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spn-rewrites · 1 year

Text

01x19

Season One Episode Nineteen: Provenances

masterlist part 1

a/n: hi

The Hudson Valley Beacon newspaper sits between you and Sam “Couple’s throats slashed in own home” written in bold letters right on the front page. You grimace and put your hand on the paper and Sam sighs. “Gruesome, huh?” You nod and he waves at Dean from across the bar. He’s leaning over some girl with that look in his eyes that’s reserved for only securing a hookup and you can almost hear him groaning as he has to walk away.

He walks over with two beers and although yours is sitting in front of you, now flat and warm, you grab one from his hands. Sam doesn’t seem to notice or care, so you sip on it as it talks. “I think I’ve got something,” he tells his brother.

“Oh, yeah, me too,” Dean smirks and looks back at the girl at the bar. Her hair is blonde and goes down to the middle of her back and she looks skanky. You don’t say anything. “I think we need to take a little shore leave. Just for a little bit. What do you think, huh?” Dean asks. “I’m so in the door with this one.” All three of you look at her and Sam finds the whole thing amusing as always, so he teases Dean.

“What are we today, Dean? Rock stars? Amy rangers?”

“Reality TV scouts. Looking for people with special skills,” Dean replies quickly. The smile on his face grows as you watch him and the words leave your lips just as quickly.

“And what’s her special skill?” Dean laughs your question away and you roll your eyes as he takes a sip of his beer, nodding it toward the girl at the bar. “We have a case here,” you speak again when he doesn’t acknowledge you. “If you don’t mind paying attention.” Sam chokes a laugh and Dean whips his head toward you. You smile at him and tap the newspaper with your fingers. “Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their home just a few days ago.” Dean mumbles and looks back at the girl. She waves and throws her hair over her shoulder. You speak louder. “Their throats were slit and there were no fingerprints, no murder weapons,” you continue on but it’s painfully obviously he’s no longer paying attention so you throw your arms across your chest and pout. “I give up,” you say to Sam.

“Dean?” Sam calls, getting his attention. “No prints. No weapons. All doors and windows were locked from the inside.”

Dean nods and says, “could just be a garden-variety murder. Who dug this one up? Her?” He laughs and nods his head toward you and you furrow your eyebrows. “Oh, yn, you know I’m teasing. What else you got?”

“Dad says differently,” Sam pulls the journal from under the newspaper you were looking at. It’s still open to the page you guys were reading earlier. As Sam explains, he points at the map on the page. Three red dots all in the same area of New York. Each a different murder. “First one, 1912. Second one in 1945, and the third in 1970. All the same M.O as the Telescas - the throats were slit.”

Dean looks down at the page and you can see his brain working behind his eyes. “Still think I don’t know what I’m talking about?” You snap. Dean's eyes flash to you and then back to the paper.

“It’s worth checking out,” Dean finally agrees. “We can’t pick this up until first thing, though, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. Dean smiles, mumbles a great, and darts away from the table. You can hear him from your table and you roll your eyes, pushing yourself away from the back of your chair.

“He’s relentless,” you complain. Sam laughs and shrugs his shoulders, seemingly unbothered by Dean’s antics. You don’t let it bother you because Sam is smiling at you the way you like and he grabs your hand.

“Maybe. But at least he’ll be gone all night, right?”

+++

Dean’s hungover the next morning, rolling out of bed barely alive it seems. He throws sunglasses on his face to hide his baggy eyes but you see them and you laugh. “Was she worth it, at least?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He mumbles and pushes past you toward the Impala. The sun is bright and the day is warm and Sam kisses the top of your head where your hair is collecting the heat.

“What's up with you guys lately?” He asks and you knit your face together and look up at him. “You guys have been short with each other. It’s not normal.”

“He’s just hungover,” you try to explain it away but it wasn’t the drinking that bothered you or even that he could barely hold a conversation the night before without looking at somebody's ass. It was more than that but you don’t tell Sam that, you just get into the backseat and stay behind Dean so he can’t look at you.

You go inside the Telesca’s house with Sam and sweep the house with EMF. You check for anything out of the ordinary but there isn’t anything. The house seems perfect except for the fact that it’s completely empty. There isn’t a piece of furniture in sight. “Isn’t that weird? That all their stuff is gone?” You ask Sam as you check the living room for the second time.

“I guess so. There are no signs of anything paranormal here, though,” he says, looking back up the set of stairs that had nail holes from a stair runner that’s now gone.

“What if it wasn’t the house but something in it? How are we gonna find it all?” Sam just shrugs and he nods his head for you to leave the house. Dean is passed out in the car, his head leaning against the window. Sam shushes you and holds out his palm telling you to stop moving so you do. You don’t even put your hand on the door handle. Sam can’t help but smile as he reaches his arm inside of his open window and smashes his fist on the horn. Long and hard. It’s so loud it makes you jump but then you laugh at Dean who’s startled awake and strings together a line of profanity.

“Not cool, man,” he says as you get inside of the car but Sam is just laughing which makes you laugh, too.

“The house is clean,” you tell Dean. “We check the history of the house last night and there’s no evidence that it’s ever been haunted. Nothing weird about the Telesca’s either.” Dean tips his glasses off his face and sinks further down into his seat.

“Well if it’s not the house and it’s not the people, then maybe it’s the contents. A cursed object or something,” he suggests.

“The house is clean,” Sam says again.

“Yeah, yeah, you said that,” Dean says.

“No, it's empty. No furniture, nothing,” Sam clarifies. This gets Dean’s attention and he sits up further and you’re hoping for something profound to come out of his mouth to make it make sense but instead he asks the question you both have been thinking the entire time: “where’s all their stuff?”

It wasn’t really hard to find the estate sale online. It’s a huge attraction it seems: rich family dies young, everything must go. You three stand out like a sore thumb. Not just you and your street clothes but the Impala, too. Every other car is pristine and expensive and the Impala was barely hanging on. Everyone stood around in suits and drinking champagne and they were shopping like it was a fucking furniture store and not dead people’s belongings. It made you shiver. “Estate sales are like garage sales for W.A.S.P.S if you ask me,” Dean complains as he snatches an hors d’oeurve off a waiter.

“Can I help you three?” A voice booms from behind you and you whip around to an older man wearing a tuxedo and too much gel in his hair.

Dean smacks his food next to you and you elbow him in the side, making him groan. “I’d like some champagne, please.”

The man’s face drops, clearly offended by the question and you can hear yourself audibly gasp as you look up at Dean. “He’s not a waiter,” you hiss as Sam introduces himself as Sam Connors this time.

“This is my brother Dean and our friend YN. we’re art dealers with Connors Limited,” Sam explains. You tug on your t-shirt as you nod.

“I’m Daniel Blake. This is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing and I don’t remember seeing you on the guest list,” the man says. He looks down at you as his sentence wraps up and you want to recoil into Sam’s chest but you stand up straighter instead.

“We’re there, Chuckles. Just need to take another look,” Dean says with his mouth full. You pinch his arm and he doesn’t react. A waiter walks up behind you with a tray of champagne and Dean takes one. “Finally.” He sniffs the champagne and Sam tells Daniel Blake cheers and you shuffle away.

“Are you still drunk?” You hiss at Dean once you’re out of earshot and he laughs, taking a swig of the champagne.

“No but you should loosen up some,” he suggests. Instead of arguing with him, you grab the glass from his fingers and finish it off. You set it down on an empty tray as you walk by. You can see Dean smirk at you out of the corner of your eye as you walk away from the boys. Your fingers dance on the expensive vases and statues in the room and you wonder how someone can live like this. With so much that they don’t need. “Look at that ugly thing,” Dean mumbles from behind you. You turn around to see a painting almost bigger than you are with a family staring straight back at you. A little girl holding a stuffed bunny and everyone else with a look of distaste written in their eyes.

“A fine example of American primitive, wouldn’t you say?” Someone says from behind you. She’s descending the stairs and hair is pinned up and her dress is all black, hitting right above her ankles and she is beautiful. Dean smacks Sam’s arm and you don’t like her, you decide.

“Well, I’d say it’s more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses,” Sam says when she reaches the three of you. She laughs and looks down at her feet and you swear she’s blushing. “But you knew that. You just wanted to see if I did.”

“Guilty,” she says. “And clumsy, I apologize. I’m Sarah Blake.” She sticks her hand out to Sam and when the waiter comes around with more food and champagne, this time, you grab your own.

“I’m Sam,” he says. “This is Dean and YN,” he introduces you. You smile at her with your mouth full of mini wieners and she looks at you like she’s better than you.

“Can we get you guys any more food?” Dean shakes his head at her and she turns back to Sam and you can feel your blood boiling inside of you. Your chest tightening and your fist clenching. “So, can I help you with something?” She asks.

At the same time you blurt out the word no, Sam tells her yes. Everyone looks at you and Sam’s screaming at you with his eyes so you gesture toward him and take a step back. “Sorry about her,” he says with a chuckle to try and ease the tension but it’s still there. You can feel it in your gut. “What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?”

“The whole thing is pretty grisly if you ask me. Selling their things this soon. But Dad’s right about one thing: sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.” She’s trying to be funny but you don’t laugh because you don’t think she’s funny. Sam smiles.

“Is it possible to see the provinences?” He asks her.

“I’m afraid there isn't any chance of that,” Daniel Blake says before Sarah has a chance to answer and you’ve never been so glad to get busted in your life. He knows you lied. And he’s here to kick you out and you can finally breathe.

“Why not?” Sam asks.

“Because you’re not on the guest list. It’s time for you to leave,” he says.

“Don’t gotta ask me twice,” you mumble and push between the boys.

“Apparently you do,” Daniel says. His voice is directed toward you and you snap your head at him and open your mouth and Sam’s voice comes out instead.

“We don’t want any trouble, we’ll go,” he says. Dean puts his hand on the small of your back and guides you away.

+++

You don’t speak the whole drive to the hotel and thankfully Dean asks the question you were wondering yourself: “Grant Woods. Grandma Roses, what the hell was that all about?”

“I took an Art History class. It was good for talking to girls,” Sam admits.

“Yeah, seems to have worked,” you snap. Sam looks at you amused more than anything and you don’t look back at him. You push yourself past Dean and into the room and you hear Dean laugh and say: “it’s like I don’t even know you.” Your feet stop you in your tracks and the boys run into your body. They’re about to start questioning you when their eyes see what you see: a disco-themed hotel room. Black and silver everything: wallpaper, bedding, furniture. There are silver beads hanging from the ceiling and a silver divider made up of circles separates the living space from the sleeping space and in unison, you all mumble “huh.”

You throw your stuff down on the bed as Dean asks, “what is this providence you asked for?”

“Provenance,” Sam corrects. “It’s a certificate of origin, like a biography, you know? We can use them to track the history of the pieces. See if anything’s got a freaky past.” You unpack your bag as he talks. The wallpaper is starting to hurt your eyes so you lay down on the bed and cover your eyes with your arm.

“Don’t think we’re getting anything out of Chuckles, but, Sarah,” Dean says, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. You peak under your arm at him.

“What about Sarah?” You ask too loudly.

“Maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam teases, clearly not picking up what Dean was insinuating so you handed it to him on a silver platter.

“Not him, you idiot. You.” Sam looks over at you, shocked but you’re not looking at him. You can’t and don’t want to.

“No, no, no, no,” Sam says quickly. “Pick-ups are your thing,” he says to Dean. “Besides, we’re together.” Sam knocks his knuckle on the bottom of your shoe and you still don’t look at him. You want to say yes but you don’t.

“It wasn’t my butt she was checking out,” Dean says, holding his hand to his chest.

“So what you’re saying is you want me to use her for information?” Sam asks. He doesn’t sound particularly averse to the suggestion and now, you look at him. He’s looking at Dean and he’s skeptical.

“Yes. That’s what we’re saying,” you say. Both boys look at you. Dean more proud than anything and Sam, well, he just looks hurt. “If she likes you, you do what you need to do to get those providences.”

“Provenances,” Dean corrects you.

++++

You sit on the edge of the bed, your knee shaking up and down so quickly Dean puts his hand on your thigh to stop you. “Would you stop freaking out?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, just exasperated.

“Why did I tell him to do that? She was too eager. Did she seem eager to you? Did he?” The questions come flying out of your mouth so fast Dean doesn’t have a chance to answer any of them except for one.

“Sometimes, you gotta take one for the team,” he says. “That means you, too. I’m sure he didn’t want to go.”

“What if she wants to kiss him at the end of the night? That’s what you do on dates, right? I wouldn’t know.” You shake your head. You had never been on a real date before. Sure, you hooked up with people before Sam came back around but that was different. You were never taken out. You were never escorted to a fancy table with a candle in the center and then walked to your front door where they kissed you under the ugly fluorescent light of the porch. Kissing is what they did, right?

“He’s not going to kiss her, would you relax? He loves you.” The word startles you and your head snaps to Dean. “You didn’t know?” He laughs. “Always has. Took you two long enough.” You did know, deep inside. You don’t answer him and your leg starts to shake again but Dean’s hand is still holding you steady.

“You can move your hand now,” you tell him.

“Are you going to start bouncing your leg again?” He asks. You nod. “Then I’m not moving my hand.”

It’s late when Sam finally comes back. Later than you anticipated but you fell asleep on Dean’s lap to the sound of him sharpening a knife. Sam barely wakes you when he comes in but Dean shakes you awake. The tie he was wearing is now off and his shirt is unbuttoned and he’s rifling through some papers. You sit up and away from Dean, suddenly very aware of how close you two are. “Are those them?” You ask. Sam looks at you solemnly and nods. He’s sitting at the table with his back mostly toward you and Dean. His eyes barely catch yours for a moment.

“She just handed the providences right over?” Dean asks, still sharpening his knife.

“Provenances.” Sam corrects, again, sounding very tired.

“Provenances,” Dean tastes the word in his mouth but Sam keeps talking.

“Yes, we went back to her place. I got a copy of the papers.” he says. Your eyes narrow at him but he doesn’t look up at you. Dean stiffens beside you.

“And?” He pushes even though you wish he wouldn’t.

“And nothing. I left.” He says over his shoulder.

“You didn’t have to con her or do her any special favors?” Dean asks.

“Would you stop?” You ask him. Dean looks at you and his eyes soften and he mouths I’m sorry and you forgive him. Just like that. He swipes the knife against the sharper.

“I think I got something here,” Sam says. Dean gets up and walks over to him, taking the papers that Sam flung over his shoulder. He still doesn’t look at you.

“Portrait of Isaiah Merchant’s family, painted 1910,” Dean reads.

“Now compare the names of the wonders with Dad’s journal,” Sam tells him. You scramble across the bed to where the journal sits open to the page. It’s like Sam’s brain stores information like this, always keeping it in his back pocket for a rainy day.

“First purchased in 1912 to Peter Sims,” Dean reads.

“Peter Sims murdered in 1912,” you read back to him. Dean looks over at you and then back down at the paper in his hands. He crosses the room to you and you show him the book because you know he wouldn’t believe you otherwise. His eye flash from his paper to the journal and back again. “Same thing in 1945?” You ask. Dean nods. “1970?” He nods again.

“Then stored until it was donated to a charity auction last month, where the Telesca’s bought it,” Sam says. He throws one of his legs over his knee and rests his ankle on it, grabbing at the ends of his jeans. He’s smug and normally you’d like it but right now it makes you mad.

“So what? Is it haunted? Cursed?” You ask Dean. He juts out his lower lip in thought and bobs his head from side to side.

“Either way, it’s toast.”

taglist: @matchamendes@stuckupstucky@sillydecoy@kaelyn-lobrutto24@liztorr1212@icanreadbookstoo @rachael-mae @jessewa26 @sundownridge@givemebooksorgivemedeath@alienemilyyyy@teenwaywardasgardian@mpmarypoppins @mellowlandrun @liv0679 @slytherinrose

#spn #spn fan fiction #spn x reader #spn fanfic #spn fan fic #spn fic #dean winchester x read #boyfriend dean #sam and dean #dean #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester blurb #sam winchester one shot #sam #01x19

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missluckycharms · 3 years

Note

Could you do a smut at anne's house(harry's mum's house)????

Three Taps.

Summary: in which Y/N has to sneak into Harrys house at night to be alone with him and Harry loves hot chocolate with pink marshmallows.

A/N: this is a high school Harry x Y/N fic, both are eighteen in this, just keep that in mind as they are in high school but they’re of age.

Masterlist.

Warnings: Dom!Harry, oral sex, praise kink, size kink, gagging, dirty talk, Harry tends to be a sarcastic asshole even when they’re doing the devils tango.

Word count: 3.4K

—

Three taps.

Thats what Harry told Y/N to do, tap three times on his bedroom window and he’d let her in. It’s been their code every few nights when she would sneak over to his house, or he would sneak into hers. Sure, they’re both eighteen, but as all parents say “my house, my rules” so they have to abide by that, kind of.

The pair have only been dating for a little over six months now, both of them graduating soon and moving away for college, but they’ll work around that when the time comes, for now, they have have to work around how Harry can fuck his girlfriend just the way they like, without his Mum waking up and finding them both in bed together, that wouldn’t be a pretty picture Harry thinks.

He’s on red alert, Y/N texting him nearly ten minutes ago saying she successfully snuck out and is now on her way over, the walk to his house is usually fifteen minutes, but she doesn’t mind, she’ll do anything to spend time with Harry — the same Harry who would fold someone up like a pretzel and shove them in a locker if they called him a name, but if Y/N did it, she would get a small smirk and a wink, knowing exactly what hers and only hers punishment was for that.

Harry is a complicated person, to his friends he’s nice - ish, to strangers he looks cold and like he would use you as his skateboard face down on the tarmac if you looked at him wrong, sure he would do that — but he’s not like that under all his rough exterior, he has a warm heart and loves squishy cuddles, and he also loves marshmallows in his hot chocolate, but only Y/N sees that side of him — he only allows her and his Mum to see that side of him. It took him a long time to actually soften up to her, the girl being persistent that she knew what he was really like, he’d shrug and laugh it off saying she was crazy, but when him and his Mum got into an argument and he showed up to Y/N’s house at nearly two in the morning, soaking from the rain and his cheeks tear stained — she knew he finally let down all his walls, he needed her and she gave him what he needed in that time, a hug and a mug of hot chocolate with pink only pink! Marshmallows.

Ever since he opened up to her that night, sipped on her heavenly made hot chocolate, he knew that he could always be safe with her, he would always know that she’s there when he needs her most and visa versa. They’re deemed the “odd couple” in school due to Harry being so cold and Y/N being the slightly quiet and lovable girl who would rather hug someone to death than shove them in a locker and leave them there, but somehow their differences only draw them together and make them one of the best couples there is, they balance one another out — Harry brings out Y/N’s crazy and adventurous side while Y/N brings out Harrys soft and calm side, opposites attract, and they’re living proof of it happening.

He jumps when the small three taps are heard at his window, his body immediately kneeling up and pulling across his curtains, looking down at her stood in his front garden with a hand full of small pebbles from his Mums flower garden (she always returns them) she’s smiling up at him, his own body on his bed right next to his window as he peers down at her, clad in his red baggy hoodie and her black leggings, her hair poking out from the hood of the hoodie as she waits for him to open the window.

“Ladder is by the gate baby” he whispers loudly down to her, she barely hears as she nods, making her way towards the back gate leading to their garden. She grabs it, making sure to not fall or it will wake his Mum up. Harry is practically hanging out the window when she rests the ladder against the wall, looking up at him as she wipes her forehead ridding the sweat.

“Sometimes, I think you only do this so I’ll get off my ass and actually work out” she grumbles falling in through his window and onto his bed, his laugh low as he pulls her jelly like body in, her laughs coming out as pants as he rests her down onto his pillow before shutting his window quietly, his ears on high alert for any movements from his Mums room across the hall.

“You’re just a lazy bum, sometimes I think you may pass out if you walk too much” he jokes looking down at her as she rolls her eyes, pulling down the hood and freeing her hair.

“I hate you. Fuck me, is your heating on?!” She says pulling his hoodie from her body, throwing it onto the floor and leaving her in only a sports bra and leggings, Harrys eyes widening at how easily she slipped it off and laid back down with no care in the world.

“Mum likes to keep it on, apparently her toes get cold in the night no matter what time of year it is” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to hover over her, forearms on either side of her head as she bites her lip smiling up at him giddily.

“No wonder you sleep naked, feels like a furnace” she jokes as Harry hums kissing her neck, her eyes rolling back at the feeling as she wraps her legs around his waist, their crotches grinding down on one another’s as they breath heavily trying to avoid moaning loudly — they both found out they love being vocal in bed, one day Harry was home alone and him and Y/N practically screamed down the house, he’s surprised Mrs Walker next door didn’t ring the police.

“Need to be quiet for me baby, okay?” He says whispering in her ear, her breathy moans being masked by his neck, her lips all over him as he rolls his head back, allowing her more access as she bites and nips at his skin, leaving behind marks that he’ll have to steal some of his Mums makeup to mask over when he’s walking around.

“Should be saying that to you, mister loud mouth” she jokes in a whisper by his ear, her lips sucking on his lobe is what causes him to bury his head in her neck to groan lowly from his chest, his hips rutting down into hers as they both roam one another’s bodies with their lips and hands.

“Very smart mouth for a girl who prefers it to be stuffed full of m’cock” he moans back, her lips now sucking and licking over his sweet spot just under his ear lobe, her own moan muffled by his skin as he shuts his eyes and looks up to the ceiling allowing her to kiss him further, her lips leaving a burning trail down his neck and over his collar bones — his favourite place to give and receive hickies on.

“Harry, shut up and just do something” she says annoyed, frustrated at her boyfriend who always choose to tease her with sarcastic remarks, he knows it riles her up and he loves that, he loves how needy and angry she gets when he grinds his clothed cock down onto her making sarcastic remarks and softly degrading her slowly as she grows wetter and wetter at his movements and words.

“Don’t have to ask me twice baby” he laughs kissing down her torso, his hands immediately shrugging off her bra with her help, and then he slowly pulls down her leggings along with her panties, leaving kisses on the spaces he makes bare and small hushed complements against her skin as he takes her all in under the light of his ten year old soccer ball shaped light hanging from the ceiling above them.

She’s a squirming mess under him, his lips instantly attaching to her clit as she bends her legs, resting her legs over his shoulders as he holds onto her outer thighs, the grip probably marking her skin as he devours her on his bed, his eyes looking up at her biting down on her lip, her hands grabbing a pillow and shoving it over her face to muffle her moans, Harry can hear them slightly, his eyes rolling back into his head as she shakes and squeezes her legs around his head.

“Come on baby, need to see you” he says slipping two fingers into her but not moving, the pillow coming away from her face as she looks at him in her usual fucked out state, glassy eyes and messed up hair.

“H, I can’t, I need to have it over me” she says referring to the pillow, her body shaking as Harry begins to slowly move his fingers in and out of her, stretching her as she drips down his fingers, the sound of his movements in her cunt causing him to press down his hips onto his bed to relieve himself a little.

“Put y’pretty panties in y’mouth baby” he says slurred from pleasure, his own hair a curly mess as his lips become more swollen and spit covered from how harsh he’s eating her out. He takes her panties in one hand, reaching up and rolling them into her mouth, instructing her to bite down on the white lace fabric before he’s back between her legs eating her out.

She’s moaning around the fabric of her panties, her drool wetting the lace as she tugs on Harry’s curls, his moans deep and raspy in her cunt as he keeps his eyes on hers that are threatening to close every second, the slaps he sends to her thighs cause her to open them back up and keep contact with him, his smile devious as he purposely sucks on her clit when she’s close, knowing it ruins her when he does that — he loves to watch her struggle to bite back her moans, the pair of them feeling the rush of nearly being caught everytime one of them make a loud moan or move too quickly which causes his headboard to slap a little off the wall behind it. He’s lapping up all her juices and her moans she’s muffling, her body shaking as he finally brings her to her first high of the night, his fingers not stopping as he rides her through it, kisses being placed to her thighs as she finally calms down, tears brimming her eyes and a lazy smile around her panties that are clutched between her teeth.

“Doing okay baby? Need me to take these out?” He asks crawling back up her body her hands immediately tangling back in his hair as she nods, letting him pull the soaked panties from her mouth, his mouth drooling at the sight of them in his hands.

“Gonna be able to take my cock without being gagged? Or will ya need to have your pretty lace panties back between your teeth?” He teases her, her eyes hooded with pleasure as she scratches her nails down his chest and stomach making the muscles under his skin flex with the slight burn of the marks she’s leaving behind.

“Want you to ruin me, may need them back in between my teeth” she says breathlessly, a slight smirk on her lips as he groans at her words, grabbing the panties and placing them in his own mouth, bending down and feeding them into her mouth, her own teeth clasping them as they leave his mouth, his tongue licking over her lips as she looks up at him with her glassy doe eyes.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #dom!harry #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #smut #harry styles fandom #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #answered asks #anon ask #writing promt #harry styles blurb #fanfic writing #fanfic authors #fan fiction

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y0itsbri · 3 years

Text

shameless summer series - lifeguard au 🥽🩲🌊

debbie has her eye on the new lifeguard at the public pool. unlucky for her, said lifeguard already has his eye set on a different red-headed gallagher.

(think like s2 era)

also happy a.u.gust! @gallavichthings

words: 1.7k

"Debs, why do I gotta take you to the pool again this week? I thought you already fixed whatever was the problem with that blonde bitch," Ian whined, shoveling cereal into his mouth. Two tubes of sunscreen sat on the table in front of him.

"It's not about her anymore." Debbie retorted, like it was the simplest thing.

"Okay. Then what is it about?"

"Nothing!"

"Ask her boyfriend." Carl yelled over his video game in the living room, taking any opportunity to embarrass his sister.

Ian and Debbie's voices overlapped with a "Boyfriend?!" and "He's not my boyfriend-- Carl I'm going to fucking kill you!"

Debbie tossed a fork at Carl's head.

"Oh, now I'm definitely in," Ian laughed and winced before Debbie could throw a fork his direction.

The walk to the pool was relatively quiet aside from the rhythmic smacking of their sandals against the gravely pavement.

Debbie leapt a few strides, trying to outrun her shadow and failing each time. Ian chuckled, pulling the towel around his neck and swinging his keychain with the other hand.

Now that it was just the two of them, he tried again.

"Soooo," he drawled. "What's with this secret boyfriend?"

Debbie sighed. "He's not my boyfriend. Well, not yet."

"Hmm?"

"He's one of the new lifeguards since Justin got attacked by that dog last week."

Justin still owed Lip a beating for something or other so Ian was glad he didn't have to deal with Justin today, at least.

"You think this new lifeguard is a little too old for you?" Ian wondered.

Debbie shrugged. "Not like it matters much."

Ian couldn't argue with that logic. "I'll kick his ass if he bothers you, yeah?"

"Please. He doesn't even look at me. Even when I was fake-drowning." She skipped down the sidewalk, nearing the pool entrance.

Ian shook his head. His sister was something else.

After they set their towels down, Ian's eyes scoured the lifeguard chairs immediately. Too-tan-Toni, shrimp-speedo-Sam, and holy-fucking-shit. Was that Mickey Milkovich?

Ian hadn't let himself think about Mickey since he left town. But it was hard not to now that he was right in front of him again. Shit.

Mickey spread out across his chair, sunglasses low on his nose, watching the newcomers and he smirked before glancing back towards the pool. He blew his whistle and yelled at some kid to 'slow the fuck down unless you wanna bust your ass -- and I ain't fixing you up!'

Ian was brought back to the moment by Debbie's hands waving in front of his face. "Helloooo, earth to Ian! Sunscreen?"

Ian could've sworn he heard a chuckle coming from the direction of the lifeguard chair as he dug the sunscreen out of his shorts pockets. No. He was just being paranoid. His cheeks blushed regardless.

"Is that...?" Ian nodded his head towards the raven-haired man.

"Shhh!" Debbie slapped him on the arm. "Don't make it obvious!"

Ian rolled his eyes at her ridiculousness.

He covered Debbie's back and shoulders in the high resistance sunscreen before she took off towards the side of the pool with the diving board, eager to show off her skills.

He yelled after her. "Wait, fuck, Debs you forgot..." He glanced around.

His eyes definitely locked with Mickey's now.

Fuck.

Mickey hopped off his chair, waving his hand to dismiss his crowd of moon-eyed preteen girls and middle-aged women in scandalous bikinis. Ian would have shuddered at the thought if Mickey wasn't making a bee-line directly towards him.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuuuuuck.

"'Sup, man? Been awhile..." He smirked. "Raggedy Ann run out on ya?" Mickey bowed his leg out on his final step towards Ian, a little closer than he expected.

"Uhhh...." Real smooth, Ian. His words were bound to fail him again with the man in such close proximity to him, so he simply held up his bottle of sunscreen and shrugged.

"Toss it here," Mickey coolly demanded.

Ian was thoroughly confused, but threw it anyways. "What?"

"You heard me, Red. Turn around, I'll get your back."

"Protecting and serving the local ginger kids at the pool?" Ian joked weakly, finding his voice again.

Mickey huffed a breath. "Fuck the pigs. The only thing I'm protecting is your ass from a sunburn."

Ian was still confused as to why Mickey was offering to rub his back at a very public pool when he would have literally beaten his ass for looking his direction before.

All of Ian's thoughts subsided as he felt sturdy hands push the warming liquid around his shoulder blades, up his neck, then down his spine. Mickey's thumb digging deep into his muscles. He suppressed his urge to shiver despite the rising temperatures of the hot Chicago summer.

At least he thought he had suppressed it. A huff of air on the back of his neck said otherwise.

Mickey started pulling his hands away and Ian leaned back into them again. Mickey whacked the side of his head before tossing the bottle of sunscreen onto the chair in front of them.

"No free massages, man. Just sunscreen." Mickey licked the corner of his mouth and looked from the ground up to Ian's eyes.

He had to know how devious he looked. Ian didn't want to be presumptuous, but he just held eye contact.

"Unless," Mickey veered, slowly backing away, "the favor was returned in one way or another." He winked.

Ian stood, mouth agape as Mickey turned and waved again to the group of girls who still hadn't taken their eyes off of him. He hopped up onto his chair, whistle in mouth in no time like nothing had ever happened.

What the fuck was going on?

Ian spent the next few hours very much Not Looking At Mickey despite feeling a heated stare on him.

Even when he was having a breath-holding competition with Debbie, his brain couldn't stop the endless stream of Mickey Mickey Mickey.

After Debbie's third win, Ian felt like he was on the verge of passing out, so he returned to his towel, chugging his water bottle.

In a moment of weakness, he glanced at Mickey, only to find him already staring. Mickey tilted his head towards the main building and quietly dismissed himself to go on his break.

Ian knew.

He wasn't that stupid. He knew Mickey wanted him to follow. And he knew that it wouldn't be a good idea. All the while, his feet took him closer.

The building felt even hotter than the outside, the AC must've gone out and no one bothering to replace it.

This was a bad idea.

Ian was just about to turn around and leave when he heard the click of a lock.

"'Bout fuckin' time," Mickey stalked forward, eyes raking up and down Ian's body appreciatively.

Ian was putty.

He groaned as he let himself be pulled forward by the hips. "Didn't know you were a lifeguard?"

He sighed as Mickey toyed with the band of his shorts in between his tattooed fingers. His nails scraping dully against his sides.

"Dad got shanked. Family business went under. Had to go legal." Mickey's hands moved upwards as he raked his fingers through the sides of Ian's still-wet hair, gripping onto the back of his neck. Ian slid his own hands up Mickey's back, pushing his red tank top up with it, exposing his pale skin.

"Missed this." It was a whisper.

Ian attached his lips to the side of Mickey's neck briefly, tasting remnants of salt, chlorine, and sunscreen, before Mickey sunk down to his knees. Ian's hands were now gripping dark hair, and he was sure that the rocky pavement of the unfinished building had to be digging into Mickey's skin, but he made no sounds of discomfort.

Sure, he missed this, but he missed him more, not that he could say that.

On the walk home, the sun was hanging low in the sky and both Gallaghers' cheeks were sunburnt pink.

"Did ya have fun?" Ian asked, knocking his empty water bottle against the top of Debbie's head.

She scrunched her face up, but replied with some pep in her voice. "Yeah! Today the hot life guard actually looked at me! Maybe bringing you around was good luck."

No way in hell Ian was going to out Mickey to his little sister, let alone out himself. He put on a big-brother reassuring smile and changed the subject.

"Good luck for you maybe. I lost literally all of our competitions today!"

She giggled, "That was all skill, not luck. Frank's been helping me practice!"

Frank? Maybe Ian needed to spend a little more time at home. On the other hand, maybe it was a good thing Ian hadn't been spending a lot of time at home.

Ian left after dinner unannounced, taking his well-worn trail to the baseball dugouts.

When he approached the field, he noticed a small orange flame illuminating the man's face and a cloud of smoke fog through the chained fence. He smirked.

"Couldn't get enough the first round?" Ian taunted, announcing his presence as he leapt over the fence, an old habit.

"Fuck you, man," Mickey scoffed and blew his smoky breath in Ian's grimacing face.

"Oh I think you plan on it." He stepped closer.

"Is that so?"

"Mmhmm," Ian plucked the cigarette out of Mickey's fingers. "Can't have you with bad lungs, then what will all the poor defenseless swimmers do without a capable lifeguard?"

"Let 'em drown," Mickey smacked Ian's cigarette out of his hands and closed the distance between them.

"It would crush your groupies to know you care so little," Ian murmured against his neck.

"This is a bad idea," Mickey breathed, tugging at Ian's crumpled shirt.

"The worst," Ian yanked his shirt fully off.

Mickey pulled back, eyeing Ian's now-bare back.

"Mmm, no sunburn. That would've ruined my plans." Mickey smiled smugly.

Oh shit.

Ian swallowed. He was already way too far off the deep end. Luckily for them both, Mickey knew how to swim.

#every time i write it gets slightly smuttier skskjfndkjnf #my posts #gallavich #a.u.gust #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #debbie gallagher #carl gallagher #ian x mickey #shameless fanfic #shameless fanfiction #gallavich fanfic #gallavich fanfiction #shameless

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

Rewrite the Stars

Day 7, Post #1 is by @adenei

Title: Rewrite the Stars

Author: adenei

Pairing: Ron/Hermione (Romione)

Prompt: Songfic

Rating: PG

TW: Depiction of blood purity/discussion of prejudices against Muggleborns, Violence/Murder mentioned (but not graphic)

************

*This fic is inspired not only by the song, but also Anne and Philip's relationship in the movie The Greatest Showman.*

Summary: AU In a world where there’s no Voldemort, but blood purity is strictly enforced, Ron and Hermione must navigate their budding relationship, and all the trials and tribulations that come with it.

********************

“Are you sure this is alright?” Hermione asks as she smooths the front of her dress, checking for wrinkles for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“Yes, it’s fine! You look beautiful,” Ron assures her.

He places a warm, comforting hand on the small of her back as they enter the grandiose ballroom where the Auror department is hosting their annual dinner. A handful of Aurors are honored for their achievements, but over the years, it’s turned into an event for the upper classes and Purebloods.

Hermione knows she doesn’t belong here, amongst the men and women whose wealth and social status put them leagues ahead of anyone else, and it’s rare to receive an invitation to such an event even as a Halfblood. But as a Muggleborn, Hermione braces herself for an onslaught of jeers and slurs. If Ron wasn’t being honored for his success on a case he’d worked six months to solve, she wouldn’t be here at all.

Ron has always encouraged Hermione to follow her dreams, even during their Hogwarts days. Though they were sorted into different houses, the two shared many Prefect rounds together. Being named Head Boy and Girl also brought them closer together, where they began seeing each other in secret . Neither had intended to break things off upon graduation, but when Hermione received rejection after rejection for potential jobs within the Ministry, she pushed him away too.

There was a time years ago when she hoped to be working within the Magical Law Department with dreams of making the magical world a more accepting place for every witch and wizard, no matter their blood status. But those bright-eyed and bushy-tailed dreams have long since dissipated. The rules are archaic, and there’s no chance of overturning something so set in stone until there’s a new Minister of Magic who would be open to the possibility.

So, for now, Hermione tends to a job that gives her equal satisfaction. She teaches young Muggleborn students in a special school that she founded with the help of Professor McGonagall. Hermione earned her certification to teach the primary levels at University after graduating from Hogwarts, and now works with Professor McGonagall to teach those students between the ages of five and eleven how to prepare for the world they’ll enter when they’re old enough to go to Hogwarts. This is in addition to all of the regular courses that Muggle England expects them to study.

The prep school is what reconnected the pair, when Ron was assigned to work the case of an eight-year-old that disappeared last year. It was determined that the child was abducted by Fenrir Greyback and turned into a werewolf. Ron found the boy’s body deep in the Forest of Dean, where it was determined that Fenrir became too bloodthirsty on that particular hunt.

Hermione was distraught over the outcome and took comfort in Ron, who was equally shaken by the case. As the weeks following the case progressed, Hermione found herself spending more and more time with Ron. Slowly but surely, they found their way back to each other and had only just rekindled their relationship a couple of months ago.

Since their relationship still feels so new to Hermione, they’ve kept things quiet. But she knows how important tonight is for Ron, and she wants to be there for him. To support him the same way he supports her. Hermione knows he will be by her side through it all, and has assured her that no one will make any comments.

Ron leads them around the room, exchanging pleasantries and mingling with people Hermione’s only heard stories about. Thus far, everyone she’s encountered has been polite. They are about to make their way to their table when a voice calls out to them.

“Ron! There you are, dear! We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Hermione turns to see a plump woman with hair the same shade of red as Ron’s. A man follows in her wake who peers at them through half-moon spectacles with the same cerulean eyes that she’s so familiar with, only they’re attached to a different face. They’re much colder than the warmth Ron’s eyes emit, and that’s when the dread begins to expand from the pit in her stomach.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were both attending tonight,” Ron attempts to hide the surprise as he greets his parents.

“And miss the opportunity to see our son receive an award for his hard work? Don’t be silly,” his father responds with a wave of his hand.

Hermione has yet to meet Ron’s parents. A chill crawls up her spine as they talk to their son as if he is standing by himself. Suddenly, all of Ron’s promises become emptier than the desk of her former student.

“Er, right. Mum, Dad, I’d like you to meet someone.” Ron gestures toward Hermione.

She can see his mouth moving, but no sound comes out, at least not that she hears. The blood drains from her ears, causing momentary deafness as she stands under the scrutinizing stares of his parents. Hermione holds her head high as his mother admonishes his choice of a date. There’s no empathy for them whatsoever.

“...What will everyone think? You come from a certain class of people, and we need to uphold our status. At least go for a Halfblood, darling.”

Years of following the mantra ‘hold your head high, don’t let it bother you, stay in your lane’ have still not prepared Hermione to endure this moment. She is a strong-willed woman, she fights for what is right, and she refuses to stand here and take this woman’s judgmental words all because of the family she was born into.

This is the exact reason why Hermione insisted on keeping their relationship private. Her feet move on their own accord as Hermione tears herself away from Ron’s side and weaves in and out of the clumps of people. She manages to find the visitor’s entrance and exits to the bustling streets of London. Refusing to cry, she rushes along the cobblestone sidewalk and down a deserted alleyway.

Hermione forces herself to forget the sound of Ron’s voice calling after her as she disapparates away from the Ministry of Magic. She finds herself in her classroom, staring at all the empty desks in front of her. Desks of students who would be forced to meet the same unfair limitations that she lives day to day. She feels so helpless, not knowing what to do in an effort to make their lives easier.

Looking down at the elegant maroon ball gown she’s still wearing, she feels dirty. This isn’t the life she’s meant for, no matter how many assurances Ron can give her. She doesn’t belong in his world. Thank goodness she keeps an extra outfit in her coat closet, which she rushes toward before shedding the expensive formalwear from her body.

Once she’s changed, Hermione sits down at her desk, staring at the piles of papers left to be graded. Ron insisted she leave them there so they could spend their weekend together. A heartbreaking realization enters her mind as she thinks of his name.

We can’t be together. This is never going to work.

It’s as if he knows that she’s thinking of him as the floo lights up and he stumbles out. Ron sheds his dress robes, leaving him in his starched white dress shirt and pressed black trousers. She refuses to look up even though she can feel his gaze boring into her as he stands at the head of her desk.

“Hermione.”

She says nothing because what is there to say?

“They’re small-minded people. What do you care what they think?”*

He reaches for her hand, but she tugs it away as she sits back in her chair.

“It’s not just them, Ron. You haven’t lived this life. You don’t know what I’ve been up against. You’ll never know what it feels like to be looked at the way your parents looked at me tonight. The way they spoke down about me to my face. I can’t—I can’t be subjected to that. The way people will look at us because we’re together. I don’t deserve to feel that way.”

Hermione stands up and exits the classroom, stepping into the abandoned hallway. She can’t do this anymore— it’s too painful. She’s learned to pick and choose her battles. It’s better to let people like the Weasleys think they’ve won while she keeps fighting on her own.

You know I want you, it’s not a secret I try to hide.

I know you want me, so don’t keep saying our hands are tied.

You claim it’s not in the cards, that fate is pulling you miles away and out of reach from me,

But you’re here in my heart, so who can stop me if I decide that you’re my destiny?

“Hermione, don’t do this. Please. I don’t care what they think. I want you, and nothing else matters.”

She stops and only turns her head slightly to see him leaning out of the doorway, his hand gripping the door jamb as he calls after her.

What if we rewrite the stars, say you were made to be mine

Nothing could keep us apart, you’d be the one I was meant to find.

It’s up to you, it’s up to me, no one can say what we get to be

So why don’t we rewrite the stars, maybe the world could be ours tonight.

“Please, love, don’t let them dictate what our life looks like.”

The desperation in Ron’s voice is what makes Hermione turn all the way around to face him. She begins to walk a few paces toward him before the voices in her head get a hold of her. He’d become an outcast if she stayed with him. She can’t let him risk everything he’s gained by choosing her.

You think it’s easy? You think I don’t want to run to you?

But there are mountains, and there are doors that we can’t walk through.

I know you’re wondering why because we’re able to be just you and me within these walls

But when we go outside you’re gonna wake up and see that it was hopeless after all.

“You know it’s not that easy. We can’t just run away from everything so we can be happy. Your family would never forgive you, or me for that matter! Everyone will do everything in their power to tear us apart. It’s not worth it.”

“So, what? You’re saying we’re not worth it?”

No one can rewrite the stars. How can you say you’ll be mine?

Everything keeps us apart, and I’m not the one you were meant to find.

It’s not up to you, it’s not up to me, when everyone tells us what we can be.

How can we rewrite the stars? Say that the world can be ours tonight.

Hermione reaches out and clasps his hands with her own. “No, you’re not listening to me. You’re worth so much to me that I have to let you go.”

“But what if I don’t want to let go?”

All I want is to fly with you.

All I want is to fall with you.

So just give me all of you.

It feels impossible (It’s not impossible).

Is it impossible? (Say that it’s possible.)

“I don’t want to let go, either, Ron, but I have to. You mean too much to me.”

She knows it’s better to be hurt on her own terms than to let someone else hurt her instead. Ron will see reason eventually. He has to. Hermione wraps her arms around him, tighter than ever before, putting all her feelings into one single embrace, hoping that he can understand.

How do we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine?

Nothing can keep us apart, cause you are the one I was meant to find.

It’s up to you and it’s up to me, no one can say what we get to be

And why don’t we rewrite the stars, changing the world to be ours…

There are many things she can change, but her blood status isn’t one. Above all else, she’s proud of being a Muggleborn, and she’ll keep teaching her students to be proud of their roots as well. She’ll keep her memories of Ron and how wonderful he is locked up tight as she finds a way to navigate this world without him. Hermione has made her decision as she kisses his cheek and lets go. Perhaps in another lifetime, they’ll be able to be together with nothing standing in their way.

You know I want you.

It’s not a secret I try to hide.

But I can’t have you.

We’re bound to break and our hands are tied.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice leaves the faintest echo among the abandoned halls. Before she loses her nerve, she turns on the spot and apparates away, leaving the hurt look that is etched on Ron’s face burned into her mind as she leaves him alone.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #romione #ron x hermione #tw: blood purity #tw: prejudice #tw: violence (non graphic)#tw: murder (non graphic)

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suddenlysackler · 3 years

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Keep Up

Henry McHenry x Reader

TW: tad bit of angst, mention of divorce, reader feels a bit insecure, henry is an ass but we’re working on him, brief mention of addiction/sobriety

A/N: Writing is hard but I’ve been working really hard on this so I wanted to share it even though there was really no point to the plot I just wanted to write for Henry. I have literally no posting schedule/writing schedule anymore. This takes place post Waltz in the Storm, only we’re gonna say Ann survived and took Annette and divorced Henry okay bye ily all so much.

...

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Your eyes are round and full of mixed emotions — trust, fear, maybe some excitement — as you grip the helmet shoved into your hands with a vice grip.

Henry watches you from the seat of the Harley he had bought with the money from the sale of his and Ann’s estate after the divorce. It’s ridiculous, really. Completely over the top, particularly for someone who was just making a comeback in their career and trying to get back to some sort of financial stability. “Just get the fuck on the bike and try to keep up with me, will you?” His tone leaves no room for argument, his face is playfully skeptical.

The red Harley Davidson motorcycle is “fully loaded” as the sales person had told the two of you as you made your way across the show room floor just a few days ago. It’s completely with heated grips and a backrest in the passenger’s seat and a full scale infotainment system for Henry to blast his favorite music between gps directions as he sees fit. He’d passed on the built in defensive driving mechanism and balked at the Milwaukee-Eight 114 engine and even sprung for the most expensive of saddlebags. Hell, he’d even told you he was planning on getting the leather embroidered with his initials.

Did this surprise you? No, not in the slightest.

Henry is eccentric.

It’s your default response to the questions and comments and concerns expressed by each member of your social circle from the moment you’d mentioned that you’d been seeing someone. Questions of who, what, when, where, why, and how and worries about whether or not someone who shined so bright would be good for you and whether it would even work.

Honestly, you ask yourself the same thing almost every day. If you didn’t love him, you wouldn’t be able to see it.

He asks himself how you can see it every time he wakes up to your hair spread across his pillows.

Back to the matter at hand. You. Him. Big scary motorcycle.

You turn your feet inward almost absentmindedly, standing pigeon toed and letting your shoulders tense up as he kicks off the bike with an exaggerated groan and comes to stand in front of you. “I’ve never done this before.”

Henry pulls off his own helmet, tosses it to rest on the seat, and smiles knowingly at you. “That’s never stopped you before.”

“Shut up.”

“Ann never —”

Your eyebrows furrowed and your lips parted just a bit. It was the one thing he continuously did even a year and a half into your relationship that made you lose your mind. He stops mid sentence when he sees the disappointment on your face.

“I’m not Ann.” You say, trying so, so hard to not ruin the night. He’d been waiting for a break in the much needed rain falling over LA county for the past week to take you out and show you a good time. Try as you might, your lips start to tremble ever so slightly and you let the helmet clatter to the ground, beyond frustrated with him. With yourself even?

He rushes forward, hands all over you and your face before you can even bend at the waist to pick up the discarded the mixture of plastic and fiberglass at your feet. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You did it again.”

“But I didn’t mean it.” Henry says, pleads with you. His brown eyes convey the honest to goodness truth of it all and you know he’s good for his word. He really didn’t mean to.

The past year was tumultuous, everyone knew that. Finding Ann stranded at sea on the coast just ten miles away from where Annette slept safely on board the yacht with her father. The accusations, the words thrown like daggers. The bliss and fervor and passion of their early days slipping away faster than vinegar leaves the bottle when you pour it, the whole ordeal just as sharp and bitter to taste.

You’d been introduced to it just as the papers had been served to Henry’s modest home that had been inhabited for six months before Ann had made her final decision.

He’s grateful for your loyalty and tells you that much just about every day. There isn’t a day where you doubt his love for you — how could you when you watch him work on himself in therapy and in the gym and with the way he tosses his cigarettes to the side and limits himself to a carton a week somehow?

However, the one thing you had zero tolerance for was being compared to Ann.

Henry bites his tongue as he looks at you. He represses the urge to yell and ask why it always has to be about you, why you always have to nit pick when he does something you don’t care for. He takes a deep breath and focuses on the feel of your skin and how it’s almost as if it’s a balm for all of the negative emotions and thoughts crammed into his head. He reminds himself that you aren’t doing anything wrong by calling him out on this, that it’s appropriate to. Rather than lash out, he takes a deep breath and says the words he had been working so, so hard to work into his vocabulary in sincerity over the past year. “I’m sorry.”

The apology rings through your ears and settles in your mind. You sit with it for a moment and think about the Henry you had heard of prior to meeting him — the violent outbursts, the juxtaposition of his drinking and smoking habits in conjunction with his almost militant like work out routine. The selfishness and the narcissism and the screaming.

Your brow knits together as you process his words. “You’re sorry?” The words felt foreign on your own tongue, you couldn’t imagine how he must feel.

He nods slowly, giving you a once over as his cheeks begin to heat up. “I’m really, really sorry.” Henry promises, swears it. “It’s force of habit and that doesn’t make it right. I’m sorry. I’m working on that.”

You nod after the last word leaves his lips and you’re reminded of the fact that, yes, he is working on it. He’s working on a lot of things and you remind yourself that the whole reason he bought the bike was to celebrate one year of sobriety. With bated breath, you stand on your toes and kiss his cheek bone gingerly, an acknowledgement in it of itself. You know Henry doesn’t need your words.

Henry leans down and kisses your forehead, then crouches and grabs your helmet. He stays close to the ground for a long moment and falls to his knees. He buries his face in the fabric of your shirt and rests his arms just around the small of your back, memorizing the feel of holding you and relishing in the way your hands almost automatically move to thread through his hair, no longer matted from neglect and back to its usual thickness and shine.

After a few moments of silence, you pull back just a bit to look at him. “I’m proud of you.” You whisper, eyes shining with a mixture of emotion.

His own eyes bore into your face, always working on committing whatever it was he was currently feeling to memory. “Thank you for helping me.”

A smile breaks out on your face and you shrug before leaning down and kissing his temple. “Always.” You murmur. “Now, will you please get me on the bike? Show me what I’ve been missing all these years.”

Henry smiles, the expression of satisfaction much wider than your own flash of your teeth. “You sure?” He asked, repeating your words from just a few minutes prior back to you.

“I’m sure.” You respond while trying to suppress the giggle that threatened to bubble past your lips at his teasing. You can’t help but cackle as he all but drags you to the bike and helps you put on the helmet, letting you inspect the bike before hopping on. When you finally straddle the seat, his left hand comes to rest over your arms, now looped around his waist and hanging on for dear life, before he hits the ignition and punches it, riding off in pure bliss and leaving the events of the past year behind, as it should be.

#adcu #henry mchenry #annette #adam driver #adcu x reader #henry x reader #henry mchenry x reader #reader self insert #self reader insert #reader insert #adcu self insert #adcu fic #adcu fan fiction #henry mchenry fic #henry mchenry fanfic #tw: divorce #tw: sobriety #tw: light angst

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yusuke-of-valla · 3 years

Text

Peace of Mind

Whumptober Day 3 Prompt: “Who did this to you?”

Summary: Shiho decides to find out what Ann is keeping from her.

Wordcount: 1330

TW: Mentions of Kamoshida, mentions of abuse, nothing explicit.

AO3

Ann, bless her heart, is a terrible liar.

She passes of cuts and bruises as “work out trainging” or clumsiness, but Shiho isn’t stupid. She knows Ann is lying to her and that hurts. Wasn’t keeping secrets from each other what caused all the trouble with Kamoshida?

The voice of Shiho’s therapist reminds her that Kamoshida is responsible for all that trouble with Kamoshida, but even if that’s true, that thought doesn’t help. Her therapist says it will, eventually, but eventually isn’t good enough because Ann’s being hurt now.

They go for a walk and Ann can barely keep up because she’s so sore. Shiho slows down to keep pace, and asks, gently, if everything’s alright.

“Everything’s great!” Ann says, cheery as always, and something in Shiho’s heart twists because Ann means it. She’s lying when she says she got knocked over at a photo shoot or that she cut herself cooking, but she’s telling the truth when she says things are fine.

Ann’s getting hurt and she thinks it’s fine.

Shiho wants to be sick.

Her parents are touchy about her going anywhere near Shujin, so the school is a no go. Instead, she hangs around Shibuya keeping an eye out for familiar faces before she finally spots Ryuji. She weaves through the crowd, trying to catch up with him and breathes a sigh of relief when he finally stops near the accessway.

Shiho finally manages to catch up with him when the world rips itself apart.

The people disappear and Shiho stops cold. The sky is red suddenly, and the air feels wrong. On the bright side, Shiho now has a clearer view of Ryuji. Ryuji who is... wearing a strange costume? And also with a bunch of other strange looking people. There’s someone with a mop of black fluffy hair… Kurusu? And then there’s one in a catsuit with twintails and.

Oh.

Ooooooooooooh.

Ann is a Phantom Thief. They’re all Phantom Thieves. Shiho kind of hates how much sense it makes. Because of course Ann would fight Kamoshida for her. And given that they have weapons, it probably involves fighting somehow?

Well, that answers some of Shiho’s questions. It raises many many more but at least she now understands why Ann was lying. She isn’t sure it’s safe though and Shiho… really wants Ann to be safe. So, while Ann and the others are busy discussing something, Shiho slips behind a post so they can’t see her. She’s not going to stay long, she just wants to get a sense of how much danger Ann is in for herself, since Ann is clearly willing to downplay things for Shiho’s sake.

And what do you intend to do if she is in grave danger? You think you’ll be able to stop her?

Shiho’s nails bite into her palms. She… she doesn’t want to be kept in the dark at least. Even if she can’t stop Ann, she wants to know. The Phantom Thieves start down the stairs and Shiho follows closely, trying to match their pace, but that doesn’t last long.

The tunnels don’t have nearly as much space to hide, so Shiho has to stay behind a bit further so she can hide behind corners and hidden areas. Still, she manages to keep up.

Or she thinks she does, but she ends up in an open area and they’ve all disappeared.

“Are you serious?” Shiho moans. Gah, this is probably why they’re called “Phantom” Thieves. Her best bet at this point is probably to turn back the way she came when there’s movement out of the corner of her eye.

Shiho brandishes the baseball bat she brought (what you thought she would go to investigate her best friend's mysterious injuries and not show up ready for a fight?)

“Who’s there!”

“I think I could ask you that first.” One of the Phantom Thieves slips out of the shadows -- one of the ones Shiho doesn’t recognize, a tall guy wearing blue. “You’ve been following us since the station. Who are you?”

“I’m-“

“Shiho?!” Both of them turn to see Ann leave her hiding spot. Shiho has a good look at Ann’s outfit which is uh… very reminiscent of the types of outfits supervillains on shows Shiho really enjoyed watching used to wear. Shiho’s thankful for the red lighting of wherever they are because that’s probably hiding her blushing.

Probably.

Hopefully.

“What are you doing here?” Ann asks.

“Uh… making sure you’re alright?” Shiho says, fumbling with her bat. “I mean you were clearly lying about the bruises and the injuries so I just wanted to know.”

The rest of them have caught up now and Ryuji looks at Shiho’s bat. “Wait, were you planning to investigate Ann’s injuries and just… start swingin’ if you found out who caused them?”

“Yes.”

“Hell yeah!” Ryuji puts his hand up and Shiho returns his high five.

“Let’s not encourage people rushing into danger unprepared,” a thief who kind of looks like -- oh what was her name? Niijima! That’s right, -- the student council president says.

“Isn’t that literally what you did three days ago?” Kurusu replies.

The thief-who-is-probably-Niijima’s face goes red under her mask. “Well yes, and I think we can all agree that was a bad decision.”

“We can catch up later,” the tiny... cat thief thing? (Wait -- no. He’s a literal Cat Burglar!) who Shiho completely missed says. “Hanging around too long in one spot is dangerous, especially with someone who can’t fight.”

“I’m not helpless.” Shiho says. She wants to sound tough, but it sounds like she’s pouting, even to her.

“Mona didn’t mean it that way,” Ann says, placing an arm on Shiho’s shoulder. “Let’s just go.”

That should be the end of it. They pile into the cat burglar (Mona’s)? My Neighbor Totoro-inspired bus form, and they leave Shiho at the entrance and Shiho continues worrying over Ann, even though she knows what’s going on now.

Ah, but how often are things that simple?

They’re almost at the exit when some huge hulking mass barrels into the side of the bus, and suddenly the group is surrounded by strange looking monsters. Ann and Ryuji waste no time putting Shiho between the two of them. Niijima is doing something to help the unconscious Mona. One of the monsters sends out a blast that chills Shiho to the bone. The tall one whose name Shiho hasn’t learned looks takes it the best of them, standing tall and immediately going in to counter attack.

Ann and Kurusu take it the worst, in taking sharp breaths and shivering due to the cold. Shiho rushes to Ann’s side, taking off her jacket and putting it over Ann.

As if that will help.

Ryuji’s looking at Kurusu, incredibly concerned, but throws a look back at Shiho. He’s tense. Shiho’s heart gets caught in her throat. He doesn’t want to leave her. He wants to protect her.

Because she’s always getting protected, isn’t she?

Hmm it seems as though you can’t do anything.

The words are true, and they are devastating. But still, Shiho grits her teeth and stands up. “No. I can do something. There has to be something.”

Suddenly, pain rips through her skull. She doesn’t flinch though, because even if it’s excruciating, well. She’s felt worse.

Very good. If it seems like there are no paths before you, ‘tis best to cut your own, isn’t it? If we’re in agreement, shall we forge our contract?

Shiho’s hands find her face, and after digging her nails beneath the hunk of metal in front of her eyes, it’s easy to rip it off.

“Isabel! I need you!”

A burst of energy shakes the very foundations of the tunnel they’re in. There’s a large disk in Shiho’s hand, a gem that shines a brilliant blue even amidst the red light of the tunnel placed in the center. She doesn’t really understand what just happened, and she doesn’t care.

Shiho Suzui is going to fight.

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #who did this to you #persona 5 #fic #mentions of abuse #alto writes #shiho suzui #shihoann #wordcount: 1000-1500 #'oh this'll just be a quick Shiho awakening fic!'#narrator: it was not quick #phantom thief Shiho #First yusuke appearance of the month everyone! How long til he suffers #(spoiler alert: it's gonna be like 3-4 days)

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spencers-dria · 3 years

Text

Lost at Sea

Single Dad Spencer x fem reader

Summary: This is kind of a little Christmas-adjacent fluff peice where Spencer is a single dad, completely clueless while Christmas shopping for his daughter. Reader sees him struggling and decides to help, completely unaware of where it will lead them. I imagined him sometime after the show ended, kinda with his somewhat longer curly hair and glasses. This story is completely fluff and I make no apologies.

Well, that was about the third loud huff from the man standing down the isle from me. This one was so loud it blew his hair around a bit, making it even messier. I try to focus on the task at hand, finding the perfect gift for my best friend’s little girl.

Diana was the closest thing I had to a daughter of my own. Despite Anne’s protesting, I took every opportunity to spoil her daughter rotten. The adorable and precocious little girl had me absolutely wrapped around her finger. I have to fight the urge to buy everything I thought would put a smile on her face, my favorite sight in the world.

But now, I was repeatedly distracted by the clearly frustrated man standing next to me, eyeing the girls toy section like it was an enigma. I decide to approach him, but he’s still to lost in his thoughts to notice.

I clear my throat while giving him a light tap on the shoulder.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh I didn’t realized you worked here.”

“I don’t.” I smile sweetly at him. “You just look like you’re trying to solve the worlds most challenging puzzle over here.”

He meets my eyes with a sheepish smile, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. I try my best to ignore just how attractive this man is. He’s definitely not available.

“I guess in a way I am. I’m trying to buy a Christmas gift for my daughter. It’s safe to say that I know absolutely nothing about girls. I want it to be absolutely perfect, and I just know whatever I get won’t be half of what she deserves.”

“Well I can help with that. How old is she and what does she like?”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, giving me a moment to ogle just how attractive his hands are.

“Her name is Alice, she’s 5. I know she loves Disney princesses. Ariel is her favorite I think... but even once I narrow it down to that, there is still just so much. Who knew shopping for little girls could be so overwhelming.”

I can’t help but giggle a bit at his helplessness. He starts to laugh along with me.

“I’m Spencer by the way.” I see him hesitate a moment before slowly extending a hand. I look at his extended hand with a slight feeling of guilt, knowing he’ll most likely judge me based on my response.

“Oh I’m sorry I hope you don’t think I’m rude but... I don’t really shake hands. It’s not personal it’s just all the germs. I don’t deal so well with them.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, but I can’t imagine why. Is he actually laughing at me? Seems a bit rude.

“You know I used to be the exact same way. I suppose having a kid has changed me more than I realize sometimes.”

I nod, quietly, knowing I can’t really relate.

“I’m sorry you’re probably really busy. Are you shopping for your daughter too?”

Unsure as to the reason why, I’m suddenly embarrassed to admit that I’m not actually a parent. Just a single loner in their mid-thirties, living vicariously through their best friend and their.

“Oh no, just a friend. I’m more than happy to help you out with Alice. If you want my best ideas though, I’ve got to be honest, a lot of it is online. I can show you the links real quick, I’d you’d like?”

“I feel like this would be easier if we just... Would you like to grab coffee? I know a great place just around the corner. You can show me all your ideas and hopefully we can pick out something for her together.”

Up until this point I didn’t want to make assumptions, but it’s becoming more clear that Spencer is most likely a single dad. I don’t want pry, but I can’t help but wonder what happened to her mom.

I try to hide my excitement at his offer.

“You had me at coffee. And I almost forgot, I’m Y/N!”

————————————————

Three hours and several cups of coffee later, I knew a small part of the life story belonging to Spencer Reid. He was an FBI agent, part of a team who hunts down serial killers. A profiler. Or former profiler? He used to work in the field, until he had to raise his daughter alone. He had been fallen hard and fast for someone who left him as soon as another opportunity, or person rather, had presented themselves. They left him a single dad, all alone with his 2 year old daughter, Alice.

Being a single parent, he knew he couldn’t continue a job that put him in harms way on a regular basis. He never had a problem putting his life on the line for others, but Alice had become his number one priority, without question. Switching to a desk job had allowed him to continue as a consult for the team while also teaching at the University.

As I looked over his attire, I couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t quite give off professor vibes at first glance. His cozy maroon sweater and glasses, perhaps. But his curly mop of disheveled hair and goofy grin made him look more like a cuddly muppet character. The more I listen to him talk the more I notice his intelligence. I should have known, given his professions. It didn’t take long to realize he was well out of my league, but he was kind enough to give me the time of day for whatever reason.

I keep drowining in his eyes or getting pulled in by the movement of his hands as he speaks. Listening to his voice is like gently floating down like a river. I don’t even notice when he’s stopped talking.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?” I pull myself out of my daze, trying not to look as enchanted by him as I feel.

“Oh uhh, nothing to tell really.” I shrug, picking up my coffe, hoping he’ll change the subject while I sip on my caramel latte.

“I find that hard to believe. What do you do?”

“I just run a small cafe in town.”

I feel as though hearing about my life is about as interesting as watching water boil, but Spencer could have fooled me. He looks genuinely invested as I tell him about how I earned my bachelors and masters in business management, eventually opening up The Cottage. I didn’t have any experience in the food industry, but my friend Nicole had immediately been on board with the idea of coming on as my cook.

“It sounds wonderful. I’ll definitely have to stop by sometime.” He smiles at me before sipping on the last of his second cup of coffee.

“You’re welcome to bring Alice, only if you want to. And Nicole makes a killer risotto!”

“Of course! ...Oh! I knew we were forgetting something. Alice!”

“The entire reason you asked me here, just a minor detail.” I can’t help but snicker at our absent mindedness, how easy it was to be completely swept away in the tide that was Spencer Reid.

His face fades a bit, though I’m not sure why. He simply nods, folding his hands in his lap.

“Sorry if this is weird but umm... can I see a picture of her? It’s just, well, it might help me to get a better idea. You don’t have to, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Oh yeah!”He pulls out his wallet, unfolding a long strand of small photos, most of just his daughter, a few featuring him as well.

She was beautiful, brown eyed girl with soft, brown locks. She clearly had her fathers curly hair and soft, doe eyes. If it wasn’t obvious from the way he spoke about her, the pictures made it incredibly apparent that this girl was his whole world. Pure joy radiated from the photo of the two of them. I look up to to see the exact same look on his face, with a smile so big that his eyes crinkle.

That is the moment I knew he had me. I would follow this man anywhere, this adorable dad I had met on the toy isle only hours ago. The photos made it evident that she was just as crazy about him. It was almost too adorable for my heart to handle.

I take a deep breath before meeting his gaze, which is much closer now as we lean in over the table to look at the pictures.

“She’s beautiful.”

He looks down at the photos again with glassy eyes. “I know.”

He clears his throat and scoots back into his seat.

“So what did you have in mind?”

“Well, I have seen this online story that makes really pretty hand-made dresses that mimic the ones of each Disney Princess. Maybe a couple of her favorites? They also make knit blankets that look like mermaid tales. Or maybe a stuffed animal of one of her favorite characters? What little kid doesn’t like stuffed animals, right?”

Spencer nods along, absorbing all the suggestions I throw his way. After awhile, I help him settle on ordering a few we both like.

“I can’t wait to give these to her! She always loves Christmas morning. We open presents together and eat the cookies we made the night before while binging as many Christmas movies as possible.”

There was that smile again, the one he got when he talked about her. I wonder if she knows how lucky she is to have a dad that cares so much.

I can’t help but smile as well at the thought, which he quickly interrupted with “So what are your Christmas plans?”

I feel myself turning slightly red at the embarrassment of having to admit that I have none. Nothing much that is.

I shrug, hoping he won’t ask any more about it.

“Do you get to see your family?”

And there it was. The question I was desperately hoping to avoid. I know my inability to meet his gaze and consistent pulling at my fingers would be a dead give away of my uncertainty about speaking on the subject. I search for the best way to answer without seeming like I’m overcome with self pity. To be fair, I wasn’t. I didn’t mind spending the holidays alone. Not anymore. I had grown comfortable with the silence and comfort that comes from living alone.

The soft crackling of the fire, a fuzzy blanket, and a warm cup of hot chocolate had become my closest companions of each winter season. I spent many evenings curled up by the window, watching the snow dust the city as soft music flowed through my drafty, top floor apartment. Sometimes I’d dance and twirl around in my pajamas and socks, slipping and sliding on the wood floors. So yes, it was safe to say I truly enjoyed the time I spent getting to know myself.

“I uh, they’re not really around anymore. I was adopted by my parents when I was still a baby. They didn’t have any family but each other and then, well, me. I lost them to a car crash a few years back.”

I can tell he’s listening, but the one thing I always expect to see isn’t there. Pity. Instead I see kindness and understanding, and my heart welcomes it fully.

“Nicole is on vacation with her family for the holidays so it’s just me. I’m pretty used to it though, I make my own fun.” I give him smile to reinforce my point.

His eyes glaze over and I can tell I’ve lost him to a deep thought, as I see the gears turning in his head. He opens his mouth to speak before closing it again, and finally spouting out: “Come have dinner with us. On Christmas Eve.”

I had half expected a pity invite. A “why don’t you”. A “would you like to”. But Spencer hadn’t asked me. He had told me, in a way that left no room for arguing. I could tell he wasn’t going to budge on the matter. Whether it was the insistent but kind tone or the seriousness in his eyes, I don’t know. But I knew there was no use in fighting it. Not just the invitation, but the feelings quickly flooding my heart. Spencer Reid was like a fast approaching storm, but I didn’t want to outrun the rain. I wanted to dance in it, drenched in the downpour.

And that’s exactly what I did. As soon as I saw the look on his face when I said yes, it crashed over me like a wave, leaving me breathless and lost in the sea of my emotions.

#dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer x reader #original story #spencer reid x y/n #writing #Christmas #single dad #dad Spencer #Spencer and daughter #Spencer #Spencer Reid #spencer x y/n #Spencer x gn #Christmas shopping #fluff

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kurutabaa · 3 years

Text

Mistletoe Headcanons!

Including Akira/Ren, Ryuji, Ann, Haru, and Futaba!

MERRRY CHRISTMASSS~!

Or Hanukkah~!!!

I hope all of you had a good year and celebrate Christmas/Hanukkah this year. As a toast, I’ll happily write Mistletoe Headcanons for (Majority) of the Phantom Thieves! I really hope you can see the extra effort I tried to put into this, I hope you enjoy🎄🌸🌸

(This may have turned into kissing headcanons while writing, but it’s a win-win either way.)

Akira Kurusu

He is incredibly suave when it comes to kisses, so be prepared for your heart to absolutely melt because of him.

He normally wouldn’t care much about mistletoes, but with you? It’s a whole different story.

It doesn’t really matter wether or not you’re in public, he doesn’t care what other people think (To some extent) and will show his love for you anywhere you feel comfortable.

If his stats are maxed out, he will ABSOLUTELY ask you to dance.

“Would you like to dance, Treasure?”

As he interwines his hand with yours, he’ll gently spin you around and perfectly land you both under the mistletoe without missing a beat.

“Ah, it seems like we’re both under the mistletoe. Would you like to share a kiss~?”

He cups your face and presses a firm yet heartwarming kiss against your lips.

This was all in front of the Phantom Thieves, if you were wondering.

Buuuuuut never mind that! It depends if he’s feeling snarky or greedy that day, because he’ll either continue to pepper you with kisses as your face is beet red or just... Walks away, and the bastard absolutely knows you’ll come up to him wanting more.

“You’re being quite greedy, Treasure. Do you want me to shower you with some affection?”

If you’re both in his room relaxing, he’ll lean in reaaaaally close into your face and hang a mistletoe above the two of you. He likes to wait a few seconds before kissing you to see your reaction.

Making him flustered with a mistletoe usually depends on his mood! If you want to make him go weak in his knees, the best time to do it is when your initiating cuddling with him or whispering reassurance into his ear.

He’ll pull you back into the kiss, muttering sweet words as he pulls back for air.

“I love you, Treasure... I love you so much...”

“You’re the only thing I want this year...”

If you sneakily walk up to him and hang a mistletoe between you two, he’ll smirk and give you a teasing remark before giving you your well deserved kiss.

“You’re so cute, Y/N.”

The two of you can be caught off guard if Futaba randomly hangs a mistletoe above you two while chatting.

“Heeey, what are you two waiting for? Kiss, kiss!”

Akira silently cups your face with his hands and kisses you. Ah, what a charming young man~

Ryuji Sakamoto

He gets flustered just at the mention of a mistletoe. He also thinks the general idea is stupid.

“What’s the point of a mistletoe? Isn’t it just some weird thing to get people to kiss?”

But when it comes to you he reaaallly wants to score a kiss from you under the mistletoe.

Of course he wants to kiss you! But with everyone watching you two like that? Too embarrassing.

Which means you or one of the Phantom Thieves have to initiate it. Oh boy.

If you silently hold up a mistletoe above you two, he’ll stare at you confused until he looks up.

“W-What the heck are you doing with that thing?”

“I wanna kiss you, bonehead.”

“Jeez! If you wanna kiss me, you don’t have to use a stupid mistletoe.”

You found it adorable that he was so shy about kissing you, either because it was in public or that he was caught off guard. Either way, you enjoyed it~

He’s also very oblivious, you two can be standing under a mistletoe and he’ll just continue talking. In situations like that, you just have to kiss him without warning. It gives a cuter reaction, so it’s a win win!

If you keep nagging him with a mistletoe, he’ll slowly get used to it and take advantage of the fact he’ll get kisses~

“..Are you really not gonna stop bothering me with that thing?”

“Nope! Not until Christmas is over.”

“Alright, alright. Come here.”

His kisses are very cute but short! You gotta pull him back in for a longer kiss.

“Are you happy n- MMPH?!”

“Now I’m happy~”

He’s really cute when he gets upset if someone hangs a mistletoe above you two. He has a noticeable blush on his cheeks and he’ll try to avoid eye contact with you.

Who was the culprit? Futaba, of course. It’s always Futaba, heheh~

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Ryuji—“

“S-Shut up!”

After the holidays are over, he’s glad he won’t have to be pestered with a mistletoe. But he will miss the copious amounts of kisses he got from you.

Ann Takamaki

She’s confused about the concept of a mistletoe, but being a fan of romance, is totally down for it.

She’ll usually initiate to get you two under the mistletoe! Either by dragging you under one or casually lifting it up above your heads.

Since she doesn’t care wether or not people see you two being intimate, she’ll do it whenever the time calls.

You find it amusing at how smug and eager she acts whenever you’re under a mistletoe because of her.

“Oh wow, what a surprise! Looks like we’re under the mistletoe.”

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

On the other hand, she gets rather flustered if you initiate it. She’ll struggle a bit to look at you in the eye but will gladly kiss you back.

“A mistletoe..?”

“Come here, you dork.”

“Hey, can we do that one more time?”

She loves kissing you, so be prepared to be regulary swept under the mistletoe. The absolute joy on her face is so precious, please cherish her and she’ll do the same back!

If you’re both in private, she’ll be more intimate with you physically and verbally. Lingering kisses that last a few seconds longer, caressing eachothers cheeks, somber words in eachothers ears, she’s so cute~

“Mm, I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too.”

“I’m so lucky, you know that? If you weren’t mine, I’d want you for Christmas! Hehe!”

You can tell how much she adores you just from her kisses. Take good care of her!

She has a big smile on her face and giggles whenever you pull her back in for another kiss.

Ann enjoys to pepper you with kisses afterwards! She loves giving you affection and won’t be afraid to do so.

If you two are both surprised by a mistletoe, wether it be Akira or Futaba, she won’t have any shame and kiss you like usual.

“Ah?! You scared me! What are you doing with that?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Out of all of the Phantom Thieves, Akira and Ann have the best kisses.

Haru Okumura

Besides Futaba, she gets easily flustered by the thought of kissing you. But further into the relationship, she became more intimate and initiated kisses with you. Although she does still get a bit shy!

She’s such a hopeless romantic, so she would absolutely melt at the thought of you two kissing under a mistletoe!

She never knew how to bring it up to you, so she, shyly, hung a mistletoe between you two. Sometimes she’ll ask someone else to do it for her, but it’s rare.

“Oh, my. Would you look at that. I guess that means we should kiss, right?”

The shy smile she had on her face made your heart melt, to be honest.

And the way she leans in to kiss you?? It’s so adorable oh my god. Her face is so cute when she puckers her lips and closes her eyes!!

She’s a bit caught off guard when you do kiss her, even if she was expecting it. The quiet yelp makes you smile a bit.

If you two are in public, she’ll pull away after a few seconds and glance around shyly to see if anyone saw that. It’s not like she cares about her image, but someone seeing you two kiss makes her flustered.

But! In private she’s going to be a lot for intimate! She almost seems desperate at times. If you let go, she’ll immediately hug you and kiss you deeply again.

She likes feeling your body, so she’ll run her hands in your hair or caress your cheeks.

Her face is flushed when she pulls back, but she smiles at you and mutters a small “I love you.”

“You’re something money never could buy, dear.”

Being surprised with a mistletoe makes her weak in the knees. The lovesick look on her face can make any man or woman’s heart to ache.

“A mistletoe? Ah, that means..”

Haru always feels energized after you kiss her, so hearing her angelic laugh is usual.

“Hehehe! Thank you for the kiss, Y/N.”

Although she’s happy, she can’t stop feeling so flustered and embarrassed!! Haru usually has a big smile on her face while she embarrasingly covers her face with her hands.

Your heart is absolutely melted at this point, who wouldn’t want to pepper her with kisses and cuddle her afterwards??

Futaba Sakura

Although she enjoys pestering on other peoples love lifes, she has no idea what to do in her own. Heck, she’d never even knew she’d be dating someone as amazing as you. (She loves you a lot by the way, she’s just too shy to say it..)

She totally loves the idea of kissing under a mistletoe, shes seen it in anime all the time. It wouldn’t be too hard, right? Thanks to her being easily embarrassed, she’d be weong.

No way is she going to initiate it, so she’s counting on you to do it for her!

Fourtunatley, she’s easy to read. You can see her staring at the mistletoe nearby or her face flushing whenever she spots a couple kiss under it.

“Eh? What are you doing?”

“You’ll see~”

She immediately notices your dragging her ot the mistletoe and she becomes a stuttering, blushy mess.

“W-W-Wait!! Hold on! I’m not ready! W-What if I mess up and—“

“Shhhh, It’s just a kiss, dork.”

She’ll calm down if you hold her close and caress her cheeks. She always feels so calm when you give her affection.

Futaba still feels extremely embarrassed, but leans in and expects you to close the gap. It’s your choice wether you want to kiss her hard to surprise her or give her a gentle kiss.

You can almost feel her body trembling when your lips both touch. Not that she’s anxious, but oh my goodness she loves you so much that she doesn’t know how to deal with it. Anything you do to her that can be taken romantically makes her knees wobble and her cheeks flush red.

If you’re a bit taller than Futaba, you find it adorable when she leans up on her tippy toes to kiss you.

Futaba still feels embarrassed when you pull back, but loosens up immediately. Returning back to her childish attitude.

“W-Wow! That felt amazing, I-It was like I was the protagonist of a romance anime..”

“Hey, c-can we maybe do that one more time..?”

She had the dumbest smile on her face, totally lovestruck. If Akira saw her like this, she’d know she would be in for a lot of teasing. Touche.

Although she’s still flustered, she regains her fun personality and sometimes hangs up a mistletoe between you two in a teasing manner.

She expects that this time you’ll be embarrassed and she can get some sort of payback for making her so embarrassed, but it’s up to you on how you’ll react.

Futaba is still flustered even in private, but the intimacy in the kiss is very noticeable.

Dear god, start french kissing her and she’ll probably pass out. If you want to be a big tease to her, suddenly deepen the kiss and french kiss her.

She wakes up from her shock pretty fast, and begins punching you in the chest while scolding you.

“W-W-What was that for?! D-Did you really have to do that?!”

She’d rather be dead then admit this, but she liked it a lot when you did that~

Dies from embarrassment if Akira hangs a mistletoe above the both of you. She loathes that shit eating grin he has on his face, must’ve been payback for all the times shes teased him about his flowy pants.

“A-A m-mistletoe?!”

“What a coincidence, you and Y/N are both underneath it.”

“Don’t act so innocent, Akira!”

You had to chuckle at that, who wouldn’t? Besides, getting to see an upset Futaba was adorable.

As she argues with Akira, this is the perfect chance to catch her off guard and kiss her. You’ll have to thank Akira for this later.

“A-Ah.. Wait, I shouldn’t be grateful! Don’t do that again, Akira!”

As flustered she can get, she adores your kisses and would suffer through anything to get them~

Dec 25 - Happy Holidays from Susumu 🌸

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fangirl-everythang · 3 years

Text

Happy Father's Day

Summary: (1/3) Y/n hasn't told Harry that she is pregnant yet, however, when the day comes around she finds out he's cheating.

Warning: Swearing, Taylor Swift Bashing (I love Taylor don't get me wrong, it's just for the story's sake.)

Word Count: 1492

It's been 5 weeks since I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to tell Harry the moment I found out. I scheduled a doctor's appointment to confirm it because you can't really trust generic pregnancy. But when the doctor confirmed it, I had no idea how to respond.

Hiding this from him has been the hardest thing I've ever done. Harry and I have been together for almost five years now. We met at his twenty-second birthday party in New York, I was twenty. He was pretty upset that he still had to tour for his birthday, but he said it was great making a new friend. Next thing you know we went public after two and moved in together for our third year. I'm so in love with him, but our careers are taking off, a baby would just interfere with all of it however Harry has always wanted children. He'd make such a great dad too, I can only imagine what our family will look like. But these thoughts often consume me, what if he doesn't want this?

I thought Father's Day would be the best day to tell him, you know like a surprise, and what a better time unless of course, he doesn't want our child. Our parents are coming over because of course, we have gifts and brunch so it's like three for one.

I've been distant from him recently, he's so concerned about me he thinks something is terribly wrong with my morning sickness and all. I figured I'd tell him with a gift which is a wooden base with yarn woven letters made of nails that spells 'dad' with the first ultrasound underneath, there's a card too! I'm so excited to finally start a family with Harry, I just hope he feels the same way. I have mugs for each of our dads that say, 'soon to be grandfather'. Honestly, I couldn't be happier. Opening the front door, I place the keys on the table next to me and walk the bags to the living room. That's funny Harry would've greeted me by now? He's probably asleep.

Setting up for later, I bring the balloons over realizing the tablecloths are upstairs. I work my way up the steps. These are gonna be a hassle with an extra 30-40 pounds on me. The closer I get to the top, I hear a light moan.

"I love y/n, she can't know about this" Harry's voice spoke.

Tiptoeing to peak into our bedroom I see my beloved boyfriend, father of my child shirtless kissing a pant-less Taylor Swift. Wow. Just my, fucking luck. Of course, he would! I mean what was I thinking.

"Of course not, my reputation is already bad" she breathes, cupping the side of his face.

I just watch him continue to kiss her after leaning into her touch. Debating whether to go in there, I feel frozen in my steps.

"This doesn't feel right" his deep voice sighs. No shit.

"She doesn't even care about you Harry, isn't that what you told me?" She says sweetly, such a snake.

He sighs and flips them, the scene before me, causes tears to come to my eyes. Opening the door making my presence known Harry turns to me with wide eyes while Taylor scrambles to find her pants and shirt.

"Y/n it's not-"

"I don't want to hear it" I say to him. Irritation and disgust line my voice. Grabbing the table covers I go back downstairs. I have what I need. After looking at my presentation admiring the work I've done. Harry and Taylor both come downstairs. His eyes red and puffy. I swear the tears make his eyes appear more beautiful, I hope my child has his eyes at least.

Astounded by my quiet stature he sits next to me and I stiffen. I'm just quiet because it's keeping me from crying. Taylor stares blankly at the floor.

"Why the fuck are you still here? Leave." I spit at her.

Oh, how I wish I could drink.

The doorbell rings alarming Taylor. I just walk her to the door and invite our parents in "Thank you Taylor" I say sincerely seeing her nod and pull off fast in her car. Tramp.

"What's that about?" Anne ask,

" New music" she smiles and comes in with everyone trailing her steps.

"Harry what's wrong love?" she asks wiping his tears.

"Nothing just allergies mum" she pats his back and sits at the table.

"Five years, I cannot believe it, Harry it's the longest you've had!" Rob states. "And the fans love you Y/n" Anne adds lightly patting my shoulder. "Our little girls all grown up" y/m/n wipes a fake tear from her eye. Everyone laughs. Thank god Harry is next to me so I don't have to look at him. He places his hand in my lap, but I push it off, going unnoticed by the crowd around us.

"Gift time!" I exclaim as he tries again. Placing each one down in-front of them, they all look up slightly confused.

"What's this?" Y/d/n ask.

"Open them, Haz just wait a few seconds after" they all agree. Rob opening his first then y/d/n they look at me then Harry, our moms looks match Harry's as he unwraps his gift. Stunned he looks at me with tears in his eyes. "Y-you're pregnant?"

"Yeah, surprise." Our parents run up to hug us.

"It's about time, I'm getting old over here!" Y/m/n shouts. Once they leave excitedly picking out baby names. I refuse to look at Harry. I make my way upstairs and begin packing some clothing.

"W-what are you doing?" Harry ask quietly.

"What does it look like Harry?" I say pushing past him going to the bathroom and grabbing some necessities. He just leans on the door frame watching me, still refusing to look at him. At first, I cared but I've made up my mind.

"How far along are we?"

"I'm almost 6 weeks but that doesn't matter" trying to walk past him he just grabs my arm and pulls me into him.

"I love you so much," he cries into my neck. I just stand there, motionless "I'm such a fuck up. Please don't leave me. I want to be here for you, for our baby. Y/n please." His hot tears continue to stream onto my shirt leaving a wet patch.

I soon give in rubbing his back gently. "Calm down Harry," I whisper into his ear as his sobs get louder "Breathe, okay."

Sitting on the closest surface near me, today has been long; I'm tired and pregnant give me a break. He stands between my legs looking down at me. I love him I do, and I want the best for our child, but this hurt. The one request I've had is he doesn't cheat, and he did. I stare at my feet avoiding him at all cost until his hand lifts my chin, forcing me to look at him. "I'm not asking you to forgive me, but I am asking you to stay." He states softly placing a random string of hair behind my ear. He slowly starts leaning in I don't stop him. Suddenly feeling nauseous at the thought of him kissing Taylor, I shove him away from me crying.

He tries to hold me, but I just shake my head frantically, "Harry No," I cry. "How could you!? In our house Harry!" I shout. Continuing to pack my things making myself mad at the thought of his hands all over his ex.

"Y/n I'm so sorry please just stop," clothes I need clothes, just for a few days I'll buy more later. Walking into the bedroom opening my laptop ignoring his pleads. I book a hotel for two weeks, until I situate what is happening. He just sits on the bed trying to see what I'm doing but I soon erased my browser history and factory restarted the device so he can't track anything. Let's combine our accounts so our calendars sync. A swell idea. Wiping my tears, I pack outfits for each day that wouldn't show anything to the paparazzi. He sits there with his head in his hand's sharp intakes of breath audible.

As I approach him, he assumes I'm going to touch him, but I simply go into the drawer next to him. Cringing at the thought of him and Taylor who were here not over 6 hours ago, Grasping the more recent black and white photos gently until I get a photo album for them. Contemplating for a minute looking at the small framed version of my uterus I carefully tear one off handing to him before I seal my bag and walk away, taking my keys and loading my stuff in the backseat.

Looking through the rearview mirror, saying a silent goodbye to the home I hoped to raise my child. It'll get better- I hope.

A/n: Hello Loves! This is also a piece I had on wattpad. Most of these posts today will be Wattpad uploads. I'm trying to see which platform suits my work best. Bear with me while I figure Tumblr out. Masterlist coming soon!

xoxo Janelle

#harry #harry styles #harryx reader #y/n #harry styles and y/n #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #writing #imagine #oneshot #smut #fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb

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fromyourstrulyh · 4 years

Text

The Sweetest Fruit

A/N: Hello! This is my very, VERY late submission for the Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge! This is long overdue but I have finally gotten around to writing this! A couple of disclaimers though before you begin reading: 1) this fic contains the teeniest bit smut and with that said, 2) this is my first time writing smut ever, so please be gentle with me. As always, a massive thank you to Anne (@oh-honey-styles), Kate (@andwhenshesays) and Anna (@for-fucks-sake-h) for hosting the fic challenge! I would also like to thank Kate, Anne, El (@real-work-of-art) and Morgan (@soullikestyles) for reading through and giving me the boost of confidence I need to post this fic! 🙈 Finally, please go support the other amazing writers who also participated in the challenge here!

Summary: In which Harry is craving for the sweetest fruit for breakfast.

— • — • —

Harry loves his fruit. Anything from apples to mangoes to watermelon, he loves them all.

Maybe it’s the different flavor profiles he gets from the variety of fruits — tangy, sweet, tart — when he first bites into it. Maybe it’s that fruits are readily available to him and he can have them any time of the day whether it’s for breakfast, a midday snack or his dessert. Maybe it‘s that some of his favorite fruits also happen to be some of the juiciest.

Which reminds him of how you taste on his tongue.

When he savors a fruit, his mind is flooded with memories of him between your thighs on nights (and days) when he feels the urge to feast on you like you’re his last meal. He’s relentless and he does not stop until his hunger is satisfied. He just can’t help himself when you look ravishing.

So when you enter the kitchen moments after waking up, looking as enticing as ever, Harry became turned on just at the sight of you — to say the least.

He thinks it’s because of the way your hair is still messy, the sex hair still evident from the night before. He admires the way you don’t show any effort in trying to hide the marks he made on you. He thinks it’s because of the satin nightgown you have on. Despite you being absolutely filthy for him the previous night, begging and unashamedly screaming for him to go faster and harder, he also loves that you still like to be a little modest. The thought of hearing the sounds you make for only him again makes his cock swell up.

Before Harry can even stop himself, he walks up to you from behind while you’re busy making coffee. He wraps his arms around your torso bringing you to him so that your back is flush to his front. He places a faint kiss to your temple.

“G’morning, love. How’d you sleep?” He asks.

The question is so simple, so innocent. Yet the tone of his voice is raspy which says otherwise. It makes your body tense. You know that’s how he sounds in early mornings shortly after he wakes. It’s also how he sounds when he just needs you and right now, you know what he wants when you become hyper aware of his erection poking the back of your thigh.

“Hm, slept well, H. You?” You tried to play it cool but Harry knows you like the back of his hand.

He chuckles. “Best sleep I’ve had in a long time. But I had to get up early to get something for breakfast.”

You hum. “Yeah? Is there anything you’re craving? I can prepare it for you.”

“Yeah, actually. Was havin’ some fruit earlier but I want something sweeter. Got any ideas as to what I can have?” You feel his hand trail down your stomach and goosebumps rise on your skin. You shiver at the suggestive tone of his voice and the feeling of his hand getting closer and closer to where you need him. You exhale shakily, trying to maintain your composure, but you feel it slowly diminishing.

You turn around in his arms so that you’re facing him, abandoning the unmade coffee. Your hips grind against his, letting him know exactly what you want.

“No clue.” You reply innocently, looking up at his face through your lashes. His eyes that were once a bright green have darkened tremendously. Harry growls and the next thing you know, his lips are on yours.

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer. You feel his hands everywhere — on your hips, your thighs, with the occasional squeeze on your behind — and it makes you moan in his mouth.

“Fuck, love, need t’taste ya. Please.” He begs at the same time walking you to the counter. You jump and wrap your legs around his waist before sitting down on the cool surface.

When you’re sat comfortably on the counter, he brings his hand to the apex of your thighs. You squeal, not expecting the suddenness, but it soon turns into a moan when Harry feels his fingers being soaked with your juices. You feel your skin heat up at his touch.

The contact from his fingers is gone as quickly as it came and you watch as he brings his drenched fingers in front of his face, admiring how it glistens in the sunlight peeking through the kitchen window. Harry brings them to his lips and he hums at your familiar taste. Your mouth is parted, chest heaving, one of the straps to your nightgown is hanging from your shoulder, exposing your right breast, and Harry has never seen anything more beautiful.

You whine. “Harry, please.”

“Please, what?”

“Touch me.” You command.

“Gotta be more specific than that, love. Use your words.”

You groan internally. He knows you absolutely hate it when he’s being a tease especially when you’ve gotten so needy. The last of your patience left of your body and you spread your legs wider for him.

“Fine, then. Eat me out, Harry. Put your tongue to good use.” He doesn’t say anything. He simply smirks before kneeling down so that he’s eye level to the most intimate part of your body. You watch him nip your inner thighs until red marks appear on your skin, to remind you (and him) of the pleasure he gives you, slowly getting closer and closer to where you need him most...

“Can smell ya from here, love. All this for me?” The vibrations from his voice sends a shiver up your spine and you don’t know how much of his teasing you can take.

“H, I swear if you don’t stop teasing me, I—” The rest of your thought gets cut off and is replaced with a loud moan when he finally licks a broad stripe from your leaking hole to your swollen clit. He flicks and nibbles on the bundle of nerves, knowing it only riles you up more.

“Mm, so bossy, didn’t know my girl wants it so dirty. Just remember I’m in control here, yeah?” He flicks your clit once more which earns him another moan.

“Oh my god, yes, you’re in control. Just keep going, please.”

At that, he keeps going and doesn’t stop, as if he had any plan to. The feeling of his tongue and cool breath on your contrastingly warm skin is only adding fuel to the fire. The air smells of sweat and sex. Your mouth feels dry from it being agape. You glance down to the man between your legs to find him looking back at you. He looks at you in the eye as he nibbles on the bundle of nerves that have gotten so sensitive from his work that the slightest touch is enough to make you beg for more.

Your mouth is open in shock, head thrown back. Your mind is in a state of pure bliss, almost as if it was transported to a paradise with nothing but pleasure. You’re brought back to reality when you feel his thumb rubbing slow and languid circles on your clit. You love how attentive he is and it only makes your grind your hips against his mouth.

“Harry, fuck, I’m so, so close. Please don’t stop.”

He hums at your request, sending vibrations throughout your body. Your skin feels clammy against the counter but you could care less when the man in between your legs is feasting on you like there’s no tomorrow.

You raise your hips again to bunch the hem of your soaked nightgown around your waist. As soon as you sit back down, your hands find their way to Harry’s head. With his curls between your fingertips and your nails lightly scratching his scalp, you lightly tug on his hair which earns you a groan. In response, you widen your legs to give him more access.

“Harder,” he rasps.

When you pull on his hair a little harder than the first time, you feel the smirk on your skin. Just before you make a remark, however, his thumb on your clit speeds up.

“So wet for me. So fuckin’ sweet, sweeter than any fruit. C’mon, know yeh wanna cum for me. Cum for me baby. On my count, got it?” He asks in a whisper.

Your mind has lost all words and you could only nod to tell him that you want — more like need — a release. Your senses are in overdrive and if this means Harry gets to have you like this, with your legs spread and his tongue buried deep in between, so be it. You’re at his absolute mercy, wrapped around his finger. He is in control of you and your pleasure and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“3...” He starts.

He continued his assault on your folds. He flicked, licked, nibbled, gently bit on your oh-so-sensitive clit.

I guess he really was hungry, you thought.

“2...”

You arch your back, buck your hips to his mouth. You tightly grip onto his hair, pulling on it towards your cunt, but also push him away because you can’t take anymore. But Harry doesn’t let his job go unfinished. He can almost just feel you’re almost there, close to your release.

“1...”

And you cum. Hard. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you can see specks of white in your vision. Your body has a mind of its own, shuddering and your legs quake while Harry laps up every single drop of your juices. The only sounds that can be heard in the room is just you shouting curses and Harry’s name over and over again.

After what feels like an eternity, you feel like you finally recovered from what might’ve been one of the best orgasms you’ve received. You feel a loss of contact from Harry’s mouth and fingers.

You watch with hooded eyes as Harry stands, his face hovering over yours. He looks so beautiful with his chin glistening with the sunlight casted upon him. He brings his drenched fingers to his mouth and your mouth parts as you watch him taste you on his fingers. He hums in satisfaction.

He gives you a sly smirk. “Want some?”

You nod. He leans in to kiss you and your taste is evident on his tongue. You moan when you also taste a hint of the sweetness from the fruit he had earlier. It helps since your mouth was so dry from it being open for so long.

His kisses trail down your neck, his lips pecking the area around your sweet spot. You jump when you feel his teeth nip the area he knows make your knees weak. You lean your head back to give him better access. He nips and bites down on the skin until he knows a mark forms and soothes the pain with his tongue. He continues his torture down to your collarbone while he gently rubs your nipple, that’s poking through the your nightgown, with his thumb. He pulls the other strap down your shoulder and arm and pulls the top of your gown down to your stomach until both breasts are exposed to the slight breeze in the room, making you shiver. You can almost feel the smirk against your skin and before you have the chance to say anything, you feel his tongue flick your right nipple and nip on the skin around it before doing the same on your other breast.

For the first time since he went down on you, you speak up. “S-So good,” you stutter.

At that, Harry’s lips quirk up.

“Yeah? Come to think of it, I’m craving for some breakfast in bed. Think I just found the sweetest fruit.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles blurb #pypfc

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firstfullmoon · 4 years

Note

sorry if this has been asked before, but what are your favorite quotes about (romantic) love?

• “I love you. I want us both to eat well.”

— Christopher Citro, from “Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled with Shriek”

• “You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. Only the sun has come this close, only the sun.”

— Shauna Barbosa, from “GPS”

• “August. We were arguing. You want love to be like this every day don’t you? 92 degrees even in the shade.”

“I used to be a hopeless romantic. I am still a hopeless romantic. I used to believe that love was the highest value. I still believe that love is the highest value. I don’t expect to be happy. I don’t imagine that I will find love, whatever that means, or that if I do find it, it will make me happy. I don’t think of love as the answer or the solution. I think of love as a force of nature - as strong as the sun, as necessary, as impersonal, as gigantic, as impossible, as scorching as it is warming, as drought-making as it is life-giving. And when it burns out, the planet dies.”

“If love is going to be done differently I will have to do it. I don’t mean as a messiah-thing, I mean as a me-thing. I want to look into your eyes and not get blown up. I want you to see me as I am and not destroy me. I don’t want to retreat into plant life, or have the same bad dream every night. I don’t want to watch a city burn because I was there.”

— Jeanette Winterson

• “I’ll take care of you. / It’s rotten work. / Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

— from Anne Carson’s translation of Orestes

• “I think of you all the time and therefore have little to say that would not embarrass you, for instance my first feeling about the rain was that it was like you.”

— John Cage, from a letter to Merce Cunningham

• “I want you to know, if you ever read this, there was a time when I would rather have had you by my side than any one of these words; I would rather have had you by my side than all the blue in the world.”

— Maggie Nelson, Bluets

• “I want to be a village full of sweethearts, / as you are, every second of the day, / cooking me soups & drawing me pictures / & holding me, my inexplicable & elephant sadness, / with your infinite arms. / But isn’t it true, you are not / always why I am happy. & I promise / it is true, you are almost never why, / why I am sad.”

— Chen Chen, from “Elegy for My Sadness”

• “Look here Vita—throw over your man, and we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I’ll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads — They won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come.”

“I always have such need to merely talk to you. Even when I have nothing to talk about – with you I just seem to go right ahead and sort of invent it. I invent it for you. Because I never seem to run out of tenderness for you and because I need to feel you near.”

“I could only think of you as being very distant and beautiful and calm. A lighthouse in clean waters.”

“What can one say — except that I love you and I’ve got to live through this strange quiet evening thinking of you sitting alone. Dearest — let me have a line… You have given me such happiness…”

— Virginia Woolf, from letters to Vita Sackville-West

• “I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone. I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it.”

“Please, in all this muddle of life, continue to be a bright and constant star. Just a few things remain as beacons: poetry, and you, and solitude.”

— Vita Sackville-West, from letters to Virginia Woolf

• “Love is awful. It’s awful. It’s painful. It’s frightening. It makes you doubt yourself, judge yourself, distance yourself from the other people in your life. It makes you selfish. It makes you creepy, makes you obsessed with your hair, makes you cruel, makes you say and do things you never thought you would do. It’s all any of us want, and it’s hell when we get there. So no wonder it’s something we don’t want to do on our own. I was taught if we’re born with love then life is about choosing the right place to put it. People talk about that a lot, feeling right, when it feels right it’s easy. But I’m not sure that’s true. It takes strength to know what’s right. And love isn’t something that weak people do. Being a romantic takes a hell of a lot of hope. I think what they mean is, when you find somebody that you love, it feels like hope.“

— Phoebe Waller-Bridge, in Fleabag

• “i carry your heart with me(i carry it inmy heart)”

— e.e. cummings, from “[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]”

• “There was once a very great American surgeon named Halsted. He was married to a nurse. He loved her-immeasurably. One day Halsted noticed that his wife’s hands were chapped and red when she came back from surgery. And so he invented rubber gloves. For her. It is one of the great love stories in medicine. The difference between inspired medicine and uninspired medicine is love. When I met Ana I knew: I loved her to the point of invention.”

— Sarah Ruhl, The Clean House

• “oh god it’s wonderful / to get out of bed / and drink too much coffee / and smoke too many cigarettes / and love you so much”

— Frank O’Hara, from “Steps”

• “This morning there’s snow everywhere. We remark on it. You tell me you didn’t sleep well. I say I didn’t either. You had a terrible night. “Me too.” We’re extraordinarily calm and tender with each other as if sensing the other’s rickety state of mind. As if we knew what the other was feeling. We don’t, of course. We never do. No matter. It’s the tenderness I care about. That’s the gift this morning that moves and holds me. Same as every morning.”

— Raymond Carver, from “The Gift”

• “Well Marianne, it’s come to this time when we are really so old and our bodies are falling apart and I think I will follow you very soon. Know that I am so close behind you that if you stretch out your hand, I think you can reach mine.”

— Leonard Cohen, in a letter to Marianna Ihlen

• “I think about love on a scale from 1 to 10. Most of us find a 6 or a 7, and that’s why we have divorce. It’s the truth. We settle for that 6 or 7. But I like to think Kevin is Chiron’s 10. He’s found that and he realizes that there’s no reason to settle for a 6 or a 7 because, “I know this person is my 10. Whether or not this person believes I’m his 10, I’m going to devote my life to this person entirely.” That’s why the line where he says, “You’re the only man that’s ever touched me,” for me, was the most amazing, most beautiful thing I’ve seen in cinema, period. Because that’s what we strive for as people, to find that one person because they’re there. If Kevin doesn’t feel that they should be together, Chiron is just going to die a miserable person because that’s his person and he won’t settle for anything else.“

— Trevante Rhodes about Moonlight

• “I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world”

— Frank O’Hara, from “Having a Coke with You” but the whole poem is !

• “The door slammed and someone came home and low voices could be heard, the single lilt of a question as it rose, “How was it?” or “Are you hungry?” Something plain and necessary, yet extra, with care, a voice like those tiny roofs over the phone booths along the train tracks, the ones made from the same shingles used for houses, except only four rows wide—just enough to keep the phone dry. And maybe that’s all I wanted—to be asked a question and have it cover me, like a roof the width of myself.”

— Ocean Vuong, from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

• “I keep wishing for you, keep shutting up my eyes and looking toward the sky, asking with all my might for you, and yet you do not come. I thought of you, until the world grew rounder than it sometimes is, and I broke several dishes.”

— Emily Dickinson, in a letter to Minnie Holland

• “I don’t want you to be nervous. Maybe thinking of a walrus would help. Have you seen the video of the penguin accidentally stepping on a sleeping walrus? It thought it was a rock. The walrus wakes up like what the fuck and the penguin scurries off like oh shit. Sometimes it’s funny watching a surprise happen, and not just funny but kind of amazing — like, you never really know what’s what when it comes to this planet.

Then again, when it’s you getting surprised, that’s different. Especially for tender ones like us. What are we supposed to do? It’s bad for our hearts, you know. I hope you won’t need pills like I do. I think I get so scared because I’m greedy — I want to hold onto everything, the world wants to take it away. What the fuck. The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.”

— Mikko Harvey, “For M”

• “Willem sleeps on the left side of the bed, and he on the right, and the first night they slept in the same bed, he turned to his right on his side, the way he always did, and Willem pressed up against him, tucking his right arm under his neck and then across his shoulders, and his left arm around his stomach, moving his legs between his legs. He was surprised by this, but once he overcame his initial discomfort, he found he liked it, that it was like being swaddled. One night in June, however, Willem didn’t do it, and he worried he had done something wrong. The next morning–early mornings were the other time they talked about the things that seemed too tender, too difficult, to be said in the daylight–he asked Willem if he was upset with him, and Willem, looking surprised, said no, of course not. “I just wondered,” he began, stammering, “because last night you didn’t–” But he couldn’t finish the sentence; he was too embarrassed. But then he could see Willem’s expression clear, and he rolled into him and wrapped his arms around him. “This?” he asked, and he nodded. “It was just because it was so hot last night, Willem said, and he waited for Willem to laugh at him, but he didn’t. “That’s the only reason, Judy.” Since then, Willem has held him in the same way every night, even through July, when not even the air-conditioning could erase the heaviness from the air, and when they both woke damp with sweat. This, he realizes, is what he wanted from a relationship all along. This is what he meant when he hoped he might someday be touched.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

• “No, I didn’t imagine my being alone with you the way you do. If I want the impossible, I want it in its entirety. Entirely alone, dearest, I wanted us to be entirely alone on this earth, entirely alone under the sky, and to lead my life, my life that is yours, without distraction and with complete concentration, in you.”

— Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer

• “If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth, to this present time, I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours, I would.”

— David Wojnarowicz, The Half-Life

• “I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell, I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

— Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

• “If Moses had seen the way my friend’s face blushes when he’s drunk, and his beautiful curls and wonderful hands, he would not have written in his Torah: do not lie with a man”

— Rabbi Yehuda Al-Harizi/Judah Ben Solomon Harizi

• “I’ll rob the bank that gave you the impression that money is more fruitful than words, and I’ll cut holes in the ozone if it means you have one less day of rain. I’ll walk you to the hospital, I’ll wait in a white room that reeks of hand sanitizer and latex for the results from the MRI scan that tries to locate the malady that keeps your mind guessing, and I want to write you a poem every day until my hand breaks and assure you that you’ll find your place, it’s just the world has a funny way of hiding spots fertile enough for bodies like yours to grow roots. I hope our ghosts aren’t eating you alive. If i’m to speak for myself, I’ll tell you that the universe is twice as big as we think it is and you’re the only one that made that idea less devastating.”

— Lucas Regazzi, from “Small”

• “I thought she was sleeping until I heard her call out from across the room, “Will you bring me a glass of water?” I did. Then in her always-sleepy tone and drawl she said, “Do you remember when you were a little girl and you would ask your mama to bring you a glass of water?” Yeah. “You know how half the time you weren’t even thirsty. You just wanted that hand that was attached to that glass that was attached to that person you just wanted to stay there until you fell asleep.” She took the glass of water that I brought her and just sat it down full on the table next to her. Wow, I thought. What am I gonna do with love like this.”

— Dito Montiel, One Night

#this is the best ask i've ever received actually thank you so much #w #compilation #the earth was made for lovers #shauna barbosa #jeanette winterson #madeline miller #franz kafka #hanya yanagihara #emily dickinson #ocean vuong #maggie nelson #chen chen #virginia woolf #vita sackville west #david wojnarowicz #frank o’hara

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paperbagpetrichor · 4 years

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Hey, I was wondering if you could do a Kakyoin x female reader, but it's "Rubber Soul" Kakyoin. Like with his strange behaviour and that, the reader notices something's wrong with Kakyoin and tries to figure it out? I thought it would be interesting and I know you would do an amazing job. Thank you.

[ I’m so so so sorry for the wait that this took;; I really hope you enjoy. ] You knew something was off the instant you felt a sudden wind blow past you. At first, you had no idea where it had come from. Jotaro and Anne were still in front of you, and Kakyoin hadn’t moved - yet. Stand still far ahead of him, he tripped a strange man, moving so quickly it was like the cherry-haired boy had teleported rather than ran. If you’d blinked, you were sure you would’ve missed it. You had no idea what was going on, and your confusion was only heightened by the menacing threats Kakyoin suddenly started hurling at the man. Eyes shifting from Kakyoin, then to Jotaro, then Anne, didn’t show much of anything. It looked like the young girl and stoic boy were both shocked out of their minds. Granted, so were you. Within seconds he’d lifted the man above his head, arching the stranger’s back and beginning to...what the hell was he doing? “Kakyoin! Let him go!”

Voice ringing in tandem with the stranger’s screaming, you raced over to your seemingly possessed friend only for Jotaro to overtake you and slug him across his shoulderblades. “Hey - what the hell was that?” you demanded, letting the black-haired teen take care of the strange man and leaving yourself to care for the one who’d seemed to go through some sort of psychotic episode. Instead, he completely ignored you, attempting to explain his actions to Jotaro and Anne, back facing you as his voice, oddly cold and nearly robotic, was interrupted by the laughter of excited children. Still, you were focused on Kakyoin despite the distraction, especially as he let out a humorless chuckle.

The talk of being exhausted worried you, though. It wasn’t like this was easy. You’d already seen (and participated in) countless battles with the others, and with the sun pulsing down on you all like a giant flame, it would’ve made sense if he’d had some form of heat stroke. But...if that was the case, it made no sense that he could’ve taken that man down so effortlessly. As Jotaro started to head off, you approached Kakyoin, putting a slightly-shaking hand to his forehead. “You feel hot. Maybe we should head back to the hotel for now.” You attempted a smile. “After all, we’ll still be here for a bit tomorrow. We can come enjoy the scenery then.”

It was like he hadn’t heard a word you said. Mechanically, he turned on his heels and headed towards the tree that the children had been playing around just moments earlier. Feeling out of place, you began to follow after Jotaro, only for Anne to point out that Kakyoin wasn’t following.

The instant you saw the beetle clenched in his jaw, you practically shoved Anne in Jotaro’s direction, blocking his view of her and steeling yourself. Had - had that really been a beetle? Why would he…?

“This coconut juice is delicious. Why don’t you try it, [y/n]?” His eyes, so devoid of the usual life within them, shining only with what seemed to be some invisible haze as he stared at you, smile more like a sneer, he handed you his drink, following after Jotaro.

Something in your gut screamed suspicion and the instant Kakyoin left you dumped the coconut in the nearest bin.

When you arrived to the party, Anne was screaming, and Jotaro was nowhere to be seen. Before the question could even rise in your throat you saw a hand clinging onto the balcony, body dangling down dangerously above a staggering drop that surely no one could survive, even if there was a lake below. Your stand was out in a flash, helping Jotaro back up, and in the instant you did you shared a nonverbal agreement. While Jotaro spoke with Kakyoin, you and Anne fell back, crouching to her side with your hands on her shoulders. “Get to a phone. Call Mr. Joestar and Avdol. Tell them it’s urgent.” The small girl nodded, a whole new form of fear flashing across her features.

You didn’t stop to look back as you rushed over to the remaining two. It was painful to watch Jotaro pack such a punch into the man you’d begun to develop feelings for, but that didn’t matter. Both you and Jotaro knew better. This wasn’t Kakyoin. Not mentally, at least.

No. This was someone entirely different. Something entirely different.

Surely enough, the instant he’d recovered himself from being thrown into the cable car, he refuted, in a voice as though two people spoke through him at once, “‘Possessed’ isn’t quite right.” Before he even mentioned it you stepped back involuntarily as you saw his head rise to the top of the car, body suddenly somehow larger than Jotaro’s. This had to be the work of the stand.

“Listen to me.” You cut off whatever Jotaro was about to say, shouldering in front of him. “Kakyoin, I don’t know what the hell is happening here. But I do know that this - ” you gestured back to the drink vendor, then to Kakyoin’s gigantic body, “ - is not you. I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to listen to me. Doesn’t my voice sound familiar? Doesn’t Jotaro’s, and Anne’s?”

For a moment the man looked puzzled.

“If you won’t believe in them, you can believe in me.” You slowly approached him, hands out in front of you, stand cautiously at your side, continuing, “It’s me. It’s [y/n].” To your relief something like recognition snapped both his eyes and mouth open, staring wordlessly at you. The two of you were at a standstill, both now in the small cable car. “Nori, I know you’re somewhere in there,” you whispered, “you can fight this. Just like you fought against Di--” and then a sharp sound, an agonizing pain ripping through your arm, and your world went black.

When you came to, Kakyoin was gone. Completely. You could’ve spotted his red hair from a mile away, and it was nowhere to be found. What you saw instead, as you slowly tried to raise yourself up, fire shooting through your arm and forcing you to let out a gasp of pain, was a shirtless man, now staring down at you, with a mass of rippling, yellow sludge draping across his neck like a cape. Within an instant the man had you by the neck, running his fingernail absentmindedly across your throat.

“What did you do with Kakyoin, you bastard?” you shouted, using your good shoulder to shove him against the wall of the car and giving you enough time to pull out your stand. “What did you - ”

Something filled your throat. It was burning like acid, pulsating against the roof of your mouth and tongue and teeth as you doubled over, coughing, hacking into your hands only for them each to become coated in the yellow surface. You tried to speak but the stand user had no such intentions of allowing you. “That’s right,” he began slowly, a satisfied look growing on his face as the yellow mass began to consume you, slowly but surely, “I almost forgot about you. I thought you were dead.” In a bone-chilling murmur, he added, “The good ones know when to stay silent. But no matter,” he threw his hands up. “You’ll be dead soon either way. And as for that?” Suddenly you felt a sharp pull jerk you forwards, nearly slamming you into the man’s chest, taking you a moment to realize his hands weren’t on you but rather your stand, breathing irregular and body tense. “You may as well put it away. My stand has no weaknesses, after all.”

“Ka...Kakyoin,” you sputtered, “what the hell did you d-do to…?” But the yellow mess had stuck your mouth together before you could finish.

The man paid you no attention. Rather, he glanced at something behind you, something you couldn’t see. “Ah, it appears your friend still doesn’t quite grasp the situation.” Jotaro? “My stand’s got a hold of you that you can’t escape, and you say you’ll - ”

He wasn’t able to finish his sentence because you knew you were at an almost, if not definitive, fatal disadvantage. You didn’t have the energy to spare to look for Jotaro, but if he was in any condition like you, there wasn’t much he could do, either. But every stand had one weakness. Something in common. Something very, very simple.

Death.

Even if it meant taking yourself down with him.

You didn’t care when your hands became completely immersed in the lightning that was the yellow monster. All you did was push.

In what appeared to be a moment of panic he somehow increased the agony that his stand spread across you, but when the shards of glass punctured straight through his temple from the fall into the water, after your body being encased in an unbearable layer of pain from hitting the lake with such velocity, as soon as you could, you were once again able to move. Even with an injured arm, you’d managed to break the glass of the car with his head, sending him - and consequently you - both flying to the lake down below. There wasn’t much time left. Only the upper portions of your head in addition to your lower body remained untouched by his sludge, and the density of it sent you sinking far lower and faster and deeper into the water than him. But your stand managed to snag his foot, and as you sunk, he sunk with you. Something else hit the water behind you, forcing your grip on the man to let go no matter how hard you fought back with what minimal remaining strength you had. It was all but useless to think that the other splash was made by Kakyoin. But you were shoved away by a hand you couldn’t quite see, pushing you up with enough force to combat the weight swallowing your body, and by some miracle when you thrashed your legs, you found your head bobbing above the water, gasping for air and nearly choking on the amount of water you’d swallowed. Salt and blood and agony ran across your tongue - and then something vanished.

You were able to keep yourself afloat.

Senses slowly returning to you, you pushed off in the opposite direction, relieved at how easily and quickly you’d spotted the other side of the water. Whatever had shoved you had done so with incredible strength. Desperate, you just barely managed to worm your way out, onto the concrete, heaving. It took a solid few moments for you to regain your senses. By the time you had, you just managed to lift your head and face down whatever awaited you on the other side.

Jotaro…? It must’ve been Star Platinum that had hit you, because, in an instant, a flurry of unrestrained purple punches flew from Jotaro onto the bloody stand user, water staining dangerously red around him as Jotaro sent him flying back, with a final hit, landing with a sickening crack on the pavement just behind you. You wasted no time checking if the man was still alive. For now, you had to escape. You had to find Kakyoin.

You struggled with only being capable of using one arm to swim. Your chest burnt and you were all but doubled over into yourself from the land, one leg hardly capable of thrashing at all. It was undeniable that the other was broken, just beneath the shoulder, and as the water shaded scarlet, you began to feel the weight of your injuries. The only thing that kept you going was the beating of your heart and pressure in your soul to find Kakyoin.

Thankfully, about halfway in, Jotaro met up with you, hauling you back out of the water with him. He inspected you - a few glass shards dotted your hands, arms, and face, and of course the way one of your arms hung disjointedly at your side was unmistakable. “You have to get to a doctor.”

But before you could so much as think about Jotaro’s words, you heard your name being called, louder and louder with each passing second, and as you propped yourself up into a sloppy stance, still struggling with your balance and barely able to hold yourself upright, the sight that you’d so perilously fought for came into vision, slowing down and face straining with shock as Kakyoin took in the sight of you in. Bloodied and broken, but still beautiful, clearly unsteady and swaying dangerously from side to side, he reached out for you, careful to avoid what looked like a fractured arm and punctures of glass, pulling you softly into his arms, heart racing out of his chest. “[Y/n]? What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’ll...I’m gonna be okay,” you sputtered, falling limp against him, grateful for the support. “Just glad you’re okay.” After a moment of silence, still fighting for air, you asked almost hopelessly, voice cracking, “You’re okay, right? Please just...be okay.”

He had absolutely no idea what you were talking about, but as his eyebrows furrowed in even more concern as he vaguely spotted Jotaro approaching the two of you, he nodded, completely uncertain, placing his best attempt at a reassuring kiss on your forehead. “Yes. Yes, I’m alright, of course I am.” His fear-stricken face said otherwise, but physically, he was fine, much to your relief.

“We have to get her bandaged up,” Jotaro interjected. “She’s gotta get to a hospital; the old man - probably everyone - won’t know what to do with her.” Kakyoin sent him a silent glance, but it was one he’d seen before, only cast when Kakyoin was with you. The black-haired teen took his leave to the phone where Anne stood, petrified, to call for an ambulance.

Kakyoin held you close for a few more moments, silent, one arm around your waist and the other cupping your predominantly non-injured cheek, trying to calm himself and quell his fears - both for Jotaro and himself, but mostly for you - as he felt you against him. When he pulled away, you thankfully seemed to be back on your feet, at least as much as could be expected. He didn’t mind for a second that you still leaned against him, good arm clutching his tightly.

You coughed, still feeling the pain down your throat even though its origin had long since gone. Kakyoin put something in your hand. One of the coconut drinks you’d been planning on trying earlier.

“It’s not much, but you should have it,” he urged, offering as reassuring of a smile as he could. “I was surprised at how good they are. Oh, and those cherries are delicious.”

As you downed the drink slowly, still out of breath, Kakyoin taking you in his arms once more for support, you nodded, the first genuine smile of the day spreading across your lips as you managed to fall back into some sort of normalcy, or at least the ability to properly hold your own. There was nothing but the cherry left, and you presented the coconut back to him. “Here. You can have it.”

“As tempting as that is, it’s all yours, [y/n].”

#jjba #Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure #jojo #jjba part 3 #jjba p3 #jojo part 3 #jojo p3 #kakyoin #noriaki #kakyoin x reader #noriaki x reader #noriaki kakyoin x reader #rubber soul kakyoin x reader #x reader #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #stardust crudaders #jojo stardust crusaders

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anarcoqueer1994 · 3 years

Text

4th of July, 1932

It was Steve's 14th birthday, not that anyone would remember, not when he shared a birthday with America's number one day to blow up things. Sarah even had to work today, regretfully telling him they would have a little birthday dinner tomorrow. She gives him a plate of deviled eggs to bring down. He doesn't give her trouble, he knows his ma has to work any shift she could get to support them. He'd bring in a little doing free lance drawing in the park, but not nearly enough.

Anyhow, the neighborhood was having a block party for the holiday, so he decided to go down and enjoy, knowing Bucky would be there. In fact, when he opened his door to head out, Bucky was already on his steps waiting for him.

"Happy Birthday, Stevie!" Bucky smiles at him before pulling him into a big hug, carefully maneuvering as to not drop the eggs. Usually this would be fine, he and Bucky hugged all the time. But Bucky turned fifteen a few months back and had had that growth spurt, putting him almost 8 inches taller than his friend. That's when Steve started to realize that he may like Bucky more than a friend, spending countless nights praying to God to fix him, to make that feeling go away.

But when Bucky hugged him, all those feelings flooded back in as usual, prayer not working. He wanted to pull away, remind Bucky that guys their age aren't supposed to be that affectionate with each other(at least that's what Mr. Barnes had said), but he didn't. He just leaned into it for as long as Bucky wanted.

When the hug finally did break, Bucky was beaming at his friend. "So ready to get down there? Mrs. Horvat made hot dogs, and I don't trust there to be too many for long."

The golden haired boy couldn't help but smile back drawn in by warmth radiating from his best friend. "Sure thing, Buck. I'm ready." Bucky throws his arm around his shoulder as they walk down together.

When they get to the festivities, Steve drops his plate off at a big table(actually crates with some old boards laid across them) on the side walk. They walk around, enjoying the day, gorging themselves on food. Steve notices that Bucky's arm barely leaves his shoulder the entire day. The increased height difference though, made him more conscious of it. It felt like Bucky was pulling him, closer than usual. But he couldn't find it in him to complain.

Unfortunately, Steve isn't the only one who noticed how close the boys are. Walking past a group of women, some being mom's of a lot of the guys they had gone to school with(both having dropped out to help their parents back home, who needed more than an 8th grade education anyways?) Steve heard one whisper to another "Do you think their mothers know?" The other replies "Seriously, boys that age shouldn't be so cozy..."

Steve could feel his cheeks going pink, self conscious as they keep walking. He pulls away from Bucky. Bucky for his part looks...sad, like Steve had hurt him by suddenly pulling away. He has been wrapped up in telling Steve about some pulp novel he had swiped the other day and was reading, he hadn't heard the comments.

"What is it, Stevie? Are you okay?" Worry coats Bucky's features.

"Uh...yeah Buck, just um...guys out age can't act like that, don't, um want anyone to think we are pansy's." Steve tries not to look hurt by his own words but is impossible when Bucky looks like he just got kicked in the stomach.

But he recovers, flashing a fake smile to his friend. "Yea...I guess you're right, Steve."

Steve decides to leave it at that even though he's known Bucky long enough to know his friend's feelings are hurt. They continue to walk the streets, conscious not to touch each other. Unfortunately this isn't enough for some of their ex-classmates.

A group of them sat on some front porch steps of a brownstone. There were a couple of guys and few dames, all who had been in school with the two boys. As they walked by, a boy, Danny Vesely, whispered something into a pretty little redhead's, Mary Anne Smith, ear, pointing at Steve and then to Bucky. Steve knows he should keep his mouth shut, but when he pointed at Bucky, it became personal. But before he can say something, Bucky is already in action. He had seen them point at Steve.

"What's so funny, Danny?" He snaps at the boy making the comment.

"Nothing Barnes, just commenting how cute you and your best girl look."

Steve turns red, looking at the ground. Steve knew he didn't look as strong or manly as other boys his age, his ma assuring him he was just a late bloomer. That didn't make it feel any better when he would be called a girl.

He can feel heat radiating of his friend, anger surging through him. Steve may be embarrassed but he looks up again, ready to back his friend up if their is a fight, putting on a tough face.

Bucky shoots back "You better shut your ugly mug!" Bucky looks ready to kill, hating that Danny is trying to humiliate him.... humiliate Steve.

"Calm down, Barnes. It's nice that you are defending you girlfriend's honor and all but you are being a little dramatic." Danny smirks. "I guess my big brother was right, all you guys who are light in the loafers are so dramatic."

Mary Anne and few of the other kids sitting there chime in in a sing-songy voice. "Bucky and Steve sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

Now Bucky is red as the girls start to giggle. Bucky knows he can't hit girls, but Danny and the three other boys laughing are fair game. He steps closer and before Danny can react, his fist makes contact with Danny's nose, causing it to bleed. One of his friends steps up to retaliate, but Steve steps between him and Bucky and by some grace of god actually lands a pretty hard punch in the face. But Bucky sees this and knows that the two other guys will soon be coming to back up their friends. He understands they will be out numbered and refuses to let Steve get hurt.

Without out thinking, he grabs Steve's hand, pulling him away from the group. They run until the others stop chasing them, hiding in an alley, and then...Steve laughs. The adrenaline of the fight and running away from guys together, felt good. Honestly doing anything with Bucky felt good. He feels silly for pulling away from Bucky earlier. Bucky smiles, because of course he does. Those mean words didn't mean anything, really, as long as his Steve was happy and smiling.

Darkness is starting to fall, and the fireworks show over the water was supposed to start soon. As they stood in the alley, still holding hands, Bucky spots a fire escape ladder. "Hey Stevie?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me?" Bucky asks plainly.

"Don't be stupid, Buck. Of course I trust you, punk." Steve replies like it is the most obvious thing in the world. Steve can't think of a single person he has ever trusted more than his best friend from preactically the day he was born. Their mother's had been friends and Bucky, who was a who was a whole 16 months older, wanted to hold "the baby" all the time. It was "his baby," Of course not realizing he was a baby himself, but as he got older, he never stopped wanting to hold "his baby," even if Steve was too dense to realize that.

Bucky drags him to the fire escape. "Follow me,Jerk." He smiles and of course Steve does follow him, They make it the top, until they are on tha roof. "What are we doing up here?" Steve questions.

"Watching the fireworks." Bucky replies simply with a smile that Steve can't help but mirror back. Bucky hesitantly takes Steve's hand again, and when Steve doesn't pull away, he laces his fingers with his friends, taking him to a spot on the roof that seemed clean enough to sit.

They wait for the fireworks, and when they finally start, Steve can only focus on Bucky and the way his face lights ups as the colors explode in the sky. He isn't sure what compels him to do this, but he rests his head on Bucky's shoulder. He feels the brunette tense for a moment, before he wraps his arm around Steve's shoulder.

He whispers softly "Hey Stevie?"

"Yea?" Steve's voice equally as quiet.

"Did you know that these fireworks aren't for the Fourth of July? Who cares about a dusty old country anyways? They are for you to celebrate the birthday of the best fella in the world." Bucky says in a matter-of-fact manner, you would be forgiven for thinking he actually believes this.

But he has been saying this to Steve every year since he learned to talk, so Steve was expecting this. It still didn't change the way Steve ended up blushing, this year feeling like there was more weight behind his words. "Thanks, Buck..."

"Don't thank me, it's true." Bucky insists before continuing. "One more question, Stevie."

"Shoot." Steve responds, head still firmly planted on Bucky's shoulder.

"What do you want for your birthday?" Bucky asks plainly, but Steve could feel Bucky's hand lazily stroking his shoulder.

Steve takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He know what he wants...and he figured after the events of today, he could ask. If Bucky is repulsed, he can play it off like a joke. In a voice almost too small to be audible, Steve answers "A kiss..."

Bucky's hand stills on Steve's shoulder before pulling away. Steve begins to panic, lifting his head off of Bucky's shoulder. He starts to make up a lie in his head, to brush this off, and never talk about it again. But when he looks up at Bucky, he had adjusted so he was sitting in front of Steve now, smiling. He softly replies "Okay." And Steve feels like his heart will beat right out of his chest and fly away. He wonders if Bucky would catch it for him.

His hands go clammy as he is watching Bucky lean in, slowly, almost too slowly. Steve closes his eyes, nervously leaning to meet Bucky, and their lips connect and it's better than the fireworks going off around them. It's chaste, and awkward, the awkwardness of a first kiss for both of them but unbelievably sweet.

When they pull away, both are smiling contently. Bucky takes his place back next to Steve, wrapping both arms around him now, threatening to never let him go. As they watch the rest of the show, he says "Happy Birthday, Stevie."

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #steve x bucky #pre serum steve #captain america #fanfic #Stucky fanfic #4rh of July

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kareofbears · 3 years

Text

plainly in truth, chapter 1/5

“Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

The sweat on the back of Ryuji’s neck is thick as he climbs the stairs to his apartment after a lengthy run.

It’s hot for spring, mild for summer, and now that it’s late June, it’s finally starting to teeter into real heat. He escalated slowly, gripping the guard rail like an old man to make sure his legs don’t give out, in no rush to head back to an empty apartment. His mom’s been doing back to back shifts, businesses booming like it does during this time of the year.

Normally, that would make him miserable. Nothing worse than hopping back from a day of fun shit only to come back to an empty living space with laundry piled to the nines and the TV left running. He doesn’t blame his mom because he’s not an asshole, but he never dealt well with being alone. But nowadays, he’s actually starting to like it. Crave it. Maybe a little too much.

It’s easier to deal with being alone than getting that sinking feeling he gets whenever he talks to his friends.

Shoving his hand in his basketball shorts, he pulls out his keys when something makes him pause. The plastic plant beside the entrance had been moved. Ryuji squints. Quietly, he grabs the knob and turns. It’s unlocked.

“Hey.”

Ryuji lets out a frustrated sigh, tension leaving his shoulders as he kicks the door closed. “Fucking hell. How’d you get in here?”

Seeing Ann sit primly with her legs crossed in a dining table that’s barely big enough to put two plates down evokes a feeling of nostalgia in him. She holds a key between her fingers idly. “Spare key hasn’t changed since we were thirteen.”

He walks to the fridge, pulls out a carton of milk and drinks it straight, ignoring her grimace. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he offers it to her.

“Hard pass.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, putting it back in the fridge. “I’m gonna shower. I think we might have some chips in the cupboards if you want some. Might be stale though.”

When Ann speaks again, her tone is flat. “You haven’t been hanging out with us. Or even talking to us.”

He tries not to let the annoyance show in his face too much. “Yeah, well, what part of ‘I need some alone time’ was confusing to you?”

Wood creaks, and he can feel her presence right behind him. “Cut the crap, Sakamoto. Something happened, I know it did. It’s not like you for your big mouth to be shut like this.”

Shaking his head, he strides to his room, praying that Ann will take the hint.

She doesn’t. “Okay, so I’ll just keep talking until something happens.” She leans against his door frame as he rummages for a change of clothes, listing off with her fingers. “It’s summer vacation, so it’s not a school thing. Phantom Thief stuff has been done for a while, so it’s not that either. I saw your mom last week, and she’s doing great. Congratulate her on the promotion for me, by the way. And the only other thing in your life that’s important is—” he hears her pause suddenly. “Are you and Akira doing okay?”

The sudden sharpness in her voice is enough to make his irritation ebb away for a second. “We’re fine,” he answers, pulling a probably clean shirt from the bottom of his drawer. He knows just how much she’s invested in their relationship. She’s pretty much a third member given how desperate she is to make them work. “I would’ve told you if we weren’t.”

“Thank god,” she breathes. “So what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he rolls his eyes. “A big fat load of nothing with nothing sprinkled on top. You want me to say it again?”

“If it’s nothing, then why aren’t you over the moon that Akira’s finally visiting tomorrow?”

His stomach does a weird flop inside of him. He can’t tell if it’s a good flop or a bad one. “I’m over the moon,” he defends. “I’m crazy excited.”

“Then show it!”

“Okay! Damn, sorry I wasn’t happy enough for you.” Giving up on finding clean shorts, he picks one up from the floor and hopes it isn’t too gross. “I’m headed to the shower.” He rounds on her, giving her a glare. “And do not tell Akira that anything’s going on with me, ‘cause there isn’t anything going on. You’re just gonna make him worry for no reason and he’s gonna be all—” he frowns, overexaggerated. “—About this, so cool it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. He won’t hear about it from me.” Ann gives him a long stare, and he refuses to look away. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks, softer this time.

“Never been better. Now scram.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, and don’t be late!” she calls as she marches through his apartment, foot out the door. “Noon! Leblanc!”

“I got it!” he yells back.

When the lock clicks back into place, Ryuji leans his back against the wall, letting his eyes slide shut. Is he that obvious that Ann would notice? He rubs his eyes with palms, frustrated. If Ann noticed, Akira’s definitely going to notice, and that isn’t allowed. He’ll just have to do better.

Going into the bathroom, flicking on the shower, he realizes he forgot his towel in his bedroom. Stupid Ann, distracting him.

Padding back to his room, he nabs it from the side of his bed, refusing to look at the letter collecting dust on his desk as he flicks the light off once more.

—

Akira came home to a face-full of streamers, two pots of curry, and six arms tackling him. Smiles and hugs were passed like a bottle of wine after a war has been won, and Akira shrugs it all off like he isn’t soaking up each and every exclamation of how much they miss him for a rainy day. Morgana gets his fair amount of head scratches, Akira gets enough noogies to warrant a concussion, and even Ryuji somehow manages to forget his problems for approximately three minutes.

It’s evening now, and while everyone had already left (not after slamming down two plates each and Yusuke brazenly asking for tupperware after the fact), Ryuji decided to linger.

“So,” he starts, sleeves rolled up as he washes the dishes while Akira dries. It might not look like it, but he doesn’t mind doing his chores; especially not with the way they both purposefully knock their knuckles against each other whenever they pass a plate between themselves.

“So,” Akira repeats. “I’m home. That’s cool, huh?” Even with eighteen layers of nonchalance layered on top of each other, there’s no hiding the lilt in his voice.

“Pretty damn cool,” he rinses a mug and hands it to him. Ryuji pauses as he watches Akira dry, lip quirked up. “I like seeing you like this.”

“Cleaning?”

“No, you bastard.” He reaches forward, unable to help himself as he pinches his cheek. “Smiley.”

Akira slaps his hand away. “I’m always happy,” he says, voice fond.

“I didn’t say happy, now did I? I said—” Ryuji wipes both hands on his jeans before pinching his cheek with both hands. “Smiley!”

He doesn’t fight back this time; instead, he lets Ryuji knead his face. “Your hands are wet,” he complains, slightly slurred.

“Suck it up.” His skin is mesmerizingly soft. Probably softer than even a girl’s. He would hold him like this all night if he’d let him. “This saves you from washing your face tonight, so you’re welcome.”

With one last tug, he reluctantly sets him free. Akira’s face is red and blotchy from the assault, but somehow he pulls it off because of course he does. “Thanks,” he deadpans.

“Don’t sweat it, dude. You know I got you,” he laughs, and for a second, he feels good. Light. Being with Akira does that to him, a pendant that wards off all evil. The pendant must’ve had some fine print in the contract though, because his stomach drops again when he remembers again. Ryuji turns around and starts scrubbing the pan harder than he needs to. Chill out, chill out, chill out.

Arms encircle his waist. “Sojiro’s gonna smite us if we don’t finish these before he opens tomorrow,” Ryuji says.

“I know.” A chin hooks around his shoulder blade, sliding in place. A perfect fit. “We’ll get to it.”

Ryuji leans back, far enough to smell the shampoo in his hair. He breathes in deep. It’s not what he’s used to, probably different brands in his hometown, but it still smells nice.

With the water still running, a group of businessmen’s laughter booming from just outside the cafe, Ryuji nearly says it. To take that weight off of his weakened knees and share some of the burden with someone who’s never complained about carrying some of his baggage. It would be embarrassing, humiliating, fucking mortifying, but it would be better than this, right?

He opens his mouth. “Missed you,” is what comes out instead.

“Missed you more, I think.” A beat passes, and then Akira continues, quietly: “You don’t know how good it feels to be back.”

That was all it took. The final piece, the last lock. The words he needed to convince him that this was the right thing to do. If he was on the fence of whether or not to tell Akira, this was the tug that took him over the edge. Because Akira came here for one reason: to have fun. To feel good again. To feel like Akira again. Is Ryuji really going to be the one to shit all over that? To fuck up his summer vacation with his problems again?

Yeah. Fuck that.

He wishes he can pull Akira impossibly closer. “Welcome home.”

It can wait until he leaves. After that, the world will just have to explode, taking him with it.

—

Ryuji’s in bed that night, tossing and turning, blanket tangled in his legs and head underneath his pillow, when he finally caves.

Smacking around for his phone, he pulls it to his face, squinting against the bright light.

SR: futaba

The response was immediate.

SF: what SR: that was fast. whatre you doing up SF: im always up. why are YOU up SR: just wanted to talk SF: ok

He waits a few moments to see if she’d continue the conversation. She doesn’t.

SR: hows school? SF: ?????? who cares, its three am SR: i care SF: ugh, go to sleep. we’re meeting tomorrow anyway SR: yeah but you dont talk about school during group meetings much SF: alright weirdo SF: schools cool. people mostly leave me alone, and i think akira must’ve tipped off kawakami cause she is wayyyy too nice to me even after bullying her in front of the class SR: what did you do lmfao SF: she said that whoever could recite pi to ten decimal points can get a bonus ten percent in the final SF: and i kept going until the bell rang SR: damn! SF: its mostly okay though. better than i thought it’d be for sure SR: and how about actual school stuff SR: like classes. Math, science, english, all that shit. SF: sheesh, easiest part no doubt. could do all that stuff in my sleep SR: really? even though youre a year behind? SF: uh yeah? i could be eight years behind and still dunk on these clowns with one hand tied behind my back and watching a live stream

Ah, right. Futaba’s a literal genius. As in ‘Make A Documentary Of Her In Twenty Years In A Movie He’d Never Watch But Makoto Would Love’ kind of genius. He forgot.

SR: nice SR: thanks, im gonna sleep now SF: kk see you SF: (¯﹃¯)

—

“Okay, this is getting a little ridiculous,” Ryuji says when he opens the door to his apartment.

Ann is sitting in his dining chair once again, this time donned in hot pink shades and a comically big sun hat. He tries not to let annoyance and panic flare inside him. He loves her, because of course he does, but he was banking on stocking up some energy and alone time before they hit the road. Maybe even shed a couple of frustrated tears, who knows? As long as he’s alone, it’s fair game.

“Hey, don’t give me any of that,” Ann says. “You and packing your luggage is like mayonnaise and my flawless complexion—it’s not good, buster. Remember Hawaii?”

He feels his skin heat up, and slams the door harder than he should. “How the hell was I supposed to know I’d get randomly checked? ‘Sides, I didn’t do anything illegal.”

“A backpack filled with condoms and a toothbrush might as well have been illegal.” Ann reaches into her pocket, whipping out a wrinkled piece of paper. “You can’t pull that kinda crap now, and if I know him as well as I do, I’m sure Akira’s already packing for that.” She laughs at her own joke and raises her hand enthusiastically. He can’t help but grin as he high fives her. Hey, even if his life is falling apart, at least he’s still getting some, right?

“So I’m here to help,” she continues, shaking the sting from her palms. “I finished packing a day early and everything, so I better get some thanks after this.” Before he can complain, she holds up a finger, expression stern. “I know you don’t need help. Yes, I’m still worried about you. Yes, I’m doing this because I’m worried about you. Let me do this stupid little thing, okay? It’ll make me feel better.”

His stomach churns, more intense than usual. “You’re still worried about me?” he asks, breath hitching. What? No. Did he fail at that too? Does she know? That must mean Akira knows, right? And if Akira knows, then—

“Whoa, hold on!” A hand grips his shoulders. “Deep breaths, Sakamoto. Don’t spiral on me now.” Gently, he’s led to a chair. He sits gratefully and waits for his heart rate to drop. The entire time, Ann stays quiet.

Eventually, when the room stops closing in on him, he sighs and leans back against his chair. “Sorry,” he says, feeling really stupid. Damn, what happened to him keeping this on the down low?

She slaps his knee. “Shut up, don’t apologize for that,” she scolds, and he almost smiles. It’s easy to forget how good Ann is at this sort of thing. For better or for worse, she’s had plenty of practice while talking to Shiho. The grip on his knee tightens. “Ryuji…”

He shakes his head. “No.”

And, for better or for worse, she absolutely does not let things go.

“Look, buddy.” The grip is starting to hurt, and it means business if her red acrylics are anything to go by. “I just saw you have a teensy little panic attack two damn minutes ago, and you’re expecting me to just leave you to it? Are you a clown? Are you a clown in a circus, Sakamoto? Is that what you are?”

“I just don’t want to fucking talk about it.” He shoves her hand off his knee, and before he knows it, his voice is raised. “Christ, can’t you just leave me alone? All you do is get up in my business when I clearly didn’t ask you to. Just cause we did this whole Phantom Thief crap together doesn’t mean it gives you the right to everything going on in my life.”

He loathes the ringing in his ears from his own voice. He hates it when he yells in the apartment, but hates the silence that follows more. Too much like his dad, too much like his exhausted mom.

Ann is staring up at him, hard and unwavering. “You’re such a piece of shit sometimes.”

“Huh?”

“If you want me off your tail, you’re gonna have to work harder than that.” She gets on her feet, glaring at him. “‘Piss me off and make me leave in tears’ was your tactic, right? Boring. Overdone. Try again.”

The way she’s standing, shoulders pushed back and chin jutted out like she’s ready for a shoot in some kind of army magazine, means she’s dead serious.

“Ann, just get the fuck out of my house. You’re really starting to get on my nerves.”

“Ooo, classic 'angry and make me storm off’, right? Better, but not good enough.”

“What the hell are you even saying?”

“I’m saying that you could say whatever pops into your bleached head—” she flicks his forehead, viciously sharp nails digging into his skin. “And I wouldn’t go anywhere. You could call me names, or threaten me, or try to hurt me, but I am not going anywhere.”

Her eyes are bright blue, but he can still feel the heat of it like Carmen was inches in front of him. His throat quivers when he swallows. She’s really not going to give in.

“My knee’s been real bad lately,” he relents, making a fist and lightly knocking it against his thigh. “Normally it acts up during bad weather, but the sun hasn’t left in weeks and it still sucks. I didn’t wanna tell anyone, ‘cause I hate talking about…” he trails off, but she doesn’t need him to continue. They both know damn well who he’s referencing.

Ann’s face crumbles. “That’s horrible,” she says, absently rubbing the red mark on his forehead. “I’m sorry I was mean.”

He waves it off, the same way he does whenever his mom asks him if he’s getting enough sleep. “Don’t sweat it. I know how crazy you get.”

It’s a real testament to how worried she must’ve been when she didn't take the olive branch. “I know you probably don’t want to worry the group, but you should tell Akira.”

“Ann—” he starts wearily.

“You know I’m right about this. Now that the Metaverse is back and we’re going to be running around more, he can’t not know about this. Your boyfriend aside, he’s our leader. Something really nasty can happen if we’re not thinking straight.”

“...Sure.”

Ann gives him a weird look. “That was surprisingly easy. I thought you’d complain more.”

She’s getting way too sharp. “What, you wanted me to be a dick about it?”

“I guess not.” Leaning against his kitchen counter, she chews her lip like it’s bubble gum. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Yeah.” Ryuji stands to stretch, ready for this conversation to be over. “You can keep this between us—”

“—Except for Akira,” they say in unison, Ryuji exasperated and Ann insistent.

“Fine. I’ll back off if you think you have it under control.”

“Hallelujah, she’s finally giving me space.”

“But,” her gaze is harder than steel. “Never, ever keep secrets from me again, got it?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes. “Gotcha. Can we get started now? I’m over talking about my horrible past so that we can finally have a straight-out-of-an-anime summer vacation.”

Her eyes brighten up. “Yes! Okay, I made this huge list and I know for a fact we’re gonna have to go for a quick shopping trip—”

“Quick? So, like, three hours going by your standards?”

“Don’t interrupt me. We need to pack some swim trunks, toiletries, and I know you’re worried about your mom so we’ll go grocery shopping for her before we leave in the morning.” Feet tapping excitedly, “This is gonna be so fun. You start packing, I’ll go shopping. Rendezvous in an hour.”

Before he even gets a chance to put a word in, she’s already out the door.

—

Later that night, when everything is messily thrown into one oversized backpack and a rucksack and the fridge is chock full of groceries for his overworked mother, he gets a text.

TA: i know you said not to bring it up but i dont care TA: i searched it up and apparently cold and hot compresses can help with the pain on your knee TA: also getting shoes with really good support would help too. i modeled for some shoe brands, i can def get you some discounts!!! TA: like, i know this is all base level stuff and you know this already, but i bet you we can ask sophia for more help. maybe she can access top secret doctor stuff for knee injuries?? :O

Ryuji stares at his phone for a long moment, before shoving it under his pillow.

Great. Add ‘guilt’ and ‘keeping up with a lie’ to the list of shit he has to worry about.

—

“A lake!” Yusuke cries, kneeling in front of the body of water like a man discovering a desert oasis. Gently, he cups the clean water and cradles it against his cheek. “You are nothing like the garbage-infested sewers in Tokyo. You are crystal clear. You are divine. You are salvation. You are—”

“Akira, Inari’s being a weirdo again,” Futaba points an accusing finger at Yusuke, who’s shirt is slowly absorbing more and more of the water. “At this rate, he’s gonna have to change.”

Makoto grunts as she lugs out the grill singlehandedly, a loud clang ringing out when she nonchalantly sets down a family-sized piece of machinery. “Alright, here it is.” She catches the look of awe that Ryuji’s giving her. “Does it still shock you that I can probably bench press you twice over?”

“I’m just trying to figure out where you’re hiding all that muscle, prez,” he snorts, and it’s the truth. Her and Akira must be the same breed, considering they’re both way too lithe to be this strong. He’s seen the way they throw a punch in the Metaverse—they could probably disintegrate a dude in real life if they really wanted to. Like yeah they workout, but not that much. Maybe they’re dieting too? He’s tried dieting, but ramen is just way too good, even at the expense of muscles.

“Ryuji, when you’re done spacing out, can you grab the ingredients?” Akira calls out.

“Ugh, cut the mind reading dude, it scares the hell out of me.”

He shoots him a signature Kurusu Akira smile; small yet disarming all the same, and it never fails to get Ryuji’s heart to do weird flips. “It’s not mind reading once you realize that I’m just obsessed with you.”

Instead of answering, Ryuji grumbles as he stalks off into the RV. Damn him and his genuine words and compliments.

He pulls out their luggage from underneath the table. Akira doesn’t need to say what ingredients he needs to grab—he’s helped out enough times during Leblanc’s afterhours to know the curry spices by heart. Ryuji might be a failure, but hey, he can do this no problem.

Grabbing bottles and shakers and balancing them on top of his arms like an overworked waiter, he glances left and feels his heart dropped. The envelope from his room—dust-free from rubbing against the rest of his luggage—is sticking out of his backpack. After a quick adjustment, he uses his free hand to shove it deep in his bag, hearing the paper crinkle in on itself.

It was a spur of the moment decision to bring it along with him, one that he’s still half-regretting. Why’d he do it? Maybe he was worried that he might enjoy this trip a little too much? Maybe he was some kind of masochist that likes having his problems and anxiety follow him literally everywhere he goes? Maybe he was scared to hell and back that his mom would find it before he had a chance to tell her himself? Fuck if he knows.

Poking his head out of the door, he yells, “Heads up!”

Throwing a bottle of black pepper, Akira catches it without looking. “Thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“Too late, I already sweat a little bit.”

Ryuji squints. “It’s sweated. Right, Ann?”

“Don’t look at me. I went to America for modelling, not a spelling bee.”

“I won all my spelling bees in middle school,” Makoto says, chest puffed out in pride.

“Were you the only one who joined?”

“That’s not important.”

Akira’s phone beeps enthusiastically, and Sophia’s voice rings out. “Got it! According to the internet, ‘sweat’ and ‘sweated’ are both grammatically valid. Technically, both Ryuji and Ann are correct.”

“Can we all just shut up for a second about sweating, for the love of god,” Futaba fans her face weakly. “It’s already sooooo hot. I feel like my skin is melting. Yusuke, is my skin melting?”

He looks at her for a moment, peering closely. “Yes.”

“How about we go in for a quick dip in the lake?” Haru offers, and Ryuji suspects that she can feel the same energy that he’s feeling when the group gets like this. “We were all talking about how beautiful it was, and it would cool down Futaba-chan no problem.”

She leans down, swirling her hand in the water. “It’s a little chilly, but it’ll definitely take care of the heat.”

“Good idea!” Futaba jumps up and throws off her shoes, ready to march in. “This is gonna feel so good.”

“Socks!” Akira reminds her.

“I know that!”

Haru and Yusuke follow suit, eager to get away from the heat, Makoto going in to change to shorts. Ryuji guesses it’s probably not an easy feat to roll up leather pants. Probably makes it either to ride motorcycles, or whatever people with leather pants do.

He feels a poke in his side. “You hopping in with them?” Akira asks.

No. The answer is already at the tip of his tongue, ready to roll out. Given how cramped the RV is, keeping up the trademark Sakamoto energy while lugging more baggage than an airport employee is brutal. It’s barely been a day since they started the trip, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up. Already his chest feels heavy with something, and whenever all the windows are rolled up, it gets weirdly hard to breathe. But if he says no, Akira would definitely know something was up.

“Uh—”

“Actually, I think we’ll take over the curry for you,” Ann cuts in.

Ryuji turns to her, startled and wide eyed.

“Why?” Akira asks, just as confused as he is. They both know how much Ann loves being in the middle of things, especially in group hangouts.

“Because you look like you could use a break. I know for a fact that you had to pack Yusuke’s stuff for him, or else the van would’ve had fifteen canvases and an easel, and you had to grocery shop for everyone, and talk Haru out of a guilty spiral because she wasn’t confident enough in her driving. And all this before—” Ann looks down at her wrist to peer at a non-existent watch. “Five o’clock.

He frowns. “Sure, but I’ve done twice as much during our prime. This,” he gestures at the pot. “Is a walk in the park. Thank you, though.”

Ann sighs, heavy and contemplative. “I didn’t want to say it out right, but since you’re being difficult…” She places a hand on his shoulder. “You should hang out with Futaba more. Being gone from her for that long has been rough, and yes, we took care of her while you weren’t there, but you’re different.” Her hand tightens. “You know, Wild Card and all that.”

“That’s not what that means, but I appreciate the effort,” Akira says. Despite his words, it’s clear that what she said bothered him. Eyes flickering to Futaba, enthusiastically kicking the water to see how far the droplets would go, he directs his gaze to Ryuji. “Is it okay if…?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes, pretending like relief isn’t crashing through his body. “Go.”

Akira kisses his cheek. “Thank you.” When he pulls away, he gives Ann a hesitant look.

She grimaces. “Thanks, but no. Go hangout with the gremlin.”

He gives her a salute and saunters off, rolling up his jeans to wade through the water, making sure to splash Futaba on the way there.

After a moment of silence, he sighs. “Fine, I’ll say it. Your acting classes are actually doing you some good.”

“Ha!” she points at him triumphantly. “And you said it’d be a waste of time!”

“I didn’t say that.” Ryuji slouches into a nearby camping chair, the one that Sojiro forced them to lug along, hoping that some of his fatigue would seep away. “We both know that Futaba’s never been better, so what’s up? Why’d you throw out Akira like that?”

“It’s not for me, stupid,” she scoffs, but he can’t help but feel the weight in his chest get even heavier. He sinks even deeper into his chair. “The water was cold, right? That would make your knee even worse.”

“Yeah,” he blinks, having already forgotten the whole fucked-up knee story. “Thanks.”

“I won’t chew you out for not telling Akira, even though I should. But like I said,” she ruffles his hair. “I got your back. I know it must be hard, but you’re still acting all normal. We’re lucky that it’s only affecting you in the real world, too.” She had come up with that one herself, and thank god she did, cause he wouldn’t have known what to say if she had confronted him on how he could easily do flips and sprints in the Metaverse. “That just takes a lot of guts, and even though I know for a fact this would make you feel so much better once you tell him, I trust that you know what you need better than me.”

“Quit trying to look all cool,” he says, and prays to fucking god that the red on his face comes off as embarrassed gratitude rather than earth-shattering guilt. “And aren’t you supposed to be cooking, curry master?”

“Hey, he asked you to do it, not me. I’ll help you get the ingredients, but no way I’m doing the whole cooking shebang.”

“Ugh, fine,” he says, as if he doesn’t secretly love the idea of getting to cook for Akira this time instead of the other way around. Pushing himself up, Ann reaches out to help him. “You don’t gotta baby me, Takamaki.”

“I’ll baby you for as long as I need to, and then eventually Akira will be the one babying you. We come in shifts.”

“I hope you’re unionized.”

Makoto pokes her head out of the RV, wearing a showercap. “Did someone say unionized?”

“What the hell?” Ryuji staggers back in shock. Crap. “How long have you been there?”

“And why are you wearing that?” Ann gasps.

“Not long, and I don’t want my hair getting wet in case I fall in. We have no idea what’s been in here.”

“Were you going to fall in a bathtub?”

“Did you want me to push you in?”

“No, ma’am.”

—

There wasn’t a problem initially. Well, not one in Palaces, anyway. Wait, they’re called Jails now, which is really confusing. Ryuji’s just gonna have to avoid using those words so he doesn’t make himself look like an idiot.

Back in Shibuya, it had been...fine. Attacks landed, punches were dodged, Batons passed like his life depended on it (and it did). Like clockwork, instinct came to him and the weird nostalgic normalcy of fighting Shadows made it bearable.

Ryuji was off his game, and he could tell.

But he was barely off his game. If anything, he still had a foot on his game. Maybe even an entire leg on the game if he was being generous. He was still enough on the game that even Akira doesn’t notice.

But the weird part was, he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s off his game. In an even weirder way, he’s never been more on his game in his entire life.

“There!” Futaba’s voice crackles through the comms. “Uncle is open wide!”

“Her name is Ante, Oracle,” Makoto responds, brass knuckles jammed into the throat of some poor Shadow. “It’s open, but it’s vicious.”

Ryuji calls for Kidd just as she pulls away, wiping out the rest of the weaker ones with ease. “This thing’s like a goddamn mousetrap.” Ante’s serpent body slithering on the cool tiles so fluidly that it gives him the creeps. Her tail has tiny spikes etched into it, like mini knives hot glued onto a tetherball. The minute any of them even come close, she strikes outwards. “How vicious is vicious?”

“Depends on how fast you are.”

Akira’s head jerks up, and when their eyes meet, cracks a smile. “Fast, you say?”

Ryuji grins wider than he has in days. Joker relying on him? How can someone not feel a little giddy at that? “Say no more, leader.”

He stretches quickly, and feels eyes piercing the back of his head. Ann, probably. Shrugging it off, he sprints low towards Ante. As long as Ann doesn’t say a word, there won’t be a problem.

She’s taken hits from where Akira’s been concentrating on her. A mixture of bullet holes in its scales mixed in with cross slashes from where his bless attacks hit had left her delirious and pissed off. When he’s close, she bares her fangs and strikes, only for him to skid on the smooth tiles, rugged hands touching his mask.

“Come on out, Captain!”

His blond hair ruffled from Kidd’s attack, a crack of lightning came down from his Persona’s mangled hand, and a split second later her tail had been sliced clean through. And another crack comes, her neck landing on the tiles with a muffled thud. An attack that should’ve just been enough to incapacitate Ante had instead completely decapitated her.

A beat of silence passed as everyone processed what had happened. Ryuji’s mouth drops open, but he can’t muster any surprise.

He doesn’t know how, or why, but for some reason his attacks have been at least five times as strong as they had been back before the Metaverse was still intact. Moves that he didn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue, as if he had practiced them all his life. Normally this would only happen after rigorous training for months, adding up in tiny increments.

Now it happens every day.

“Well, looks like someone woke up on the right side of the gym today,” Futaba laughs awkwardly.

“What on earth was that, Skull?” Haru asks, eyes wide. “I had never seen you do something like that.”

Morgana’s tail swished. “She makes a good point. When’d you learn that one?”

“I don’t know.” He calls back Captain Kidd, eyeing the drop that Ante had left behind, but doesn’t move forward to snatch it up. “But whatever the reason is, it’s awesome as hell. I mean, did you see that? Sliced that thing open like a stuffed bear.”

“Let’s not bring stuffed animals into this, please,” Makoto frowns.

Akira’s giving him a look again, and it leaves Ryuji unsettled. “What is it, dude? I got something on my face?”

“No,” he steps closer, and his voice drops. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright? I’ve never been better, man.” He flashes him a grin, hoping that it’s bright enough to distract Akira’s ever-searching eyes. “Come on, let’s get moving. Natsume’s heart isn’t gonna change itself.”

After one last glance, he nods, and Ryuji can see the minute Calculating Joker comes back. “You heard him. Let’s get moving, everyone.”

They all follow him up the stairs, eager to get moving past the eternally bleary and uncreatively written setting of Natsume’s Jail.

“Psst!” Ryuji hisses at Ann, who turns to him with a question in her eyes. “Panther! Get your ass over here!”

“What?” she whispers back.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I fucked up my knee when I rushed her, and I still haven’t told Joker, so do you mind…?”

An expected look of disapproval emerges from her expression, and Ryuji hurries to beat her to the punch. “I know, I know! But I can’t tell him in the middle of all this, now can I?”

“Fine,” she grumbles before calling Carmen. “I’ll cover you for now, but only ‘cause I’m a good friend and I’m super cute.”

“Yeah, the cutest, prettiest, whatever.” He glances over to Akira, swooping down to grab Ante’s drops before heading up. “Quick, before he looks back.”

Diarama washes over him, and even though relief floods through his body, he can feel a bead of sweat running down his temple. He’s not sure if it’s from her inherent heat or from the stress of lying to her again.

“Better?” Ann asks.

“Way better. Thanks.” He catches Sophia looking at them curiously. “The kid’s watching us. You better move ahead before she starts analyzing our personality types or something.”

Her eyes light up. “You think she’d do it if I asked? I really wanna know.”

“Just go!”

Ann hurries to catch up to Sophia, and while she’s distracted, Ryuji gently rolls up sleeves—he had gotten nicked by Ante as he slid. Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem; he had gotten thrown through walls, been hit by mini hurricanes, been blown up by a boat, and walked away from all that still swinging.

Yet lately, any tiny, fractional, miniscule injury is enough to shoot unbearable pain throughout his entire body. It’s as if he was back in Kamoshida’s Palace, where every punch thrown at him had been life or death.

Glancing down at his forearm, he sighs. The cut was gone, but he can’t keep asking Ann to heal him in secret every time.

“Skull?”

Hurriedly pulling down his sleeve, he glances up to see Akira standing in front of him.

“Everyone’s waiting for you,” he says casually, as if those words don’t mean the entire goddamn world to Ryuji. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “My bad. Let’s go.”

They clambered up the staircase, and Ryuji decides that all of that stuff—getting injured and having it hurt like hell—just isn’t too important.

That just means that he’ll be fine as long as he doesn't get hit, and he’s had plenty of experience dodging punches that were thrown at him before.

—

“Cheers!”

All of them raise their red plastic cups, clinking it against each other in a way that they see adults do all the time on TV. Apple juice and iced tea slosh as they gulp it down eagerly, excitement so prevalent that they can hardly taste the cheap, convenience store-esque quality of their drink.

“This isn’t too bad,” Makoto muses, leaning against the faux-leather seats of the RV. “Though it would probably taste better if it wasn’t room temperature.”

“Does it look like this place has a mini fridge?” Futaba says, legs swinging down from her top bunk. “That’s a good idea though. I should’ve bought mine from home. Can you imagine we’re halfway through a six hour road trip and you want iced coffee and boom! Two feet behind you is Futaba’s Ice Cold Cafe, one hundred yen per use.”

“I hope you’d be ready to sleep on it, because this place is cramped enough as is,” Akira slaps the wall a few times, the way a rancher would a sturdy horse. “We’re lucky with what we have.”

“I know that! Without this thing we never would have been able to conquer Natsume’s Jail.” She reaches down to muss Yusuke’s hair. “I’m sure Inari feels good about that.”

He smiles, hair sticking up in all directions. “Of course I feel satisfied. Though I understand his struggle, being able to stop a fellow artist into becoming a true monster is always something that will bring me joy. Justice will never stop feeling good.”

“Cheers to that!” Ann raises her drink. “And you know what? This wouldn’t have been possible had Ryuji not kicked some major ass in that Jail.”

The group whoops and hoots loudly, and Ryuji can’t help but scoff when Ann winks at him. “Aw guys, you’re making me blush. I’m fucking awesome, sure, but we’re all pretty amazing.”

Haru shakes her head. “She’s right, Ryuji-kun. WIthout you, defeating dragon Natsume would’ve been much more difficult.”

“Even I can admit that you’ve gotten much stronger, Skull.” Morgana leaps onto the table, licking up the bowl of apple juice that Haru had left him. It feels wrong to let an animal drink that, but he’d never say anything about it. “Have you been training?”

Ryuji shrugs. “Yeah, a little.”

“Ooo, look at Mr. Humble all of a sudden,” Futaba jeers.

“I’m always humble!”

Ann grimaces. “I don’t think so. Remember when you finally got Akira to go on a date with you—”

“How dare you. He was begging me to go on a date with him—”

“And you wouldn’t stop telling us about how you had nabbed the coolest guy in Tokyo—”

Ryuji nearly jumps over the booth to put a hand on her mouth. “Quit yammering, Takamaki, I’m begging you.” He feels something slimy on his hand, and pulls back quickly. “Ew, did you lick me?! That’s so effing gross.”

“You’re gross.”

He feels a hand on the small of his back, warm and familiar. “I don’t think you’re gross, Ryuji,” Akira says. “I think you’re very clean.”

A harmonic beep rings through the air. “Sorry to interrupt,” Sophia’s clear voice cuts in. “But Akira, you got an email.”

“Thanks Sophie.” He points to where his phone is perched on the windowsill, propped up so she can see them celebrate their victory. “Can you…?”

Ryuji wordlessly passes it to him as everyone breaks off into smaller conversations, chatter blending into each other until it sounds like the kind of white noise he would queue up when he’s desperate to get some studying done. Immediately, Akira begins scanning through his phone, gray eyes focused.

He props his head against his shoulder to read alongside him and makes a noise of interest. “You signed up for cram school?” he asks, surprised.

“I did,” he replies, thumbing through the details of his admission.

Ryuji stares at him. “But you’re so fucking smart. Why are you paying who knows what to learn shit you already know?”

“Because Tokyo U barely cracks a 30% admission rate, and chemistry is hell incarnate.” With one last few clicks, he sets his phone down with a wince. “Sure is expensive though. We might have to reform the heart of someone in the education committee.” When he continues to stare at him wordlessly, Akira turns to him. “Don’t worry, I’m still leeching off of the Thieves' money from last year, so it’s not too bad when you take into account my part-time back home.”

“No, that’s not—I’m just—” he shakes his head and forces himself to start over. “Since when did you decide on Tokyo University?”

It’s Akira's turn to look taken aback. “What do you mean? You’d never leave Tokyo, especially if it meant leaving your mom.”

“That’s not the point. The point is I’m making you choose between me and your hometown!” he exclaims, but he already knows in his heart what Akira’s choice is going to be. It’s stupidly obvious. For some reason, the longer this conversation goes on, the tighter his chest feels.

The feeling doubles when Akira’s eyes, always focused and always sharp, subdued at his words. “Are you really comparing yourself to that place? You know I’d choose you over anything.” He reaches forward and combs through Ryuji’s hair, hushed and gentle in a way that only Akira can manage. “I’m so excited to live life with you again.”

The white noise, so comfortable before, abruptly turns overwhelmingly loud—grating and unbearable and painful to be around. Ryuji stands abruptly, barely reacting to Futaba’s yelp when he backs into her.

“Hey! What gives?”

“I…” his eyes dart around, flinching when he accidentally makes eye contact with Akira, and again when he locks eyes with Ann.

The sudden silence from the group is somehow worse than the noise from before, and if the tightness in his chest gets any more painful, his lungs are gonna burst into a million pieces and he’s not gonna be able to pick it all up from the ground if everyone’s watching.

“Trash,” he blurts out.

“What?” Makoto blinks, glancing up from her map.

“This place is disgusting and it’s way too cluttered and it’s bad to leave such a big mess so I’m gonna—” Ryuji grabs the plastic bag filled with garbage, haphazardly tossing empty cans and plastic cups into it. “I’ll be back. Don’t wait up.”

Before they can question him, he’s already out of the RV, towing trash and leaving his friends behind him.

—

“What the fuck was that?!” Ryuji screams into the sky.

He was far enough from the trailer that he knew they couldn’t hear him even if they had strained their ears, and it was late enough into the night that even the tourists weren’t poking around to look at the shrines or the Great Masamune himself.

“Keep it a secret’, my ass! That was the second dumbest thing—no, the third dumbest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. Do you know how high that threshold is, Sakamoto? High! Higher than you can see with your own two eyes! Higher than Yaldabaoth’s goddamn crane-sized spine!”

Swooping down, he grabs a fistful of pebbles and throws it as hard as he can. “You are so selfish! What happened to keeping ‘Kira happy, you effing asshole?” Relishing in how far it went, he takes another two more. “You are so annoying. You are—” he throws, the rocks landing with a little plink. “Insufferable. Stupid. Selfish. A fucking—” this time, he doesn’t even know where it lands. “Gah!”

Turning on his heel, he glares up at the statue and grits his teeth when he sees Masamune’s stoic expression. “Don’t give me that look—you’re dead. You ain’t got nothing to complain about. Everyone’s remembering you as the guy who saved Japan, or whatever. But guess what? You’re probably a loser. A dumb, stupid loser who convinced everyone that you’re good for something when you’re worth jack shit!”

Before he can stop himself, he takes the garbage bag full of cans, glass bottles, and crumpled chip bags and hurls it at Masamune. It hits the base of the statue, far below damaging the One-Eyed Dragon himself, but the glass cracks under the force of being thrown, tearing through the plastic and causing trash and shards to explode all over the steps. Ryuji’s chest is heaving as he stares down at what he’s done.

“Impressive.”

He whirls around at the voice behind him, stomach lurching straight to the ground when he sees who it was. “In his years of war, I doubt that anyone’s ever tried throwing waste in his direction in order to defeat him.”

“Yusuke,” he breathes, feeling his frustration draining away to make room for even more guilt, if that was even possible. Ryuji cannot possibly look any more of an asshole than he does right now—tearing his throat raw in a public space, surrounded by the garbage he had thrown at a national monument in front of a guy who clearly worships and respects art that’s old as hell. “Sorry, I’ll clean it up, I promise. I was just…” he hesitates. “Talking to myself.”

Yusuke hums, unconvinced, and carefully approaches the mess in front of him. Ryuji waves him off. “No, don’t. Broken glass is a bitch, especially the little pieces. If that gets in your skin, it’s game over. You’d have to go into the hospital for sure.” He grimaces. “Trust me. My dad used to throw beer bottles at our place like he was in a ball game, and that ain’t fun, I promise you that.”

“I see.” Turning around, Ryuji hoped that he was magically going to head back to the group and not mention this to anyone there, but instead Yusuke stopped in front of a water fountain. “You’re right. If you’re not careful, it could be very easy to hurt yourself when dealing with broken glass.” Pulling out a handkerchief from his breast pocket in a way that only Yusuke can, he soaks it in water before crouching down at the shards glimmering under moonlight. “But if you use wet fabric to dab it on the shards itself—” he pats the concrete and flips the fabric over, revealing the moist and glistening pieces stuck on its side. “You can clean up the pieces with little to no danger.”

“Huh.” After a moment, he realizes that he’s making Yusuke do the dirty work for him. “Pass me that. Thanks for the tip, but I can take it from here. I mean,” he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s totally my fault that the glass is here anyway.”

He doesn’t look up from his task, eyes focused and movement meticulous. “No need. If you’d like to help, you can start picking up the non-dangerous litter around us.”

Ryuji does as he’s told, wincing as he has to pick up sticky, pop-soaked wrappers with his bare hands but he doesn’t complain. Karmic retribution has never held back against him. “The glass thing,” he starts, squatting down and picking up empty cans and plastic utensils with curry remnants still stuck to them. “They teach you that in Kosei?”

“No, from one of Madarame’s past pupils actually.” Yusuke shifts over to dab at another glass-covered section, concrete looking clearer with every pat. “Sensei had a rather violent habit of hurling canvases at the wall if they do not meet his standards, and his actions had led to many of our more fragile belongings being shattered when he did.” His tone doesn’t change, but Ryuji can see his shoulders tighten. “At least it allowed me to move away from that house very quickly, considering I had very little to pack away.”

Ryuji opens his mouth to comfort him. Instead, he finds himself speaking in a low tone. “Glad that bastard is rotting in jail,” he resists the urge to spit on the ground. “Then afterwards, I hope he rots in hell, just to really cover all of our bases.”

That pulls a chuckle out of Yusuke. “Thank you,” he smiles, and all Ryuji can do is nod. There isn’t much you can say after that without making it weird. But how weirder can it possibly get when the two of you are off towing around someone’s perception of the world on a daily basis?

They continue to work in silence; the wind is gentle, but it’s enough to rustle the leaves and allow Ryuji to feel some relief from the summer heat. He’s picking up wet paper tissues, and it’s gross, but it’s nice to be doing something with his hands.

He’s just about done his part of the clean-up when he can’t take it anymore. “Aren’t you gonna ask?”

“No,” Yusuke answers without looking up. That’s another thing that Ryuji really appreciates about him—playing dumb has never been something that he’s done to get out of an awkward situation. To be fair though, Yusuke himself is an awkward situation.

“Why not?”

“Did you want me to?”

That question makes him pause, and Yusuke doesn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve always been the most vocal in the group, and while many a time it has been our downfall in terms of secrecy, I have always considered it one of your strong points. And if you, Sakamoto Ryuji, are indeed struggling with using your words,” Yusuke’s eyes turn to him. “Then it must be very difficult to talk about.”

A beat passes. “No,” Ryuji mutters. “I don’t want you to ask.”

“Then I won’t,” he says easily. “But I do have a question.”

“Lay it on me.”

Yusuke shuffles to crouch down next to him, and it’s kinda weird seeing someone as elegant as him pose like some kind of hoodlum. “Does Akira know about your struggle?”

His mind flashes back to the confused look back in the RV and he scratches his neck roughly. “I bet he does now.”

Yusuke leans back, shocked. “He doesn’t know?”

“I’m getting there! Don’t pressure me, man. You said it yourself, I’m fucking struggling.”

“Well, yes, I did say that, but it’s Akira,” he says the name almost reverently. “I’d be surprised if he doesn’t sense that something is askew.”

“I just said that, didn’t I? Goddamn, you and Ann are just two of the same peas in the same freaking pond, aren’t you?”

“It’s ‘pod’, Ryuji,” he corrects. “Ann is aware?”

“She—” Ugh, how does he explain that she thinks she knows, but really he had lied about what he told her? “She basically knows.” And because his fat mouth just keeps getting fatter, “She’s sort of part of the problem.”

Yusuke’s eyes widen and Ryuji hurries to cover up for his mistake. “She’s not a problem, it’s just that I didn’t explain…It’s really my fault, and how I deal with internal shit, you know what I’m saying? And Ann’s just kind of in the crossfire, so what ended up happening is when I talk to her about what I’m feeling, I end up just feeling worse.” He winces. First he lies to her and now he’s shit-talking her? “I did not say that. What I really mean is that, uh, feelings...and actions...are complicated,” he finishes weakly.

“I see,” he says finally.

It seems that even Yusuke has a threshold for uncomfortable moments, because he rises to his feet. “Thank you for sharing all of that with me.”

“Uh, yeah, for sure. Thanks for the glass trick.”

“No need to mention it. It’s much easier to clean up a mess when you have someone helping you.” He points vaguely behind himself, “Would you like to head back together? I’m sure by now the festivities are winding down, and the trash you were so keen on disposing of has definitely been thrown away.”

Ryuji blanches. It grossed him out that he forgot he was holding an armful of garbage in his hand. “You go ahead. I just need to,” he rocks his arms, almost cradling the wet garbage. “Throw this out.”

“Very well. I’ll see you when you get back, then.”

He waves at him, and Ryuji wiggles in response (unless he wants it all hitting the ground and restarting that whole process again, which, no thanks.) After dumping it all into a nearby trash can, the process of which lasts several minutes since he still had to sort out the recycling, he feels a buzz in his pocket.

KA: come back when you can KA: i miss you

He takes a shaky breath.

SR: on my way

#p5 #p5s #ryuji sakamoto #akiryu #mine #fic tag #plainly in truth #akira kurusu #pegoryu #happy birthday ryuji this ones for you

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