#anyway just thinking out loud on a wednesday afternoon

[klanced]

also this is such a random aside but when i think back on the fallout after season 8, i mostly remember the vitriol being aimed primarily at LM. while JDS was able to squeak by mostly unscathed. was there a genuine reason that people focused more of their ire towards LM? because i’m ngl over the last couple of years i’ve been thinking that if LM bore the brunt of the internet’s hatred over season 8, even though both she and JDS were both executive producers & most likely equally responsible for the show’s downturn, then LM might’ve been a victim of targeted misogyny 

[system-to-the-madness]

Cherry Blossom Confessions 🌸 Okkotsu Yūta x Reader

Pairing: Okkotsu Yūta x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 1 423 Summary: Yūta spills a well-kept secret Prompt: accidental confession A/N: Firs time writing for Yūta! Also, I wanted to post these stories in time with the local cherry blossom, but it keeps delaying because the weather was too cold (on Wednesday it snowed even). I’m just gonna start posting and hope the cherry blossom will eventually catch up with me.

Sakura Festival Masterlist - Masterlist

Pink petals drifted through the air, looking like snowflakes in the warm afternoon light. It was only late March, but the sun had already gained back a lot of its power after the colder winter months, making you smile contently to yourself as you closed your eyes and held your face into the sun, trying not to let yourself be distracted by the person at your side.

Yūta was, for once, out of his school uniform, and instead dressed in an oversized shirt and some wide jeans which made his slim figure seem to drown in fabric. But it looked good, unfairly good even. You could tell he was fiddling around with his necklace, even without looking at him, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he seemed nervous.

“What’s wrong,” you asked eventually, unable to take his fidgeting any longer.

You had known him for a good while, and his behaviour now was more like he had been when you had first met him. Back then he had been jumpy and shy, always expecting the worst of people. But as he had settled more into the life at Jujutsu High, the shy and easily scared boy had turned into the open-hearted, funny, and fiercely loyal friend you had gotten so attached to.

“Nothing,” Yūta’s answer came almost too quickly, making you raise your brows before you blinked open your eyes and turned to look at him.

He had cut his hair a little since winter, the formerly long strands having been trimmed into a new haircut, which made him look gentler than the rather harsh look he had been sporting before. His grey eyes met yours defiantly, as if he was challenging you to question his reply, but you didn’t do him the favour. Instead, you continued watching his face.

Recently he had started getting cute freckles over his nose that now started to turn a darker shade as he blushed under your inquisitive gaze. You wondered if he could tell your own cheeks were heating up, too.

“Anyway,” you shrugged, tearing your gaze away from him and focusing back on the pink petals of the cherry trees you were sitting under.

Silence engulfed you for a while, but you couldn’t quite tell if it was the good or the bad kind. You also didn’t know what you were supposed to say. Which was weird, considering you never had any problems of engaging in conversation with Yūta. You always found things to talk about, to joke about, even if it was only Gojo-sensei’s latest shenanigans.  But somehow it suddenly felt as if this silence was important, as if it were the preparation for whatever was to come next. What a strange sentiment…

“You’re beautiful.”

Confused you turned to Yūta, who was still watching you, his eyes widening as you met his surprised. He had never said anything like that before, usually his compliments were limited to your fighting in training or during missions.

Quickly you looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

“Uhm, thanks…” you trailed off. Certainly he had to pick up on your embarrassment now, right? Your warm cheeks, the way you subconsciously had started playing with a blade of grass underneath your hand… you quickly pulled your hand away and intertwined it with the fingers of your other hand to stop the motion.

“Did I say that out loud,” Yūta wondered, a hint of amusement, but also embarrassment in his voice.

“Yeah, …”

He chuckled, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eyes. He had averted his eyes, and instead was staring up at the branches over you as he was chewing on his lip, clearly thinking hard about something. Suddenly he snapped his head back at you, almost startling you with the sudden motion, but it was obvious he had come to the conclusion of whatever he had thought over.

“I don’t tell you enough. Actually, I think I’ve never told you, but I always think you’re beautiful,” he confessed, his voice lacking any of the embarrassment from before and instead sounding determined now.

“Careful,” you chuckled nervously, “what will Rika think?”

Rika. Probably the biggest reason why you had never dared thinking of Yūta as anything other than a friend. You didn’t exactly feel like getting into a fight with a special grade curse over your classmate.

“Oh, she knows I think you’re beautiful,” Yūta shrugged, his voice returning to the more relaxed tone you usually knew from him.

“Does she?

“Yes, of course she does. I talk to her about you all the time.”

You furrowed your brows and turned back to look at Yūta. He had leant back, hands propped behind him against the grass, eyes closed. Black lashes rested against his pale, lightly freckled skin, and shadows of the cherry blossom danced softly over his features. He looked like an angel, you thought, or like the protagonist in some rom-com.

“You talk to her about me?” You hated how small your voice suddenly sounded.

“It’s not so strange, is it,” Yūta asked, his eyes still closed as he let the shadows slip over his face. “I have to talk to someone who won’t judge me. And Inumaki just keeps insisting I should finally confess to you. I can’t hear it anymore.”

You blinked, once, twice, wondering if Yūta was aware of what he had just said. And then you wondered if what he had just said meant what you think it meant.

“Confess what?”

The way Yūta tensed up revealed that he had not been aware of what he had just said. His eyes snapped open and quickly he sat up.

“I-”

The way he looked at you now, with widened eyes, and clearly insecure reminded you painfully much of the way he had looked at you in the first weeks of knowing you, always scared he had or was about to say something wrong, always worried you’d laugh at him, attack him, make fun of him or were out to hurt him.

“I- I didn’t…” His eyes kept skipping over your face as if the words he was supposed to reply with were writing in your features. After a few moments of stuttering around, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Confess that I like you,” he blurted out. “And have liked you for a long time. I didn’t want to tell you because I don’t want to put you in the weird position of rejecting someone who-”

“Yūta, Yūta!”

You interrupted the ramble he was picking up, instinctively bringing your hand up to his cheek. He still had his eyes closed, but instantly relaxed into your palm.

“Relax, it’s okay,” you assured him. “I like you, too.”

It took him a moment, but then the rest of the tension in his body fell away, and he blinked his eyes open.

“You do?”

The hope in his voice tucked at your heart and you nodded with a gentle smile.

“Yes, I do, you idiot. How couldn’t I?”

Yūta blinked at you, clearly surprised by your answer and uncertain what to do next. It took a few moments before the confused expression in his eyes melted away and was replaced by the joyous glimmer you loved seeing in his eyes so much.

“Then go out with me,” he demanded, a smile beginning to tuck at his lips, which turned into a proper grin as you nodded in agreement.

You were about to pull your hand away from his face, but he caught it in his, and keeping your eyes fixed on yours, he lifted your hand to his lips to place a delicate but lingering kiss on your knuckles, never breaking eye contact. The action drove heat into your cheeks, which only seemed to raise his confidence as he carefully lowered your hand and scooted closer to you.

“How about,” he leant in, his face right in front of yours now, “how about I take you out for dinner after this.”

You smiled at his suggestion and nodded. “I’d love that.”

“Perfect,” Yūta nodded to himself.

Then he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and gently pulled you backwards until you were laying in the grass, squeezed against him, looking up at the blue sky above you through the pink petals of the cherry tree. Suddenly he groaned, making you raise your eyebrows at him again even though you knew he couldn’t see it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Inumaki will be so pissed that he didn’t get to come up the ultimate confession-plan.”

@delzinrowe

[bad268]

Dodge (Benny Rodriguez X Reader)

Fandom: The Sandlot

Requested: Day 4 of Writing Inktober prompts instead of drawing!

Warnings: Attempted murder(/j), inspired by the time my friend hit a foul ball directly into my face and I fractured my wrist when I caught it (:

Pronouns: First Person (I/me)

W.C. 348

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

Writing Inktober 2023 Materlist

~~(^Google/Wiki fandom)

It was a normal Wednesday afternoon. The sun was blazing, the boys were playing ball and I was sitting off to the side, drawing in my sketchbook. It was something I do every time they play ball since I am the most unathletic person, and I would rather spend my time doodling anyway.

Today, Benny decided to teach the rest of the boys how to swing, and they were doing pretty well. Ham almost hit over the fence, Yeah Yeah, Squints and Timmy hit it past the bases and now Smalls was up.

I was working on some shading for the piece when I heard the crack of the bat. Just as I look up, I see the ball heading straight at me.

I ducked to the side just in time to dodge the foul ball before it hit me in the face. I looked around at everyone’s faces, all of which were grimaces while Smalls tried to hide behind the bat handle. I let out a loud exhale as I stood up and dusted the dirt from my jeans.

“I thought we agreed to not kill me this summer, boys,” I said sarcastically, crossing my arms before walking up to Smalls and taking the bat from him. “You’re done.”

“I think that’s a good place to end today,” Benny said, causing all of the guys to groan in disappointment as they left the lot. Once they rounded the corner and were out of sight, Benny leaned over to wrap his arm around my shoulder as he pulled me into his side. “That was a nice dodge you did.”

“Well, thank you. I learned from almost getting hit by your foul balls a hundred gazillion times,” I joked, playing with his hand that hung from my shoulders. 

“I bet you could do better than them,” Benny joked. “I’ll teach you the basics?”

“I don’t know,” I dragged out, “I don’t think your dodging skills are as good as mine.”

“Oh, you completely missed Ham’s line drive straight to my head,” He laughed.

“Oh no! Not your pretty face!”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2023. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[auxcordlawd]

Part 5: Wandering Thoughts of a Ravenclaw

Summary: During Easter break you go out with friends, which ends badly.

Word count:2180

Warnings: Professor and student, age gap (all parties 18+), drinking, heavy petting, **sexual assault**

18+ readers only

It was Wednesday, and the sun was out for the first time all break. You had spent Friday through Tuesday wandering the castle, reading material from the coming term in the library, chatting with the few people who had stayed behind for the break. Less than 50 students remained so you ate at one table. You hadn’t seen Professor Snape all week, and his office door remained closed. Ever since that last night in his office he was all you could think about.

“(Y/n)?” A Hufflepuff girl whose name you couldn’t remember startled out of your reverie.

“Oh sorry, what did you say?”

“A group of us is heading to the Three Broomsticks later, some of last year’s graduates are going to be there. Specifically Quidditch players Zacharias Smith and Rodger Davies and they’ve gotten hotter.” She giggled nudging her fellow Hufflepuff Hannah Abbott.

“Yeah, I’d love to get out of the castle. I’m going a bit stir crazy!” You replied enthusiastically.

“Yay! You can meet me and Susan at the Hufflepuff door to the common room, we can get ready together. We got permission over break to allow others in our common room!” Hannah said giddily, you thankful for reminding you of her friends name.

As the sun went down you found yourself walking towards the kitchen where the Hufflepuff room was near. Suddenly Hannah grabbed your arm out from behind some wood barrels, where the door was obscured. You stepped inside, your first time in their common room, and found yourself at ease in the cozy room. Plants were scattered about, and despite being in the basement the colors of the sunset were visible through overhead windows. The girls had makeup and outfits scattered about the tables.

“None of the boys of Hufflepuff are in here right now, we kicked them out.” Alicia Spinnet, a girl on the Gryffindor Quidditch team laughed with a devious grin.

You all got ready chatting about random topics, mainly leading back to boys. “Aren’t you with that Slytherin boy, Miles?” Susan asked.

“Not really.” You said curtly, applying mascara as you spoke.

“I swear I saw you two the last day of term near the lake, and you two looked pretty cozy.” Hannah said with a mischievous smile catching your questioning face. “We don’t judge here!”

“Well yes, you did see us, but we’re not exclusive.. even though he might want to be.” You stated honestly relieved to be able to talk to someone about it. “This stays between us!” You said sternly while they all shook their heads yes eager to hear more.

“So… he walked me to detention after our afternoon together, and at the last minute he told me he loved me!” You blurted out.

“Merlin’s beard! A Slytherin boy announcing his feelings. How strange!” Alicia retorted looking truly shocked.

“Did you say it back?” Asked Susan.

“Uhh well, I said thanks and ran into Professor Snape’s office.” You replied awkwardly.

“That’s an odd place for refuge.” Hannah laughed with a curious look on her face.

“Well anyways this means you can flirt with the boys tonight!” Susan said giving herself one last look in the mirror before pulling out a bottle of firewhiskey from her bag. “Shots ladies?”

After a few drinks the sun had fully set. You had decided on a short denim skirt, your white trainers, a white cropped shirt that fell just at your bellybutton. Despite your showy attire, you were covering more than the others. Hannah wore a tight black dress showing off her endless legs, Susan wore a green slip dress that highlighted her red hair and showed a lot cleavage, and Alicia wore short jean shorts and a dark blue corset top.

You all made your way through the castle meeting up with some others as you strolled drunkenly to the Three Broomsticks. Muggle music was playing loud, some pop, some classic rock. The place was quite full for a Wednesday night, you all sat down at a large table in the back corner of the bar. Moments after sitting down there were several boys who you recognized as last years graduates and sat down with two bottles of fire whiskey and several shot glasses. Zacharias Smith sat down right next to you, turning toward you handing you a shot glass. “Cheers, to meeting back up with old friends and pretty girls.” He said winking at you before clinking glasses with you then others around the table before you all taking the shot.

About an hour or so later the bar was even more full, loud with people chatting, laughing, and music playing. You were quite drunk, but enjoying yourself for the first time all break. You stood leaning on a pole chatting with Hannah as Zacharias walked over to you, handing you a cocktail. He was eyeing you up and down hungrily. “It’s a shame we never became close when I was still at Hogwarts. You were always so focused on studies. I like to see you having fun now.”

“Well my studies paid off, so I think I’m due for some fun.” You said enjoying the attention, sipping more of your drink.

“You’re a vision in that outfit, I’d like to see how it looks on the floor of my hotel room.”

You giggled as you stumbled in to him, he put his hand on your waist possessively.

“It’s so hard to chat in here. Let’s step out front.” He grabbed your hand and you followed him, not really wanting to leave the group. One outside you leaned on the wall of the building, noticing how drunk you were. The chilly night didn’t even feel cold. Zacharias grabbed your waist and leaned in for a kiss, it felt good so you continued. He started grabbing you tighter, hands moving to your thighs. His fingers began trailing up under your skirt pushing it up higher so he could grab your ass. You shocked by his brashness pleaded “No, we shouldn’t be doing this.” Despite your pleas he continued as you tried to push him away. He reached up and grabbed your hand to stop you from pushing away. “Cmon your dressed like this, drinking all the drinks I got for you.” He said pushing into you more as he shoved his hands under your shirt.

Suddenly Zacharias was thrown on the ground away from you. You looked up stunned to see Professor Snape standing between you and him, his back facing you, holding his wand directly at Zacharias. You threw your hand over your mouth in shock as Snape yelled “Cruccio!” Zacharias was writhing on the ground unable to get a full plead for mercy out. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you.” Snape said seething. “Get the fuck out of here, and if you do anything like this again I will kill you.”

Snape turned quickly grabbing your wrist, before you even took a breath he apparated you both into his office. Snape was still fueled with anger, pacing back and forth before turning to you about to speak. Before he got a word out you ran into him and started sobbing into his chest. Startled he stood there for a second. Eventually he hugged you hard pushing you harder into his chest, as he rubbed your back.

“You’re alright, dear.” He said petting your hair tenderly.

“I’m so sorry” you cried, not even letting his unexpected warmth soak in.

“(Y/n) don’t be sorry. He is a worthless waste of space, I should have killed him right there.” He held onto you protectively. You stayed like that until your breathing normalized, your crying turning into light sniffling. He eased you into the chair in front of his desk. He leaned on his desk sitting in front of you, looking lost in thought.

You looked up at him through tearful eyes, for guidance. He magically made tea appear, two cups, as he turned to riffle through his potions cabinet. He poured a few drops into one of the glasses. “Tea to sober you up, as well as calming draught to settle your nerves.” He said softly handing you the cup. You took it and drank it down, feeling the immediate effects.

After a few minutes you felt quite sober and much calmer. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“(Y/n) you have no reason to. You do need to be more careful of who you surround yourself with, I may not always be around the corner to protect you, but when I saw you leave the bar with that imbecile I had a feeling.”

“You came outside to protect me?” You asked, feeling warm with that news.

He hesitated before answering. “Yes, I felt I had to miss (y/l/n).” He stood and went to open his door, sending out a paper airplane. Less than a minute later two house elves knocked on the door, Snape opened it revealing the house elves with their hands full of food, ham, potatoes, green beans, charcuterie, cookies, cakes, and a large pitcher of butterbeer. He motioned for them to set it down on his desk.

You both ate in silence for a while, feeling full and thankfully sober. Weeks before this event you could never imagine your professor caring for you like this. You felt so safe, so protected. It was quite late, most likely past midnight. “I believe its time for bed miss (y/l/n).” You looked up at him, feeling sad again.

“I-I don’t wanna be alone.” You said stuttering nervously.

“I can not assist you there.” Professor Snape said with certainty.

“Can’t I stay with you?” You asked desperately.

He stood there for a minute, questioning what to do or say. “That would be inappropriate, crossing lines.”

“But, but, please Profess-“

“Ok.” He cut you off in a tone hard to read, turning around to face the wall behind his desk.

He muttered something under his breath and one of his bookshelves moved as a door appeared. He opened the door and held out his arm gesturing you to enter. You slowly walked in, taking in the scene. His bed was similar to the four poster bed in the student dorms, yet his was larger, with black and cream sheets, pillows, and drapes. There was a small kitchenette with several teacups sitting around the sink. There was a small but intimate bathroom with a claw foot tub. A medium sized dresser was in the corner with books and potions scattered on top. It was small but not claustrophobic. It smelled strongly of him, which warmed you up in more ways than one. He was staring at you, seemingly questioning what you thought of his private space. “I love it.” You said finally speaking. You sat down on his bed and realized how intimate the sensation was. Was he going to sleep in the bed with you?

“I’m glad you’re comfortable. Would you like something to sleep in?” You nodded and he started rummaging through a set of drawers near the bed, pulling out a long black sweater, placing it in the bathroom. “Sleep well, I’ll be right in my office if you need me.”

“Wait.. Aren’t you going to sleep?” You questioned him, a truly innocent question.

“I will survive.” He said turning towards the door.

“Please, stay with me. I can sleep on the far side of the bed. I just want you nearby.” You said desperately. He seemed to falter at your words. “Go change.” He commanded.

You stood and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. Taking the few seconds alone to organize your thoughts. Oh how the night had taken a turn. You pulled of your skirt, tank top, and sweater, and slid on the sweater Severus gave you. It was a soft cashmere, pilled with wear, wrapped in his scent you felt at ease. The sweater laid six inches above your knee, safely covering your lacy thong underneath. You splashed water on your face, used mouthwash he had sitting on his counter top, and walked out into the bedroom.

Severus had turned down the lights, with a few candles on, leaving you enough light to get back to the bed. He had changed into a black long sleeve shirt tight against his chest and arms, and slightly baggy dark green pajama bottoms. You felt so close to him seeing him like this. You saw his eyes trail down to your bare legs, quickly looking up at you. “Come, lay down.” He said in his slow deep voice.

You obeyed climbing under the covers as he held them for you. You shifted to the far side of the bed while he climbed onto his side. You laid facing him as he did the same. “Thank you Severus.”

“Of course, but this cannot become a regular thing, you staying in your professors bed.” he said with a small smirk, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Yes, sir.” You said smiling at him while you closed your eyes. Falling into the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

Part 6

@yurfavmommy

[doonarose]

The first one that’s right.

(Good Omens Crowley/Aziraphale kissing and romance fic)

Rating: PG/T

Rationale: I’m still processing Season 2 (loved it, no complaints), but we know Aziraphale and Crowley will come out of Season 3 talking to each other properly, and acknowledging, out loud, that they love each other, and actually planning for a future together. And that’s a delicious setting to play in while I figure out how the hell they get there. So, that future, begs the following fic…

Summary: Aziraphale would like to try the thing they did with their mouths that night it all blew up and no, he does not mean, speaking.

Count: 2500ish

“Crowley, you remember when I went to heaven to do The Second Coming?”

Crowley really cannot believe Aziraphale just casually asked him that.

Aziraphale continues quickly, “Right before I left, when we spoke…” he pauses.

When we spoke! Crowley’s mouth has fallen open, his brow furrowed incredulously, a reaction that seems entirely restrained in the face of such audacity. He wills Aziraphale to drop it, eyes flashing a warning as he steps a little closer, crowding into Aziraphale’s space.

Aziraphale manages to clasp his hands together in the gap between them, fidgeting as his gaze shifts to focus on the floor off to the side. It’s a drizzly Wednesday afternoon in the bookshop, completely innocuous, except Aziraphale has chosen today to trap Crowley in a doorway, stand squarely, infuriatingly, in front of him, and ask him if he remembers that day and that conversation.

“Yes, right, when we spoke, that day,” he continues as though Crowley actually had said he remembered. “Well, I think I would like to try that again.”

“Speaking?” Crowley manages to squeeze an extra syllable into the word. It’s absurd but the alternative is that Aziraphale wants to try the second coming again and that’s just not possible. “You’d like to try speaking again. We speak all the time now, Angel, I hardly think we need to do it more.” That’s true, they are much better at speaking now, at talking to each other and listening. They’re getting better, but that doesn’t mean Crowley wants to talk about that.

“No!” Realization dawns on Aziraphale’s face, “Oh, no!” his eyes going wide and his cheeks flushing pink, “Oh, goodness, no, not that. Of course not, I wouldn’t – I’m sorry – ” He grabs Crowley at the top of his arms and squeezes. He takes a deep breath, something Crowley thinks Nina might have taught him. “I love you.” It recenters both of them, lightens the air in the room, and Crowley feels his heartbeat slow and settle, his fight or flight response thwarted with those three simple words of assurance. He rolls his eyes and shrugs Aziraphale’s hands off his arms, the dismissiveness more out of muscle memory than anything else, but the corner of his lips also twitches up. He knows Aziraphale knows he doesn’t always say it back and that’s okay.

Aziraphale’s hands, now hanging unoccupied at his sides, flex sporadically. “Actually, I meant the other thing… with your mouth.”

Oh. Oh. After too long a beat, Crowley manages to say it out loud, “Oh.”

“Only if you wanted to,” Aziraphale rushes. “Obviously only if you wanted to. And we could stop if you didn’t like it and never talk about it again. I just thought we should try it since we’re kind of, well we’re together now and that’s what you do – it’s what lots of people, humans, do, anyway – and the other time was terrible but that wasn’t our fault and –”

“Terrible?!” Crowley squawks, cutting him off.

“Well, no, not terrible, sorry, oh gosh I’m making a mess of this. Humans make relationships look so easy.” Aziraphale whines, covering his face with both hands and blushing pink beneath them.

Crowley has, of course, thought about kissing Aziraphale, sometimes entirely by accident, but, more often than not, very much, quite on purpose. Somehow, it has never occurred to him that it is something Aziraphale might have thought about, too, and after that one, indeed quite doomed attempt, it is taking him quite a long time to process the proposition. What hadn’t Aziraphale just come and kissed him?

Aziraphale continues to blather: “Can we please just pretend I never said anything. We’re doing so nicely now, we’re both much happier, and I shouldn’t have brought all that up again.”

That sinking, bottomless pit feeling in Crowley’s stomach appears. The threat of losing something he never quite had, a feeling he’s unfairly intimate with but learning how to process and to shrug off as not automatically inevitable. And it’s not the world, or Aziraphale, or his freedom that is about to be snatched away. Just a kiss. Angels, certainly demons, aren’t even meant to kiss – definitely not the way he wants to kiss Aziraphale. That’s the domain of humans and all their weird humanity, smushing their wet food/talk/breath holes together as though it’s some sort of fun. What is that even about? Surely one of God’s more bizarre pranks.

Oh, but he really, really wants to. The pang of potential loss makes his stomach twist and his fingertips itch to grab and hold fast and try to kiss all the doubt out of Aziraphale.

But that didn’t go so well last time.

He’s learning, though. “Hang on a minute,” he says, sounding less calm than he’d intended.

Aziraphale fidgets and shakes his head, pouting and tutting because Crowley’s already been standing there, processing, for too long.

“Was it really that terrible?” What Crowley wanted to say was something like ‘Yes please, let’s try it, don’t worry, it’s going to be great!’

“No!” Aziraphale sighs, and tries it more gently, “No, it just wasn’t… I mean everything around it was terrible, wasn’t it?” Crowley’s eyes narrow and an eyebrow arches. “Well, no, I mean, what you said was… lovely… illuminating… It was everything I wanted to hear even if I didn’t know it. But it wasn’t the right time and I didn’t expect you – well, you, I didn’t expect… It was a surprise, when you kissed me, and it wasn’t terrible but I think we can both agree it wasn’t exactly… good.” Aziraphale goes still, bracing for the impact of more argument or indignation or having to backtrack again.

Crowley says nothing, just watches him, for another too-long moment. “So, you want to try again?”

Aziraphale can’t help but break into a proper smile at the infinitesimal, possible progress: ever the optimist. “Yes! That’s all, and as I said, if it’s awful or you don’t like it, of course, we never have to do it again. I just thought it made sense to ask, to try... well to ask to try. But if you don’t want to, that’s completely fine, just say the word and – ”

“I want to.”

“Oh. Okay…Good.”

Crowley keeps count as the seconds pass. He makes it to twelve before he absolutely has to say something. “Ready when you are, Angel.” He swallows because that felt brave in the face of how fast he can feel his heart thumping, how stupidly vulnerable and nervous this is making him feel.

But then he sees Aziraphale’s gaze snap up to meet his, eyes going comically wide, and Crowley realizes Aziraphale’s been staring at his mouth those whole twelve seconds. It makes him even braver, the nerves and the vulnerability still there, but something playful and teasing, their natural rhythm, working its way into the moment.

Aziraphale starts to nod, building resolve even as his eyes slip back to down to Crowley’s lips which Crowley licks and purses before he can stop himself. Aziraphale swallows heavily and checks, “Here? And… and now?”

“I can meet you somewhere else later, if you’d prefer,” Crowley teases some more.

Huffing, Aziraphale flexes his shoulders back once and then grasps Crowley by the upper arms. He hesitates a second longer and then he’s pulling Crowley into him, angling his face to meet Crowley’s lips in a firm, warm press.

It is not dissimilar to the one other time they did this, albeit without all the drama, trauma and world-destroying stakes. Instead, it’s just them, wilfully, openly in love, mouth to mouth in a doorway in the bookshop. Trying kissing.

Aziraphale smells good, better than expected this close, more earthy, more like skin, and his lips are unbelievably soft. Crowley thinks he can taste the remnants of an Earl Grey tea with two sugars and perhaps a scone. He wonders what Aziraphale is thinking and then he realizes he should really, probably shut his eyes, and so he does. He tries to relax into the tight grip around his biceps, leaning into the unconventional embrace instead of just being held there.

This is so weird.

They’re not moving. Crowley’s pretty sure they’re meant to be moving, not just pressing. He realizes with a start that Aziraphale isn’t breathing at all and opens his eyes to check he’s okay and again, it’s just blurry tanned skin splashed with pink, dark splayed eyelashes that he could count if he wanted to because at least Aziraphale got the memo about closing his eyes. The view is strangely captivating even as the static and uncertain press of their mouths is beginning to border on too weird.  And Crowley’s not breathing either and then suddenly he’s breathless.

They break apart on seemingly mutual terms and both take a step back rendering a larger than expected distance between them. Crowley makes a conscious effort to breathe and Aziraphale’s eyes flutter open beautifully.

Crowley won’t say out loud what he’s thinking, he’s not sure he could articulate it very well and it would certainly feature the words ‘weird’ and ‘unexpected’ and ‘woops’. None of which he thinks will be conducive to ever getting to try that again.

But it’s written across Aziraphale’s face, the mirrored consternation that that wasn’t what it was meant to be, it wasn’t like in the books, or the movies, or even a little bit what they imagined. Crowley starts concocting a plan with multiple steps, subterfuge, and, in all likelihood, weather.

Aziraphale licks his lips, takes two determined steps forward and lifts both hands to Crowley’s face, gently holding him there with his palms spread across his cheeks, fingers dipping easily into his hair. He takes only a moment to run both thumbs from the centre of Crowley’s lips out, tracing the crease, tugging ever so gently on his bottom lip, and then across the arch of each cheek. He shifts one hand, sliding it around the back of Crowley’s neck, his thumb pressed to the corner of Crowley’s jaw, and then he pulls him down, rising onto his toes just a little to meet him, to press their lips together again.

Crowley’s eyes fall shut instinctively this time and a small sigh of relief escapes against Aziraphale’s lips. They’re still just pressing together, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, but he’s alive and responding – giving and taking – with him and against him. Aziraphale’s fingers dance across his cheek bone, his other palm warm and secure against the back of Crowley’s neck; Aziraphale’s mouth pressing and pursing against Crowley’s mouth like he plans to try every possible angle and sample each square millimetre. Shifting from bottom lip to top, then back again before drawing the lightest friction of lips on lips as he shifts to kiss at the corner of Crowley’s mouth. Back again and again and again.

Crowley’s hands move to Aziraphale’s sides, grasping the material of his jacket but it isn’t enough of an anchor. They slide to the small of his back, again grabbing fistfuls of the soft material, drawing him in, closer, warmer, dearer, safer, snug.

And this is what proper kissing is like.

Arms slipping further, tighter still, Crowley encompasses him as much as he can, an arm snaking up Aziraphale’s back to rest one hand heavy and petting between his shoulder blades, while the other arm wraps around his waist, fingers finding purchase in the material once more. His lips meet Aziraphale’s in each soft, exploratory press even as his breath comes quicker and not quite enough. He ignores the need to breathe and plan and hope, and instead focuses on everywhere they’re touching and the contented thrum of everything feeling right that settles deep within his chest.

When Aziraphale pulls back it’s only the necessary millimetres to switch their angle and feel the press of Crowley’s nose into his opposite cheek, but even that withdrawal, already over before its reacted to, pulls a tiny, forlorn whimper from Crowley that he’s not able to swallow. And that makes Aziraphale giggle. Right up against Crowley’s lips, a hot puff of air and laughter that Aziraphale immediately tries to stop.

Except Crowley knows, immediately, that he will do anything and everything in his power to make Aziraphale do that again, even if it involves making very undemonic, needy, whiney noises. The thought makes him smile, lips stretching against Aziraphale’s, and the kiss ends far more easily than it began.

They don’t pull apart; their eyes don’t open. Aziraphale’s hands drop and slip easily into Crowley’s blazer and back around his waist. His head tucks up against Crowley’s chest and cheek, finding a perfect spot there, just the right height, to nestle. Crowley entertains his instincts and nuzzles into the white curls at Aziraphale’s temple. He presses a firm kiss there because he can’t help himself.

Crowley wonders how long they’ll be able to hold this perfect moment, to stand here, barely breathing, in such bliss. He wonders why on Earth pressing their mouths together – kissing – feels like that. He wonders when they’ll do it again, how often, how many times, for how long. Will it ever be this good again? What if it gets even better? What else might Aziraphale deign to try of kisses and romance and human love? He wonders what Aziraphale is wondering.

Aziraphale takes a long, loud breath against his clavicle and then blows it out, Crowley can feel him smiling. “We,” Aziraphale says, “Are definitely doing that again.”

Crowley’s contented, happy sigh borders on a shudder but he manages a simple, casual, “Of course, Angel,” into Aziraphale’s hair.

Aziraphale hums his happiness and starts pulling back from the embrace far too soon for Crowley’s liking. When he steps back, though, it’s a thing to behold: his lips and cheeks flushed pink, blue eyes shining and his always mussed hair somehow still conveying that, yes, indeed, he’d just been kissed.

“Fancy a spot of tea?” Aziraphale asks more out of habit than expectation, as he smooths down his waistcoat and straightens his bowtie.  

Surprising even himself, Crowley responds, “Yes, I rather do.”

***

Now with a follow up companion piece (and likely to become a short series of their early kisses): The second one that's quite rubbish And also on AO3!

A/N: I wrote a thing?! It’s an extremely sappy thing by my standards (kind of) but certainly what they deserved. I’m waiting on my AO3 account since that seems the way to do things these days. I haven’t written fic in over eight years and I am still finding character and voice with these two so feedback or discussions very welcome! This is just the first part of at least eight, each delving into a subsequent kiss because, clearly, I am a total sappy sap. And then also a potential (unlikely) opus to try to bridge Season 2 to this blissful future.

A/N2: So I posted this pretty much exactly a month ago and since then I've written... over 30K words that follows on from this beginning and you can go and read all of it here as well as two 8k stand alones that just jump to the good (explicit) bit.

[mixsethaddams]

Steve was bored.

Like, it was about to become a problem type of bored. He was practically falling asleep at his desk and he was already on warning after being late to work. You’d think his boss would be a little kinder for something as simple as sleeping through an alarm, but noooooo. She had to ‘make an example’, apparently. What a bitch. Instant written warning, no second chances.

Great.

It didn’t even happen for a good reason anyway. He binged some dumb Netflix show and kept hitting ‘Next Episode’ until 4am. It wasn’t even well written. So now here he was with a weight behind his eyes and half a mind to write a strongly worded letter to find out what the hell the writers were thinking with that ending.

He would have called out entirely if it wasn’t Wednesday. Steve’s favourite day of the week, because Wednesday was the day the interns from the business campus across town came in.

They were all Steve’s age or thereabouts, his status as a nepo baby securing his less-than-desirable spot in his father’s business behind this stupid desk, and under the watchful eye of Diane, right out of highschool. He envied how the students came in, sat in the corner of meetings and took frantic notes, before going off in a great big gaggle for lunch together while Steve ate a foil wrapped ham and cheese sandwich alone in the staff break room.

So Wednesday meant interns, meant crowded meetings, meant loud discussions of how to split a deli tab, meant Eddie.

Eddie.

Steve could barely keep his eyes off him any time he paraded through the office. His grey slacks were on the borderline of being too baggy for dress code, his white shirt was never tucked in but it was fitted to the point of maybe it was just a size too small, so it didn’t matter anyway. Even his slim black tie, flying around as Eddie bounced through the office, gave an extra endearing quality to the man. And the mop of curly hair, haphazardly thrown up into a bun on top of his head? Don’t get Steve started.

Steve had been looking for an ‘in’ for months now. Time was running out, the internship programme would be ending soon and Wednesday would go back to being just a regular day. No students, no Eddie. Steve tried once or twice to say hi when they passed in the parking lot but Eddie only ever offered a distracted smile before going back to whatever he was doing on his phone. He never even took out his headphones.

It wasn’t until Steve was sitting in the break room one Thursday, forcing himself to chew through stale bread and ham that had smelled better yesterday, that he finally got a chance. He was silently stewing at the fact Diane was forcing him to reenter a huge data sheet of figures later on that day. He fucking hated reentries, and she knew it.

“Hey,” said Eddie, standing at the door before sitting across from Steve at the table.

Steve realised he’d gone too long without replying when Eddie’s eyebrows quirked inwards.

“Hey, hi, yeah…. Hey,” said Steve quickly. He was suddenly very aware of how bland his grey shirt/navy sweater combo looked in comparison to Eddie’s….everything. It didn’t matter that Eddie was dressed in monotone greys today, it was just him.

“You’re not usually here on Thursdays,” said Steve, aiming for casual.

Eddie smirked.

“Yeah well,” he said, leaning back heavily in his chair. “I messed up some figures yesterday so I offered to come in today to fix it. No classes in the afternoon so, made sense,”

Eddie finished with a shrug. Steve had no idea what he’d just said because this was actually the first time he’d heard Eddie’s voice without the buzz of the entire office in the background and he felt like he wanted to swim in it.

“Cool, cool,” said Steve, hoping that was an appropriate response.

Eddie nodded and regarded Steve carefully, eyes dragging over the parts of him that weren’t hidden by the table.

“You take a lot of notice when I’m here….?” began Eddie, leaning forward and motioning for Steve to fill in the blank.

“Oh, S-Stephen, Steve, uh, Steve,” he stammered, clearing his throat.

“Steve,” repeated Eddie slowly. “I’m Eddie,”

Steve knew his name. Had made a mission of finding it out. Broke six different company policies on privacy to find it after the first week.

Steve just nodded, shy now.

“So tell me, Steve,” said Eddie, dragging his teeth over his lip when he said Steve’s name. “Do you always notice when I’m not here?”

“It’s…It’s intern day, Wednesdays,” floundered Steve. “You’re an intern. Wednesday is your day. To be here, I mean, and this is…Thursday, so…”

Eddie’s eye narrowed as a grin tugged on the edge of his mouth.

“Desk 405, right?” asked Eddie, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Third cubicle past the bathrooms, right next to the cooler?”

Steve’s mouth dropped open.

“Yeah, yes, uh, how did…” Steve cleared his throat again. “Why do you know where my desk is?”

Eddie stood, pocketing the paper again.

“You’re the one who’s going to help me fix my mistake,” said Eddie, rapping his knuckles on the table, calling over his shoulder as he left. “Thank Diane, she said you love data reentry,”

Steve did always like Diane.

[nburkhardt]

At first he didn’t even know it was happening because he was working the late shifts and crashing over at Robin’s since they drove together. So, it wasn’t bothering him.

Then one random Saturday causes a domino effect.

They’re minding their own business, he’s in the middle of starting something for dinner while she’s figuring out what they’re watching and telling him about her failure of a date-not-a-date with Vickie.

“I’m telling you, Steven! She is not bisexual, I flirted, offered to play and had that lipstick Nance totally said looked good and I- what the fuck?” Her voice immediately squeaks out as his whole fucking apartment vibrates as loud as all hell, Metallica starts playing from under them.

He looks down at the floor, as if that’ll answer what just happened. It’s still playing, still loud as fuck and making his second hand chairs shift and knock over, “maybe the downstairs neighbor is having a party?” He offers loudly, looking over his shoulder to spy at her, she’s still sitting on the counter with the remote on the floor now.

“Sure?” She offers back, and hops down to grab the remote, “isn’t it a bit early for it?”

He shrugs and continues stirring the pasta, “it’s Saturday, maybe they just got home?”

They both shrug at that before just focusing on their tasks, with the now loud metal music vibrating the floors. It could be worse, he supposes, it could be gun shots or some couple loudly having sex.

Which, isn’t something he wants to hear with his platonic soulmate.

Then again, he realizes mid dumping the pasta in the sauce, that they could still be doing that just covering it up with the music? He shakes the idea out and tries focusing back on the food and listening to Robin venting.

It went on until fucking four in the morning.

But it was a Saturday. So, he didn’t see a need to complain too much. He remembers hosting parties in high school at his parent’s house and how loud they got too. Weekends are meant for excitement anyway, he usually has Sundays off anyway.

That wasn’t the last time though.

Since he works most weekdays and Robin promises ice cream and gossip after work, he spends nights on her couch instead of making the drive back to his place. Saturdays at his place because are saved for when it’s his turn to cook, so it becomes a pattern at four in the afternoon some loud music starts, goes on until four in the morning.

It’s annoying, but at least it’s just Saturdays.

That is until Robin decides to switch jobs on him and he of course, follows her to the new toy store that opened and with the promise of more benefits and morning shifts, he’s happy to get some relaxing evenings off.

After his first day of work spending it training and avoiding kids running under his feet, all he wants to do is crash on his nice warm bed.

But as soon as he gets to his door, the floor is vibrating. At first he thinks it’s just from a neighbor vacuuming with the world’s shittiest vacuum, shrugs and makes his way into his apartment. It’s only as he shuts the door and drops his keys on the table and they jump right out that next second.

That’s when he noticed his whole apartment is fucking vibrating and the sounds of loud screaming registers in his head. Again like the first time, he stared down at his floor. Wondering if the downstairs neighbor has shitty hearing or covering the sounds of loud sex.

Oh and that they know that it’s fucking Monday.

He mentions it the next day to Robin and they decide maybe it was a fluke and his neighbor just forgot what day it was.

It happens on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.

He’d get home to a vibrating floor and loud as fuck music from below that lasts until four in the morning.

Friday rolls around, he takes it off for a doctors appointment. After the appointment and some errands, he gets home at three. Spends the time relaxing and eating leftovers, texts Robin about their plans for the weekend when at four o’clock, he hears the start of music. Then within a few minutes, he feels his couch start to shift and then everything else starts to vibrate.

“What the fuck, man.” He mumbles to himself as he stares at the stupid sailor boy figure slowly moves on his table, before it falls to the ground.

It’s annoying, but it’s okay he can handle this. He doesn’t need to say anything. The rest of the evening goes on, the music isn’t his favorite (mostly metal, some rock songs thrown in. Dio and Metallica are played the most) but it’s okay. The vibrations are annoying, but isn’t actually harming him. So, he goes about his routine.

What breaks him is the migraine that wakes him up; it’s the nausea that really wakes him up, not the still loud as fuck music playing. After the wave of nausea goes away, he looks at his phone.

Staring brightly at him is 3:00am.

Blinking, he groans and drops back on his pillows. He stares up at his ceiling, head starting to pulse with pain while he starts to notice the vibrations. The song switches to another screaming voice- then it gets louder and it’s only when his eyes start to burn from pain that he’s throwing his covers off with a determination.

He pounds on the door in only his sweats. The pounding in his head is just about lined up to the pounding from his hand, when the door swings open to reveal a guy with long curly, a dark red sweater and black sweats on. But the thing that really stands out is the fucking sunglasses.

Music is no longer playing, he doesn’t see anyone else in view, just the guy in the sunglasses.

“Oh hello there” The guy smirks at him, leaning against his door.

He shakes his head, which hurts but it clears enough for him to focus on his determination. “Hi, look can you just do your party or whatever this is, on the weekends? You’re making my apartment vibrate, man. I really don’t mind it, but I get migraines sometimes and this- whatever it is- has been happening for a while.”

The guy leans there and the smirk dies down but still sorta there. He pulls off his sunglasses and the world’s most adorable fucking Bambi eyes stare at him, even in the fogginess of the migraine, he could tell this man is gorgeous.

But now isn’t the time to focus on that. It’s stupid o’clock, he has a migraine and work in the morning. All he needs right now is the promise of easing up on the loud music.

Bambi eyes blinks at him then looks backwards into his apartment before looking at him again, he frowns and crosses his arms, a sheepish look crosses his face. “My bad, sweetheart. I’ll try to remember that. I didn’t think it was that bad-“

He doesn’t know what causes it but he blurts it out anyway, “it’s not bad! It’s not my favorite but it’s fine! Just the building has ridiculously thin everything”

Bambi blinks at him again and he curses his lack of filter, looks anywhere but at the face in front of him. The silence is weird but it’s that, that makes him notice that no one has called out for the music to start, hasn’t seen someone walk over and he processes the sweater and sweats combo that makes him blink at him, “Are you alone?”

There’s confusion across Bambi’s face, and holy shit this guy is adorable- it’s not the time! He scolds himself. Bambi takes another look behind himself and Steve gets the perfect view of a blush climb it’s way up Bambi’s neck and up his face. Then he looks back, “yep, just practicing. Trying to learn some new songs, only time I get.” He huffs a laugh, “didn’t know it could make the building vibrate, think you could forgive me?”

He can only nod, fighting his own blush. The guy looks smug, even if he’s getting told to stop this.

“Uh yeah, yeah. Thank you, honestly.” He can feel his cheeks heat up, “anyway, I should really get back to my room.” He awkwardly throws his thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll see you around”

As he shifts to walk away, he catches another smirk on Bambi’s face, it makes him pause just a moment before he actually goes to leave.

“Oh, for sure, sweetheart!”

Pulling the noise canceling earplugs out and the start of Master of Puppets starts, he rolls his eyes at the clock staring at him.

3:45AM

He throws off his blankets and slips out of the bed to leave the room. A fond smile spreads as he leans against the wall, in the corner is one of his favorite sights. Sleep has him in a sappy mood, he moves after a moment to tap a shoulder and it’s as he’s pulling out the earplug that he hears, “sorry sweetheart, got an idea and couldn’t help myself”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Eds, you were asleep with him.”

Eddie shrugs, placing the guitar on its stand before standing up and throws an arm around him pulling him close, “just had inspiration hit, sweetheart. I’ll finish it later, sleep now!”

He lets him lead him back to the bedroom and as they get comfortable under the covers, looking over at the clock on the wall, there clear as day it reads; 4:15AM.

~~~~

That ending is terrible but I’m starting to really feel my edible now and I can kinda tell this is starting to make absolutely no sense 🥴

It’s based off a tweet I saw earlier that said: “The apartment below us used to blast dance music from 4 PM to 4 AM every day it made our furniture vibrate. We assumed they were hosting pandemic parties? One night at 1 AM Brie went down there to beg for mercy and it was literally just one guy wearing sunglasses.” And I immediately thought of Eddie fucking doing that and Steve being done with it, and knocking on Eddie’s door. SO! I wrote this… sorry if the formatting is weird or it just doesn’t make much sense. I’m high, tried & rambling…. So I’m stopping this and just posting lol.

Oh it’s probably a litttttle late but this based on modern times 🫡

[adudelolwriting]

true hate's kiss for chodark mayhaps????? please????? i think it'd be hilarious?????

-✨

oh my GODS this one started kicking my ass at the end . its OKAYYY i dont think its the best but whatever they cant all be winners am i right chat (sitcom laughing) . anyways here you go sparkle anon, hope you enjoy !! (ask game here)

~~~~~~~~~~

Dark had a curse. 

Chosen knew this — the curse was to take Chosen's life. Chosen knew the risk of saving Dark, and then helping her. Chosen knew that, one day, the curse, the mission code, would act up, and Chosen would have to fight. 

So, the two fought. Dark always apologized once she snapped out of it (typically after getting the shit knocked out of her), and Chosen always was there to help dress her wounds. 

But… as the years went on, and as they retired, or settled down, or whatever you called it, Dark just got more and more antsy. Secretive. 

Dark revealed his plan on a regular Wednesday afternoon. "We can take revenge, Chosen! We can finally make Him hurt, like He hurt you!"

"...No. You don't want this, Dark. I don't want this."

"But I did this for you! We can attack the Cursor that hurt you!" Dark gestured to the massive laser machine in front of her.

Chosen shook Chosen's head. "No. We're done with this, with hurting sticks, remember? We agreed."

"But He's not a stick!" 

"No." Chosen's arms crossed, and Dark looked pissed. "I did this for you!" He repeated, and then he dove for the button. Chosen leaped to him, grabbing him and pulling him away from the button. The two fought, anger burning through Chosen.

How dare she, try and do this? Who does she think she is, trying to do this to them?

Dark wiggled out of Chosen's grasp, and hit the button. What looked like a nuke launched into the sky, breaking through the Outernet's sky and into an IP — One that Chosen knew too well. Before Chosen could think properly, Chosen blasted Dark through the wall in the house, and flew after the bomb. 

Chosen had to spend a few days on Alan's PC. The… Virabots hurt Chosen — much more than Chosen thought they could have. Deep, long wounds were littered on Chosen's body, and something was preventing Chosen from healing as quickly as Chosen should. 

Alan had some new sticks, apparently. Another hollowhead, named The Second Coming (of Chosen?), and a few regular sticks that looked like they came from Stick City, but more brighter. Noogai3 didn't tell them anything, because of course He wouldn't, but after just one look from Second, Noogai caved and told them everything.

Chosen has been spending most of Chosen's time in a weird, strangely blocky house on the PC. Noogia couldn't see Chosen from the inside, so it was better, even if He promised not to hurt Chosen and had apologized to Chosen.

But the thing was, Noogia shouldn't have to apologize, because He should have never done that to Chosen. The stick was bitter and spiteful towards the cursor. Chosen hated him. But there were also sticks here. 

(Innocent sticks that nearly died because of Dark's revenge. Revenge Chosen never wanted.)

Chosen wasn't healing. 

Yes, the bleeding stopped, but the wounds themselves would not heal. Blue, who was apparently the second oldest behind Second aerself, had put an IV into Chosen's arm as Chosen's presents turned the first level of this building into a makeshift infirmary. The kid explained that it's from a game, and it's supposed to help healing.

Chosen was grateful for these children helping Chosen. Tensions seemed tense — Chosen hopes it wasn't always like this, but who knows with Noogia. 

The past few days, they talked to Chosen. A lot. It seems they've never been off the PC before, and were curious about Chosen's life. Chosen willingly told them the non criminal things, mostly what Chosen did in retirement. 

Currently, Chosen was chatting to Blue, who was checking on Chosen's wounds, when a loud crash came from outside of the building. Chosen flinched — Chosen still wasn't used to all the noise the kids made — before screams rang through the room. Both Chosen and Blue froze. 

Blue rushed out, telling Chosen to stay where Chosen was. Rolling Chosen's eyes, the IV gets ripped out of Chosen's arm (Ow.) before Chosen walks out of the building.

"Dark?!" Chosen shouted, seeing the bright red stick flying in the air with flames surrounding her fists. "What the fuck?"

Dark, upon seeing the stick figure, dropped to the ground, charging at Chosen. Chosen let out an "oomph", unable to defend against Dark's attacks. Dark never really hurt Chosen before — not physically, not leaving welts or cuts or bruises. But the Virabots left every cut and scratch and scar on Chosen's body. 

The kids screamed in the background, trying to pull Dark off of Chosen, but it was no use. Dark was cursed. 

Dark was cursed, and Chosen was tired. Chosen was just able to keep Chosen's arms up, shielding Chosen's face. After a moment of debate, Chosen grabbed Dark's face. It startled her, as her face was pulled down, and Chosen kissed her. "I'm sorry," Chosen muttered, and Dark stayed still, frozen. "I'm sorry that I could never help you."

"I… what?" Dark asked, blinking his eyes. They… they were normal again. Not full of ones or zeros that overtook his eyes when the mission code took over his body. "Why…" Dark's voice trailed off, a hand reaching to his lips.

[pebbleswritessometimes]

Larissa Weems x Reader

AN: This was for an ask on my previous account. Hasn’t been proofread, forgive me for poor writing, I just started.

Summary: Larissa and Y/N have been parent trapped.

“I cannot comprehend how you think that it’s okay to encourage this behavior!”

“They’re kids, Larissa! They’re supposed to have fun and make mistakes. They’re supposed to figure things out on their own sometimes!”

“Y/N, you knowingly let them leave school grounds after I /specifically/ told everyone they were not allowed to.”

“I didn’t encourage them. I told them it was a poor idea, but they went ahead with it anyway.”

“You are the adult! You are the one in charge, not them! I just- I can’t even look at you right now. Please, leave my office.”

“Rissa, you cannot be serious.”

“Out. Now.”

The students had a feeling that what they’d done had gotten you in trouble with Principal Weems. Ears against the door of her office, they all crouched around to eavesdrop in on the conversation. Enid was the first to bounce back from the door after hearing your footsteps grow closer. Scattering, they tried to play it cool and not make it noticeable that they had heard everything. “You guys are terrible at eavesdropping,” with a sad half smirk, you turned on your feet, and headed down the hall.

You knew that there was a decent chance that Larissa would find out that you had turned a blind eye when the kids left that night, but you didn’t think she would be this upset. She’s been stressed lately with the recent influx in attention directed at Nevermore, not that all of it has been necessarily negative either. You figured letting Enid, Wednesday, and Xavier go out and explore the normie town at night would be fine. What you didn’t anticipate is that they’d take Eugene and Ajax too, or that they’d drag a reluctant Bianca along, as well.

With six students disobeying direct orders given by Larissa, and a teacher who knowingly looked away, you knew you were in deep shit. What really put the nail in the coffin was the fact that Sheriff Galpin had escorted the students back to Nevermore after finding them trespassing, himself. To their surprise, Galpin didn’t think them “exploring” was a valid reason to be crossing the gate to pilgrim world grounds.

The stern scolding you got from Larissa that night was one you certainly won’t forget. You’ve never heard her raise her voice so loud and look at you the way she did that night. You tried talking to her again today, but it got you nowhere and she ended up asking you to leave her office.

It’s been a week and she still hasn’t paid mind to you. It was starting to affect your mood more than you’d like to admit. And, whether she knew it or not, it was doing the same to her. Both too stubborn to talk and apologize, Eugene had proposed the idea of trapping you two and forcing you to talk to each other. It took some convincing, but eventually everyone was on board. Even Wednesday, who thought this was all blown out of proportion.

It took a couple afternoons to plan and set everything up, but eventually everything was ready.

“Okay, Xavier and Ajax, you two are gonna go make sure that the area stays clear and ready to lock them in,” pointing at each person as she goes over the plan, “ Enid, you’re going to go find Miss Y/L/N and tell her Principal Weems urgently needs her help, and Wednesday, you’re going to get Weems and tell her that Miss Y/L/ N is hurt and needs her in her study,” nearly done, Bianca looks over at Eugene,”Hive man, you and I are going to keep an eye and make sure everything is going smoothly. Worst case scenario, I’ll politely remove my amulet and get them to cooperate,” with a shinning smile, proud of herself, Bianca set off in the direction of your study.

“Miss Y/L/N! Miss! Principal Weems has asked for you to meet her in your study. She says it’s urgent!,” frantically grabbing your attention, Enid rushed to pull you towards the door. Immediately concerned, you sped behind her.

“What’s wrong? Is she alright? Is everything okay?” you were worried something has happened and that there was a chance it was your fault.

“Principal Weems, you’re needed in Miss Y/L/N’s study,” with the same expression she always holds, Wednesday barely got Larissa’s attention. “Not now, Miss Addams. I’m busy,” barely looking up from her paper work. “Who then do you suggest I go find to patch up Miss Y/L/N’s injuries?” Barely coming out as a question, it still most certainly grabbed Larissa’s attention. “Injuries?! Is she alright? What happened?” Eyes snapping up to Wednesday, Weems shot up out of her chair and she raced to the door of her office, ushering Wednesday with her.

Both Bianca and Eugene seeing that the two women were on their way to the study, they alerted Ajax and Xavier to be ready at both entrances.

Both of the doors flying open at nearly the same time, the women couldn’t reach each other quick enough. “Rissa, you okay? What’s wrong? Let me help,” with pleading eyes, you were ready to comfort or assist her in any way. “What- are you okay? Where are you hurt, Sweetheart? Show me, please,” Larissa scanned every inch of you that she could, checking for injuries. Each of you silent for a moment, searching for something in the others eyes. You were suddenly pulled back to real life when you both heard each of the doors being shut and locked.

“Children! What is the meaning of this?” Larissa pulled back and moved towards the door she came through. You, a little stunned with how close you two were, did the same. Simultaneously yanking on the door knobs and telling the students to let you two out “this instant!”as Principal Weems would say. Giving up on the door, you turn towards one of the windows in the study. “So, you’re okay, Rissa?” Looking at her once more as you fiddle with the latch on the window. “Yes, I’m okay. Are you quite alright?” Subtly examining you again, she decides to do the same and try the opposite window. You silently cursed yourself for showing the kids how to rig latches. There was really no need for it but they finished their lessons early and there was nothing else to really do. “Yeah, I’m okay too. It’s no use, Rissa. They rigged the latches,” looking back at her, defeated. She kept trying the latch anyway until looking up with a puzzled expression, “How would the students know how to rig a window lock?” Sucking your teeth and looking around the room, knowing damn well you’re the reason, “I haven’t got a clue, Weems.” Shooting a knowing look at you she smirked.

Still being stubborn, you both sat in there for the next 45 minutes. “I just don’t understand! Why would they purposely trap us in here. It’s preposterous,” her signature thinking expression showing. Silence enveloping the room, you decide to bite the bullet and apologize. “I’m sorry, Larissa,” looking down fiddling with your hands, “it was wrong of me to not stop the kids that night. I just want them to make their choices, learn from their mistakes, and grow to trust their judgement. I went about it the wrong way. I’m sorry,” looking up at her with those last words just to make sure she knows it’s sincere. Before you could continue apologizing, she spoke up, “I’m sorry, too. I may have over reacted,” gazing out the window before looking back at you, “trying to keep Nevermore in good light recently has certainly taken its toll. But, this past week, not having you occasionally barge into my office and keep me company, I’m afraid I was miserable.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment, still processing what the other said. She noticed a large grin forming on your face and immediately knew that she wouldn’t live this down. She missed you and she knew it, and now so did you. Laughter bubbling out of your throat, “oh. my. god. Larissa Weems, you missed me! You loooooove me,” poking fun at her. The kids hiding out besides the window we’re all giddy that their plan worked, even Wednesday in her own way.

“You’re right. I do,” gulping as she folded her hands and stalled for your reaction. “I think I have for a while, but I tried to ignore it. Write it off as some measly confusion on my part. But, I do.”

Your face dropped, you knew you had feelings for her, but you didn’t think there was even a chance she’d feel the same. You’d flirt, she’d flirt back, but still you thought it wasn’t anything more than platonic banter.

“Are you joking, Larissa? Please, don’t play with me like that,” pleading eyes staring into her. “I understand you don’t feel the same but I simply couldn’t bare the weight of keeping that a secret, any longer,” you’ve only ever seen Larissa so vulnerable a few times. This was something else, entirely. She was being genuine and you knew it. “I hope this won’t make things difficult with work. I do apologize-“ you cut her off, utterly appalled that she’d assume that you couldn’t feel the same. “Rissa, I have loved you from the first moment I saw you. I walked in and immediately, your presence was all I cared for. I couldn’t fathom the idea of you reciprocating any feelings, simply because I thought you deserved more than what I am. More than what I can give.”

Once again, searching for something in each others eyes. She grabbed your hand and opened her mouth to speak again. “YAY AH,” the immediate recognizable voice of Miss Sinclair echoed through the study. Wednesday and the rest of the gang followed closely. “Took you two long enough,” Wednesday rolled her eyes.

“You do know that you’re all in big trouble, correct?” Wide eyed, they all stared as Principal Weems then over to you, “Don’t look at me! You guys are the ones who trapped us in here!”

Looking at each other, seemingly conversing with no words, you two knew you couldn’t stay mad at the kids. “Go, we will discuss this later,” you told them with a subtle wink to let them know you’ve got them and not go worry. Quickly they scrambled out of the study and back to the quad. You felt completely giddy. It was like two awkward teenagers smiling and adoring each other. “You know…if they hadn’t tricked us, we wouldn’t know how we both felt. Maybe we can take it easy on them?” Your infamous cheeky smile overtook your features and Larissa couldn’t resist. “Maybe so. It’d help me decide whether or not for sure, if some one were to kiss me right now,” panning around the room with a smirk, she knew that the kids would be let off the hook pretty quickly.

[periwinckles]

Please tell me you have a middle name - chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

“Happy birthday, Katniss.”

Madge’s voice is soft and neutral, trying not to draw Miss Smoak’s attention to us. It still startled me, because I wasn’t really expecting her to remember my birthday. We’re friends, but we’re not really that close, are we? She never acknowledged my birthday before, but I suppose an eighteenth birthday is more noteworthy than the rest. 

“Thank you.” I answer back, keeping my eyes in our assignment. 

The morning goes by in comfortable silence. I’m not really that interested in school, I much rather be outside. But given that we’re in our last months of school before heading for real adult life, most teachers are lenient with school work as long as we’re still in attendance. I still haven't figured out what I’ll do once I graduate. I need to have an official employment and “huntress” doesn't bode well with the Capitol. The morning provides itself to be a good occasion to try to sort out my options. The mines will be my last resort. I don’t really need a job, just a cover up, actually. Maybe Sae can register me as an employee.

When we sit down for lunch, Madge speaks up again. 

“Do you have any plans for the afternoon?” 

All students have Wednesday afternoons off, which means I usually have a habit of going to the woods. Not that I need to. We’re well stocked, with what I hunt in the mornings. But sometimes I like to go there just to watch everything else around me. Other times I take my knife and I make some arrows, while enjoying the sun. That’s probably what I will be doing today, but I can’t really admit it out loud to Madge. She knows about my illegal escaping and hunting, but who knows who might be listening?

“No plans.” I say, instead. “Why?”

She gives me a sheepish look as if she wants to ask me something but is afraid to do so. “My cousin Reese, he’s competing in the wrestling semifinals, this afternoon. He asked me to stay and watch… you know, to show him some support?” 

I nod, in recognition, both of her cousin and the wrestling tournament. I may be a little oblivious to the school’s extracurricular activities, but the wrestling tournament is a big thing, kind of hard to miss. 

“I don’t even know why he’s so adamant that I should be there. We all know he’s not winning. Anyway… do you by any chance… want to stay with me to watch the semifinals?”

I don’t pay that much attention to wrestling to know who has a better shot to go to the finals, but Reese Donner is a tall boy, he appears to be fit and from what I remember from previous years, quite fast too. 

“That’s a bit harsh. He could very well advance to the finals.”

“No way!” She says, with a shake of her head. ”He’s facing Peeta today.`` 

I inhale sharply, and I hope it goes unnoticed.

“Peeta?”

“Peeta Mellark, from the bakery? He sits next to Reese in class.” 

“Yeah, I… I think I know who it is.” 

Who am I kidding? I know very well who Peeta Mellark is. The baker’s youngest son is the reason my family didn’t starve to death when my father died in a mine explosion. To this day my greatest shame is that I was never able to thank him for his kindness and bravery.  

“Peeta won last year, and he’ll probably win this year too. But it might still be fun to watch even if the outcome is somewhat predictable…” 

I guess keeping Madge company isn’t that difficult and at least I’ll be able to root for Peeta, even if in secrecy. As far as “thank yous” go, it’s a lousy one , I know. But it might give me some assurance and peace of mind.

“I know it’s your birthday…”

“How long do we have to stay?” I ask

Her face visibly lightens with a smile. “It starts at three. I’m not sure if Reese and Peeta are the first match or the second one, but either way we should be done by four.”

I suppose I could spare an afternoon. I let my eyes wander through the school cafeteria until I spot Prim, chatting with her friends. When I tell her I’m staying for the wrestling tournament, she is ecstatic. If I’m staying that means she’s staying too. Not that she needs my permission to do so; she’s fourteen years old, and it’s been a while since I had any say in her daily life. But it’s my birthday and I know she wouldn’t be staying unless I did too. I guess it is a good decision, me staying. I’ll be making two people happy. 

When we get to the gym, the bleachers are already at full capacity. I don’t think we’ll be able to find an empty spot, but Reese Donner spots us from the first row.

“Madge! MADGE!”

He gets up and waves her forward, and I follow suit.

“You came!” He says with a bright smile and a one armed hug. He’s already in his wrestling attire and somewhat itchy with excitement. “Hi!” He says, turning to me. “Katniss, right?”

I nod in a tight lipped smile. I don’t think we ever exchanged words before today.

“Full house, huh?” Madge says as she looks around. “Sorry Reese, but I don't think my cousinly affection is enough to make me stand for two hours.”

“No need to stand, you can take my seat, I need to warm up, anyway.”

“What about Katniss?”

He turns to inspect us both and gives a shrug of approval.

“You’re both skinny, you’ll fit. Rye, scoot over.”

Peeta’s brother (Rye?) is sitting in the front row, next to Reese’s vacant seat. I remember him being a couple of years older than us and he used to be a wrestler as well. He moves a bit to his left leaving enough space for the both of us to sit, Madge next to him and me next to Madge. It’s a tight fit. We’re literally squeezed against each other, to the point where the girl sitting to my right gives me an annoyed look when she feels my shoulder pressed against hers.

“Is your girlfriend joining you?” Reese asks him.

“We broke up.” Rye says, shaking his head. “Enjoy it while you can Donner, dating is so much easier when you’re still underage.”

“So she got your shirt off, huh? Caught a glimpse of your chest? That’s precisely why I’m waiting for my soulmark to appear next month. Not worth the hassle, if you ask me.”

I try to look around, so it doesn't appear like I’m eavesdropping. Not that they are making too much effort to keep their conversation private. Reese shows no indication of wanting to warm up as he ends up sitting on the floor in front of Madge and Peeta’s brother. The three of them engage in conversation as I look around.

That’s when I spot Peeta, a few yards away from us, next to the wrestling mat. He’s warming up and, like Reese, he’s sporting a wrestling suit. It’s not a shocker that wrestling is usually dominated by the merchant class. Most merchants have more food than Seam folks, and one look at Peeta would be enough to understand why he’s a crowd favorite. He’s not as tall as Reese, or even his brother, but he’s broad shouldered and visibly strong. As I watch him stretching I notice the white bandage around his bare leg, just beneath his left knee.

“Is Peeta hurt?” I ask out loud before I can stop myself.

Read the rest on AO3

[love-kurdt]

it is wednesday my dudes *screams*

so here is a sneak peek of this is me trying: 2

As soon as Mike had arrived back at his dorm in January, he diligently thumbtacked the post-it detailing Will’s phone number on the wall above his headboard. He wasn’t normally someone who believed in karma, omens, manifestation, or any of that hippie crap (because Mike was obviously a realist and a pessimist by nature), but he truly believed that seeing Joyce at Melvald’s was fate in its finest form. Forgetting his school supplies (along with his reluctance to just go back home and grab what he needed from his room) resulted in essentially coming out to Will’s mother. And that was one step closer to getting Will back. Now, all he had to do was call that number.

The post-it stayed on his wall for three months. Elvis hadn’t mentioned or questioned it; they weren’t official, anyway, so Mike was free to see whoever he wanted. Except Mike didn’t just want to see Will. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Will. If only Mike could pick up the goddamn phone.

It wasn’t that Mike didn’t want to call; he wanted nothing more than to hear Will’s voice enveloped in grainy audio. He longed for the day he’d get to say Will’s name out loud instead of just writing it. But Mike was waiting for the right time to do it. He couldn’t call in the morning, because Will had insisted for years that, in the words of his stepfather, “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation,” and refused to be disturbed before 9am. He couldn’t call in the afternoon, because Will would most definitely be in class, or at work if he had a job, or hanging out somewhere with his new friends, and Mike didn’t want to impose upon that. And he couldn’t call in the evening, because what if the conversation went south? He didn’t want Will to go to sleep angry or upset, especially at him.

In reality, no time was a good time. Mike knew that confrontation was inexorable, whether it came across as offensive or not was dependent upon how the conversation began. Mike prepared himself for a multitude of scenarios, from worst to best case; it turned out that predicting all possible outcomes during a supernatural war would help him immensely in this process. Ultimately, he chose to pick up the phone and call Will on the least problematic occasion he could think of: the date was March 22nd, 1990– also known as Will’s 19th birthday.

y’all should mark ur calendars for TIMT 2 coming out on december 16th ✨

[kinnenvy]

qaf drabble #1

early season 3 break up small little drabble that i need out of my drafts :) , brian centric

Brian is on his third cigarette and his second beer. It’s Wednesday and Woody's tightly packed, but Brian's head is too all over the place to truly pay attention to the crowd around him. Not about its quantity nor its quality.

Unfortunately, despite his inability to acknowledge his surroundings, all the whispering happening around him easily reaches his ears. He can't escape the judgment being directed his way. Callous words about how tired, how haggard he looks, how dispirited and pale. How the god of Liberty avenue has stumbled and fallen to the depths of the worst kind of hell. Lonely and apathetic and too tired to hide himself behind his shell of glamour and charm.

He lights a fourth cigarette and instead of a third beer he gets himself a glass of whisky.

"Hey… Brian." Someone sitting on his left strikes a conversation, or at least tries to. Brian glances at him and hums. "Do you remember me? We… Met at Babylon last Sunday." 

Brian rarely remembers, but he looks back at him anyway. The mole on the skin beneath his eye vaguely reminds him of the backroom, of loud music filtering through the air and mingling with Justin's voice in Brian's ears.

He's the last guy they've had together and Brian is not sure whether he wants to fuck him or make sure to never see him again.

He doesn't try to do either, he just goes back to gazing into his drink and smoking his cigarette.

"We've been looking everywhere for you!" Ted and Emmett appear out of thin air and unknowingly save him from finally giving in and taking the guy home, just to hear his voice, look at his mole and pretend there's three of them in his bed.

"Yeah, it's pecs night at Babylon, what are you doing here?" Emmett sits beside him in a way that’s entirely too deliberate. He very openly reaches for Ted's hand, he glances at Brian in a way that he probably thinks must be subtle, and joins their fingers together, likely expecting Brian to point and sneer at them just to distract himself. Brian has to look away instead.

He picks at the damp label on one of his empty beer bottles, he stays there until it’s deep into the night and waits, he's not sure for what.

"This new account is bullshit." Brian groans in the agency corridors, Cynthia snickers and rolls her eyes as she walks next to him fidgeting with all the new documents they've acquired in the meeting.

"Why would they launch a new cassette player in 2003? And why do they expect them to sell?" She, as she often does, speaks out Brian's exact thoughts.

"I don't know and it's coming from one of our oldest accounts, so I can't even tell them to fuck off. They better pay me before they go bankrupt." He massages his temples and wipes off some of the tinted moisturizer he's started packing over his face. Wordlessly Cynthia helps him fix the patch of skin he's uncovered and Brian slams the door of his office harder than he should because of it.

Two days later a copy about nostalgia comes across his desk: You only know what you'll miss, once it's already gone. The accompanying images of Walkmans knockoffs and cassettes don't do much to divert his thoughts from blond hair and blue eyes.

When Brian comes home that afternoon he notices his wardrobe only has his clothes in it, he scans the loft and it takes him just a superficial glance to be able to tell that Justin sneaked in during his office hours and took away most of his things. His eyes linger on the computer and the graphics tablet he got him still sitting where he last left it. 

There's a feeling he'd rather not describe sinking to the pit of his stomach, it reaches so low inside him that Brian convinces himself his only choice is to bounce back and start looking up again.

He cleans up and for the first night since the Rage party, he wears his best fuck clothes and skips Woody's to get himself right to the backrooms.

The next logical step is to steal Michael away from his quiet evenings with Ben and let him distract him from the turmoil inside him. Allow his company to patch him up and hold him together, like he used to do when his dad got too drunk and Brian had to wear bruises for weeks, when his mom was too distracted by her own listlessness, to realize Brian needed her comfort.

"We can't stay too long, Ben has to wake up early tomorrow." Michael shouts in Brian's ear so he can hear him over the music and the yelling happening on the Babylon dancefloor. From this close he can see he still has a dark spot around his left eye from the blow he delivered to his face, without thinking Brian traces it with the tips of his fingers.

"What? The professor's working on a Saturday morning?" He asks, mostly just to fill the silence that can't be hidden by the loud bass beating and pulsating in the air around them.

"He's got a check up at the hospital." Michael says it like it's nothing special, but Brian has always been able to see right through him with ease. They dance a little closer after that, their hands gripping tightly each other's clothes.

"You better take him home then. It's already time for my scheduled backroom appearance anyway." Brian pushes him away only a handful of minutes later, Michael looks up at him and pats his shoulder.

"Listen, I know I behaved like an ass… But be careful, okay? Don't let this whole thing drag you down." Michael says, but can't look directly into his eyes anymore. Brian knows his outburst during Linds and Mel's party is still haunting him, even though letting his emotions get the best of him is Michael's specialty, just like hiding them is Brian's.

"What thing?" Brian furrows his eyebrows and shrugs, feigning ignorance, "I've never felt better."

"...Right." Michael releases a sigh between exasperated and amused, then kisses Brian's cheek and walks back to the bar where Ben, Emmett and Ted are deep into conversation.

Brian watches until all four of them decide to leave and start moving towards the wardrobe. Emmett looks back into the crowd one last time and raises a hand to wave at him, Brian raises his chin to acknowledge him, then he turns on his heels and lets himself be dragged away by the first man who hits on him.

Things slowly start to settle again. Brian stops paying short, blond twinks to wear baggy clothes and lay flat on his bed, while he rams them from behind. Hopefully soon he'll also stop seeing Justin in every trick he brings home.

For now he's cursed to see his face every time someone begs for his cock. Also whenever he steps into the diner.

Brian is starting to question the amount of money he's spending to put him through school, considering how he seems to be working every shift from Monday through Friday. He doesn't comment on it though, or on anything else, and he purposely gives his order to another server.

He's started going to tanning salons again, he's cut his hair and he is generally looking much better than he did weeks ago. Despite all of that, he keeps his sunglasses on, not wanting Justin's furtive glances to see anything he isn't supposed to. Also to shield himself from seeing how little his own ailments seem to be reflected in his inquisitive blue gaze.

[therecordchanger62279]

Excerpt from my unpublished novel:

     The noise from the next boat kept me up half the night. The redhead, and her senior boyfriend must’ve had a helluva party. I think it finally broke up about 5 a.m., and I must’ve finally gotten to sleep shortly after. I slept past noon, and woke up tired anyway. I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning, and scrubbing the boat, getting her ready to….to stay docked, I guess. I wasn’t planning a trip. It was just busy work. I was spending most nights on the boat these days, and I like that just fine – until the neighbors get too loud. I could’ve gone to Kate’s, but that could’ve been worse. I was getting tired of her moods. It was nice to have a hiding place.

     I quit working about 7, and decided I’d go down to the 3.14, and get a sandwich, and a beer. I stepped off the boat, and heard my name. “Joe! Hey, Joe!” It was Steve, Dan’s son.

     “Where you been? Haven’t seen you lately.”

     “Aw, I’ve been on the boat, mostly workin’ down below, tryin’ to get organized. I’ll be spending more time on it now.”

     “Weren’t you seein’ that waitress…Kate? Was that her name?”

     “Yeah, I was. I mean, I guess I still am, but things have been a little chilly lately, so I’ve been sleepin’ here.”

     “Where you headin’?”

     “Down to the 3.14 for a sandwich, and a beer. Want to join me?”

     “Sure. Sounds good.”

     We took my car, and being a Wednesday evening, the place wasn’t too crowded. We sat at the bar, The barmaid took our order, and we sipped our beers, and munched on peanuts until she brought the burgers out. We talked about Dan, Steve’s dad, and I shared a few stories with him about our “glory days.” When that topic was covered, Steve asked again about Kate.

     “So, you’re still seeing Kate…sort of?”

     “Yeah, I guess. That woman has a mean temper, and a hair trigger, too. That’s not a good combination. I like things quiet. No drama. But, it’s always something with her. When it’s good, it’s really good, but lately…”

      “I thought maybe you found a second wife, the way things were goin’?”

     “Oh, no. Definitely not. What’s the line from that song? I ain’t ready for the altar, but I do agree there’s times when a woman sure can be a friend of mine. That’s all I need is a friend. I did marriage once. Once was enough.”

     “Sounds like the first time ‘round left a few scars?”

     “Yeah, but they’ve all healed. But I don’t have a taste for it anymore. And I don’t have the temperament. Age makes you a lot less tolerant, and tolerance is something every marriage has to have. I should stop eating out, though.”

     “Why do you say that?”

     “I have a real weakness for waitresses.”

     Steve smiled, nodded, and then asked, “Any luck with the job search?”

     “Not so far. I can always sit for a while, and try to write another book – if the neighbors keep the noise down, that is. If I’m careful, I’ve got enough to keep me for a few months, at least.

     “Noise? What noise?”

     “That old guy on the next boat has got a very young girlfriend that likes to socialize into the wee hours. They kept me up past 5 this morning.”      “Do you want me to have a word with him?”

     “No, it’s fine. It’s not every night. Just now and again.”

     “I didn’t know he had a girlfriend. How young is she?”

     “She’s not a day over 22, if I had to guess.”

     “Really? He must be getting some revenge on his wife.”      “Wife? He’s married?”

     “Oh, yeah. But she never comes to the boat. He told me she hates the water. I think he bought the boat to get away from her.”

     “Well, I guess I can’t hold that against him.”

     Steve chuckled, and just then I saw the redhead walk through the door with a much younger guy in hand. “If you want to see why he stays up so late, she just walked in,” and I nodded toward the door.

     “Wow! That’s her? You weren’t kidding. She could be his granddaughter.”

     “Trust me. She’s definitely not. But it looks like they’re not exactly going steady. She’s hanging all over this one, too. How can she look that good with no more sleep than I had?”

     “Like you said, not a day over 22.”

© 2024

[your-divine-ribs]

Forbidden Part 12

Words: 3.1k

Forbidden Masterlist Main Masterlist

You consider heading straight back to your hall of residence but you stop short of the path that leads in that direction, considering your options. You're feeling restless, the thrill of the risk you've just taken dying quickly away to leave behind a curious yearning for more. Maybe you're getting addicted to this dangerous game that you're playing, pushing the boundaries, seeing how far you can take it. Testing what you can get away with.

You wonder if Professor Bond might be free that afternoon...

You imagine coyly knocking on his office door, making up some excuse about needing help with revision or seeing if he has a textbook you could borrow. Of course he'd see right through you, maybe he'd even feign resistance for a while, pretend to take the moral high ground. That wouldn't last long though. You know your own brand of seductive persuasion is irresistible to him. All it would take is a few flirtatious comments and a few teasing touches and he'd be done for. You imagine him bending you over the desk and flipping up your dress, the heat of desire warming between your thighs as you picture the two of you locked in a steamy embrace.

God, it's tempting... The more you think about it, the more fired up you get. And what can Van say about your slutty behaviour when he's getting up to no good with you after putting a ring on his pretty little fiancée's finger?

That's it. It's decided. You're a woman on a mission as you change your course of direction and head straight for the History block, walking quickly, your excitement carrying you along. You're already planning the seduction routine in your head, so completely lost in your own thoughts that when your phone rings it startles you. You pause to rummage in your bag for it, bringing it out to see Lizzie's name displayed on the screen. It crosses your mind to ignore her, she's been out for a while now and no doubt the drinks will have been flowing. You're pretty certain she'll only be calling to tempt you to meet her. She'll be missing her drinking buddy, her partner in crime. You answer anyway, your mind already resolute about how you'll be spending the rest of the afternoon.

"Alright?" You greet her, pausing outside the History building, leaning back against the brickwork.

"Hello lovely!" Her voice is loud, excited in a way that you know she's probably already at least four cocktails in. "Whatcha doing? You gonna come and meet up with us?"

"I can't, I'm... busy..." You pause, glancing longingly towards the door of the building, thoughts full of Johnny sitting at his desk poring over his exam marking, imagining him sweeping it off carelessly on to the floor in a broad stroke so that you can take its place on the desk. "You know I signed up to that creative writing society don't you? Well I've been there and now I'm heading to the History department. Thought I'd actually spend my Wednesday afternoon doing something productive for once."

That earns you a snort. "You? Productive? Those two words don't really go together!"

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf!" You protest, grinning. "Fully embracing campus life, becoming an upstanding member of the student community!"

"Fuck off!" She chides. "Upstanding? I'll remind you of that the next time we're down the Union bar and you can't even stand up straight!"

You giggle into the phone, feeling a tiny pang of envy when you hear glasses chinking down the line, the loud murmur of conversation, the muted sounds of music. You've always suffered from the fear of missing out. "Where are you anyway?"

"Just the Union." She sighs dramatically. "Same old, same old, same piss-weak drinks and sticky floors, same shitty music. You're really missing out you know!"

"The Union? Thought you were going into town?"

Your interest takes a nosedive. During all your time at university you've probably spent more time in the Union bar than lecture halls. It serves it's purpose usually, the drinks are cheap and it's always lively, you can guarantee finding someone you know in there to while away the hours with, but today it doesn't hold much temptation. Not when you're a short walk away from Johnny's office with an insatiable appetite that just seems harder and harder to quench these days.

"Well we were going into town," Lizzie tells you. "But then Benji suggested we had a quick drink in here first as it's so much cheaper. You know what a tight-arse he is..."

There's a yelping sound from Lizzie before you can hear Benji muttering out a defensive remark, something snide about not all being so lucky as to be able to live off mummy and daddy's weekly allowance. You grin to yourself as you hear Lizzie fire back a scathing comment, picturing the two of them jostling each other and sniping. It's all done good-naturedly, your two friends liking nothing better than a bit of piss-taking banter. You're normally joining in with them, giving as good as you get whilst pretending to be offended, needling Benji about his fluffy hair or teasing Lizzie about her latest infatuation until you're all crying with laughter.

"Anyway..." Lizzie continues when you hear things settle down. "We were all set to walk into town, try out that new place that's just opened up with that amazing looking pub garden, but then one of Benji's lecturers walks in and they get chatting. Before you know it he's offered to buy Benji another pint, and he's not going to turn down a free drink now is he?"

This catches your attention. "Who's that then... the lecturer?"

Lizzie laughs loudly. "Oh, I know what you're thinking! It's not sexy Professor tight-trousers! I bet if it was though you'd be straight down here wouldn't you?"

"Maybe," you giggle back, your interest waning again. "Look... I've really gotta go now. I'm actually just over at the History building now. I'd love to come and have a few drinks but I've got this bloody exam coming up in a few weeks and I'm not prepared at all and one of the other professors has offered to help me with revision..."

But Lizzie's not listening to you, talking over you drunkenly, her words slurring as she mumbles down the line. "He is quite cute though, in a sweet kinda, dilfy kinda way. Like he's sexy but he doesn't even know it. And he's got a gorgeous smile..."

Her voice has gone dreamy now and you start to wonder who on earth's she's talking about, all the classes that you and Benji share scrolling through your mind. "Oh my god it's not Professor Stevens is it? The one that wears those godawful polyester suits? Bloody hell Liz, how many have you had?"

"No, no... not him. Eww Y/N, what on earth made you think of him? No, he's younger, much younger than him. I don't know him actually, don't think you've got him for any of your modules. He's got curly brown hair, bit of a wacky dress sense... you should see the shirt he's got on... this cute little cap..."

And just like that you're pushing off from the wall, taking the quick pace that you'd adopted earlier, your plans suddenly changed, eager to get to your new destination.

Even for a mid-week afternoon the Union bar is bustling with life. The hot weather has tempted most of the patrons outside though and you can see groups of students sitting on the grass and perched on the pub-style benches as you approach. You take a moment to check your reflection in one of the large windows before you enter, smoothing down your dress and running your fingers through your hair, pleased with what you see.

Then you're pushing through the door, eyes scanning the crowd at the bar before moving over the seating areas, looking for a familiar face. You see Bob first, nursing a pint and deep in conversation with a group of students that you don't recognise. Then you see two girls that live downstairs in your block. Where are the others... and more importantly where's Johnny?

"Y/N! Over here! Come on, I've saved you a seat!" Lizzie's shrill voice rings out loudly, piercing the noisy atmosphere, amplified by the drinks that she's had. She waves at you, smiling sloppily.

Looks like you've got a fair bit of catching up to do, you think to yourself. So you wave her a return greeting, pointing to the bar to indicate that you're getting a drink before you join her. She nods, raising up her nearly empty glass hopefully so that you can see the remnants of her raspberry mojito.

You can't see Johnny at all and you start to fret that you've missed him, and then you feel a hand clap on your shoulder and you hear Benji's voice in your ear.

"Knew you wouldn't be able to keep away," he grins as you spin around. "Just couldn't resist the temptation of spending an afternoon with yours truly could ya?"

"Don't flatter yourself, I'm actually here for the sophisticated ambience and the classy clientele," you smirk, and by some timely coincidence a lairy group of rugby scholars stagger past, chanting drunken obscenities. You both laugh.

"So you gonna buy me a drink then Blakes?" You ask, batting your eyelashes at him exaggeratedly. "Seeing as I tore myself away from my studies to come and see you guys?"

"I'd love to, ya know I would, but funds are a bit tight right now." He plunges a hand into his jeans pocket and brings it swiftly back out, waving a crumpled five pound note in your face.

"I'll get these."

The voice is low and soft, but even so it still cuts through the noise, your ears pricking up immediately at the familiar tone. You turn your head to see Johnny standing there, leaning forward, both elbows on the bar and a half drunk pint of Guinness in front of him. "Hello Y/N, fancy seeing you here."

"Hi Johnny," you mumble, feeling an uncharacteristic shyness wash over you as your mind strays to the last time that you saw him. The way you seduced him into finger fucking you so blissfully whilst Van was standing right outside his office door. You hadn't known at the time but now you realise that he could likely hear everything. Every lustful moan and whimpered sigh. The thought makes your cheeks warm and your thighs press together.

"So what'll it be?" He asks, then he pushes off from the bar, raising a hand. "No... hold on... let me guess. I'm usually good at this." He eyes you thoughtfully, his hand coming to rest on his stubbled chin. "I'm guessing not lager, not beer, but nothing too fussy either, not like those sickly sweet cocktails they serve in here... something light, citrusy. Maybe a gin and tonic with a twist of lime?"

To be honest you'd mostly drink anything in this shit-hole just to get inebriated, but you don't tell him that. His choice is perfect. You smile up at him.

"That sounds good to me... thank you. Are you sure though 'cause I don't mind paying. I've got to get a drink for my friend Lizzie too."

"No problem, what's she having?"

You tell him and he turns away to order the drinks before his attention's fully back on you.

"I've not seen you around for a few days, what've you been up to? Studying hard?" He smirks mischievously. "Or have you been up to no good again?"

You offer him a shy smile, reaching for your glass as it gets placed on the bar and taking a sip of the refreshing contents. "Of course I've not been up to no good. I've not seen you, have I? How could I misbehave without you?"

"Oh, so you're some kind of angel when I'm not around then?"

"Of course I am!"

His smile grows. "If you say so."

You can't quite fathom the look in his eye. There's heat there, that's unmistakable, you know that he's thinking about the encounters that you've shared and hoping there'll be more, but there's something else too. A spark of something dark and tantalising that makes your pulse race. It's a glimmer of what you see in Van's eyes when he makes his demands of you and it thrills you. You remember Van saying how close they both were and how he could read Johnny like a book. How he couldn't keep secrets from him. You begin to wonder whether that also works both ways. Maybe Johnny knows exactly what you've been up to with Van just like Van knows what you've been up to with Johnny. Maybe they're both in this together. But if they are, what does that mean for you?

All of this time you've been so sure that you've been playing off both men against each other but maybe that's not what's been happening at all. Maybe they've both been playing you...

"Oi Y/N, ya can't keep Johnny all to yerself!" Benji suddenly shouts out from where he's now sitting next to Lizzie in a booth near the bar. "Come 'n sit back down, we wanna hear some more stories about you and Van at uni!"

You glance at Johnny who chuckles and picks up his pint, ready to start over when his phone rings, so he excuses himself and says he'll be back soon. You slide into a free seat in the booth, sipping on your G&T whilst Lizzie and Benji launch into a summary of the tales that Johnny's been telling them. You'd already been told that they'd formed a band whilst they'd been at university together, but you're enthralled to hear more about it. You listen on, rapt as Benji starts re-telling tales of disastrous gigs and drunken antics from the boys' student days.

"It's so funny hearing that kinda stuff," Lizzie laughs. "To think of your lecturers out there drunk and getting up to all sorts is hilarious! My chemistry lecturers are so stuffy and boring!"

"Van even came clubbing with us a few weeks back didn't he Y/N?" You nod an agreement but stay quiet, remembering all too clearly that fateful night when all of this started, an innocent night out which turned out to be the catalyst for your recent sexual adventures after you'd propositioned Van in the most direct way.

Lizzie takes another noisy slurp of her cocktail. "Oh my god really? You never told me about that Y/N. You guys are so lucky. You'd never catch any of my lecturers dead in the Union bar. And they're nowhere near as attractive as yours! Johnny's well fit!"

"Shhh he's coming back!" You hiss, digging her in the ribs with an elbow. In her drunken state she has no idea of how loud she's being.

"Sorry about that, just work stuff," Johnny says as he takes a seat in the booth and then slides around until he's sitting right next to you, not even leaving a gap between your two bodies. "Reckon Van's a workaholic, ringing me about exam papers even though we're both off this afternoon. But I guess I probably shouldn't stay too much longer anyway. Got some notes to annotate ready for my lecture tomorrow. Maybe just one more pint though before I go?"

"I'll get a round in!" Lizzie announces, rising on to her feet too quickly and swaying to the side.

You spring up quickly, reaching out steadying hands on her shoulders. It's unusual for you to be the sober one for once. "Careful Liz, you'll be on your back if you drink much more. Here, I'll come and help you at the bar."

"Nah, don't worry, I'll do it," Benji offers, slinging a supporting arm around Lizzie's waist and drawing her close. "Come on ya lightweight."

They move away, leaving you and Johnny alone and you suck in a sharp inhale as you feel a hand brush gently over your outer thigh through the thin material of your dress.

"Good to get you on your own at last, even if it's only for a few minutes."

"Might be a bit longer than that." You nod towards the bar where Lizzie's eyeing the cocktail menu so intently it could easily be a Booker Prize bestseller.

"Hmm... I wonder how much we could get away with in here? What do you think?"

You feel his calloused fingertips brush against your knee, dipping under the hem. Your heart-rate increases as you glance round the room, seeing the faces of your peers all around. Everyone's having a good time, unmindful of the fact that your professor's hand is now firmly on your thigh, squeezing it gently.

"You really want to take the risk? It's so busy in here. What if someone sees us?"

You're shocked by his brazenness, the fact that he's not showing any of the usual caution that's accompanied your previous hook-ups. You glance at him, see the fire in his heavily-lidded eyes, the devilish smirk on his lips.

"Feeling brave, it must be the liquid courage," he smiles before tipping the last of his Guinness into his mouth. "Or maybe it's just the fact that you're so goddamn irresistible. Can't stop thinking about you. And now you're here I don't think I can keep my hands to myself."

You swallow thickly, feeling a warm glow in the pit of your belly, your skin prickling with goosebumps everywhere that he touches. He draws light circles on your flesh, his fingers meandering across the expanse of the top of your leg before starting to work their way up your inner thigh. You instinctively spread your legs for him under the table.

"Does that feel nice huh?" He whispers and you answer him quickly, breathily, your cheeks aflame.

"Uh-huh, really nice."

"I could make it feel even nicer you know. Much, much nicer... and no one would know a thing about it."

The hem of your dress is at mid-thigh now, raked up by his fingers, your panties already damp in anticipation of how far he might take this. He continues to trace teasing patterns on your skin, every caress leaving you aching for more. You squirm in your seat, looking straight ahead, trying to keep your composure.

Then the bar door swings open, taking your attention away and your heart lurches at the sight of the familiar figure in the doorway. You watch on, an uneasy thrill shooting through you as Professor McCann walks in... with Kathleen in tow.

Fuck...

[thedreadvampy]

Ok so like my partner and their partner are moving today, right?

and my partner had top surgery like 2 months ago and their partner has injured their shoulder so I'm like ok I love to move boxes I am super happy to come help if that's useful? and they're like yes yes oh my god please cause we don't know if we've got the manpower to move anything.

so I go on Friday afternoon I am knocking off work early to help them move. I block out my calendar. I work longer days Monday-Wednesday to balance it out. I also have to leave work earlier than usual Tuesday and Thursday so it's a bit like ok I can squeeze this in if I use up all my TOIL from the last few weeks.

I have also turned down two different requests to hang out this evening bc I was like ok no I have plans that evening cause I'm helping people move

They started moving at lunchtime because that's when the friend with a van was available. Ok. I knock off work at 3 instead of 5 and I message to say ok you've been at this a while, do you still need me? My partner messages back and says yes, we've just got here we've not even started unpacking yet and there's more stuff left at the flat, come on down.

It's a 25 minute walk and when I get there the things remaining in the van and the car are:

a kettlebell

a single box

a small bag

so I take those up. then I stand awkwardly around in the living room while their very loud friend talks very loudly and nonstop until everyone is overwhelmed. there's a sofa that needs to come out of the flat because it's full of dog hair and my partner's partner is super allergic to dogs, so me and the loud friend carry that downstairs. my partner keeps trying to direct it even though that makes it WAY FUCKING HARDER. we agree with the van friend that he'll hang onto it for now and load it into the van.

then I go back up to the flat and stand around for 20 minutes

eventually I'm like ok is there anything. I could be doing here?

and they look at each other and they're like no. nah. we're done for today. We'll sort through our stuff and set up and you guys come back in a couple of hours and we'll go for beers

and ok like this is not anyone's fault but I'm so upset.

Like I have been functionally superfluous here. I moved two things that other people were already about to pick up, and I moved a sofa that would have got moved anyway (although Jay would have tried to move it. but frankly it doesn't seem like they've tried very hard to Not Move Furniture before that so who gives a shit?). and for that I have basically used up my whole Friday afternoon/evening and lost 2 work hours for what?

"come back in a couple of hours and we'll go for beers" I didn't sign up for beers! I booked out this evening because I wanted to do physical labour and move heavy things!!! I wanted to be helpful!!!! If I wanted to have a beer and socialise I would have taken up the several other offers of socialising this evening!!!! But I don't want to now because I'm so upscuttled and upset that I can't even be around people, I am sitting on the back step in my garden right now because there is a risk of encountering 1-2 people in my flat!!!!!

and I asked before I left work if I was needed for this exact reason! because I didn't want to show up hang around and leave!!!!!

and "oh so your Friday evening's free now"? It's NOT FREE I'm AUTISTIC it's DENUDED. I'm not doing the thing I was meant to be doing but my brain still thinks I'm meant to be doing it so I don't have the capacity to do anything else!!!!! I'm just HERE.

[flowerfeast444]

you were a house on fire || h.s. {pt 6}

harry styles x oc

chapter summary: roe and harry open up more. part of roe reminds harry of his old life

word count: 2.9k

series masterlist

"So if I remember to carry the one, it's four hundred-sixty-five?" Demi mumbled, her chin perched on top of her hand as she slouched over the table. A few curly bangs fell in front of her face, dusting her cheekbones. She needed a haircut soon, Roe decided.

"I think you're close?"

Roe leaned closer towards Demi's problem set to read her work, attempting to find the issue. Demi rolled her eyes, dropped her pencil on the kitchen table, and threw herself back in the creaky wooden chair. Neither of them excelled in math, making afternoons like these a throbbing pain in the ass; but Roe would sacrifice anything for the kids, even if it meant suffering through a migraine and an argument to get them to complete their homework. They may not appreciate it now, but Roe would see them to their graduation day- that's a promise.

"This is impossible."

"Don't say that," Roe berated.

The next hour ensued similarly to how it began, and neither of them saw much hope for improvement. It was only when Roe got distracted with the sound of her text tone going off that Demi fully exploded.

"You're not even being helpful! This sucks, I'm going to my room. Don't come after me."

Roe threw up her hands in defeat and allowed her sister to stomp up the stairs. Perhaps next time she'll recruit Aaron to help tutor math, he's sure to pass at the top of his class. When she finally heard a door slam, she unlocked her phone to read the offending notification.

"I'm sorry again about the other night."

Harry.

Roe rubbed her eyes until she saw flashes of color. It's not that she's angry about that night because she's not. She has always kept her expectations low, it's necessary, especially when dealing with men that clearly have some underlying issues they needed to deal with. But she's not a psychiatrist. Really, it was a matter of time before he said something of that manner; he stood out like a silver spoon in a case of rusty cutlery. She wasn't angry with him. She should have expected his arrogance, and therefore any negative feelings are inevitably her fault for not preparing herself more.

Roe pulled up the message thread between her and Harry and sent, "its fine".

"Are you sure?" his reply came immediately, followed by, "Can we talk?"

A few hours later, Roe opened the front door for Harry. She had just coaxed River to lay down without crying, and she had scarcely seen the twins since dinner. As the clock ticked nearer to eleven, Roe accepted her siblings' contentment in hiding away in their bedrooms. As per usual on Wednesday nights, the oldest two brothers were still at work

"Thanks for letting me come over," he said.

Roe nodded her head once and smiled, unable to think of an appropriate response. She knew his intentions were good-willed based on the minimal texts they exchanged, but the anxiety that came with knowing he would be seeing her house for the first time nearly caused her to refuse to see him altogether. She barely had time to clean anywhere before he arrived, and she couldn't help but obsess over the toys strewn about, the yellowing smoke-stained walls, and mismatched furniture- or lack thereof. It was ridiculous, she contended. She likely couldn't fix any of those things in a day, anyway. But compared to Harry's sleek apartment, the Byrnes were flat broke.

He followed her to the plaid couch and they sat, a pressing distance separating them as Roe's eyes trained on a stain on the cushion between them. It was only the size of a quarter, likely a drop of ketchup or baby food, but it stuck out against the loud print of the couch as if it were screaming to be attended to. Maybe she'll clean it tomorrow.

"I want you to know I'm not the kind of person who does stuff like this." he gestured between them, "I don't know, I guess I just kind of panicked when I said I'd pay you-"

"It's fine, really. We fucked, you were a dick. I can move on. I have moved on. I don't know how many times I have to say it, Harry," her voice softened, despite its unwavering tone.

"Okay, " he nodded, "we can move on, then." Roe followed his gaze to River's Hot Wheels scattered beside the other chair across the room, "I hope I'm not intruding on your night or anything."

"No, I put him to bed a little bit ago. And we already finished dinner and everything, so." She nodded.

"Sounds lovely," he cleared his throat and smiled. "Do anything else interesting today?"

He came all this way to clear the air when in reality, there was nothing more for him to say. He felt it would have been rude for him to get up and leave after only sitting on her couch for a mere three minutes- if anything it would have been a simple waste of both of their times. Knowing the kids were home gave him a slight quiver to his voice, knowing their conversation could be impeded. He pushed that thought down, carrying on the conversation as if she were any other girl and this was any regular night.

"I was just helping Demi- you remember my sister you met at the shop? with her homework when you texted earlier, but it went as well as you could have expected."

"I doubt it; you're smart, I bet you were better than her teacher." Casual flirting. Normal.

"I wouldn't put money on that, I didn't even finish high school."

"Really? Why not? I mean, you don't have to tell me. I get it. I didn't finish school either. Shit happens." Harry leaned back into the cushions of the couch and crossed his arms.

"You didn't finish?"

"No. I went straight into One Direction after I turned sixteen. Who needs a diploma when you've got stardom, right?" Roe mimicked his smile, but soon after, they were both met with a tight silence. So much for normal conversation, he supposed.

"River was born the summer before my senior year," Roe blurted, "and the twins were still in elementary school then, the boys not much older. Long story short, my parents are shitty, and my sister and I dropped out to pick up some of their slack."

"Demi?" He furrowed his brow and tilted his head back.

"No. I have a twin, too. Fae," she strained.

"Oh, does she live nearby? I don't think I've met her yet."

"No. She's not around much anymore."

The stillness returned, and it brought an itch down to Roe's bones. In a house with so many kids, she usually got on her knees and rejoiced when no one was yelling at each other, crying, or cranking the volume on a boombox. Tonight, however, she prayed for any sound other than her heartbeat ringing in her ears.

When she finally couldn't take it anymore, she stood abruptly from the couch and faced Harry, "Wanna smoke?" she asked.

Harry shrugged and nodded, standing to follow her. While she didn't exactly anticipate this happening, she luckily tidied up her bedroom this morning after River spilled his juice on her sheets. And by 'tidied up', she simply changed the sheets, shoved loose items of clothing into an empty dresser drawer, and relocated River's toys to the closet in the living room. The closet was stuffed to begin with, and she empathized with whoever is next to open it.

Together, they gently ascended the stairs towards the door at the end of the hall; a Rocky Horror Picture Show poster peeling off the center. Roe shut the door behind him and moved swiftly towards her dresser. Harry stood near the end of her full-sized bed picking at a scab on his right thumb, unsure of what to do with himself, while she jostled some unfolded shirts around until she found the jar she was looking for. She triumphantly raised it in the air before settling on the bed, eliciting a chuckle out of Harry for the first time that night. She grabbed a green pipe out of her nightstand and only spared a single glance at the man beside her before crumbling the dried bud into its bowl.

The first time Harry smoked was at his friend's birthday party. They barely passed the halfway mark of year eleven, and he still had high hopes of attending college to study something worthwhile, like environmental science. He didn't mean what he said to Roe earlier about graduating; he had thought about getting his diploma often, and he took his studies seriously. There were weekends, however, that he set his books aside and let himself fall into the stereotypes about kids his age. He never found out where they got it from, but Alex brought a few grams of weed and a bong to James' party, and, Jesus, it was a party to remember. Despite embarrassing himself by coughing immediately after inhaling the bud, his first kiss happened later that night.

He never intended on making this smoking thing a habit. In fact, he didn't smoke the entire time he was on XFactor or the first three years of the band. He hadn't been attached to the substance as Alex had (and definitely still was), but that doesn't mean he didn't crave its warmth and ability to slow every emotion. Perhaps he felt the need to prove something about 'teenage popstars'- something a few of his bandmates regarded lightly- or he simply wanted to avoid disappointing his mother. It didn't matter much. Either way, as the band began slipping into disarray, so did his conscience.

At that point, Harry stopped looking at his calendar to follow the days of the month or the week; enough people on the team and in management steered him to his next destination and never allowed him to wander too far. And there were simply too many days until their next break to be able to keep a countdown, so what was the point? Niall told him this was a depressing sentiment. He held it anyway.

So, that May (he was fairly certain they entered May by then), he finished recording his parts of the new album for the day and was sent to find Zayn for his recordings. He jabbed the call button for the hotel elevator and combed through his hair with his fingers as he waited impatiently. The closer he got to his and Louis' hotel room, the smell emanating from it confirmed that Zayn was there.

"Shut up, you wanker," Zayn laughed, Louis just shaking his head. The two of them sat perched on the windowsill, a few feet and an ashtray between them. Harry cleared his throat. "Oh, hey, Harry. Uh, what's up?"

Harry repeated their manager's message for Zayn, but he only nodded in response. Louis shot Zayn a look before taking a drag of the short blunt between his fingertips. Harry still stood in the middle of the hotel room, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right, then back to his left. So, this is how it would be.

"Well, you want a hit, or?" Zayn trailed off. Harry watched Louis comb through his fringe and wished he would just look at him.

"I'm good, thanks."

///

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I asked if you want the first hit," Roe laughed.

Harry shook the memory away and finally sat on the bed beside her. They took turns drawing the smoke into their lungs, holding for a few seconds, then releasing. He secretly held a theory that half of the anxiety-reducing properties of smoking was simply the practiced breathing. He tried to keep that in mind when craving anything more.

By the time Roe sat up to refill the bowl for another round, Harry realized he had slouched far down the wall and, oddly enough, neither of them had spoken since they first entered her room. Harry pushed himself higher. His back ached slightly, and though years of neglect were surely to blame, he suddenly held the single flat pillow behind him accountable. Roe seemed oblivious to this agitation.

"So, you have a lot of siblings," Harry said after Roe lit the fresh bowl. She didn't know whether he meant this as a question or a statement but nodded her head nonetheless.

"Oldest of six- seven if you count Fae. Most of us don't though. So, oldest of six."

"I just have one sister. She's older."

Roe hums a note of interest but doesn't prompt him any further so they fall back into quietness. If he weren't so high, Harry surely would be ticking with restlessness. Though he longed for the ease that accompanied close relationships, Roe was essentially still a stranger. Sure, they spent several hours together at Keystone or the diner, but Harry can't recall any substantial conversations. Anything he revealed about himself was surely a click away on Google, and half of the time, Roe shrouded herself in ambiguity or changed topics on the fly. Honestly, it scared him a little. He recognized that if this were to be any type of relationship that went somewhere, there would have to be some give and take. Vulnerability. That is if Roe actually wanted this to go anywhere. If not, Harry supposed he could feel content where they were.

A soft knock on Roe's bedroom door jolted Harry out of his haze. The door creaked open, but Roe seemed unconcerned as she took another hit- the bowl almost entirely ash by now. With the light in the hallway off and a single lamp to illuminate Roe's room, an odd shadow cast across the face of the man in the doorway. Still, Harry recognized him. He had been there at the diner to pick up the toddler that Roe came in with. Their connection bemused him, but he figured it wasn't his place to dig further.

"Why are you smoking that shit in here?" Lucas eyed Harry up and down but restrained himself from making any extra comments.

"Kids are asleep, window's open." She lazily pointed towards the hallway, then behind her towards the window.

"Next time consider the backyard?" He turned to close the door, "Or just trashing the habit altogether," he muttered.

///

A tiny elbow to the stomach jolted Roe from her sleep. As she blinked away the morning's blurriness, River giggled as he crawled around her with his stuffed pig tucked under his left arm. After a few moments, he settled down and sat on the tops of her stomach.

"Good morning, Jellybean. Did you sleep okay?"

"Yes! No scary pictures." He promptly put his thumb in his mouth.

"That's great! Can you go downstairs and wait for me? I'll get you juice and breakfast in a minute, okay?" Roe kissed his cheek and helped him slide back down onto the floor. Roe and Harry eyed each other shyly. She shook her head and he let out a laugh as they heard River's small feet pitter-patter through the still house. Roe covered her face with her hands and explained, "He's an early riser. The rest of the kids don't wake up for another hour."

Harry shifted onto his back but kept his smile present. He thought of his plans for the day and how they really amounted to nothing. At least, they were so simple compared to Roe's. She had a routine, people that relied on her. The only things on Harry's to-do list consisted of a load of laundry and perhaps going through his voicemails. They had truly stacked up the last few weeks.

"I don't mean to pry, but can I ask you something?" Roe nodded in encouragement, so he continued, "I saw you with him- River, that morning at the diner when he was sick. Just the way you were holding him, and, I don't know. Are you," his voice trailed off, "Is he-" He felt his cheeks darken, and sunk further into the mattress in attempts to conceal it. "You know, never mind, I-"

"He calls me mom sometimes," she laughed.

"Oh."

"If you're asking whether or not I carried him for nine months before pushing him out, that would be a no. But, if you're asking if I'm his mother," she paused and shrugged.

"I suppose I should get going then, especially before the others wake. You must have a busy day, " Harry said, "And, I'm not sure how much I want this," he lifted a hand to gesture between them, "to be public knowledge. Not that I don't trust your family, just- " he shrugged, attempting to find the right words to say so early in the morning.

"No, I get it. They can be nosy little bitches, " she crinkled her nose. "Plus, I just got out of a messy relationship, or maybe I'm still getting out of it, I don't even know, and it could be good to just be, " she let out a big sigh as she rubbed her shoulder, "casual?"

"Casual." Harry nodded.