visa is renewed/reapplied for : an unexpected position since she has found something in Hawaii she doesn’t want to loose. Which leaves magnum as the in-charge of Robin’s nest and Zeus and Apollo and part of the deal [I can almost see my HC at the horizon]. An uncomfortable position where he has to manage the estate and the hounds of hell without his “professional better half”. I think there is a beach good-bye scene on this day, may be an actual hug between miggy? Supporting evidence as follows:

Now the last attempt Magnum makes, does he offer her a job? Does he confess? But that wouldn’t automatically land her in an unexpected situation , that would be magnum putting her in that situation while being full aware of his position. I bet lenkov has got pretty good plan for this to play out. Now this doesn’t back up my crack where Higgins leaves, because

This story was posted along with the one where magnum is boating.. so they’re probably from the same episode.. where the last ditch effort has paid off but Magnum and Higgins roles have now been shifted a little and lenkov’s quote makes sense “Nothing really changes”.. has anyone ne noticed that there are no Juliet pics from 2x20 yet? 

I cant wait to see that though.. and for a 100% i know there is a season 3, its a gut feeling i have. Thank you for stopping by.. sorry it was too long  😘

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I know, I’m greedy... but anymore deep within? I’m so curious to see where this goes 🙏🏻 Also, bless you authors. This is a wonderful space full of talent and I’ve been reading non stop!

Deep In The Darkness Peering: PART ii Chapter TWO:

Ordinarily, Claire would have been asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Tonight, however, her brain refused to allow her sleep and she sat up in bed, her mind going over their evening interactions.

As she lay alone, Jamie’s words were still rolling around in her mind. She hadn’t expected them but as he had opened up to her she felt obliged to do the same. Only John knew about her doctorate, even Glenna didn’t know. How she’d managed to keep it from her co-workers for this long, but she had. As a junior doctor she had busied herself with writing journal articles and publishing her medical notes under a pseudonym, somehow keeping her father alive through her own words. Once again John had been an angel, coming to her rescue and helping to get her a job as a nurse whilst keeping her medical training under wraps.

The muffled sounds of Jamie stirring drew her out of her fog as she glanced quickly towards the door. Half expecting him to settle, she rubbed her eyes. But just as she was about to reach across and turn her light off, a short, sharp cry bought her head up once more. Claire was exhausted so she didn’t question why she had failed to hear him earlier. Rising, she crept slowly over to her door, peeling it open as quietly as she was able as she waited to see if he would calm and continue into a more peaceful sleep.

His anguished cries, though, continued after a brief pause, subtle gaelic words floating down the corridor as Claire snuck towards her guest room.

Curled on his side, he had pressed himself as close to the wall as he was able to get; his legs tucked tightly against his chest as the duvet bunched between his thighs. She could feel the tension radiating off him as his face scrunched up as if he were physically in pain.

From her position in the doorway she could already see that the stitches to one of his deeper wounds were beginning to split, and his shoulder blades contracting, painfully, against one another just as blood began to seep through his nightshirt. Unable and unwilling to sit aside and watch without assisting, Claire crawled beside him, her hands shaking as she wrapped herself around Jamie, whispering soothing words against the back of his neck as she calmly massaged the tense muscles along the top of his accessible arm.

“It’s alright, Jamie. You’re safe, you’re home…” Without thinking too carefully about her words she rocked him backwards and forwards, the motion causing Jamie to release his legs as his breathing began to return to a more regular pace. She felt him inhale and exhale, the goosebumps on his flesh receding slowly as his whole body started to sink into the soft mattress.

For a moment she thought he’d woken as he shifted, the angular plains of his back now smoothed out as he stretched his legs straight. But it soon became obvious that he hadn’t as he stilled. Though his back worried her, Claire didn’t want to rouse him now that he was relaxed so she readied herself to stay by him. Her presence seemed to calm him, and though she worried how he’d be when he finally woke, fatigued pulled her under and her eyes closed as she rested against him.  

The next thing she saw was the sun streaming in through the thin curtains as she pushed herself from the empty bed. Beside her, it was clear Jamie hadn’t long woken himself as the sheets were still heated from his presence.

Bacon. The scent of it wafted through the room and she thrust her hair back into a rough pony before wiping the sleep from her eyes. Walking into the kitchen she caught sight of the back of him, his nightshirt still stained from the previous evening but he seemed unfazed by it as he made himself at home over her hob.

“I see you managed to start the gas off.” She said, announcing her arrival whilst skirting the obvious conversation starter.

“Aye,” he replied, turning a little to look at her as he spoke. He hadn’t flinched which meant he’d known her to be there which reminded her that he probably wasn’t that used to his own company. “It gave me a wee bit of a hard time, but I got it to work eventually - I hope ye dinna mind?” He phrased it as a question but she could see a momentary worry line curve into his brow.

Quickly, she shook her head and smiled. “Not at all, use anything and everything you need.”

“Would ye like one?”

“That would be lovely, I’ll put the coffee on.”

Tipping his head to the side, she could see that he’d already started the percolator as the black drops began to drip though the thin paper mask that had kept the grains contained whilst dry.

“Will you let me look at your back then? Just in case.” She broached the issue quietly but confidently as he stopped turning the bacon for just a moment before continuing until each carefully sat back in the sizzling oil. Silence surrounded them as the seconds slowly fell away and she began to regret speaking at all.

“Aye.”

Claire could tell from his half-whispered reply that the memory of it had stirred something altogether more unpleasant to mind and she was grateful that the awkward (for her) silence had given him the time he needed to process that. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.” With a cautious smile lifting her lips very slightly, she reached for her small medical kit - opening the small draw beneath the sink and placing it on the countertop as she searched for what she thought she might need.

Jamie turned the hob down to allow the bacon to heat gently before placing himself on a stool. Holding the base of his shirt, Claire caught him deliberating out of the corner of her eye.

“You can take that off - if that’s alright?” Choice was something that had been taken from him along with a myriad of other things and as much as she wanted to be there to help him through this transitionary period, she also wanted him to take control of as much as possible - even down to whether he wanted her to see his back...or not.

Luckily, he nodded briefly, the muscles clenching along the base of his jaw as he did so.

Once she had the ointment and antiseptic to hand, Claire turned to the task at hand. One glance let her know that it was just a simple procedure. The damage was slight, thank goodness and the stitches appeared to have held - though the tension in his back had caused them to split between the thin gaps causing the bloody mess on the back of his top.

“It might sting a little, but it isn’t as bad as I thought.”

“No A&E trips needed then?” He joked, hunching himself forwards as he prepared himself for her touch.

“Not this time.”

They were quiet as she worked to clean him up though she burned to ask him an endless ream of questions. It was only after she had passed him a clean shirt that she dared ask the first and most important one.

Waiting until he’d plated up their late breakfast and with a cup of freshly brewed coffee in front of them, she took one bite of her sandwich and swallowed before asking it.

“Has that happened every night since you arrive, Jamie?”

“The nightmares?” He asked knowing immediately what she meant.

“Yes.”

“Aye, and before that.” He answered honestly, seeing no need for lies between then.

“You weren’t speaking English.”

“It’s protection, you see.”

Claire could see the moisture building in the corners of his eyes and she wondered whether it was the right time to be pressing him into talking to her but she seemed to have started something that he wasn’t prepared to finish now. Continuing to eat her breakfast, she allowed him the chance to tell her anything he needed to in that moment.

“Less than 2% of Scots speak it. Most of the guards dinna have the skill and the English ones certainly don’t…” the observation hung in the air between them for a short while and Claire could have guessed the name of one particular officer but she simply nodded to acknowledge the statement, “...when yer faced wi’ the devil himself - you have to be prepared, aye?”

Just for a second her heart stopped dead in her chest as fear etched itself across his face.

“When did they start?”

“After my arrest. I dinna ken what happened that night, Claire. Sometimes I’ll see things, but they’re blurred and incoherent. In my dreams, though, I see things I think canna possibly be real and I’m trapped in my own body unable to fight free.”

All of a sudden all of those sleepless nights seemed to weigh him down and his shoulders slumped under the pressure of it. There was something completely raw about his admission and she made a mental note - now really wasn’t the time to press him for more information on the night of the alleged assault.

“But then, last night, all of a sudden it all seemed to dissipate. And I woke wi’ you holding onto me like ye thought I might drown.”

“It helped?”

“Aye.”

The haunted look had disappeared from his eyes causing Claire to unclench her fists and grin over at him.

“Thank you, Claire, Truly.”

[1soos]

Wasting Time: Part Deux

type: slice of life, best friends to lovers, eventual smut

pairing: namjoon x reader

warnings/things to look for: there’s a moment where something homophobic could happen, but doesn’t. drug and alcohol use, cursing, eventual sex, movie and music references,   other than that this is some real soft 

length: 5.3k

summary: Namjoon is your best friend and that comes with a lot of perks and privileges.

a/n: it’s been the hottest minute, but here’s part 2. I do not have it in me to angst this up. Read part one here if you wanna.

Namjoon was gone when you woke up; the spare blanket he’d used in the night folded thoughtfully over the back of the couch. He’d cleared away the chicken containers and the beer bottles and moved the weed to the middle of the coffee table. His delicate care and thoughtfulness sits heavy in your chest, making you feel weird and wishing like hell that it didn’t.

You scoop your piece off the table and take a hit while you make your coffee. You don’t work at the boutique until noon and you aren’t scheduled for the park today, so you decide on a chill morning scrolling through memes on insta. You get stuck on a Raimi Spiderman thread, scrolling endlessly through screenshots of The Goth Dance Moment (^TM) when Lisa throws open the apartment door, the long strap of her purse getting caught on the handle. “I have been fucking for the past 7 hours. I need coffee.”

“Nice,” you say, genuinely impressed and point to the percolator.

Lisa throws her miniscule ‘going out’ purse (really the length of the handle is not proportionate to the actual size of the bag and the ridiculousness of it amuses you) to the floor and whispers, “bless,” as she downs half a cup in one go. She tops herself off and lowers herself gently into the chair across from you.

You sit in silence, every once in a while, turning your phone in her direction when you come across particularly relevant Baby Yoda memes. The moment is broken when Lisa groans dramatically and asks you if she’s on the schedule at the boutique like she’s suddenly remembering that she works there.

You tell her to pull up the spreadsheet that your boss sends to you a week in advance (truly the most organized woman you know) and Lisa tells you, “no.”

Instead of having it turn into A Thing, you open the schedule on your phone. You scan quickly for Lisa’s name color coded in bright blue. “You go in at 5,” you tell her. Kind of disappointed, but not surprised that Sunmi scheduled you in different time slots. Something about not having two crackhead, meme lords in one shift.

“Ugh, fuck. Okay, so I’m going to be dead until at least 4:45. Do not attempt to revive me or I will kill you.”

“That’s a lot of negative death imagery you’re using there.”

“I said what I said."

And like that, she disappears into her room and you’re left overthinking every tiny noise you make until you leave the apartment.

 …

 One of the things you love about working at the boutique is trying on the clothes. You do a dramatic turn in front of the tri-fold mirror and strike a pose while the extremely see-through, sparkly, tulle skirt shifts around you.

Your co-worker, Bambam, stands behind you, switching between gassing you up and, “wow that skirt does nothing for you. Take it off; I’m gonna try it on.”

“Rude.” You work the elastic of the waistband down over your hips, careful to avoid taking your leggings off with it, and throw the skirt at his head. The fabric muffling the curses he shoots your way. The bell above the shop door chimes, announcing the presence of a potential customer so you leave Bambam to figure his own way out of the mess of tulle.

You put on your best ‘I work in retail and get paid on commission’ smile. “Good afternoon! Welcome to Siren’s! Please let me know if there’s anything I can help you find.” The woman smiles good naturedly back at you and says she’s just looking. She already has some shopping bags loaded up her arms, so you’re feeling pretty good about a sale and place yourself equidistant between her and the cash register while eyeing Bambam over in the corner still struggling with the skirt.

The bell goes off again, to your surprise as there is hardly ever more than one person in at a time.

“Joon?” His presence shocks you and for a moment, you forget about last night. The smile that jumps out is too real; genuine joy filling you up and spilling out. He looks slightly stunned himself.

“What are you up to?” he asks, and you look around at the over-priced clothes all around you and then back to him a little confused.

“Working?”

He blushes and your chest hurts. “Ah, I mean, do you have plans for lunch? Um, I think we need to talk.”

Your stomach feels like its going to fall out of your ass and your thoughts spin around and take off like Road Runner.

Beep beep, bitch.

He wants to tell you how weird last night was. There is this horrible feeling that persists; that he knows how you feel and now he’s uncomfortable. He’s probably going to tell you that he doesn’t see you That Way and that you should just continue being friends. Which is fine; you can take that and so could your friendship. Besides, you haven’t really had the time to examine your feelings for him past the fact that he’s your best friend whom you also might want to kiss right now (and constantly) because he’s being awkward and it’s unfortunately adorable. And that you’re scared, kind of. Whatever is going on between you feels major; like, life altering. You feel a duty to yourself and Namjoon to handle the situation with care, so yeah, you think that talking would probably be good.

You smile again at him, more weighted this time and softly say, “okay.”

Caught in your own feelings, you don’t notice Bambam gliding over to you both.

“Knew it would look better on me.” The fabric flutters beautifully around him though he stopped walking several moments before and you have to admit that it does give him the ethereal look that you were hoping to achieve. You nod, conceding the point.

You subtly try to will him away, but his eyes focus on Namjoon. You can see the moment that Bam recognizes him. Bam doesn’t really run in the same group as Namjoon, but there are a few mutual friends and enough shared drunken moments for him to say hi.

“Woah, Namjoon! What’s up, man? I haven’t seen you since Jackson’s.” Bam wiggles his eyes, dramatically suggestive, making you wonder exactly what happened at Jackson’s.

Namjoon’s eyes go wide and he responds quickly. “Nothing much. Just working. You?”

Bam shrugs and gestures around the boutique. Your eyes follow his hands and you notice that the customer is looking at the skirt that Bambam has on and you really do hope it’s because she wants to buy it. “Did I overhear that you’re going to take this one,”—he points at you and you give an annoyed ‘hey’— “to lunch?”

“Trying to anyway.”

“I forgot about Bam,”—“rude!”—"I don’t want to leave him to work alone.” Bambam once again looks around the almost empty store and then back with an incredulous look at you and a pitying one at Namjoon.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the woman says, but doesn’t actually look very sorry at all. The way she’s eyeing Bambam looks like she’s about to say some shit about the skirt. Your eyes find Bam’s, but he looks ready to do battle. Your adrenaline kicks up a notch and you prepare to throw this expensive looking woman out on her ass if she tries to pull any bullshit. “I noticed you wearing this skirt.” You stop breathing and Bambam goes very still. You fist your hand into the back of his shirt to let him know you’re there, barely registering that Namjoon has placed his hand in the middle of your back in much the same manner. “And I just wanted to say, it looks so good on you! You have a really interesting look. Do you model?”

The collective anxiety that the three of you felt leeches away almost at once. You sag back against Namjoon and he rubs your back. Bambam lights up and tells the woman, “I’ve walked a few runways.” Liar. The most he’d done was a photo shoot for one of those coupon books that goes in the middle of the Sunday paper.

The woman smiles. “Well, if you’d like to walk a few more,” she trails off and hands Bam her card. He raises his eyebrows at the name written there. “Do you have some time right now to talk?”

“Yes!” You interject. “He does. He was just about to go on break.” The woman and Bambam look pleased and as they head out the door, Bam turns, eyes wide and sparkling, and mouths ‘thank you.’

The door chimes shut behind them and you sigh, leaning even further onto Namjoon for a moment, your body giving in to the comfort it wants before your brain reminds you that you shouldn’t be taking advantage. You step away from him and immediately feel colder.

You cough awkwardly and immediately cringe. “Sorry about lunch.”

He smiles down at you and tells you not to worry about it. “I’ve got a plan b. Be right back.”

He drags his hand down your arm as a parting gesture and you try really hard to suppress the shiver that the small act sends through you.

…

While Namjoon is gone, your only customers are two women. One model tall and the other almost a head shorter, holding hands and smiling at each other.

After giving your standard “Welcome to Siren’s” speech, they tell you that their looking for party clothes, you take them to the rack with sparkly dresses and tailored pants and ask them to let you know if they need anything before giving them space.

They go through the rack; the tall woman, seeming to have more fun looking at the clothes than the other who had her clothes picked out in under 5 minutes, balks at the price of a bright sequined number that she had been considering. The other woman places her hand at the small of her back. You can only just hear her ask in a low voice, “do you like it?”

The woman takes a long look at the dress, running her fingers across the sequins. After a moment of consideration, she nods, and the shorter woman takes the dress from her and puts it over her arm where the clothes she’s chosen for herself lay.

They come up to you at the counter and the short woman smiles at you, “just these, thank you.”

You ring up the clothes and give the total. The tall woman looks embarrassed while the other pays with a matte black credit card.

You hand over the bag and tell them to have a good rest of their day and to come back anytime; giving them a genuine smile that most patrons do not get from you.

As they exit, the taller woman says, “I’ll pay you back.”

The other shrugs and says, “okay,” and taps her finger to her pouted lips.

“That’s not what I meant,” she grouses, but the woman pouts harder and taps her lips again. There is an audible sigh and the tall woman leans down and presses a short, sweet kiss into the other’s lips.

They leave and the bell above the door doesn’t ring again until it’s Namjoon that’s coming through it. His dimples pop out as he drops the bag of food onto the counter. The smell hits you and you already know that he’s gone to the Indian restaurant down the street.

“Please tell me that there’s aloo gobi in here,” you say, even as you’re digging through the knotted bag and the excess of napkins that cover the takeout boxes. “Yes!” you exclaim when you open the top container and find the curry dish inside. There’s a brief moment where you wonder if it’s too hot outside to eat something so heavy, but you forget to care, placing your face directly into the Styrofoam container. “You really know me,” you intone dramatically through a comforting mouth full of potatoes and cauliflower.

He huffs, “yeah, I do,” through his own mouthful of what looks like vindaloo.

“What do I owe you?” and even as you ask, your mind supplies a pouty Namjoon asking cutely for a kiss and you flush, eyes almost watering with how much your body craves that contact.

He waves his hand that holds the fork around, brushing away your question, “I was the one who asked. You don’t owe me anything.”

Your brain must short circuit because the words that come out of your mouth cannot be stopped, “But what if I want to owe you something?”

“Are you really about to fight me over, like, eight dollars?”

You stare intently at your food, separating the cauliflower from the potatoes rather than answer.

“Hey,” he says, trying to get your attention. You look up and his eyebrows are scrunched, and lips pursed, an overall confused Namjoon. So fucking cute, lord help you. He looks like his brain is working overtime, but he keeps his mouth shut until he’s chosen what he wants to say. Completely the opposite of you and a quality of his that you usually admire, you really should take a page or two out of his book, but right now you’re on tender hooks waiting for what comes next.

He un-scrunches and looks at you, “What exactly do you want to owe me?”

“I don’t know,” you skirt.

“Hmm.” He stares at you like he’s trying to decipher your soul. It’s…intense.

He looks so serious; it’s intimidating and so much of you doesn’t want to give away your feelings even though you’ve already hyped yourself up to do just that. And no matter how much you want to shut down and deflect, you owe it to yourself and to him to be honest.

You set down your fork and swallow your food. “Okay, so please keep in mind that you’re my best friend in the entire world and you matter more to me than my own feelings.” He straightens up and opens his mouth to say something, but you put up your hand to stop him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do this if I don’t get it all out in one go.” He nods tightly. “I guess I’ll start with the obvious,” you take a deep breath and looks down at your hands knotting and twisting together in a physical manifestation of your anxiety, “I like you. Not in a platonic way. I like you like I’ve had to stop myself from wanting to kiss you at least 3 times in the last hour. I like you like I want to hold your hand and tell you you’re cute when you’re being cute; like I want you to sleep in bed next to me and not on the couch when you stay over. I like you so much that I’ve been trying really hard not to notice it, but I think that last night changed something between us and I think that you noticed too and that’s why you wanted to have lunch with me today.

If that’s not the reason and you wanted to talk to me about something else and you don’t like me the way I like you, I will be really fucking embarrassed, but that’s okay. I can deal with my own feelings, okay?” You stop because you don’t think you can say anymore without accidentally making yourself cry.

“My turn?” he asks after a few moments of silence. You nod and brace yourself. “You said that you wanted to kiss me?” You nod again, daring to look up at him, wanting to see his face even if it might break you. He considers your confirmation. “Something did change last night. I think, that for me, it was the hope that you saw me as something more than a buddy to kick around with because I more than like you.” And then, it’s the way that he breathes out your name that makes a tear slip out and down your cheek. He says it with so much care that you can feel it.

Food forgotten, you move around the counter and into his space, wrapping your arms around his middle and squeezing tightly. “I more than like you,” you say with your face smushed into the warmth of his chest.

His hands come up to frame your face and guides you to look up at him. “When did you want to kiss me?” he asks, and you let out a wet laugh.

“Right now.” You tap your lips and pout and he laughs too, but he leans down and presses his lips to yours. Your eyes close after a moment; he’s too close for you to see properly anyway. It a sweet first kiss, mouths opening just a little, testing boundaries that have been in place for so long that it feels strange to be kissing him.

You’re kissing Namjoon.

You confessed and he likes you back and now you’re kissing and it’s weird, but nice and you feel like you’re going to explode you’re so happy.

You go up on your tiptoes to press more firmly into him and he presses his hands into the small of your back, helping you arch yourself closer. You can feel the difference between your bodies, the plush give of yours to the hard planes of his and all you can think is, “Does this mean I can see your tattoos?” you say against his mouth, words coming out slurred as your lips catch against his, and tug on his shirt so he gets your meaning.

“Baby,” he warns with a smile, and you close your eyes at the pet name, but it makes you remember that, while the store may be empty currently, you are still in public and actually on the clock. “You can look at whatever you like for as long as you like.”

You hide your face in his neck and wonder if he can feel your smile against his skin. You drop a kiss there, at his collar bone because now you can. “I’m really happy. You make me happy.”

He taps your shoulder to get you to look at him. He kisses you softly, barely anything at all and it makes you unsteady. “Always.” The implication of forever makes you want to fall apart in his arms; you want him to make you feel the weight of his forever which is kind of embarrassing. You note that Namjoon Kim makes you disgustingly sentimental.

“Shut up,” you mumble, face red.

“Cute.”

You smack his side until his grip loosens and you’re really looking at each other. “You need to go before I get in trouble.”

He pouts and it’s just so fucking adorable. It’s emotional terrorism is what it is. “Is this how it’s going to be?”

You take your pointer finger and push his lower lip in toward his teeth. “Yeah, I wasn’t allowed to kiss you before, so.”

He smiles and your finger hits his teeth before he grabs that hand and manipulates it into holding his. “You were always allowed; you just didn’t know it.”

You let out an undignified screech and he laughs. “You gotta go, for real.”

He concedes, but not without stealing another kiss. “I’ll see you tonight? I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. I think we still need to talk about some things.”

“Your place?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he agrees as he backs his way through the doors, eyes on you, smiling like an idiot, but you know you are too, the bell chiming as he exits.

…

Bam makes it back before the end of your shift, coming in with a big shit-eating grin on his face. He’s landed an actual modeling gig for an actual brand that you’ve actually heard of and you couldn’t be happier for him.

You part ways at the end of your shift, trading the guard with Lisa and Chung-ha. Lisa slips you some fresh Star Wars prequel memes and you drop that there’s some Indian food up for grabs in the communal fridge.

You don’t say anything about Namjoon. The knowledge your talk brought this afternoon sits so warm and comfortable in your chest you feel like you’re glowing, and you need to keep that cheesy ass sentimental shit to yourself. You can’t stop yourself from wondering about the reactions from your friend group, though. You would think that they’d mostly be positive considering how many times you’d been asked if the two of you were secretly dating.

Damn. Hindsight really is 20/20.

Heading over to his place is different than usual; your stomach full of nervous butterflies. Which is gross and wonderful at the same time. The fact that you could get used to kissing him and being with him the way you want to is so absurd and fantastic that just the thought of being next to him carries you all the way to his apartment.

Even knocking on his door borders bizarre. He opens the door and seeing his face opens you up.

The amount of smiling both of you have done today is obscene—it really is destroying your Bad Bitch persona— but you can’t stop your mouth from turning up, cheeks pushing your eyes almost closed. The good news is Namjoon looks just about the same as he ushers you into the same apartment you’ve visited a million times before.

Once you stop smiling, the anxiety that follows you into new situations starts to pool out from your stomach. You clench your hands together and squeeze, knowing what you want to do with them, but not sure if you should.

“Hi,” he says, stirring the quiet. He reaches his hand out to you, fingers spread in invitation. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and link your fingers with his. It feels weird, but good to squeeze his hand instead of your own.

He leads you over to the couch. He sits first and then you, making sure that there’s a respectable amount of space between you.

Both of you are facing forward, only chancing glances at each other every so often. The awkward silence between you stretches until you can’t take it anymore; feeling like it’s your fault, or rather your duty, to fill the silence.

“So,” you say and trail off. A strong start. “You said we should talk, and I think that’s a good idea.”

He nods but doesn’t add anything.

“It’s kind of strange, right? We’re transitioning from one thing that we’ve been for a really long time, into another, so it’s weird?” He uses his other hand to play with your intwined fingers while you speak, and it distracts you from your nerves. “It feels like it’s happening really fast and like I got so comfortable with the idea of us being more than best friends so quickly and that’s the weird part?” You kind of hate that everything is coming out like a question. You want to say things with certainty, but, fuck, if it wasn’t difficult.

“I think it would help me to know what you’re thinking about all of this,” you finish.

Your hands jostle between you as he shifts his body to look at you. His eyes like magnets, pulling you to mirror his posture; leg tucked under you and fully facing each other.

“It’s weird, but I like it.” It’s your turn to nod, communicating that you feel the same and want him to continue. “I think it’s something that I’ve spent more time thinking about than you. I was fine with how things were, but I’d hoped that we could be more for a while.”

You held his gaze for as long as you could before staring down at both of your hands. Yours almost completely dwarfed by his; long, inked, and beautiful. You think about yesterday, when you were high and tracing his tattoos and how you had no idea that less than 24 hours later you would be holding his hand without needing an excuse.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He asks as you bring his hand up to your lips.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t- “you stop because you were going to say that you didn’t know he felt this way, but you’re not sure if that’s true and that just makes you feel worse. You start again. “I’m sorry that I didn’t do anything about it. I’m not sure that I didn’t know that you had feelings, you know? And I’m even more sorry that I ignored the way I feel about you for so long. And I’m scared, but I can’t ignore this,” you shake your tangled hands between you. “I’m sorry you had to wait for me.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth quickly, smiling as he draws back. “I have to apologize for doing the same thing then. I didn’t know your feelings for sure and we’ve always been really close, so it was hard. I had to convince myself that every touch and smile and moment that we got too close was just how we were as friends. But I’m not sure that I didn’t know that you had feelings, either. I think we’re both afraid of the same thing. That things will change; that we’ll be different with each other and we won’t work.

I can’t say that won’t happen because nothing is certain, but I know you and I know us. I think we’ll be okay.”

“God, I really like you.”

Namjoon laughs happily and somehow over the next few moments manhandles you onto his lap. Your arms come naturally around his shoulders just as his go around your waist.

The kiss that comes next feels more reckless than the mini make-out session in Siren’s. You know from the moment he teases your mouth open and slides his tongue in to taste you that you’re his. Every swipe of his tongue feels like a brand making you melt into him.

You break the searing kiss to scoot forward in his lap, pressing yourself against him hip to chest. You wiggle and wish that you could help the gasp that escapes you when you feel him. He’s not even fully hard and you already know that he’s going to be a lot for you to handle. The thought of him inside you, stretching you to your limit, filling you up like you deserve, makes you shy.

You tuck your face into the curve of his neck to hide your rising blush and the want in your eyes.

“Talk to me, baby. What’s going through that head of yours?” He asks, mouth pressed to the top of your head.

You groan and move your hips to try and make it clear what’s going through your head, so you don’t have to say it out loud. The feeling of your underwear moving uncomfortably against your slick folds sending another round of blood to your already heated cheeks. You’re so worked up already and it’s embarrassing. Which seems to be the fucking theme of your life right now. But his hands on your hips tighten, stopping all movement.

You whine and try to move, but his grip is strong. Flitting thoughts of him holding you down with the same strength in his tattooed arms are enough to make you try again for any friction.

And again, he stops you.

“Hey,” he whispers. “I need you to talk to me.”

You lean back and see the tension on his face, the softness that’s usually there, sharpened and dark. A look that you’re not familiar with. You’re struck by how fast this is going. How quickly you went from oblivious to this moment, dry humping your best friend (your boyfriend?).

You feel needy, the unbridled want coursing through you and the ocean in your panties is evidence enough of that but is it too soon to make this jump from platonic to…decidedly not platonic?

Namjoon waits in silence for you to speak. Always handling you with care.

You frame his face with your hands, rubbing the apples of his cheeks with your thumbs. “I’m scared that if we talk about what we’re about to do, we’ll realize that we’re going too fast.”

“Are we?” he asks with real concern, pushing you further down his hips, away from his heat.

“I don’t know,” you say, pouting. For fuck’s sake. You don’t want to have to dissect every move you two make. It doesn’t feel wrong, just weird. “I know that I want you, but if it’s too soon, I can wait until it’s not so odd.” And as much as you don’t want to, you know that you will because, “You’re worth waiting for, Joonie.”

He hugs you and it’s nice. It feels comfortable; not sexually charged, but beautiful. You can feel yourself calming down, the moment of intense need fading into something softer.

“I do want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time. I just- I feel like this is a big step and maybe we should think about it.”

You sigh and kiss him quickly twice before hoping off his lap. “Okay, do you want to watch a movie?”

He smiles and agrees easily.

You shift in your seat and remember the slick between your thighs. “Pick a movie while I change?”

“Sure. Any requests?”

“Not Leon,” he scoffs, and you feel the familiarity of your dynamic. You slip into his room and rifle through his drawers for a pair of sweatpants and band t-shirt before going to his bathroom to clean yourself up.

When you emerge, clean and comfy, the main menu for Howl’s Moving Castle is pulled up on the TV. Namjoon is lying across the couch on his side with enough space for you to be little spoon. You feel giddy at his choice of movie, your favorite, and his choice of position. Even though sex is not on the table tonight, you feel the thoughtful intimacy in his deliberateness.

“Hey baby,” he says when he notices you watching him. You marvel at how quickly he fell into calling you the pet name and how quickly you’ve taken to hearing it. Maybe you should pick one for him, too.

You press play and the subtitle button until you see brackets down at the bottom explaining that title music is playing. It’s how Joon likes to watch movies and you’ve watched enough movies with him at this point to prefer it as well.

He pats the empty space in front of him and you go, pushing yourself against him in a different way that still had your heart soaring. You put your head on his bicep and he cages you in, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and the other around your middle so there’s no danger of you falling off. You shove your legs back to tangle with his and settle in.

Neither one of you says anything until Namjoon says, “that’s my girl,” in synch with Howl and you shiver. You had never been quiet about your crush on Howl or about how hot you found those words.

You turn your head slightly and glare at him. “Are you trying to seduce me with the greatest movie of all time?”

He honest to god smirks and says, “I’ve always wanted to say it to you. And now you are my girl, so I’m not not going to say it.”

“Oh.” He watches you fidget and turn pink.

“Cute,” he says, kisses your burning cheek.

masterlist

a/n: Kim Namjoon cured my two year long writer’s block.