#except the box spine/edges did not want to attempt that. sorry

[why-its-kai]

Scans of the box, DVD case inserts, and discs from the 2010 Funimation Trigun: The Complete Series DVD set, featuring an autograph from Johnny Yong Bosch on the front cover!

[watchmegetobsessed]

TO LOVE AND BE LOVED - Part Four (Harry Styles)

a/n: happy TLABL day!! can’t believe we are already on part 4! im not sure if part 5 will be the last part, im still very much writing the rest so we’ll see! thank you so much for all the love you’ve been showing the series, i love reading your reactions! feedback is very much appreciated this time as well!

pairing: CEO!Dad!Harry X Reader

warning: mentions of death, cheating and divorce

word count: 11k

SERIES MASTERPOST masterlist

You wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck or at least consumed a whole bottle of tequila. Your head is pounding and it’s probably with all the crying and stress, so you are quick to take some pills to ease the pain. Sitting on the edge of your bed you stare ahead of you blankly, trying to gain power to start the day.

Though today is Sunday, so you are not working, you’re still worried to face Harry after whatever it was that happened last night. What were you thinking, kissing your boss out of the blue? And what was he thinking kissing you for the second time? It kind of feels like a dream, but you know it really did happen.

You try to stay in your room as long as possible, avoiding to face Harry, but soon enough you can’t postpone it any longer, because you are starving. Peeking out of your room you hear voices coming from downstairs and as you reach the stairs you recognize not just Harry’s and Izzy’s voice, but Niall’s as well.

Arriving downstairs you see Niall and Izzy sitting on the stools at the kitchen island while Harry is cleaning the dishes after their breakfast probably. He is wearing a pair of light-washed jeans and a black hoodie, the sleeves bunched around his elbows. He looks so casual and yet just looking at him makes your heart skip a beat. You are in some big trouble.

Niall spots you first and he perks up waving in your way happily.

“Good morning, Y/N!” he beams, his accent sounds so comforting in such a stressful moment, for some reason.

“Hi, good morning,” you breathe out. Harry turns around, his eyes fall on you and a shiver runs down your spine. He just looked at you and you already want to run away and hide in your room a little longer.

“Morning,” he greets you with a nod before turning back to the sink to finish the dishes.

“Daddy and Uncle Niall are taking me to the park! We are picking Yara up too!” Izzy shares the news with you excitedly.

“Oh, that sounds great!” you smile at her, giving her cheek a gentle pinch before moving to the fridge.

“Do you want to come?” she invites you and your eyes immediately flicker over to Harry who looks at you the exact same time, making your stomach drop right away.

“Um, I have some work to do, maybe some other time,” you smile at Izzy, grabbing yourself a yoghurt and a banana before shutting the fridge closed.

“So how was yesterday?” Niall asks and you freeze. Does he know what happened? Did Harry tell him about last night?

Niall sees your frightened look to which he shoots you a confused one.

“The wedding, Harry told me earlier you had a wedding yesterday.”

“Oh, it went… fine,” you nod shortly, peeking at Harry who is now staring down at his feet awkwardly. This was starting to get painfully ridiculous, the two of you dancing around each other, pretending like you weren’t down each other’s throats just a few hours prior.

“Alright, let’s leave, we need to pick Yara up in twenty,” Harry claps his hands. Izzy jumps off the stool and takes Niall’s hand as they all head out of the house. “We’ll probably have lunch somewhere and then go grocery shopping, so we’ll be away for a while,” he informs you without looking your way before leaving without even waiting for any reaction from you.

Yeah, this was straight up the most awkward conversation you’ve had in a long time.

“Here, Izzy. Play some games on my phone!” Niall passes his phone to her with a sweet smile, but Harry smacks his bicep.

“What are you doing? She has enough screen time already!”

“Yeah, but I needed her to be busy so I can ask you what the fuck was that in the house.”

Harry curls his lips into his mouth, his eyes glued to the road ahead of him as he tries to come up with a good answer, but he knows he could never fool his best friend.

“Don’t stop, even if she is busy with the phone,” Harry scolds him, glancing at Izzy through the mirror, but she doesn’t seem to be listening to them. Niall rolls his eyes, but lets his words uncommented. “Besides, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh, you exactly know it. You and Y/N were like scared little bunnies around each other. She looked like she was about to faint any moment when you looked at her.”

“Maybe she was just tired,” he shrugs, but Niall laughs at his weak attempt to fool him.

“Now tell me the real reason, I know something happened.”

Harry chews on his bottom lip, debating whether he should come clean or not, but he knows Niall won’t leave him until he finally tells him so he is not left with many choices.

“We kissed.”

“What?!” Niall snaps, a little louder than Harry expected, his voice makes him flinch. “Sorry, that was a little too dramatic, but what the fuck? Why were you keeping this from me?!”

“Because I knew this is how you’d react,” Harry mumbles under his breath. “And… I don’t think it will ever happen again.”

“What do you mean?”

“The whole thing was a mess,” Harry sighs. “She came home late, pretty upset because she met with her ex at the wedding.”

“The one that cheated on her?”

“Mhm. The dude was an asshole and… she was crying in the kitchen when I came down. We sat on the couch, talked, I tried to calm her down and all that and then… she kissed me.”

“Wait, she kissed you? Wow, she’s got balls!” Niall laughs.

“Yeah, but it was, like, really short and she pulled back, shocked at herself for doing it. I think it was just all the emotions that got her a little confused. But then she tried to apologize and… and I kissed her.”

“What?! Oh my God!” Niall’s mind is blown and he doesn’t even tries to hide his excitement hearing the news about last night. “Was there tongue?”

“Jesus, Niall!” Harry scowls. “I’m not sharing the details with you.”

“Okay, but was it like a solid, short kiss or you guys went right at it?”

Harry doesn’t answer, but it tells enough about the situation and Niall can’t help but whistle as he claps his hands.

“Stop acting like a horny teenager, Niall,” Harry growls rolling his eyes at his friend.

“So you guys snogged, what’s the matter with that?”

“It got awkward. We just pulled back and I think we both were pretty shocked about it and… she just stood up and said that she is going to bed. End of story. And then you were there in the morning, so… yeah.”

“Tell me why the hell we are heading to a playdate then when you should be talking to her?” Niall asks, arching an eyebrow at Harry.

“There’s not much to talk about. It just happened in the heat of the moment, that’s all,” Harry shrugs, but deep down he knows it’s a blatant lie. At least on his side.

Unlike you, who fell asleep right away, Harry spent about an hour lying in his bed wide awake, not able to think about anything else but your lips on his. He replayed the whole thing in his head about a million times, he was starting to feel ashamed of it, but he just couldn’t stop.

Your abrupt leaving left him puzzled and he thought long and hard about why you felt the need to run away. The only thing that made sense to him is that you regretted it the moment it happened, that it really did just happen in the heat of the moment so Harry thought it’s best to act like it didn’t even happen.

“Please don’t be an ass and just… talk to her. We both know we can never know for sure what a woman thinks about. You can’t just assume and think that your assumption is one hundred percent right.”

“I find it funny that you’re such an expert in this stuff, but you haven’t had a stable relationship since like, we finished college,” Harry scoffs as he takes the corner and starts driving down the street to Yara’s moms’ house.

“Me not having a relationship doesn’t mean that I’m not good at them. It’s a choice,” Niall smirks.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“But back to the topic, you wanted to kiss her, right?”

“I mean, yeah? It kinda threw me off as well, but it was… nice.”

“Please don’t refer to a kiss as nice again,” Niall gags, but Harry just chuckles at him. “A kiss is hot, passionate, pant tighteni—“

“Okay, that’s enough!” Harry cuts him, earning a cackle from him.

“Just talk to her, don’t be a pussy.”

“I really do need better friends,” Harry mumbles under his breath as he pulls up to the driveway.

You really didn’t feel like staying home alone in that big ass house so you invited yourself over for an early dinner to your mom’s. You haven’t been over since the little fiasco with Trevor so you thought it might be a good idea to spend some time with them. Trevor said they’ve been trying to keep the fighting down to the minimum and not let it turn into a screaming match, so your speech worked after all.

It’s past three o’clock when you leave, no sign of Harry or Izzy and you feel like they won’t be back for a while either, so you lock everything up and head out.

You have a genuinely good time. It’s obvious that your mom feels guilty about her past behavior and is trying to lure you into forgiving her, though you already did that. But you’re happy your little speech worked. At least Trevor can have his peace now.

After dinner your mom disappears in her room and then returns with a nicely wrapped box and you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Mom, I told you I don’t need gifts.” You give her a look. Your birthday is coming up next week, but you were never the kind to celebrate. You never felt comfortable with all the attention and fuss birthdays come with, so you’ve always liked to keep it down. These past years you didn’t even ask for anything, though your parents never listened and this year doesn’t seem like an exception either.

“Oh hush. You can’t expect me not to celebrate my baby!” she shakes her head, sitting back to the dining table. “And besides, I didn’t pay a dollar for it,” she then adds and now you’re curious what she got you.

Removing the lid of the box you peek inside and your lips immediately part as you see the stack of polaroids inside.

“I know how much you like old photos and when we sold Grandma’s house back in August, I found these in my old room. I got a polaroid camera for graduation, just in time to take tons of pictures of you,” she explains with a soft chuckle as you start going through the pictures from when you were born and the next few years. Whenever you are done looking at a photo you hand it to Trevor so he can take a look at them too.

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep these, mom?” you ask glancing up at her over the stack.

“I took out a few for myself,” she admits with a sneaky smile. “You can have the rest, I know how much you love these stuff.”

“Thank you, mom,” you smile at her, hugging her from the side, feeling touched by this gift.

It’s nearing eight when you arrive back home, the lights are still up and if you had to guess you’d say that Harry is trying to tire Izzy out enough to put to bed, as usual. Walking in, your guess is proven right, the TV is on in the living room while Harry is sitting on the couch, Izzy all over him in her pink pajamas, playing around with his hair like she always does.

“Hi Y/N!” she calls out happily when she spots you.

“Hi Sunshine, did you have a good time today?” you ask with a soft smile.

“I did! And guess what!”

“What?”

“Yara invited me over for a sleepover!” she beams, clearly ecstatic about the invitation.

“That’s amazing!”

“What’s that?” she curiously asks pointing at the gift box in your hands. Harry turns to see you, his eyes falling on the box as well.

“Oh, it’s a gift I got from my mom,” you explain, stepping closer.

“Is it your birthday?” she questions, knitting her eyebrows together.

“No, not yet. But it will be next week,” you admit with a soft chuckle.

“Really? Are you having a birthday party?” she gasps, getting way too excited already. Harry eyes you without a word, holding Izzy by her hips so she is not losing her balance standing on the cushion of the couch.

“I’m not, sorry. I don’t like having birthday parties,” you pout at her apologetically.

“Oh, okay. Can I see what you got from your mom?”

“Izzy, don’t be nosy,” Harry warns her, but you just smile at the curious girl.

“Sure,” you nod, joining them on the couch. You sit on the opposite end than where Harry is, Izzy in the middle as she watches the box in awe. You set it down to the cushion and take the lid off, revealing the stack of photos.

“What are these?”

“They are called polaroids. They are old pictures, taken with a special camera that kind of prints the picture out right away,” you explain to her as she takes the first photo from the top, a picture of your mom holding you as a newborn. She was so young, practically a child herself, yet her pride was undeniable, it shone all over her face.  You spot Harry looking at the picture as well over Izzy’s shoulder, still keeping his silence.

“Who are these people?”

“That’s my mom and that’s me as a baby. And… this is my dad,” you hold up another photo that features your dad.

“They really were young when they had you,” Harry speaks up for the first time, surprised by the photos.

“Yeah, they were.”

“What are you going to do with them?” Izzy questions, dropping the photo back into the box as she leans back to lie on Harry’s chest.

“Not sure yet. I might make an album from them,” you shrug. “I really like polaroids, I love that they are one of a kind.”

Izzy nods, though you’re not sure she understood what you meant by that. Fidgeting with her fingers she pushes down a yawn and Harry takes that as a good sign.

“Alright, time for bed, Love. Say good night to Y/N.” He picks her up as he stands from the couch. Izzy waves at you smiling with tired eyes.

“Night-night, Y/N,” she singsongs as Harry carries her towards the stairs.

Putting the pictures back into the box you head into your bedroom too, feeling like the time when you and Harry talk about what happened yesterday will never come. It’s pretty clear that he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, so you’ll just let it slip. It happened just in the heat of the moment, didn’t mean a thing, you better forget about it.

After a speedy shower you are getting ready to just go to bed, read some and have a relaxing evening, something you didn’t have the luck to have the day before. But right as you’re about to make yourself comfortable in bed, there’s a knock on your door.

“Hey,” you breathe out as you open it and find Harry standing in the hallway.

“I hope you weren’t sleeping already.”

“No. Come on in,” you invite him inside and he walks in. As he awkwardly stops in the middle of the room you realize he hasn’t even been in here since you’ve moved in. He takes a look around, examining what you’ve done with the room and you feel thankful you decided to put your laundry away just yesterday, so no dirty underwear is littering the floor anywhere.

“How can I help you?” you ask with a soft smile.

“I, erm… I just wanted to clear some things,” he starts, clearly feeling nervous about the conversation and that makes the two of you for sure. Nodding you let him know that you’re waiting for him to carry on. “What happened yesterday…” he starts and your breath gets caught in your throat. “You were very emotional, a lot happened and it was a very confusing moment probably for the both of us. I really like working with you, I’m very happy with the way you’ve been taking care of Izzy and I would hate to ruin it with anything.”

You can feel your stomach dropping even though you were bracing yourself for this version of the situation. It was very likely that Harry would want to keep things professional, like before, but it still makes you feel like shit.

“I’m sorry for stepping over some boundaries, but I really hope that… we can put it behind us and that we can move on.”

He is using his business tone. It’s the same tone he used with Sarah and his assistants and now he is using it to talk about the kiss that happened between the two of you.

“Sure,” you answer quietly nodding. “Moving on sounds… great,” you nod, forcing a smile to your face, but it couldn’t be more fake.

Harry nods as he runs his tongue over his lips, looking around a little awkwardly now that it’s been discussed.

“Alright, then… good night, Y/N,” he nods in your way before heading towards the door.

“Good night, Harry,” you mumble after him as he walks out and closes the door behind him.

As soon as you are on your own, you let out a shaky breath, falling to your bed, lips trembling as you try to even make out what you’re feeling. Because part of you is glad he didn’t make a fuss about it and you didn’t lose your job, that’s great news. But another part, which is vehemently bigger than the first one is upset and sad and… disappointed?

You were hoping it meant something for him, you wanted him to want it, to feel the same craving for you as you feel towards him, because you haven’t really stopped thinking about what his lips felt like against yours, what it was like when his fingers dug into your thigh, how it sent a shiver down your spine when his tongue met yours.

But this conversation just made it awfully clear that he wants nothing to do with you. And it hurts probably more than it should.

 Harry doesn’t get too far from your door when he feels the all too familiar pain in his chest he has been forced to live with these past over three years. It’s like something is gripping his heart and lungs in his chest so tight, even breathing is a hard task.

Rushing into his bedroom he closes the door behind him and slides down to the floor as the tears flood from his eyes. The past twenty-four hours have been rough on him, the guilt has been growing immensely since he let himself slip and give in for his desires and eventually kiss you.

It’s not that he didn’t want it. Because he’d be lying if he said it meant nothing to him and that he hasn’t been craving it these past weeks.

But his guilt, this evil little voice in the back of his head wouldn’t let him enjoy it even the slightest.

How dare you kiss another woman after your wife? Are you insane? You don’t deserve to feel this way with anyone else. Not when you were the reason your wife ended up dead!

Heartbreaking sobs escape from his chest as he pushes himself up from the floor and heads into the bathroom. He strips out of his clothes leaving them all in a pile on the marble tiled floor before he steps into the shower and lets the hot water pour down on him, almost burning his skin, but he doesn’t change the temperature, as if he was trying to punish himself. His salty tears mix with the water as he stands still, chest heaving as his vivid memories from that night come crashing down on him all at once.

“Are you giving me the silent treatment now? Really?” Harry sighed at his wife when she failed to answer his question about the whereabouts of his sweatpants. Maggie sat on the bed with the recent maternity book she’d been reading these past days, not even paying her husband a look at his question.

“Mags, for fuck’s sake, I’m not in the mood to play this game right now,” Harry sighed in defeat. Maggie looked up at him, closed the book slowly and put it aside to the bedside table.

“So the question of expanding our family is just a game to you?” she asked calmly, but her anger and disappointment in her husband was soaking through her tone.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“No, you are not talking about anything, because you refuse to have a fucking conversation with me!” she retorted, letting all her bottled up anger out that’d been boiling inside her.

“I already told you that I can’t think about having another baby right now. Izzy is only six, I’m in the middle of a huge project, I don’t have the capacity to think about having another baby, Maggie. I thought I made it clear, why are you still onto me then?”

“Because it’s not something we can put aside for too long! I don’t want to have another baby when I’m in my mid-thirties, but if we go with your plan, we won’t even have another one!” Maggie jumped to her feet, pacing the floor back and forth next to their bed as Harry stood with his hands on his hips, getting irritated that they were fighting over the same thing again.

“I never said we can’t have another baby, but why can’t we wait a little? When Izzy is older and more independent? Do you have any idea how hard it is to take care of a baby and a toddler? It’s a fucking nightmare!” Harry growled rolling his eyes.

“So our family is just a pain in the ass for you?” Maggie questioned, folding her arms on her chest and she was really getting on Harry’s nerves, twisting his words completely.

“That’s not what I said!” he snapped. “All I’m asking for is you to be a little patient and give me some time!”

“I don’t have time, Harry! I want it as soon as possible!”

“Why are you so fucking difficult?” Harry groaned, running his hands through his hair. “Why can’t you wait just… one year at least? Is that too much to ask?”

“And is it too much to ask to focus on your family? We are supposed to come first!” she turned it back around and Harry was not having the dirty games she was playing, putting all the blame on him when she could have been a little more understanding as well. He was feeling like his opinion was put aside and didn’t matter at all.

“You do come first, you don’t have the right to question that.” Harry pointed at Maggie, his blood practically boiling at this point.

“Then why do I feel like work is always more important to you?”

“What are you talking about? You know I’m home as much as I can, but we still need the fucking money, Maggie! Or how do you plan on paying the bills of this fucking mansion?!”

“I don’t need a mansion! I just need my family and that’s all!” she argued, but Harry rolled his eyes at her.

“Well you seem to enjoy this mansion a lot when you sit by the pool and watch movies in the fucking movie theater in your own home!” he snapped back feistily. “Stop acting like I don’t do shit for our family when I work my ass off to provide the best possible life. And all I’m asking for in return is some fucking time before we bring another baby into the picture!”

“You are so fucking unbelievable,” Maggie shook her head as she marched past him, walking away from the fight that just grinded his gears even more.

Just as Harry was about to go after her, he heard the faint crying through the baby monitor. Groaning he headed into Izzy’s room and as he took her out of her crib, he heard the front door open and shut.

“Aw, baby, I’m sorry, did we wake you up?” he cooed, hugging the crying little girl to his chest who clung onto him immediately. Even at such a young age, Izzy was already a daddy’s little girl.

Soon her cries died down to just little hiccups as Harry soothed her, patting her bum and back gently as he moved around the room. Holding Izzy in one arm he grabbed his phone with his free hand and typed a message to his wife.

Harry: Where did you go?!

Maggie: I’m going over to my sister’s. Don’t wait up, might get home late.

Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes. She called him out for running away from the conversation, but when they were finally talking about it she just decided to disappear when it didn’t head in the direction she wanted, seeking comfort at her sister, as always.

He managed to lull Izzy back to sleep, putting her back to her crib before going back to the bedroom. As time passed by and he calmed down more and more he wished Maggie was home so they could talk about it without jumping at each other’s throat. There had to be a compromising way to solve the situation that would be fine for the both of them.

Harry: Please come home and let’s talk about it.

Maggie: So you can bite my head off again?!

Harry: Mags, please. You have to understand my point of view too!

Maggie: I understand it, but I don’t agree with it. And you don’t seem to understand mine…

Harry: I do, but there are more things to consider. Please come home, I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone!

Maggie: Okay, I’m heading home now.

Harry put his phone down to the nightstand with a long sigh, already tired from everything that happened that day and he knew this conversation would be a hard one too, but they needed to be on the same page when it came to their family.

It was late getting late and Harry grew a little more restless with each passing moment. Paisley, Maggie’s sister lived about thirty minutes away from them and it’d been forty minutes since she sent her last text. At first he figured she maybe stayed and talked for a little longer with Paisley, or stopped for some fast food which he knew she liked so much whenever she was upset, but when an entire hour passed by he was getting worried.

He kept sending her texts that didn’t even get delivered and when he tried to call it went straight to her voicemail. Harry was losing his shit so he decided to call Paisley to see if she knew anything about her.

“She hasn’t arrived home yet?” she asked, clearly surprised.

“No, and she is not answering my calls and texts. When did she leave from yours?”

“A long time ago. Almost right away when you texted her to go home.”

“Fuck,” Harry breathed out, anxiously pacing the floor as he held the phone to his ear. “Okay, can you please call your parents in case she went there for whatever reason? I’ll try her friends.”

“Yeah, sure. Let me know if you got a hold of her,” Paisley told him before they ended the call.

Harry was scrolling through his contacts, trying to decide who Maggie would go to first in this situation and just as he was about to call the first person, his phone started ringing with an unknown number.

“Hello?” he answered the call unsurely, his heart beating fast in his chest as he stood in the middle of the room.

“Mr. Harry Styles?” a male voice asked on the other end.

“Yes, it’s me. Who am I speaking to?”

“I’m Officer Field speaking. You were listed as the emergency contact for your wife, Margaret Linn Styles.”

Blood rushed out of Harry’s face faster than he could even process what was happening. He stood completely frozen, his hands were getting clammy as he started sweating as if he just ran the marathon.

“What happened?” he asked weakly, barely even finding his own voice.

“Mr. Styles, I have bad news…”

Harry makes his way down to the entertainment room, walking like a zombie, only thinking about the bottle of vodka that sits in the minibar down there. Following his skin burning shower he tried to go to bed, but his head was starting to spin from everything that’s been swirling in his mind and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it if he didn’t numb himself somehow. Unfortunately, his only way of doing it has been drinking, nothing seemed to help him the way alcohol did and though he knew he should never solve any of his problems with drinking, he still couldn’t help himself sometimes. When the pain was growing immensely, taking over his whole body, he chose the easiest way to get rid of the guilt or at least stop himself from… feeling.

Grabbing the bottle from the mini fridge he snatches himself a glass as well, not drinking straight from the bottle at least, and plopping himself down to the couch he pours a generous glass, drinking it without any chaser.

He winces as the alcohol burns down his throat, but at least it’s a different kind of pain, that takes the focus away from the one he is feeling in his chest.

One glass chases the other and since he is not particularly used to the heavy drinking, he is more like the ‘let’s nurse this pint for an hour’ type of guy, the raw vodka kicks in pretty quickly.

 But he is not the only one who can’t fall asleep tonight.

You tried everything in your power to end your misery and finally fall asleep, but your mind and body was plotting against you and made you toss and turn until you couldn’t take it any longer. Making a good cup of tea seemed like a good idea, so you headed down the kitchen.

As you round the corner after the stairs and you’re about to walk into the kitchen, you notice how the lights are on down in the entertainment room. You stop in your tracks and try to think back if anyone was there before you went upstairs, but you don’t think it was the case.

You figure since there are only two adults living in the house, it must be Harry down there and right now, facing him doesn’t sound like a good idea, so you decide to leave him be, but that’s when you hear the voice of some kind of glass breaking, followed by a heavy accented cursing and it changes your mind right away.

“Harry?” you softly call out as you walk down the stairs, not sure what to expect down there. He is crouching down, his back in your direction as he is trying to get the pieces of the broken glass up from the floor, but he is too disoriented to succeed in the task and it’s obvious that an injury is deemed to happen sooner or later.

“Harry, you’re gonna cut yourself!” you warn him, and walking over to him you pull him up from his squatting position and when he looks at you is when you realize that he is drunk out of his mind.

“Y/N, oh shit, did I—Did I wake you up?” he slurs, knitting his eyebrows together as he tries to focus his vision on you.

“You didn’t, but let me just—Why don’t you sit down for a moment while I clean this up, huh?” you suggest, pulling him towards the couch, making him sit. He falls to the cushion like dead weight, letting out a tired sigh while you rush to get a broom and a dustpan to get rid of the broken glass on the floor as fast as possible before someone cuts themselves.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he breathes out closing his eyes.

“It’s okay. I’ll just clean it up quickly,” you assure him, getting down to business.

“Not about the g-glass. Well, about that as well…”

“Then why are you sorry?” you ask, as you sweep the shards onto the dustpan and throw them into the closest trashcan.

“About being… a pain in the ass,” he hiccups.

“You are not a pain in the ass,” you chuckle softly as you sit beside him.

“I am. I fucked things up,” he nods with a painful expression all over his handsome face.

“What do you mean?” You know you shouldn’t make him talk in this state, but you can’t help your curiosity. It seems like drunkenness makes his tongue run wild and you are desperate for the tiniest crumble of information about what’s going on in his head.

“I just… I kissed you,” he breathes out, his eyes popping open, but he is staring at the ceiling, not you.

“And?” you ask, trying to act cool, though your pulse is rapidly increasing.

“And I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Oh.” You lick your lips and try not to show how much that hurt. But even drunk, Harry notices the disappointment in your tone. His glassy eyes snap over to you and his face falls right away.

“That’s not how I mean it!” he gasps, reaching for your hand and you’re surprised by the sudden physical touch, but it feels kind of nice, so you let him hold your hand between his arm palms. “It’s not like I didn’t enjoy it, because fucking hell, it was amazing!” he bluntly tells you and you can already feel the heat crawling up your neck.

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“Then why did you tell me all of that in my room just earlier now?”

Harry pulls his hands back and moves his arms across his face, covering his eyes as he slides down the couch, his legs spreading out in front of him. He lets out a shaky whimper and seeing him like this worries you a lot. Harry is always in control, he has never let him fall apart like this before.

“Because… I don’t deserve to feel this way,” he confesses, confusing you even more. What is he talking about?

“Why wouldn’t you?”

He shakes his head under his arms, biting into his bottom lip as he inhales deeply, like he is trying to keep something inside, something you shouldn’t know about, but now you are desperate to find it out.

“I’m a fucking mess,” he breathes out, letting his arms fall to his sides, but he keeps his eyes closed, shutting you out in a way. “I don’t deserve to have these feelings,” he repeats again and it appears he is more likely talking to himself, rather than to you.

“Harry, what are you talking about?”

“I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you, because if I did, you’d never be able to look at me again.”

Now he is crying. Tears are rolling down his cheeks and his lips are trembling and you’ve never seen him in such a vulnerable state and quite frankly, it scares you. You knew him to be a strong and stable man, but now he resembles a frightened little boy, so lost in this big world.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not that bad, Harry.”

“It is,” he winces, as if it’s causing him physical pain to even talk about it.

“Harry…” You breathe out and moving closer you place a hand on his knee, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He turns to face you, his eyes all watered and glistening, he looks so heartbroken, it almost pains you as well.

“Promise me you won’t see me as a monster,” he whispers.

“I-I promise,” you nod, already bearing yourself for the worst, judging from the look on his face.

Taking a deep breath he looks around, as if he is making sure no one else is listening. Then his eyes fall down to his hands in his lap, he fidgets with his fingers, his tongue running along his pink lips before he takes a deep breath and speaks up again.

“Maggie’s death… It was all my fault. I fucking… killed my own wife.”

His voice dies down at the end of the sentence, staring into the void, completely zoned out as you sit beside him, shocked at his words. This was not exactly what you were expecting him to say. Harry starts sobbing again, the hot tears running down his cheeks as he starts crying and panic sets in you. He is so out of his own world, you have no idea what’s happening to him. Rushing over to the mini fridge, you grab a water for him, thinking it might help him at least after all the alcohol he has consumed.

“Here, drink some water,” you softly tell him, taking the cap off as you hand him the bottle. He takes it with a shaky hand and raising it to his trembling lips he takes a few small sips. “Harry, what do you mean it was your fault?” you ask, knowing well you probably shouldn’t push it, but you can’t just ignore what he said.

“Exactly what I said,” he sobs shaking his head vigorously. “It was all my fault, I was a fucking coward and that’s why she died! I could have stopped her! I should have gone after her!”

He is not answering you, not entirely. He is speaking thoughts that have been planted in his head a long time ago and they seem to be on repeat whenever he is feeling down. As much as you want to get more details out of him, he needs to rest, especially because he is working in the morning.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed, H,” you tell him as you stand up and reach out for him to help him to his unsteady feet. It turns out to be a little harder than you expected, but you manage to get him up from his sitting position, and throwing one of his arms over your shoulders you start to walk him up towards his bedroom.

“You fucking hate me now, don’t you?” he slurs, his other hand reaching out towards the wall to steady himself a little more.

“I don’t hate you, Harry.”

“But you think I’m a monster, right?”

“I’m not sure I know enough to think anything about you. This is a conversation we should have when you’re sober,” you suggest and he huffs.

“M’sorry for getting drunk in the middle of the night.”

“It’s alright. But I think you’ll have a mean headache in the morning,” you tease him as you finally reach the upstairs and head down the hallway towards his room.

“You’re a fucking angel, Y/N. You know that?” He just keeps talking and talking and you find it funny how different he is from his reserved and quiet self in this state.

“Am I?”

“Yeah. You are. You are so good to my daughter and to me as well… I really don’t get why your fucker ex cheated on you,” he huffs and you can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips. “What was his name? Kyle?”

“Keith,” you correct him.

“That fucker, Keith!” he spats making you laugh as you push his bedroom’s door open and walk him inside finally. “I bet he had a small dick.”

“Why does that matter,” you chuckle, making him sit on the edge of the bed.

“Because guys with small dicks are always out of touch with themselves. They think they are just better than everyone for some reason.”

“Do you have any scientific research to prove that?” you tease him as you push him down, tugging him under the covers, like a little kid.

“No, I just… know shit,” he sighs, his eyes falling closed the moment his head rests on the pillow.

“Alright. You can tell me more about what else you know when you’re sober. Now get some sleep, because you have work in the morning.”

You make sure he lies on his side as he hums his response. Reaching down you brush his messy curls out of his forehead as he breathes out harshly through his nose, probably about to fall asleep any moment.

Tapping on the screen of his phone on the nightstand you make sure that he has set up his alarm and you see the little alarm clock icon at the top bar so you are just about to walk out when you turn back around.

Seeing how he pushed so many things down inside of him, you’re not convinced he’ll be willing to give you the answers you are looking for. You’re afraid he might talk himself out and give you some kind of bullshit answer, so reaching for his phone you sneakily take his thumb and open the device, all whilst he doesn’t even move an inch.

Scrolling through his contacts you find Niall’s number and send it over to yourself before deleting the message so you leave no trail behind. You set the phone back to his nightstand and head out finally, going to bed as well, right after sending Niall a quick message.

Y/N: Hi! It’s Y/N, I got your number from Harry’s phone. Can you come by sometime tomorrow? I need to talk to you about something.

When you come down in the morning it’s pretty obvious that even though Harry had his alarm on, he snoozed one too many times and now he is in a rush, trying to get everything done and leave on time.

“Good morning,” you greet him and Izzy upon walking into the kitchen. Harry’s head snaps up from the half-made breakfast in front of him and judging by his expression, he more or less remembers what happened last night. “Rough morning?” you ask teasing him to ease the tension.

“Uh, yeah. Woke up a little late,” he nods, finishing up Izzy’s sandwich just the way she likes, without the crust on before handing it over to her. Izzy grabs the plate and marches over to the dining table, quietly munching on her food while Harry quickly tries to make himself a coffee, but he is a hot mess, still in his night clothes when he is supposed to leave in about ten minutes.

“I’ll make you the coffee, go and get changed,” you offer, taking over the machine.

“Oh, thank you,” he nods and for a change, he doesn’t try to argue with you, he just disappears upstairs.

You make his coffee just as he likes and leave it on the counter for him before joining Izzy at the table with your own breakfast. She is babbling about how excited she is for her piano lesson today, because she’s been practicing a lot lately. When Harry appears again he is dressed for work, but still looks a little disoriented.

“Hey,” you softly say as you join him in the kitchen.

“Hey, thank you for the coffee,” he nods, moving around the kitchen.

“No problem. How are you feeling?” you ask, hoping you’re not crossing any boundaries. Harry opens his mouth to answer, but then closes, probably not sure how much he should share, though he didn’t have too much problem with that last night.

“I’m… A little hangover, but I’m… fine,” he nods shortly. “Y/N, about last night, I—“

“We can talk about it later, okay? Don’t stress about it.” You give him a reassuring smile and you can tell he is sort of relieved he doesn’t have to have this conversation right in this moment.

“Thank you.”

“No worries. And I’ll clean up in the kitchen, don’t be late,” you smile at him warmly. You can tell he wants to protest, but he also knows he is running late so he doesn’t have much choice.

“Thank you, I’ll… see you later.”

Storming over to Izzy he presses a kiss to her forehead before grabbing all his stuff and leaving.

Niall texts you back not long after breakfast that he is free to drop by when Izzy is having her piano lesson. You carry on with the morning as usual, trying your best not to dwell on everything that happened last night.

Just as Rosaline and Izzy get settled for the lesson you hear a car pulling up outside and a few moments later the doorbell rings through the house.

“Let’s get one thing straight, is it a booty call?” Niall questions right away as you let him inside.

“It’s good to see you again,” you chuckle, shaking your head at him.

“So no sex is gonna be involved?” he smirks and you know he is just teasing you.

“No, sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, you can never disappoint me, darling,” he winks at you before walking into the kitchen to serve himself a drink. “So why did you need to see me so desperately?”

“Well, I know I shouldn’t be discussing this with you first, but I feel like I need to know some basic information that Harry might not give me so I thought you could help me out.” Niall nods as he pours himself some soda and joins you at the kitchen island, sitting on the stool next to you. “I uhh—I need to ask how much Harry shared with you about… about me—and, um what—“

“Save the stuttering, I know you two kissed,” Niall cuts you off and you breathe out in relief that you don’t have to be the one breaking him the news.

“Oh, okay,” you nod with an awkward smile. “Yeah, so that happened. And last night he and I had this conversation how we should just keep our relationship professional and all that. We both went our own way but then later I found Harry down in the entertainment room, drunk and basically having a meltdown of some sort.”

“How drunk was he?” Niall asks, knitting his eyebrows together.

“Pretty drunk. He broke a glass and he was… crying and talking about a lot of stuff.” Niall takes your words in as he inhales deeply, just nodding for you to continue. “He started telling me how sorry he was for fucking things up and he was a mess, like a huge fucking mess. Then he told me about how he shouldn’t be feeling the way he does, because he doesn’t deserve it…”

“Jesus…” Niall shakes his head, probably already knowing where this is heading.

“And then he told me that his wife’s death was his fault. That was… pretty intense.”

“I can imagine.”

“I know I have to talk to him about it, but I’m really afraid he might shake it off, but it seems like he is having some serious issues and I wouldn’t want things to get out of hands. That’s why I thought I would talk to you, maybe you know what to do or how to approach him with such a sensitive subject.”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s nice of you for being so considerate,” Niall nods, scratching his chin. “Alright, I’ll tell you what I know, but please also let him tell you if he decides to share it with you.” You nod and turn all your attention to him. “I didn’t find this out until about two months after Maggie’s death, but apparently, the night she died they had a fight. Maggie had been nagging Harry to have another baby, but he wanted to wait a little longer, until Izzy is older so they don’t have two babies at the same time. Harry said they had another big fight about it, said some pretty nasty things to each other before Maggie just stormed out to go over to her sister’s. She made it there, but… never made it back home.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of how devastating it must have been, losing your partner after an intense fight without ever making up.

“Understandably, Harry completely lost his shit. For weeks he was barely functioning and we all knew he was grieving, but we didn’t know that he was blaming himself for what happened. When he wasn’t getting any better we somehow convinced him to go to therapy which luckily helped him immensely, but he stopped going a while ago. I thought he got things straight in his head about this whole Maggie situation, but I guess he is still hung up on that.”

“What about the drinking, did that happen a lot?”

“Not that I know of. I mean, yeah, he got wasted quite a few times, but only at the beginning. I don’t think you should be afraid that he might turn into an alcoholic. I think he is just really struggling right now because of the conflict he is having because of you.”

“Because of me?”

“Yeah, he is clearly very confused about his feelings for you and he has convinced himself he shouldn’t feel this way towards anyone ever, but then you came,” he chuckles softly giving you a knowing look.

“Niall, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” you breathe out, worry and fear slowly taking over your judgment.

“First and foremost just… be patient with him, okay? This is genuinely the first time he has taken an interest in anyone since Maggie and I think he has already taken some big steps, which is a good sign. Try to talk to him and be open, but don’t push him. I know it can be really annoying when he keeps things, but let him tell you everything at his own pace.”

You nod, understanding the importance of not rushing Harry into anything. Just because you want to get over the awkwardness of the current situation, you can’t push him over his own boundaries.

“Okay, I’ll try to do that,” you nod taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Niall.”

“Oh, and don’t let him give you the ‘you work for me, we shouldn’t be doing this’ bullshit alright? He’ll try to make it out to be some kind of business, but it’s not. He needs to get himself out there and I genuinely think you’re the right person to help him with that.”

His words touch you and you’re not even sure how to react. Niall is clearly someone who stands close to Harry and if he thinks that you and him should give it a try, that must mean something. You can only hope that Harry will come around and think the same at one point.

Izzy gets a little fussy by the end of the day and it takes a lot of persuading to get her to bed in the evening. Harry arrived back home on his usual time and because it’s been such a hot day outside, he took her out to the pool. The problem with that is that Izzy never wants to get out of the water, so when Harry said it’s time for dinner she threw a bit of a tantrum as Harry brought her inside and her mood didn’t get any better later either.

You spent most of your night in the living room just watching TV and working on your laptop, updating your schedule for the upcoming weeks and doing some editing. Harry stays upstairs with Izzy for a long time when her bedtime comes and you figure she is still a little moody, but then you eventually hear his footsteps approaching. Harry pads his way into the living room and joins you on the couch. When you glance over at him you know he is trying to find a way to start the conversation you both know you need to have, so you put your laptop aside and turn your attention towards him.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry about last night. I’m honestly so terribly ashamed you had to… see me like that,” he starts, clearly nervous to bring it all up.

“It’s fine, happens to everyone,” you assure him and it’s the genuine truth.

“It’s not a regular occurrence, really. I usually know my limits and try to stay within them. I’m really sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

“Harry, don’t worry about it,” you tell him again with a warm smile. “We can get past it. I think what we really should talk about is… what you said. Do you remember what we talked about?” you carefully ask.

“I do…” he nods, awkward diverting his eyes away from you. “I’m sorry I told you all that in that state, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to just pour it all on you so suddenly.”

“It’s alright.” “No, it’s not,” he protests shaking his head. “I dropped a bomb on you because I couldn’t deal with my own problems the right way, and it’s not okay. So please, just… accept my apology.”

“Okay, I accept it,” you nod.

“And about the whole thing with… What I told you about Maggie…”

“Just know that you don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to. I’m happy to listen whenever you are ready to, but I’m not trying to push you.”

“I know and thank you for that, but I feel like… I owe you an explanation,” he admits and you nod, happy that he is willing to talk instead of closing himself off entirely. “The day Maggie died, we got into this huge fight and she ran off to her sister. It was… a whole mess, we both said things we clearly didn’t mean and I texted her, tried to get her to come home so we could talk things out. That’s when… she was on her way home when it happened and… I still feel like it was my fault.” His voice dies down at the end, just like it did last night when he was talking about her. It clearly left a deep scar on him that’s still not entirely healed and you can’t blame him.

“Everyone keeps telling me that it wasn’t, that it was just all one big coincidence, but all I can think about is that she would still be here if we didn’t get into the fight and I didn’t piss her off so much she felt the need to leave.”

“There was no way for you to see what would happen, Harry. It’s not like you did it on purpose, you had no power over the drunk driver or where Maggie chose to drive home. It really was a coincidence.”

“I know, I mean… I understand, but somehow, my mind keeps telling me that it was my fault.”

“Have you thought about… getting professional help?” you ask, trying to be polite and cautious on the topic.

“Actually, I just called my therapist today to see if… she can fit me in for some sessions,” he admits and you’re surprised at how great he is dealing with the matter. “I feel like I might need some guidance again, before things get out of my hands.”

“That’s great! It really is good to go a bit ahead of problems.”

“Yeah. About us…” he exhales nervously, his eyes meeting yours and you can tell this is the part that’s got him the most anxious. You take this as your queue to take over the conversation.

“Harry, I’m going to be honest with you,” you start and he nods, chewing on his bottom lip. “I… I have feelings for you. You haven’t been the only one making realizations,” you add with a soft chuckle, that brings a smile to his lips as well. “I know that the situation is not quite ideal, but it’s not impossible. But I just want you to be honest with me, do you have feelings for me?”

The conflict is clearer than daylight in his eyes as he is trying to figure out what to say and you really hope he isn’t gonna try to mask his feelings.

“I do,” he then admits and it’s like a giant rock has been lifted off your chest and shoulders. “It’s just… I’m not sure how to deal with it.”

“That’s alright,” you tell him. “Let’s just… take it slow. We’re not in a rush, we obviously have a lot to figure out and that’s completely fine. The pace is completely up to you, I know that you need to get a lot of things straight in your head and I can wait, okay? I’m not going anywhere, I really like where we are now and… I just hope that we can move this forward whenever you feel comfortable with it.”

Harry stares back at you for a moment like you’re some alien creature. Like what you just said wasn’t normal or even human and that’s quite heartbreaking, because somewhere along the way he managed to convince himself that he is not worthy of the most basic decency.

“I-I can’t ask you to wait around while I figure my shit out, that’s not—“

“You’re not asking me, Harry,” you smile at him softly. “This is my decision.”

His eyes are shifting between yours and he is most likely looking for any sign of doubt or qualm, but there’s none, you genuinely meant everything you said.

“So, where does this leave us?” he then asks and you shrug your shoulders.

“Everything goes on like it used to and… whenever you are ready to take a step, just… let me know.”

You can tell he is filled with questions, but he just nods with a weak smile and leaves it at that. This will be a bumpy ride, but at least you are more or less on the same page now.

You haven’t been a big fan of birthday celebrations. You just never understood the big fuss about it, throwing a party for surviving another year? Seems a little weird. This is why you never treated this day any different.

The morning starts off as usual, only that you wake up to a few texts from friends and family, wishing you a happy birthday. Your mom has sent you a whole damn paragraph about how you made her life complete and it wouldn’t be the same without you in it. She does that every time, gets a little too sentimental about it, but you guess it’s because it reminds her of getting old herself as well, which is a sensitive topic in her book these days.

It’s a Sunday, so a day off for you. Coming downstairs you find Izzy and Harry sitting at the dining table, already having their breakfast as usual, but when she sees you, she jumps in her seat in excitement.

“Good morning, Y/N!” she beams with a wide smile, buzzing more than she usually does.

“Morning, Sunshine. Slept well?” you ask as you pour yourself some cereal and join them at the table. Izzy nods and then peeks at her father as if she is trying to hide something with him from you.

“Daddy, can we do it now?” she asks in a whisper, but it’s not quiet enough for you to not hear it.

Your eyes lock with Harry’s over the table and the butterflies in your stomach start dancing around right away when you see the tiny smirk tugging on his lips.

It’s been almost an entire week since your conversation with him and things finally seem to get in place for now. Harry had his first session with his therapist on Wednesday and though you can tell he is still trying to find his own boundaries, he doesn’t worry as much about the situation as he probably did before. He isn’t walking on eggshells around you, unsure how to act. More or less it’s the same as it was before the kiss, but there are tiny little things that still make it different. Stolen glances, lingering touches and sweet smiles are making your days more colorful now and it’s gotten you all giddy and… happy.

“What are you two plotting, huh?” you ask, pointing at them with your spoon before digging into the cereal. Izzy glances at Harry one last time and when he nods shortly, she turns to you and throws her arms in the air.

“Happy birthday, Y/N!” she cheers as Harry reaches over to the chair next to him and pulls up a box from under the table, handing it over to Izzy so she could give it to you. “This is for you!”

“You shouldn’t have gotten me anything!” you gasp, truly surprised by the gift. You were not expecting it at all.

“It’s not a birthday without gifts!” she giggles excitedly as she hands the box over. You push your cereal bowl to the side and set the gift to the table in front of you. “Open it!” she urges you, her little hands curled into fists as she watches your every move, as if it was her who just got a present.

Your eyes meet Harry’s green ones over the table once more and he is watching you with a small smile, probably enjoying that he could surprise you.

You pull on the bow on the top and then carefully take the wrapping paper off until the box is revealed underneath and you gas as soon as you realize what this is.

“Oh my God!” you breathe out in disbelief as you take a better look at the gift. Harry didn’t just get you something, he actually listened to what you were saying and remembered that you’re a big fan of oldschool cameras and you have a special love for polaroids. And now, in front of you in the box is your very own polaroid camera, something you’ve been really wanting to buy for yourself for a long time, but you just never got around to actually do it.

“Do you like it? Daddy said you’d really like it!” Izzy asks with big eyes, watching your reaction.

“Oh, I love it!” you breathe out, feeling all mushy and melted from the gesture. Izzy climbs over to your lap, hugging your neck. You wrap your arms around her in a bone crushing hug and you’re so thankful for having them both in your life.

Izzy sits on your lap as you get the camera out of the box and figure out how to work it. She then hops off your lap and poses for the first ever picture taken with your new favorite camera.

“But it’s blank!” she furrows her eyebrows when the photo comes out.

“Because you have to wait for it to develop. It’ll show up in a few minutes,” you smile, setting the photo down on the table.

Izzy sits in her seat, excitedly waiting for the photo to develop and in the meanwhile you join Harry in the kitchen where he is washing the dishes. He spots you and turns the tap off, turning to face you as he dries his hands off.

“You shouldn’t have gotten me anything,” you tell him softly, but really feel touched by the gesture.

“No, but I wanted to. Do you really like it?”

“I love it!” you chuckle in disbelief. How could he think you wouldn’t like it?!

You move forward, aiming for a hug out of instinct but then stop yourself, not wanting to cross any boundaries, but Harry notices the motion and for your surprise, he wraps you in a warm hug on his own. You melt against his hard chest, your nose buried into his shoulder as your arms circle around his waist.

When you lean back, you both keep your arms around each other, eyes meeting and you realize just how close you are to each other. Without even knowing, your gaze flickers down to his lips and you’re dying to kiss him, to feel them again, but you don’t move, wanting to keep your word about letting him set the pace.

But what you didn’t expect is Harry leaning down and capturing your lips in a sweet, innocent kiss. It’s so different from the last time, that was a hot mess, but this one… this is light as a feather but still makes your stomach somersault as you taste his lips, cupping his face in your hands.

“Daddy! I’m thirsty!” Izzy calls out from outside and it kind of ends the moment. Harry pulls back and when you look at him you see that his eyes are still closed. They flutter open a moment later, finding your gaze and you look for any kind of regret or fear in them, but they are nothing but shiny.

“Just a moment, baby!” he answers her, a small smile tugging on his lips as he leans down and pecks the corner of your mouth again before his hands fall from your waist. “Happy birthday, Y/N,” he breathes out before grabbing a bottled water and heading back to Izzy.

You bring your fingertips to your tingling lips as you take a moment to really process what just happened and you can’t push down the smile that spreads across your face. Harry finally took the first step and now you can’t wait to see what’s coming next.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

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[bopbopstyles]

Endlessly

RATING: R/smut, maximum angst levels unlocked

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

CATEGORIES: friends to lovers

a/n: this is part two to Residue, the camping!harry fic to which i owe so much. thank you for loving my little one shot, here’s what happens next! massive s/o to @havethetimeofyourstyles​ for beta reading, @bfharry​ for helping with concepts, and @meetmeinfleetwood​ for encouragement. much love xoxo

also i’m currently uploading a series called The Only Exception - i’d love for you to give it a read!

READ PART ONE HERE

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

He was gone so fast that when the door shut it was quiet, the sound defeaning in your ears. You slid down, back hitting the wood of the cabinets and the metal knobs, but you didn’t care. Your arms collapsed around your knees, tucking them into your chest, and the tears threatening to break free fell, coating your cheeks in your regret. More than anything you wished none of this had happened, that you hadn’t ever asked him who the song was about, that he had never told you it was you, they’re all about you, the words echoing in your brain. You wanted it to be like it was before, unrequited feelings that might have been confusing but never caused you to question your ability to be around Harry. They never got blurred, never reached into the category of dangerous to your heart.

And here you were, crying on your kitchen floor over the last boy you thought would ever hurt you.

or

Y/N and Harry are really good at being friends, but the something more? Not so much.

Waking up in Harry’s bed never quite got normal to you. You had slept together before the camping trip that changed everything, but not like this. Before, you never woke up naked between his sheets, his arm curled around you in a vice grip that you didn’t understand how he maintained overnight, and him, fully naked, lightly snoring on the pillow next to you. Last night he had called you at midnight on the way back from a bar with some friends you didn’t know, smashed and begging for you to come over. You made him add a stop to his Uber ride to pick you up from your apartment and the minute you’d entered the car he had his hands all over you. He had ended up with his head in your lap, your fingers running through his hair, in an attempt to get him to calm down. By the time you were at his house, he was asleep and you roused him.

You had had sex last night, albeit nothing crazy since Harry practically passed out the minute he came, sweaty chest on yours, but you let it slide. He was drunk and tired and you knew he’d make up for it in the morning. A month and a half had passed since the camping trip, and the nights when Harry called you had numbered more than the nights when he hadn’t. You called him just as much, though, so it wasn’t a one-way street. But the difference was that you knew what you were feeling.

Harry was a fucking brick wall, though.

Usually you were good at reading him—you’d known him for long enough, seen him at his most vulnerable, done just about everything together. But in the weeks since your relationship had changed, you couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Because something definitely was wrong, and you weren’t sure if it was your fault or not.

The morning after no one mentioned anything, and neither did you and Harry. Not sure what was going on, or how you wanted to handle it, you kept your distance. You didn’t touch him in any way other than as friends, no PDA, no obvious signs anything had changed. And unfortunately, it had set the tone for the weeks since then.

He had insisted that he didn’t want to tell your friends yet. At first, you were okay with it—you got to have Harry in the privacy of your homes, your moments together fully yours without any peering eyes. But then you’d go out together and you desperately wanted to dance with him, like really dance with him, and you couldn’t. You couldn’t give him a kiss outside a bar or cuddle in the taxi with your friends. And more than anything, it severely limited who you could talk to about what was going on, which meant you had all of these thoughts and fears swirling in your head and no one to talk to about.

And it wasn’t like you were unhappy. Harry was one of your best friends and the sex was fucking insane; you had never had someone touch you like he did. But you also knew that you weren’t your happiest. You wanted more and you didn’t know how to ask for it without ruining the shreds you did have with him. You didn’t know if you could go back to what it was before, the friendship and none of the intimacy you now shared. The thought of him being with someone else made you want to vomit, the idea of someone else’s hands on his skin made your blood boil.

But he was a brick wall and you didn’t know what he wanted. So you stayed in the dark, knowing that at some point things would probably end but you tried not to think about that time.

“Y/N?” You turned your head from where you had been staring at the ceiling, your thoughts moving a mile a minute. “Fuck, my head. I think I drank too much last night.”

“No shit Sherlock.” You sat up when he pulled his arm from your side, his hands running down his face to try and wake himself up.

“Wait--come back, missy.” He pressed a line of kisses up your spine, his favorite thing to do to get you back into bed with him for some shenanigans.

You looked at him. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

He furrowed his brow at you. “Called ya. Picked you up. We came back here, had sex.”

You rolled your eyes at him. Of course he didn’t. “You fell asleep on me literally the second after you came.”

“What?”

“I’m serious.” You pull away, pushing off the mattress. After that you just wanted to start the day, you didn’t have the energy for this.

He grabs your hand though, forcing you to turn and look at him. “I’m sorry I was too drunk to make you come, baby. Can we have a re-do?”

It would be so easy to say yes to him--he was damn hard to refuse when he gave you his puppy eyes. But you really didn’t want to give into him that easy. He should be forced to wait after last night. “Not really in the mood,” you tell him, holding fast. “And you smell like beer.”

“Y/N….” He said, drawing out your name, but you just shook your head.

“I’ll start some coffee, you go shower.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, nodding at you. “Kissy?”

It was moments like these that him not being all the way yours hurt the most. When he acted like he was yours, that you were his. Because you were his, much to your disappointment. You pecked a kiss to his lips, giggling against your will when he tugged you back for another. “Harry…”

“Fine!” Finally he released your neck from his hand and you got out of bed, pulling on a shirt of his from his drawers. He grabbed at your ass, barely visible under the edge of his shirt, and you swatted at him. He was so fucking cheeky in the morning.

In the kitchen, you started a pot of coffee, playing BBC1 on your phone as you watched the coffee drop into the pot. You could hear Harry’s shower upstairs, the subtle humming of a Top 40s song he’d been obsessed with lately. It was moments like this where the line between what you were doing (what were you even doing?) and dating blurred, and you didn’t really know how to clarify it.

You leaned against the counter, your cup in your hands, and stared at the countertop across from you. Last week he had fucked you on it, both tipsy after a night out, your clothes littered on the ground. You had always had memories in his house, but now they were a different sort. Somehow, in the past month and a half, the memories of his house were associated with places you’d had sex, places you had cuddled and kissed, places your clothes had laid. And the prospect of coming into his house and still having to see them but not being able to act on your feelings was one you didn’t like considering.

“Where’s mine?” You looked up and Harry stood in the doorway, shirtless except for his sweats. You nodded to the cup next to you and he smiled. His arms boxed around your body as he reached for it, leaning against the counter with his hip to look at you. “You okay?”

No. “Yeah, fine. I should go—got some errands to run today.”

“Oh. Uh, okay. Want a ride?”

You shook your head. Any more time with Harry would have you further in your head than you really wanted. “I’ll Uber. We’re going to that party at Nick’s tonight, right?”

He blew on his coffee, always scared of it singing his tongue. “Yeah. I can come grab you if you want.”

“No, I’ll take the tube. Thanks though.”

You knew he could tell something was wrong, but he didn’t push it thankfully. He just nodded and let you gather your belongings, waiting for you in the hall to let you out. He kissed your cheek and you reciprocated, stepping out into the warm summer air without a second glance.

//

The party was in full swing when you arrived, eyes panning immediately for Harry. Most of the other people coming were Nick’s coworkers, people you had met but didn’t exactly know, but Harry was your safety blanket. He was also always painfully on time, hating the idea of someone waiting for him and didn’t mind being the first to arrive. Knowing him, he was probably 15 minutes early.

You found him in the kitchen making a gin and tonic, speaking to who you thought was another DJ at Radio 1, Nick nowhere to be found but you weren’t surprised. He looked good, as usual, a white button up tucked into flared black pants, a pair of sunnies pushed up on his head and his rings glinting in the kitchen light. You painted his fingernails a few days ago a rosy pink and the color was still on, albeit a bit chipped from playing guitar and cooking, knowing him.

His eyes lit up at the sight of you, the reaction turning your gut. You were still feeling weird after this morning, a sense of uneasiness lingering despite all you had tried (a bath, a cry with your friend Jordan, a bowl of pasta). “Y/N!” You made your way over, accepting the arm he offered around your shoulders, and the drink he shoved into your hand. The gin and tonic he had just made—your favorite, something he knew well. “Y/N, this is Miles. Works with Nick. This is Nick and I’s friend Y/N.”

The word friend jolted you for a second, although it wasn’t anything new. He’d been introducing you like this for years, and had continued in the past month. There wasn’t ever a discussion about it—the consistency in what he called you. It just…never changed, and you didn’t bring it up. “Nice to meet you.”

You sat in the conversation for a bit longer, engaging where required to seem like an attentive member of the chat, but in reality your mind was focused on where Harry was brushing his fingers up and down your back, his hand having drifted from your shoulder. He did this sometimes—touched you when he knew no one could see, the two of your backs facing a wall. Usually it had your skin on fire, but tonight you didn’t want him touching you after calling you his friend. “Have you seen Nick?” You asked him, pulling away just enough so his hand dropped away.

“Uh, yeah, out in the back.” His gaze drifted over your face, trying to understand the change in pace, but you didn’t give him the time to analyze it.

You said goodbye to Miles and walk towards the back, pulling open the sliding door leading to the back patio. Nick was holding court, as usual, to a circle of people who were all laughing hysterically. Yet again, as usual. It was exactly what you wanted—something to entertain your mind, maybe even pick up your night. You had been thinking over last night constantly and you couldn’t put your finger on what it was that pissed you off so much, but it had and you couldn’t shake it. Slipping in between Annie Mac and another one of Nick’s friends who you didn’t know, Nick’s eyes caught yours and smiled, not pausing in his story he was telling about interviewing some celebrity.

Annie turned to you and asked about work, which you happily answered, enjoying having something to chat about. Eventually, Nick finished his story and the group dispersed, him making his way over to you and Annie.

“Did you find Haz?” He asked, giving you a peck on the temple like he always did. “He was lookin’ for you earlier.”

You nodded, lifting your glass. “Present from the bartender. He was talking to your coworker—Miles?”

“I’m going to go say hi,” Annie said, squeezing your elbow. “Talk later?”

“Love to,” you replied before she walked away, leaving you and Nick alone.

Nick gave you a hard look, one you knew well—it meant he was about to give you some truth, free of cost. “What’s wrong, Y/N? Look pissed off at someone.”

And he was correct, unsurprisingly. “I’m fine. Thanks though.” It’s not like you could tell Nick—he was specifically one of the people Harry and you hadn’t told.

“Bullshit. What’d Harry do?”

You twirled the cup in your palm. He always saw through your shit, every single time. “How’d you know it was Harry?”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “The first thing he asked when he got here was where you were and then watched the door like a hawk. Could tell somethin’ was up.”

“He was a dick,” you said, hoping that would cover the bases. It was the general idea, without specifics.

“Not surprised. What happened, love?”

Well you couldn’t exactly tell him that the two of you had sex and then Harry fell asleep before you came, forgot about it in the morning, and made you feel like shit without even realizing it, could you? “It’s nothing. Just need some time to stew in it.”

Nick eyed you, probably deciding whether to push or not. “Well, I’m always here to talk, you know that. Love you both to pieces but sometimes the two of you can be so thick.”

This time it was you who was confused. “What?”

“Fuck,” he mumbled, eyes falling to the ground. “I—nothing. Forget I said anything.”

Usually Nick was one for some gossip, but it seemed this wasn’t something he wanted to dig into, even though you were intrigued by his meaning. Had Harry said something to him? Or did he actually know what was going on, but chose not to say anything. “Ok. Well I’m going to go get another—want a refill?”

“Love one,” he told you, hand to your back. “Lead the way, mi’lady.”

//

You stood in the hall, pressing Confirm on your Uber ride, when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You knew who it was before you even turned around, Harry’s cologne permanently imprinted on your brain. The entire night you had tried to avoid him, not wanting to have to hear him introduce you as his friend all over again, but it seemed he had found you anyways.

“Heading out?”

You nodded and eyes fell to his lip, which he had bit slightly. “You too?”

“Was about to call a car. Want to share?”

Your was heading to your apartment, where you had a bottle of wine and a warm bath waiting for you. “I’m heading home.”

He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly. “I—could I come over?”

The correct answer would’ve been no. Keep the distance you’d established, let your thoughts collect and calm before you put yourself in a situation you knew wouldn’t be good. But unfortunately, you had never been good at saying no to him. “Okay,” you told him, and changed the number of seats in the car from one to two.

He fiddled with his phone as you waited, trying to talk to you but your brain was working a mile a minute, trying to figure out what you wanted to do tonight. Did you want to do anything? You supposed you could just let him sleep on the couch. But would he be offended? Was this the path to the end of your friendship? The icy distance between you was so cold you tensed when he placed his hand to your back when the car pulled up, something you knew probably bothered him. You couldn’t help your body’s reaction, though.

At least you didn’t have to keep him busy in the car ride. The Uber driver recognized Harry immediately and asked him a slew of questions, all sweet ones, and asked for an autograph for his daughter who was eight and a huge fan. You just watched in silence, the interaction one you had seen time and time again, but this time it made you annoyed—you wanted to stay mad at Harry, but he made it so hard when he did shit like this.

The lock slid shut on your door and you toed off your sandals, your bag lying on the hall table and keys in the dish, letting Harry follow behind you to the kitchen. A neutral space, one without obvious seats that would require close proximity.

“Water?” You asked him pulling down a glass for yourself before grabbing the bottle of filtered water from your fridge.

“Yeah, thanks.” He rested against the counter opposite you, shirt unbuttoned one more button than it had been at the party. You didn’t know when he had done that, but the sight of chest, the tips of the swallows, made you turn away and pay attention to the task at hand.

Suddenly, his body was behind yours, breathing in your ear, inches away from you. It was consuming, the feeling of him close to you. Usually, you would twirl around and smash your lips together, probably happily let him have his way with you on the floor of your kitchen. This time, though, it made you falter, water jug hitting the countertop.

It was silent in your flat besides the faint sound of honks and sirens from the streets below, so Harry’s breath in your ear was all you heard. That and the sound of your own heartbeat, clattering in your chest. “Y/N.” Your name on his lips was a question, an obvious beg. “Talk to me, please.”

“Nothin’s wrong,” you said. You didn’t want to have this conversation, because you feared it would mean the end. The end of everything between you, and you didn’t want that.

“Bullshit. You’ve barely looked at me since this morning, ignored me at Nick’s, and I can see the wheels turning in your head. I did something, but I don’t know what, and I need you to talk to me.”

He needed you to talk to him? That set you off, the anger boiling inside of your chest, body whirling around to face him. “You want to know what’s up? Fine. You begged me to come over last night—begged—and then when I did, you fucked me and fell asleep, not a second thought as to me and what I needed. This morning you had no memory of it, acted like it was normal and completely fine. But me? Harry, I felt fucking used last night.” The word slapped him in the face, body flinching at its intention. But the minute it was out, it felt right. That’s how you felt.

“Fuck, Y/N, I didn’t know—“

You held up your hand, cutting him off. “But that’s not even it. And I know this might spell the end of us, but I cannot take the song and dance anymore, Harry. You introduced me tonight as your friend, meanwhile I’ve been in your bed nearly every night for the past month and a half.” He was staring at you, his words like whiplash, but you didn’t slow. You needed to get it out before you lost your nerve. “And I’m fucking done. If that’s all this is going to be—me warming your bed and making you coffee in the morning and pretending like nothing’s happening when we’re around our best friends, I’m done.”

Harry was quiet, eyes flickering between yours as your chest rose and fell, adrenaline pouring through your veins at your confession. When he finally broke the silence, his words were a broken record in your ears. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that, I thought we were fine—“

“Get out.” The words punched him in the gut and you didn’t care. It was past apologies and he knew it. You knew it and you weren’t going to stand for it anymore. “Get out, Harry. Get out of my apartment.” He didn’t move though, and the anger was coiling in your belly, the tears searing behind your eyes. “Get out!” You screamed at him, finally forcing him into action.

He was scrambling to grab his things, one last look at you before he was out of your place, the door slamming shut behind him.

He was gone so fast that when the door shut it was quiet, the sound defeaning in your ears. You slid down, back hitting the wood of the cabinets and the metal knobs, but you didn’t care. Your arms collapsed around your knees, tucking them into your chest, and the tears threatening to break free fell, coating your cheeks in your regret. More than anything you wished none of this had happened, that you hadn’t ever asked him who the song was about, that he had never told you it was you, they’re all about you, the words echoing in your brain. You wanted it to be like it was before, unrequited feelings that might have been confusing but never caused you to question your ability to be around Harry. They never got blurred, never reached into the category of dangerous to your heart.

And here you were, crying on your kitchen floor over the last boy you thought would ever hurt you.

//

Harry knew he was an idiot, but that wasn’t news. In most of his relationships he had been an idiot in some way or an another, but this? This was the worst it had ever been. It had taken every ounce of his soul for him to tell you the truth of how he felt, and not he had dug himself into a hole of avoidance with the girl he loved.

It was true.

He loved you.

He had told you before, but not since that first time. The words had been caught in his throat and he hated that. Because his feelings hadn’t changed, only grown. It drove him crazy that it had taken you yelling at him to get out of your apartment, him hurting you (and himself) tor realize it, but at least he finally had.

It had settled for him when Camille texted him a few days after your fight. He was pissed off and sad, alternating between running miles on his treadmill, trying to outrun his own thoughts, and lying in bed watching Love Island re-runs because you loved watching it and it made him think of you. It was unhealthy and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop. And then Camille texted him that she was in town and thought of him, and the part of him that still wondered if they would ever get back together overpowered the part of him that was smart, and he replied.

They ended up talking that night over a glass of wine in a tiny bar they used to frequent when they were together and in London, and when he looked at her, he didn’t feel anything. The only thing he could think about was you, about how you had held him when he cried and helped him piece himself back together, and here he was in front of Camille and felt nothing. You would probably be proud of him in a way, but at the same time, the reason he wasn’t feeling anything for Camille was because his emotions were yours. His heart belonged to you. And he told Camille because he had to tell someone, and she listened, surprisingly. Told he was an asshole, which was something he frequently had told himself over the past few days, and to get over himself and talk to you.

And he had every intention to. He kept picking up the phone to call you, opening your contact and hovering over the message button, but then he realized he didn’t know what to say. Not because he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what not to say. He had so many things he wanted to say there was no way to write you a text or call you and most likely leave a voicemail. He had enough to fill an entire notebook with, write an album of songs, a symphony even, of his feelings and thoughts about you.

Because he was in love with you. Hopelessly, endlessly, in love with you.

He felt it in the very depths of his soul and he never wanted to forget it. He didn’t want to get over you. He didn’t want to have to stop talking to you, to scrub the memories of you from his home, which were everywhere he looked. To wash his clothes that you wore so many times that the scent of you finally left them, to return your belongings that had ended up in his closets and counters. To put the photos of the two of you in a box and hide them, to stop buying your favorite wine at Tesco, to avoid your favorite bars and restaurants so he didn’t have to see you. To wonder if you’d be at a party and if he should go, because he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

He didn’t want to do any of that. He wanted to love you, to bask in the feeling that came over him when he saw you, to linger there and let himself burn in the sunlight that was you. Anne told him he was a hopeless romantic, but for you, he had all the hope in the world because he could see you being together forever. And to lose you…the thought was too much for him to bear.

All of that brought him to your door, the rain coming down in sheets around him, his shirt and pants soaked through, shoes squeaking on the stairs as he climbed to your apartment. He knew the building code by heart, not even having to ring your apartment to get inside, which he was happy for. He wanted one less place for you to refuse him entry. He pushed his hair back, the droplets flickering over his skin, and wondered what he looked like right now. Probably a bit on the crazy side.

But that was okay with him, because he was. Crazy for you.

He stopped in front of your door, 2A and the knocker staring back at him, mocking him, wondering if he’d have the guts to do it. Your face popped into his brain, and he wondered what you were going to say. He had a speech prepared—one he had figured out as he drove here, mulling over the words and their meaning, over analyzing it all to make sure he said exactly what he wanted because if he got in the door he couldn’t risk fucking it up again. Before he could stop himself, he rapped the knocker on your door, stepping back and taking a deep breath.

The wait was the worst part. The wondering if you would open the door at all. He knew you were home—saw your lights on from the street and your bike locked up outside. He played with the hem of his tour tank top, trying to squeeze out the water in the material.

And then all of a sudden he heard the hinges of the door squeak and you were standing there in shorts and an oversized shirt, glasses on your nose and hair up in a ponytail. It made his heart ache to see you after so many days apart, especially days spent thinking of nothing but you.

“You’re wet,” you said bluntly, taking in his appearance.

“Raining out,” he replied, eyes fluttering over your face, trying to take in your demeanor. You seemed on edge, which was understandable, but not angry. Exhausted, maybe, judging from the look in your eyes. “Can I come in? I—I need to tell you something.”

He didn’t you wanted to talk, so he just said tell you something. Because if that’s all it was, that’s all it was, but at least then he’d have been open and honest with you. Laid it all out there, bare and vulnerable. “Yeah,” you said after a beat, opening the door wide enough for him to slip through before shutting it behind him, sliding the chain in the lock.

Standing in your apartment was surreal to him, the rugs and warm lights and books scattered on every surface possible, a big piece of art he’d given you for your birthday last year over the sofa, the faint smell of cinnamon. You stress baked, just like him. He wondered it you did cinnamon rolls, one of your favorite things. His eyes flickered back to you, leaning against the back of your couch and staring at him, waiting for him to speak. He took one step forward so he was farther into your place, and then opened his mouth, the speech he had prepared flowing easily from his throat.

“I love you,” he started, the catch in your breath making his heart skip a beat. “I know I told you on the trip, but I haven’t said it since, and I think for the same reason as why I didn’t call you my girlfriend. I think my brain had built up for so long what it would be like to be with you that when it actually happened I didn’t know what to do. How to be your boyfriend, how to date you, how to be with you like I’d always thought. So I just reverted to what I knew, but with the added sex.

“And that wasn’t fair to either of us. It eroded all the things I love about our relationship—how we talk about everything, how honest we are. Made me feel like we were pretending in front of each other, but I didn’t know how to stop it after it had been happening for so long, you know? And the prospect of fucking it all up and losing you was worse than letting the in-between thing just stretch out. So I just didn’t say anything, even though it was eating away at me.

“I thought you were fine with it, actually. You never said anything, so I thought we were fine, generally speaking. But I know now that was bullshit not only because you told me, but because how could you have been fine with it? I had told you I loved you, confessed all these feelings, and then told you I wanted to keep it all a secret because I couldn’t get my own brain in order. I think that I thought if we told people it would be real, and it being real frightened me to bits.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the droplets coating his rings. “I know that all probably makes no sense to you, but what I’m trying to say, Y/N, is that I love you. I haven’t stopped loving you.” He laughed nervously, his heart seizing. “I don’t know how to not love you. And I don’t want to stop—I can’t lose you, not again. I need you, even though I know I’ve been shit to you these past weeks. So I’m here and I’m begging you to forgive me, to let us try this out properly. To be my girlfriend, tell all of our friends and family, do it for real this time.”

The silence stretched between them for a second, then two. His eyes stayed on yours, gaze locked as you processed his words. And just when he was about to open his mouth again, to tell you he would leave, you were crossing the distance between them and your lips were on his, an answer to his question.

Kissing you was like returning to an old friend. It felt right in every part of his body, the way you leaned into him, the way you curled your fingers through his hair and touched him, hands on his chest. His lips chased yours, desperate for anything you would give him, a stray dog begging for scraps. His hands wrapped around your waist, holding you close, sighing at the feeling of your warm skin on his.

Your lips parted and returned, lovers in a well-rehearsed dance. A song they knew all the words to.

Your hands pulled his wet t-shirt over his head and he tugged at your now damp one, kisses to the rise of your breasts that made you arch into him and gasp. Your sounds were music to his ears, a chorus he had been dying to hear again. You stumbled over one another’s feet as he moved you to your bedroom, desperate to see all of you. He knew you felt the same from how you pulled at his hands, tugging him into your room and flipping on the light by your bedside, the soft glow allowing him to see shadows of your bodies on the walls.

“Y/N,” he breathed against your neck, “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you replied, tugging hips to yours and rolling against them sinfully. “Need you.”

That had him moving faster than he thought possible. He shucked off his pants, then yours, leaving you in a pair of blue cotton underwear that he ripped without a second thought. You yelped but he didn’t care, he’d buy you another he whispered to you, a promise he had no intention of breaking. He’d buy you the world, no matter the price.

Your hands pressed against his chest, forcing him onto the bed, body bouncing. Quickly he clamored back, gaining more space for the two of you and you followed, a lion on the hunt. You knees pressed to either side of his hips and rolled softly, a groan flying from both of your mouths before they met again.

He pulled at the clasp of your bra, needing to see you bare for him and it was a sight he had missed desperately. Leaning up, hands holding your chest in place, he rolled your nipple into his mouth, a cry falling from your lips that spelled his name. “Fuck,” he murmured into your skin as you rocked over him, bare clit on his dick. “Can feel how wet you are, baby.”

“All for you,” you said, your words a whimper that had him groaning and suckling on your nipple immediately. He loved every moment with you, but these ones were near the top. When he had the raw, unfiltered you, witnessing your body respond to every thing he offered you, taking and taking and taking. And he didn’t mind. You had given him the opportunity to love you and that was enough for him.

His hand found its way down your body, a torturing path that had your squirming in his arms, before his fingers brushed your clit. You arched into him, breasts flushed with his chest, head lolling into the crook of his neck. He played you like an instrument he knew by heart, knowing exactly what you needed. A slow circle, then fast swipes clockwise, a pinch to your clit. A teasing brush to your slit, his name on your lips before he pulled you into him again. He got distracted with your lips, but you didn’t seem to mind. You found your own pleasure, rolling your hips over him repeatedly, the wetness of you driving him insane.

The feeling of you over him, completely bare, was enough for him to come right there and then.

“Love,” he said, throat gravelly as he spoke. “I—I’m going to come if you keep that up and I want you to come before I fuck you.”

But you shook your head, lips pressing into his jaw, where a brush of stubble had grown over the past few days. He knew you liked it, how it felt against your skin, something to remember him by. “I just want you,” you told him, eyes meeting his. “Want to come with you.”

His head dropped back because those words brought him to the brink. “You’re a dream,” he whispered, pulling you down with him before rolling you over. “This okay—like this?”

You nodded, pushing his wet hair back so he could see you better. “I like it like this. Know it’s simple, but I can see you.”

He knew exactly what you meant. “Me too.” Without meaning to, he shifted his hips and his tip brushed against your clit, a wanton moan exploding from your chest into your bedroom. “Ready, baby? Ready for me to show me how much I love you?”

Your arms locked around his neck and you nodded, capturing his lips in yours again. “Show me everything,” you whimpered when he brushed against you again, teasing both of you. “Everything, Harry.”

His name on your lips did it. Reaching a hand down, he found his dick and he moved so he could brush your slit, your head tipping back. “Look at me,” he said, and you looked back at him, chest rising and falling. And with that, he pushed in slowly, letting your walls capture every inch of him.

Watching you when he pushed into you was one of his favorite things. Could take photos of your face like that for hours, put them in an art gallery because it was art in its finest form. “Oh my god,” you panted, hands scrambling at his back, his shoulder blades, searching for purchase. When you found it, your fingernails dug into his skin and he hissed, loving that he would have marks of you on him tomorrow.

With that, he pulled out and then back in, watching you as your jaw dropped open. “Feel me, baby? Am I deep for you?” The words tumbled from him without a thought. Somehow having sex with you just made his brain melt away—he wasn’t like this with other people, but with you, he wanted to tell you everything. Wanted you to know every thought on his brain.

He rested his head on your chest, your hands drifting from his back to his scalp, tugging on the hair and a moan ripping through his body. His hands rested next to your shoulders, helping him find strength to push in and out of you at a rhythm that was both not enough and everything all at once. “Need more,” you moaned. “Please, H.”

Your wish was his command. He drew back before slamming into you, hips meeting yours with a smack that had your legs coming up around his waist for better access. Hands met skin as you held on, your body moving up and down on the duvet  as he pushed into you. His lips missed your skin, so he rectified it with a nip at your collarbone, sucking into your skin harshly, leaving a mark for tomorrow that he would top up in the morning. It would be like a tattoo on your skin, reminding the world that you were his. Finally.

“So deep.” Your words made him see stars. He was close already, he was close before even entered you, but the feeling of being so deep inside of you was making him teeter dangerously on the edge.

You yelped when he pressed deeper, brushing against the spot he knew you loved. “Never gonna make you made ever again,” he said, words a jumbled mess in his brain. He could feel the sweat between your bodies and he loved how your skin stuck to each other, not wanting to part. “Promise, Y/N. You don’t deserve that.”

“Then keep fucking me and make me cum, maybe I won’t be mad anymore,” you said and your words made him slam into you.

“Yeah? Want me to make you come?” He wanted to you see you finish.  He knew you were taunting him but he didn’t care, it made him work harder for your orgasm, it a prize he desperately needed tonight. “Gonna make you come baby, promise. Need it. Need to feel you squeeze around me, fuck you’re so good, need to feel you come for me. That’s all I want, love. All I want is you.”

You pulled his head, lips meeting and he rocked into you, teeth gnashing as he brought you closer to your release. He caught your moans in his mouth and sent them right back, a tinge of his own mixed in. Lips fought for dominance as he cradled your head in his arms, holding you tight to his body. He wanted to have you close when you came, wanted to feel you shake against him.

When you did, it was tidal wave that he felt before he heard it. He felt you clamp down around him, your spine arch. Then, he heard the shrieks from your mouth, the ones made up of purely his name, Harry a chant on your lips. It had him coming to his own release immediately, the feeling and sight of you finishing around him, eyes wide and staring into his, knowing he loved watching you. He slammed into you, hips stuttering as he shot into you, ropes of come painting your walls that had goosebumps covering his skin as he shivered.

It took him a few beats to regain his breath and when he did, you were running your fingers down his spine. He loved it when you did it, the feeling of you impossibly close in more ways than one.

“I love you,” you said, voice hoarse in his ears before pressing a kiss to his nose. “Endlessly.” You pulled him flush on your skin, forcing him to let go and let you shoulder his weight which he knew you didn’t mind. Quite liked it actually.

His fingers wove through the strands of your hair scattered on the bed that had broken from of your ponytail. “I love you too.”

“We’re going to do this, huh?” You asked him and he chuckled.

“Yeah,” he told you and you giggled in his ear. Giggled. He loved that sound, the childish glee in your voice. “Want to show you off, show everyone you’re mine.”

He went to pull out of you, but you held him fast. “Can you just, stay here for a second?”

His gaze shifted to your eyes and he nodded. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.” He rolled slowly, taking you with him and keeping himself sheathed inside of you. It felt impossibly close, like he was inside of your skin, and it was everything he needed. After being apart from you for days, and even before that not having you like this—your heart, mind, soul—it was a euphoric feeling.

“I’ve got cinnamon rolls for the morning,” you said out of nowhere.

He brushed a kiss to your shoulder and felt you smile against his skin. “One of the many reasons that I love you.” You nuzzled into his neck and he sighed.

He was home.

talk to me about Residue here | masterlist here

[cicinicole-14]

maybe then

hey hi hello, have a new jolex fic! 

dedicated to @thejolexgroupchat! it was nice knowing y’all!

tw: brief mentions suicide

Meredith remembers the days very clearly. 

The dreary day someone was knocking so frantically on her door close to midnight already, and she hurried down the stairs in hopes to answer the door, yell at her visitor, and pray her children wouldn’t wake up. 

She just wasn’t expecting to see Jo on the other side of the door, brown paper bag clutched in her hand so tightly and rain making her hair stick to her face. 

“Let me in, it’s freezing!” She remembers the demand and the slight panic in her voice. 

“Jo! It’s midnight, what are you doing?” 

Jo doesn’t give her an answer, just shoves the soggy paper bag towards the blonde and she takes it, peaking inside and examining the contents before looking back up at her. 

“Okay, so, here.” She says, shoving the bag back towards Jo. 

The brunette takes it but stands there, frozen, unmoving, entranced, staring down at the bag in her hands. 

“Go take the tests.” Meredith pushes, giving her a nudge towards the bathroom. 

She remembers the agonizing moments she spent waiting with Jo before the ever so small smile creeps across the younger woman’s face as all five tests show the same identical answers. 

Meredith remembers she doesn’t need to ask if Jo was happy about this or not, or if she needed told hold her hand for an appointment and drive her home later that day because this…this made Jo so unbelievably happy she could see it from a mile away. 

She remembers the warm hug Jo gives her because the woman had just been shivering cold from the rain just moments ago and she thought it was contradictory. She remembers the joyous and happy tears falling from big brown eyes amidst a bit of sorrow and pain, grieving the loss of their best friend for not getting to experience this, yet the wave of mutual understanding in them both when she’d asked her to not tell Alex. 

She remembers how Jo thanked her for giving her the benefit of the doubt, even with such loyalty to Alex, but by now, she thinks Jo had earned it. After all, she remembers her own pain and betrayal she felt from the man. Jo deserved someone on her side, in her corner for once. 

She remembers the days and weeks and months of prepping the loft with Jo. Helping her go through old bins and boxes of leftover baby things Amelia and Link hadn’t wanted, helping bring them over to the loft. 

She remembers the happiness on Jo’s face, the complete awe in her eyes as they picked out countless outfits for the new little boy who’d soon be making his presence in the upcoming months. 

The long days she spent in the OR with Jo, chatting and discussing names for the little boy, sharing Zola, Bailey and Ellis’s suggestions for their newest cousin to be. The few moments she got to spend next to Jo’s side as they watched Carina perform ultrasounds as the little boy grew. 

Meredith remembers all the good and happiness happening for Jo, surprisingly. 

She just doesn’t remember where it all went so wrong. 

                          —————————

Everything had been a blur since he’d gotten the phone call. Everything felt numb. He barely registered the voice on the other end of the line, the entire three and a half hour flight, the cab ride from the airport to the once familiar hospital. 

The only thing constant was the shaking of his hands, the racing in his heart, the sheer panic written all over his face at the prospect of something being wrong, so utterly and completely wrong. 

The call came, interrupting his surgery. 

Meredith. 

He ignored it at first. But then she called again,

and again, 

and again. 

And his blood ran cold. 

She hadn’t called in so long. It had been months since he’d sent the letters. Months of utter silence, cut off from everything, everyone. So initially, he was already on edge before he’d even instructed one of the scrubs nurses to hold the phone to his ear. 

In the many years he’d been a surgeon, never had he passed over the rest of the procedure onto a resident and left his OR. Not once, until that phone call. 

Not once until he heard Meredith’s voice on the other line. In a tone that made his body run rigid cold and sent shivers down his spine. 

In a tone he prays he never has to hear again. 

“It’s Jo.” Is all she says, all she has to say to flip his whole world upside-down. Nothing else mattered in that moment. No one else. 

He leaves the hospital after that, in the middle of his shift, not really caring about the people yelling for him as he’s ripping his scrub gown off and throwing it aside. He yanks his scrub cap off and pockets it before he's running. 

He’s running down the halls of his hospital as his chest pounds. He makes sure to grab his keys from his office before he’s out the front doors of the hospital and heading for his car. 

It takes him a little under an agonizing hour before he’s pulling up to the airport, slamming his car in park and tearing out of his car, frantically running towards the front of the airport. 

He’s yelling. He knows he’s yelling but he can’t even hear himself, because everything feels so numb. 

Something was wrong. 

Something was wrong, and he wasn't there.

He just needed to be there.  

He needed to get there soon. 

The flight to Seattle had him completely dazed. 

They’d called his boarding number and it was all he could do to sit in silence for three and a half hours. Three and a half hours of hell. 

The stewardess came and went and he ignored her. The lady in the row across from him had attempted to hit on him and the dude next to him was trying to chat with him, but Alex ignored them all. He didn’t want to talk. He couldn’t. He needed to focus. 

He needed to focus, to get to Seattle, and to find out what happened that Meredith wouldn’t tell him. 

                          —————————

The hospital feels horrifying. 

He’d walked these halls for years. 

He’d been shot in these halls. 

He’d been married in these halls. 

He’d fallen in love with the love of his life in these halls. 

It had never felt this terrifying, ever. 

Not until now. 

It makes his skin crawl, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, chills shiver down his spine, his blood run cold. 

Something had happened. 

Something had happened and he didn't know, but he needed to. 

Meredith finally pulls him out of his reverie 

He’s just not sure if he’s relieved to see her.

                          —————————

She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to start. 

They teach you a lot of things in med school. She learned a lot there. She learned a lot as an intern, and then a resident and hell even as an attending, chief of her department, she was still learning. She’d taught interns something similar to this, even.  

She just never learned how to do this. 

No one teaches how to tell a loved one about their loved one.

She never learned this, nor would she want to. 

Taking a deep breath, she leads Alex into a private room, encouraging him to sit down. 

That was the first step; location. 

“Mer, what’s going on? Will you just tell me? I need to know what happened. No beating around the bush or half-truths, I wanna know–need to know.” 

“She had a baby, your baby.” She clarifies, because language–step two–was important. It makes her smile a bit. She’d been there right beside Jo. She got to hold him right after he was born, too. He was beautiful. “A little boy–“ she doesn’t get to finish before Alex is on his feet and interrupting her. 

“Oh God, Meredith. God, you scared the crap out of me! I thought someone had died. This is a good thing. I mean it’s awful because I haven’t been here. I guess Jo told you you couldn’t tell me or whatever because why wouldn’t she tell me I have another kid?” He rambles on, pacing around and completely ignoring Meredith’s expression. "We have a son? Where is he? I need to see him. Where’s Jo? Is she okay?”  His voice becomes frantic the longer she stays silent, the longer she remains still, sitting in the chair that was beside his. 

“She had him two weeks ago.” She swallows the lump in her throat as her voice grows shaky. “Alex, I’m sorry, he didn’t make it–“ 

“Why didn’t you call? Why wasn’t I called? Who was her OB? Did Robbins get notified? Could she have helped? Tell me what happened!” 

He’s yelling now. And she should be used to it, patients’ families yelling, screaming, shouting, crying as they begin to process and grieve.

But it only scares her, watching the man she called her best friend, her person, begin to grieve over a child he never knew he had, a child he never got to love, a child he should’ve been there for, to see, to hold. 

“There was nothing anyone could do. Jo had developed placental abruption and it wasn’t caught. It was missed and went untreated. You of all people know how it can just start. She had some spotting in her second trimester and then it had stopped. Carina said that there was nothing to worry about, and Jo even called Robbins to confirm. She was okay.” Meredith tells. “And then she wasn’t. She was thirty-one weeks when an intern accidentally shoved a gurney a little harder than necessary, and it bumped into her. It wasn’t much, she didn’t even stumble, but apparently the force of it caused her placenta to detach. She started uncontrollably bleeding. There–there was so much blood.” 

She watches the tears fall from Alex’s face as he buries his head in his hands, his whole body shaking. 

“Carina took her up and was on the phone with Arizona the entire time. Robbins was still six hours out so she was talking Carina through the surgery, except it was already too late. The baby wasn't breathing when he was born. He’d been deprived of oxygen for too long at that point and everything was too late. So they were able to close Jo up and she got to see him, I got to see him too. He was beautiful Alex. All Karev, that one. His head’s big like yours. He had her nose, though.” She smiles through her own tears at that point. Sharing every detail she remembered of the little boy. “She held him. He was cold, and pale, and blue, but he was still so beautiful.” 

“No. No this isn’t happening. You’re lying, Mer, why would you do this to me? Why would you say crap like this?” 

She doesn’t reply. She doesn’t know what else to say. Sorry doesn’t help. Sorry doesn’t fix this, fix the fact that their baby, a baby he never knew existed, would never get to grow up, and to have to explain that it just happened sometimes. That there really wasn’t a full explanation as to how it even happened, it just did. She knows that doesn’t give him much closure and it never will. 

“So Jo’s okay? Where is she, the loft? Your house? I need to see her. You–you know how fragile she must be right now. Someone needs to be with her.” He’s up on his feet again, pacing around and she’s afraid his walking in circles is going to make her sick. 

“Jo went home after her c-section. Link and I did our best to empty the loft of all the baby things. His nursery in the corner of the loft,  where your heavy bag used to be, had been almost completely finished. She’d put his clothes in the dresser and set up a baby bath in the bathroom. There was a crib and a changing table and a bouncer, the stroller, the carseat, the toys, even a rocking chair. Your mom had even sent some hand-knitted blankets, hats, booties, Alex, they were adorable. I’d never seen Jo so happy and excited. She was ready. She was sad you weren’t there with her, but she was so happy and ready for that little boy.” 

Hesitating for a moment, Meredith shoves her hands in her scrub pockets and then pulls them out as her hand falls on something. She glances at the piece of paper in her hands and then hands it to Alex.

He stares, with tears in his eyes, at the grainy ultrasound photo, one of the last ones taken before Jo’s emergency c-section. 

“I’ve never seen someone so ready for a baby, but Jo was. She had this ultrasound picture hanging on the fridge. I forgot I’d shoved it into my pocket.” She says the last part quieter, but Alex still catches it, making eye contact and urging her to continue, knowing she hadn’t told the full story quite yet. 

“She was happy, until her world came crashing down on her. And then everything was dark. She refused tp willingly check herself into inpatient care this time, and I’m not married to her so I couldn't do it. Link isn’t legally her brother, so we were out of options–”

“You called me here to send her to psych?” Alex asks in disbelief. 

“No.” Meredith says softly as the tears well up in her eyes again. “Jo doesn’t need to be admitted to psych because she’s dead.” 

And with that, Alex’s whole world seems to completely shatter. 

“She’d tucked away a few ultrasound photos and some letters she’d written to you and never sent. Link and I must’ve missed them because when I came back to the loft this morning, there she was, curled up in one of your worn out t-shirts, clutching his baby blanket, and the letters were next to her. She wasn’t breathing when I came in. Her pain medication from her surgery was completely gone, but the bottle was on the nightstand and there was an empty bottle of tequila next to it too.”

Alex gets up, throwing the chair he was sitting in, across the room in anger. “Why wasn’t someone with her?! You knew she shouldn’t have been alone! I should’ve been there! You should’ve called me!” He screamed. 

“There was a mass casualty last night, a huge nineteen car pile up on the main highway, and all traumas were headed our way. It was all hands on deck and no one could be there with her. She said she would be okay. It was the middle of the night. I even waited until she’d fallen asleep before I left.” She explained but she knew nothing she said would help. Nothing she said would fix it. Nothing she said would make Alex feel better.

So, he continued to scream, and yell, and throw things. He punched the wall until his hand was bloody and bruised and there was an Alex Karev’s fist size hole in the wall, but he didn’t care. Nothing he could possibly do would bring Jo back to him. Nothing he did would bring the love of his life back to him. 

And he’d never forgive himself for leaving her in the first place. Because maybe then he could’ve been there. Maybe then he could’ve saved her. Maybe then they’d both be alive. Maybe then he’d have never lost the love of his life completely. 

Maybe then he wouldn’t hate himself as much as he did now, and forever. 

                          —————————

listen, if you want to come yell at me, by all means, please do. I deserve it. I am ready. I have accepted that this will be the fic that causes me to lose friends. 

[deathordemise]

kachow hello everyone here’s a writing piece i’ve been working on since god knows when. i started it when tommy was still in exile, so the recent events kinda threw it into the non-cannon compliant, lol. anyway , this entire thing is based off the concept of dream wanting a ‘family’. dw, turned on auto cap to write it lmao. send asks regarding this if you wanna :)

here’s the one person who wanted to be tagged : @head-fullof-clouds

trigger warnings: looking down on someone based of age, imprisonment, gas lighting, one sided family dynamics (?), forced found family (??)

mainly tubbo and dream centric, but mentions of others. there’s more under the cut!!

Dream stands with his hands on his hips, surveying his past hours of work.

“Would you like Ranboo to room with you guys as well? You and him get along very well, and it’s nice to see you hang out with kids your age other than Tommy.”

Tubbo shakes his head, sitting on the edge of his bed. The adult sighs and shrugs.

“Okay, if you’re so sure.” He turns back to the other barrels full of things . Tubbo finally speaks up when he begins to assemble another bookcase.

“ I don’t want Tommy in here either.”

Dream straightens immediately, looking genuinely confused.

“But you guys are best friends! I would have loved sharing a room with my best friends when I was younger. I know you boys had that little fight during his exile, but surely you’ll get over it? I mean, I did spend all this time decorating his side of the bedroom.”

“This isn’t a bedroom,” Tubbo stands up and lunges at the bars. He grips it in an attempt to shake them, but the metal poles remain sturdy. “Dream, this is a prison cell!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He scoffs. Tubbo remains glaring and hostile.

“You know I’m right. You know you’re making us all prisoners. It doesn’t matter how nice you make the cells, how good you make the meals, how lovingly you hand stitched these blankets. You’re holding us here against our will, with no escape. You’re nothing but a jail guard.” His tirade is cut off when Dream slams his fist into the crafting table.

“Stop!” Dream pauses to collect himself. He shudders, voice cracking is desperation.

“Stop it. You’re twisting my words. You’re making it wrong. You’re making it ugly.”

Dream finally takes a seat, pulling off his mask in the process. He sits with his back against the wall, facing Tubbo again. His head tilts back and he presses the palms of his hands against his eyes, then smooths his hair back.

“Why do you guys always have to make it all ugly? This is my land, you know? I can deal with you guys terraforming, I expected it. I can deal with you guys building whatever the fuck you wanted with my permission. I could have even let the whole drug thing slide! But then there was the thing with the discs.”

“Tommy’s discs.” Tubbo corrects,but he doesn’t acknowledge the teen’s input.

“It was such a simple thing to do. Hand me the discs. Maybe I would have given them back eventually. But you had to fight back. You had to separate yourselves, and start a war. You made it all ugly, and by making me the bad guy, you made me ugly too. I don’t understand. I just wanted you guys to listen to me.”

“You wanted to control us” Tubbo protested, “Like puppets on a string. You wanted us to bend at your will. We’re our own damn people, Dream. We’re not dolls for you to play ‘house’ with.”

“I know you’re too young to understand.” Dream sighs, giving him a small smile.

“It's okay . I forgive you. I forgive each and everyone of you.”

“What about George and Sapnap? Do you think this is what they want?” Tubbo switches tactics, desperate to make the man see reason. Tired of gripping the metal, he too sits on the cold netherite floor.

“George and Sapnap don’t know what they want.” Dream snaps irritatedly. Seemingly hitting the nail on its head, Tubbo plows on.

“Oh,really? Do you think Bad would let you do this? You think he’ll come in here willingly?”

“He goes wherever Skeppy goes.” He waves dismissively.

“Ah,yes, because Bad is so down with Skeppy being tossed into jail.”

“I’m not tossing Skeppy into the jail! Tub- Tubbo, you know this isn’t a jail, right?”

“Then what is it, Dream? What is this, with the iron bars and doors and obsidian? Sam himself built it, and he says it’s a prison. What is it?”

He doesn’t reply at first, fiddling with the cracked and damaged mask in his hands.

“I’m pretty fond of the moniker Pandora’s Vault.” He smiles softly at Tubbo, sending a chill up his spine.

“Vault?”

“Yeah. A vault is where people store valuables.”

“I- I do know what a vault is! That’s not my… did you just completely miss the part where I said we’re people? We’re not like those shiny things that you’d stuff into an enderchest.” He sputtered indignantly, at an almost loss for words. Dream wheezes and hauls himself up, dusting off his pants.

“Enderchest is actually kind of a cool name for it. I might just consider rebranding! I like to call it a vault, Tubbo, because a vault is where you store precious things. And to me, there’s nothing more precious than family.”

He walks back over to the crafting table, unaware of the other slowly losing his composure.

“You’re not my family.” He whispers.

Dream picks up on the dread and terror in Tubbos voice. He sets the planks back down gently.

“Remember when we were in the same team competing in MCC?” and how can Tubbo forget that? Standing side by side with your sworn enemy, wearing the same colours with undeniable pride.

“Remember how I helped you train? How we trained together, and I gave you advice and support? Didn’t you like that ? I was like a mentor to you, like an older brother! Don’t you want an older brother? You won’t have to be alone anymore.”

“I’m not alone! I have an actual family, Dream. I don’t need you. I’ve got my whole cabinet. Do I need to remind you that I’m the bloody president, not some weak baby you need to soothe? I’ve got Phil, and Wil-Ghostbur, and I’ve got Tech… I’ve got Ranboo and Niki, and Tommy. No, not…I don’t…” he protests.

“Tommy? Wilbur? Technoblade? You think Technoblade is better than me ? The people who destroyed your country ? Some fucking family you got there. You know what? Fine. Fine! They’re going to be in here with you anyway. I don’t fucking care. We’re going to be one big happy family whether you like it or not.”

“You’re not my fucking family!” Tubbo screams.

“And you are a child!” Dream roars.

“You’re a little boy playing dress up! Do you think you can fill Wilbur’s shoes? You can barely even measure up to Schlatt! At least Schlatt did something. What have you done with your presidency, Tubbo? What have you done ?”

Tubbo finds himself cowering on the floor as Dream's figure looms above him, face pressed against the bars, jeering.

“Answer me, Tubbo. What have you done ? What have you fucking done?!”

Tubbo sobs.

“I’ll tell you what you’ve done,” he continues.

“You’ve exiled your best friend. You’ve surrounded yourself with a so-called cabinet full of people more kniving and ambitious than you. They think you’re an idiot, no, they know you’re an idiot. You weren’t the first choice, you weren’t even the second.”

Silence reigns once again as Dream walks back to the crafting bench. Tubbo manages to haul himself into the bed, trembling the whole time. He only looks up when the iron door swings open and a shadow is cast over him.

“Hey.”

He’s calm again. He’s kind and gentle and nice again as he holds out a wooden box like it’s a peace offering.

It’s a bee hive.

“I know I broke your first one and killed all your bees but I really didn’t mean to.” he sounds apologetic, as close to a ‘sorry’ as Dream can get. When Tubbo doesn’t take the box, he sets it down on the beds edge and then clambers on as well, sitting next to him.

“I didn’t mean to raise my voice either. I was just,” he gestures vaguely “,frustrated.”

He smiles when Tubbo picks up the bee hive and fidgets with it, looking everywhere except for Dream's face.

“There we go! I hope you like it. I’ll pick up some bee’s for you later today or tomorrow, yeah ?”

“Yeah.”

Dream laughs, pulling the teen into a quick side hug.

“It’s gonna be okay.” He reassures.

“Everything’s gonna be okay.”

[knit-wear-it]

Drunk Tank

Mood: (Harley x Ledger!Joker) Harley sees the Joker drunk for the first time. A little window into their relationship after the initial high of getting together has passed, and they’re still settling into living together. This period of time is probably the sweet spot for prompts, btw. 

Rating: Domestic 💯

Prompt: From Anon, Harley & J get drunk together or one of them reacts to the other getting drunk.

Drunk Tank, a Harlequin-Tumblr-Exclusive

It was mid-October, just a week after Harley and the Joker’s tussle with the Odessa gang, which of course, ended with Harley murdering their leader Boris Kosov via a brick to the skull. What was she supposed to do, let him live?

Black Canary arrived shortly thereafter, and now Harley was sporting three broken fingers on her right hand as a result of the fight that followed. They were taped up and splinted, rendering her remarkably useless. You couldn’t shoot with broken fingers, let alone be effective with a knife or any other kind of weapon. It was a frustrating injury, and made her feel like a liability, her hand tucked in her coat as she stood to the side while the Joker did the busy work.

Being useless was not something Harley Quinn was well-equipped to deal with, making her feel sulky and even a little depressed.

She and the Joker were almost two months into their experiment in togetherness, and Harley was still riding the wave of certainty and freedom that came with giving in to whatever this thing was between them. She couldn’t define it; she just knew it was there, vibrating at some higher frequency, and making her feel invincible.

Invincible until her own physicality got in the way, it seemed.

They were hardly a ‘talking about their feelings’ couple, but Harley sensed he was annoyed with her moodiness over being injured. He didn’t taunt her about it, which Harley interpreted as a choice to not make her feel worse, a genuinely surprising development. Obviously, there was no sympathy, and no attempt to cheer her up. He just wasn’t making it worse.

Over the last few days, she’d taken to hibernating, and he’d been out with increasing frequency. Maybe avoiding her. Maybe he just wanted to be out. Harley wasn’t sure what to make of it.

She knew the Joker better than anyone, and for the most part she could read him like an open book. Especially when things were good — the giddiness of companionship, the thrill of something new and head-spinningly good elevating everything. But they were only human, and things couldn’t always be good. They definitely couldn’t always be new.

That night J was out with Marty, leaving Harley at the safe house to sulk over her broken fingers and indulge in moody thoughts about the Joker losing interest in her. She didn’t really believe it would be that simple, but she was depressed, and it was morbidly satisfying to go to the darker corners of her mind.

It was edging up to 3 AM, and she was in bed watching reruns of Made in the Diamond District on an old laptop missing most of its keys. Ivania Dumas had just thrown a shoe at Bobby Kennedy’s head when Harley heard the loud creak of the window in the living room opening. Her head snapped up at the CRASH that followed, prompting her to jump out of bed and grab the handgun tucked in a holster slung over the headboard.

Harley sidled up to the bedroom door, flicking the safety off her piece and pressing her back against the wall.

Then there was a gruff sing-songy grumbling out in the living room, making her eyes widen as she realized this was no unlucky burglar.

She stepped out of the bedroom and slapped the light on at the wall, a pair of sconces blinking on, dimly illuminating the cramped kitchen and living room area.

The Joker was sitting on the floor beneath the narrow, horizontal window, having apparently rolled through it and fallen to the floor.  His legs were splayed out in front of him, his green-stained hair flopping over his forehead, his warpaint mostly wiped away apart from some black clinging to his eyelashes and red staining his lips.

He blinked rapidly under the lights, squinting up at Harley as she drew closer, her brow furrowed, confused.

“Wait-wait,” he slurred, smirking as he stretched both arms up toward her, swaying. “Don’t shoot, officer. I’m uh… I’m innocent.”

He giggled shrilly and Harley’s eyes widened even further as she realized what she was seeing.

“Are you… drunk?” she demanded, incredulous.

The Joker swayed forward, squeezing his eyes shut as he giggled to himself.

Harley set the gun aside on the kitchen counter, unsure how to react. She’d never seen him drunk before, and she’d never been drunk in his presence either. There just wasn’t time for it. Sure, neither of them would turn down a drink, especially after some especially chaotic work, but it was crucial to be present when you were wanted terrorists constantly on the run from the Batman.

“So, I guess you and Marty had some fun?” she asked tentatively, undeniably curious about this development.

“Mmm,” the Joker nodded sluggishly and shrugged out of his coat, leaving it in a puddle on the floor behind him.

Harley watched him try to push himself up twice only to fall on his ass both times. On his third attempt she stepped forward and grabbed him by the elbow, hauling him to his feet.

The Joker promptly lost his balance and staggered forward into Harley. She caught him by the lapels, but he forced her backward, his hands closed around her waist, fisting into her oversized tee shirt. Harley’s back hit the counter separating the tiny kitchen from the living room, her spine striking the edge, sending a fissure of irritation rolling through her.

“Hey!” she yelped, punching him on the arm with her good hand.

But the Joker just chuckled slyly and proceeded to tug her tee shirt up to reveal the black bikini-briefs she wore beneath. Then he swayed backwards, squinting down at them.

“Dawwwwww,” he cooed, sounding disappointed. “You’re wearing… panties.”

Before Harley could respond, his attention had already shifted. He dropped her shirt in favour of sliding both gloved hands into her hair, which was already greasy and wavy. He rocked back on his heels unsteadily as he flexed his fingers against her scalp, zhuzing her hair to make it big and fluffy before he released her to get a look at his work.

“Mmm,” he blinked at her sleepily, and tucked one messy lock of hair behind her ear.

“Wow,” Harley laughed, not knowing how else to respond to this bizarre behaviour.

“Ya know, there was a girl tonight,” the Joker smoothed her hair back from her face, his gloves snagging a few honey blonde strands, as ungentle as ever.

“A girl?” Harley’s eyebrows rose curiously.

“Mm,” he nodded and flapped one hand carelessly. “My uh… animal magnetism is impossible to ignore.”

“Did she tell you that?” Harley fought back a smile.

“Oohhhh,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “It was uh, pretty obvious when she climbed into my lap.” 

“Really?” Harley pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Did she realize who you are?”

“Psshhht,” the Joker hissed through his teeth, which might have meant he had no idea and didn’t care. “But I said… sorry sweetheart,” he slapped a hand over his heart dramatically. “I’m taken.”

“That’s good to hear,” Harley deadpanned, smirking.

“And she said, awwww, is she gonna get jealous.” His eyes grew heavy as he dramatized the retelling. “And I said, kitty-cat my girl don’t do jealous.”

Harley snorted, amused. But he wasn’t done yet.

“And she went, I bet I can make her jealous.” He threaded his fingers into Harley’s hair again, piling it up on top of her head this time. “And I said, honey, you don’t know my girl. She...” He growled quietly, his eyes suddenly intense as they trailed over Harley’s face, making her heart leap. “She’s a real pistol…”

He tipped forward suddenly, ostensibly going in for a kiss, but his nose crashed into Harley’s cheek, his fingers in her hair pulling at her scalp.

“Alright, Casanova,” Harley pushed on his chest and he swayed backward, his hands falling out of her hair. “Are you hungry?”

“Mmmmmmm,” he seemed to confirm with one big lazy nod. Then he yanked her shirt up to get a look at her panties again.

“Hungry for food,” Harley clarified, grinning openly as she pushed him away.

He staggered back, struggling out of his blazer while Harley circled into the kitchen to dig out left-over Caribbean food from the fridge. As she threw it into the microwave, the Joker stumbled into the bedroom, making Harley laugh softly as she listened to him crash into things trying to get undressed. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it, except that with his already-microscopic inhibitions lowered, some exceptionally fond feelings for her were floating to the surface of a brain usually concerned with more practical matters.

Harley examined her splinted fingers, the anxiety that she was annoying him with her ‘moodiness’ dissipating. Maybe he had been annoyed, but if this… affection for her was what was beneath that…

Harley sighed, trying not to beam stupidly as she grabbed the food out of the microwave. 

She stepped into the bedroom to find the Joker had divested himself of his clothes, and was sprawled out on the bed naked, attempting to light a poorly rolled cigarette with a disposable lighter.

“That’s dignified,” Harley drawled, handing him the box of take out, distracting him from the cigarette, which he promptly threw across the room in favour of the food.

Harley smiled and shook her head, circling to her side of the bed. She slid into the same position she’d been in before her partner staggered home drunk, demanding her attention. Feeling outrageously content, she tapped on the laptop to the episode playing, thinking that even shit-faced, the Joker was still an agent of chaos.

Just a far less threatening variety of it.

Fin

A/N: For the record, the Joker was totally out drinking with Marty to avoid Harley sulking over her broken fingers, haha. This is a perfect little look at their relationship before this weekend’s new chapter of the Pantomime. 

Like it, reblog it, leave a note, show me some love 🥰

"Alright, Casanova” 👇 LOL.

[prettypinkguts]

What would it be like if billy lenz and Brahms to scare there S/O so bad they start speaking in there native language?

A/N: aaa! I’m so excited that I got a request for Billy Lenz! I love that attic boy very much! I’m very sorry if he seems out of character though, I tried my best :) and I apologize if this is not exactly what you had in mind! I went a bit off the rails

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Billy Lenz/Brahms Heelshire scaring their s/o into speaking their native language

Billy Lenz 

Your attic was like those in many sorority houses in the neighborhood, tall and almost fully boarded. It was difficult to stand right at the edges where the roof sloped down, but there was still plenty of room for even the tallest adults. But, unlike many other attics, rather than being filled with junk and boxes left to be forgotten, your attic was slept in almost every night. 

It was your little room. A small single bed, looking like a snow drift, so white and feathery and high was it; one window curtained with a square of starched white cotton cloth that drew over the panes by means of a white cord on which it was run at the top; a tiny wash-stand with an old-fashioned bowl and pitcher of green and white stone-ware, and over it an old-fashioned mirror; a small splint-bottomed chair, and a large braided rug of red woolen rags. That was all, except in one corner, where a rocking chair older than yourself rested and was often the spot that your lover would sit and hold you with rough, twitchy hands. 

It hadn’t always been like that though. When you had first moved into the sorority house, the attic with its low beams was made all the smaller by the heaps of dusty "gems." Every one of them had been stored in battered boxes and garbage sacks for later use or enjoyment. In truth it was a graveyard for these treasures, a place for them to quietly die amongst the cobwebs until their sentimental value had depleted. Out of sight was out of mind and the pain of parting with the item postponed. They were left by the old owners according to Barb, never to be retrieved from the mildew and darkness. You were aware of all of this, yet you still scaled the steps up to the attic, determined to clean it of it’s forgotten treasures and take things of interest. And that’s when you first saw him. 

At first, you were sure that you were dreaming. The room was dark, the party downstairs was loud, and every girl in the sorority house had been shaken up by filthy calls that left a disgusted sneer on their faces and a cold chill down their spines. The previous call was still left etched in your mind, Barb’s angry words, Jessica’s look of discomfort and fear, all of it. However, even as you moved boxes and swept away heaps of dust and dirt in your fixer-upper of a bedroom in what little light you had, nothing could distract your mind from the slight feeling of shame that ran down your back like cold water. You hadn’t been as scared as the other girls whenever the phone had rang. You hadn’t leaned away from the phone in an attempt to block out the disgusting words that rumbled through it. In fact, you had leaned in, eager to hear more and to try and piece together exactly who or what the thing on the other end of the line was. 

“Whatever,” you had suddenly huffed, your back letting out a nice and satisfying crack as you stretched and moved one of the last boxes aside, “whatever it is, I’ll never even see it.” However, as soon as the words had left your lips and your eyes had opened in order to survey the last pile of dirt that needed to be swept, something had shifted in the corner of your eye. You lowered your arms slowly, nose scrunching up in distaste at the thought of your new room being infested by something such as a raccoon. “Already?” you had groaned, nostrils flaring with annoyance as you placed your hands on the nearest broom, “I thought I got rid of you damn raccoons for go- ARGH!” 

A scream of shock and terror forced itself from your lips, your own legs flying out from under you almost as fast as curses from your native language left your mouth for there, standing in the corner of your room was a grown man with curly brown hair and brown eyes that seemed to shine in the dark. He tilted his head at your fit of words, eyes seeming to open even wider as if he was the one shocked that you had reacted in such a way, but the moment you had noticed it was the exact moment that the look had gone. “W-what, what the fuck are you doing here?” you had managed to stammer, but your question was only ignored and was instead answered with a familiar voice saying “I didn’t know you could talk like that.” “And what’s that supposed to mean?” “You sound different on the phone.”

It was then that a wave of shame and realization flooded down your back in the form of a shiver, your throat suddenly going dry as you struggled to keep your knees from shaking. The phone, this was the man on the phone, and he was in your room. He was taller than you had imagined, his tall and lanky frame becoming more noticeable in the dark as the minutes passed. His boots were brown and dirty, similar to the way the bottom of his bell-bottoms also had dust and mud caked to the fabric. On his torso he wore a tight black sweater, the dark color of the fabric only seeming to make his bright brown eyes and fluffy brown hair stand out more than they should in the dark. And it was will another shiver of deep shame that you found yourself liking his appearance, even as he suddenly began walking towards you, you found it hard and then almost impossible to look away. Even as he twitched and licked his pink lips in a way that would make anyone want to scream or run, you couldn’t even find yourself wanting to move a single inch as he lowered his hand and roughly brushed his hand over your head, his fingers pulling and twisting at your hair as if he were deciding whether he should play with it softly or rip it from your scalp. You couldn’t decide which. Even his words seemed to be conflicted as he whispered almost frantically to himself, eyes glazed over and excited as words such as pretty, lick, kill, and piggy cunt reached your ears. 

“Are you going to hurt me?” you finally choked out, the party downstairs and everything else seeming to fade away slowly until nothing was left but the sound of your beating heart and the sight of the strange man’s face as he would begin to laugh and twitch in a way that you could only guess was a humored shrug. “M-Maybe not,” he twitched again “I think I like your voice t-too much for that” and it was with that, that a shaky slew of words would leave your lips once more and at the sound of them Billy would begin to smile that crooked smile that you would soon come to love. 

Brahms Heelshire 

The rain had gained the ambient temperature of early fall, freezing and paling your skin through the panes of a closed, large glass window. The view through the glass was muddy water in motion, filling deep puddles in the garden just outside the Heelshire manor. The rain that had been falling on this November night was colder than the rest, but sounded and looked the same as you watched the droplets drip onto the crystal clear glass from the comforts of your bed. 

Your skin was covered in goosebumps, a sigh of relief flooding over you as your hand lifted the soft comforter over the ice cold nape of your neck. This was your first chilling rainstorm at the Heelshire manor, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand the booming thunder and freezing weather. You knew it was better than the sweltering heat of summer, but come on, this? This made it hard to breathe. 

Your eyes were barely open, your heart pounding, and your mind racing although you couldn’t think of an exact reason as to why. Just moments before you had been peacefully asleep, but as soon as the first roll of thunder shook the Heelshire manor you had slowly emerged into consciousness. Not a single one of your thoughts were in high definition, the creaks and groans of the old house making your stomach feel uneasy. 

“Brahms?” you whispered out, hands clutching your sheets tight as another roll of thunder threatened to shake the Heelshire Manor, “Brahms are you there?” Nothing. But the more you contemplated waking him up the more you realized that it was impossible for Brahms wasn’t even in bed with you. It had taken your eyes a few moments to adjust, but once they did the scene became clear. An open bedroom door, a cold space next to you, and blankets that seemed to have been moved hours ago. 

Perhaps he was in his old room, you began to wonder, a shiver running through your body the moment your feet touched the chilled wooden floors. “It wouldn’t have been the first time” you sighed, your bedroom door clicking closed quietly behind you as you made your way through the halls and down one of the many staircases. It was extremely late on this particular night, the hands on the grandfather clock in the hallway pointing towards a shocking number 3. The old floorboards creaked and groaned beneath your weight, an annoyed huff leaving your lips every time a mixture of thunder and lightning caused you to jump like a child still afraid of the dark and what might pop around every corner. 

It wasn’t long until you reached the main hallway, the faint taste of tea and honey already making itself present on your tongue as you walked closer and closer towards the kitchen. However, once you arrived in one of your favorite parts of the home, fingers reaching instinctively for the tea kettle and honey, your movements stopped dead at the sight of the backdoor. It was a beautiful door once you glanced at it, for it was a beautiful clean white color with cute curtains to cover the small window and intricate designs to attract your eyes. It was through this door that Brahms would leave to take walks with you, your encouraging words helping him through his sharp breaths and agoraphobia. It was on this door that Brahms had pressed you up against his body in such a loving way that it made your heart flutter and his lips had pressed against yours in a way that made you lose your breath. It was beside this door that Brahms had insisted your futures children's height measurements would go. Yes, it was a beautiful door, but at this moment on this night there was something terribly wrong with it. It was open, you were alone, and flashes of red and blue shined distantly through the trees. 

“BRAHMS!?” the scream scratches your throat raw as it forces it’s way out of your mouth, eyes wide and full of fear as tears already threatened to spill down your cheeks. Police? Had someone called the police? Had they came in while you slept and taken your lover? Was he dragged out of the house and gasping for air without you? Was he in cuffs? Was he hurt? Was he- “AAA!!” A shrill scream leaves your lips once more at the sound of running and the feeling of a body enveloping yours. However, the moment you turn around to face your assailant is the moment you are met with a mask less and out of breath Brahms. His chest heaved and glistened with sweat, his cardigan was falling off his shoulders, and his eyes were as wide as saucers as they stared at your crying face and the open backdoor. “I didn’t mean to-” but the words wouldn’t matter, for as soon as Brahms had wrapped his arms around you, he could see the anger that flared in your eyes. 

Brahms would flinch like a scolded puppy with every single word that you would throw his way, tears streaming down your cheeks as you held him tight and cursed and screamed at him in a language that only you could understand. “You scared me!” you sobbed over and over again, more words in your native language following suit as Brahms could only kiss your forehead and hold you tighter in an effort to calm you, his own accented words mixing with yours as he explained that he had seen the lights and hid in the wall, how he had merely forgotten to shut the door completely, how he was safe, how he was yours. 

[in-class-daydreams]

Parlay (Kuroo x Reader) | Ch. 9

- Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (ft. Roommate Kenma)

Word Count: ~2, 200

Genres: Fluff, general buffoonery

CW: Swearing, sadness I guess, a little spicy but only, like, half a chili pepper out of 5

Summary: (Y/N), a first-year student attending Tokyo U, is living with her best friend, Kozume Kenma. Little did she know, her life would be turned upside down after being exposed to Kenma’s volleyball teammate and close friend, Kuroo Tetsurou. One wrong move, and the parlay’s stakes only get higher each time.

Chapters: First | Previous | Next

“Is that a new style, (Y/N)?” Chisato pointed at her coworker’s misaligned shirt buttons. The young woman groaned, frantically fiddling with her uniform so she looked at least somewhat presentable.

On the way here, her phone was suddenly pinging with notifications, and before she could even check who was spamming her (and wasting her data), Tooru’s (beautiful) face popped up on her screen.

‘Oh dear...’ She mentally prepared herself to hear what was so important that Oikawa wanted her to hear it right now immediately.

“Hello? Tooru? What’s up?”

“(Y/N)-chan? Forget what I said earlier, he’s a moron. Go talk to him.”

“Tooru, what’re you talking abou--!” The call ended before she could ask him for any context.

Overworked, cranky, and thoroughly distracted, (Y/N) stood in the changing room with her brow furrowed. Flinging her apron down on a chair after failing to tie it properly for the fourth time, the girl glared into the mirror. Hair disheveled and eye bags deep, it felt like the completely put-together persona that she had worked so hard to build was crumbling down. Just after leaving Oikawa to his own devices at Tokyo U, she looked at her phone to see that it was already 5:17.

‘Shoot! I got too caught up with all this! I’m sorry Gran!’ she mentally apologized.

Making the sprint from Tokyo U to Chisai in ten minutes was doable for a trained athlete like Kuroo, but (Y/N), student, waitress, and studying extraordinaire, ended up being about five minutes late to her destination.

(Y/N) had only been late to work once, this being her second time. The last time she was late, she had spent ages profusely apologizing to Grandmother. The old woman didn’t seem to mind her being late, but to (Y/N), it was a guilt that never went away. She couldn’t believe she had been late to a 5:30 shift, which was just as the dinner rush was starting.

Now, she was both late and sweating profusely, a truly disgusting combination. While she wondered how one boy could get her so bent out of shape, Tamaki rapped gently on the changing room door.

“(Y/N)? Your boy’s here to see you!”

(Y/N) froze, “Okay, I’ll be right out!”

“Hurry up, though, we’re about to be swamped!”

It was already dark. The cool autumn air was beginning to turn cold. (Y/N) hugged herself to keep warm in her thin white dress shirt. She had barely made it down the steps of Chisai before she was dragged into a solid chest, held there by strong arms.

“Kuroo-san?” she gasped.

The boy in question just held her tightly, as if he was worried she’d pull away at any moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair.

“Kuroo-san, I-- What are you doing here?” she asked. Kuroo didn’t release his hold.

“I came to let you know I’m sorry. For everything. For being all weird around you, and for not talking to you properly, and for not treating you like a person. I really didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t respect you, because I do. I really do. Maybe too much sometimes. And I don’t think you’re shallow at all, that was just me and my stupid mouth. I was the one who felt insecure, and it was wrong of me to take it out on you,” slowly, his arms fell away from her shoulders. She shivered at the loss of warmth.

“I… I accept your apology. I’m sorry, too. I went off on you for making assumptions, but after getting to know you, I should have known you didn’t mean any of those things. That was my-- Oh--!!”

(Y/N) found herself in another crushing embrace, the warmth surrounding her body once again.

“Wait!” she protested, (weakly) attempting to break out, “I haven’t apologized properly!”

Kuroo shook his head. Content, he rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Can we just stay like this for a little longer? That’s all I need from you.”

“But you deserve a full apology!”

“I’m just glad to see you.”

Pulling back, (Y/N) looked into Kuroo’s overjoyed expression.

‘Should I…?’ She hesitated.

Luckily, she didn’t need to make a decision as Kuroo’s catlike eyes flickered down to her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in.

“(Y/N)!” The girl yelped at the sound of her name. Clutching the tall boy by the hoodie, her head snapped towards the door of Chisai. Tamaki stood there looking harried.

“Unless your boy’s gonna put on an apron, you need to get your butt in here!” she snapped. (Y/N) smoothed her hair down with one hand and straightened her uniform with the other.

“I’ll be right there,” she told her coworker.

“You better.”

Somehow pristine and radiant once more, (Y/N) turned to Kuroo, grabbing his hands in both of hers.

“I’ll see you at the game tomorrow?”

Kuroo had become much more functional as a person around her since the ‘I table’ incident, but here she was, holding his hands, and his brain was going haywire because ‘Oh jesus, why are her hands so soft??’

His brain didn’t register the gentle pressure on his cheek until she had already lowered herself from her toes and was making her way up the steps to the tea house.

“And Kuroo?” Amber eyes snapped to attention at the sound of her voice, “You don’t need to worry about Tooru. I’m not sure how to say this, but, uh, you don’t really have any competition.”

“(Y/N), don’t make me come get you!”

Kuroo watched as she climbed the stone steps, giving him one last sweet look before she disappeared, leaving him standing there under the streetlight.

An absolute lovestruck idiot.

~~

“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi curved at the spine to send the outside hitter a toss. The spiker jumped up and slammed a straight right between the blockers, where it was picked up by the libero. The opposing team’s setter sent a toss to their ace.

Kuroo stepped to the side to line up with the hitter and jumped. The ball glanced off his left hand.

“One-touch!” he yelled over his shoulder.

Enraptured, Shusei leaned over (Y/N) shoulder, shoving fistfuls of kettle corn into his mouth.

“What’s up with your boy?” he said through a full mouth.

“I’m not sure…” she murmured. Her shoulders tightened up, “And stop calling him my boy!” she scolded her friend, who shrugged.

“You knew exactly who I was talking about, sooo.”

~~

It was Kuroo’s turn to serve. He tossed the ball in the air, jumped, and slammed it across the court, where the defense picked it up easily. Nishinoya picked up the opposing team’s attack and Kuroo hit a cross, where the defense was unable to save it. Kuroo ignored the roaring of the crowd, looking towards the stands. (Y/N)’s heart skipped a beat when the two of them made eye contact.

“Maybe you should go talk to him at the break,” Tamaki suggested, “ He’s probably distracted from that whole thing with you yesterday.”

“I can’t just waltz into the locker room!”

“Who’s stopping you?”

This time, Kuroo smashed his spike right into a three-person block.

“What is up with you today?” (Y/N) asked as if he could hear.

“I know you like being passive and staying on the sidelines,” Shusei’s eyes didn’t leave the court. He ran a hand through his styled strawberry blonde locks, “But that doesn’t seem to be going too well for you right now. If he can leave his comfort zone for you, maybe you can do the same, yeah?”

The referee blew her whistle, gesturing to the net. Kuroo had a look of pure anguish as the opposing team gained another point. The audience stared in shock as Tokyo U lost a point for Kuroo touching the net.

Tokyo U’s coach turned to his team in the box. Iwaizumi jogged up to the edge of the court, and held up a paddle with a familiar number.

“They’re taking him out?” (Y/N) wondered as Kuroo jogged over to the sideline. He took the paddle from his teammate and sat down on the bench. It was painful to see him so frustrated with himself.

The opposing team had taken the second set not long after Kuroo was benched. As the coach led them back to the locker room for a quick talk on strategy, Kuroo kept his eyes on the ground. Once he said his piece, the coach ordered everyone out except for Kuroo. With a sharp, “Get your head on straight!” the boys left their teammate to his own devices.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) sat conflicted up in the stands. She thought about Kuroo, and the miserable look he had on his face. The frustration that took over his whole body made (Y/N)’s heart strain in her chest, like it was reaching to be near him.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, Kuroo would walk her to work because it was getting dark, and he didn’t want to take any chances. Then, he’d bust his ass getting to practice so he wouldn’t be late, and yet, he never complained. Hell, he didn’t even take credit for it.

Kenma was right. She really was oblivious. That boy with the ridiculous bedhead that was constantly so tongue-tied around her… He really cared about her, didn’t he?

Nearly tripping over the spectators around her, (Y/N) apologized profusely as she rushed towards the exit. There was a loud bang when her foot slipped on the stadium stair. Bare shin painfully connected with metal, but while onlookers asked her if she was alright, the girl paid it no mind as she kept moving towards the end of the bleachers. Unaffected by any quizzical stares, she broke into a run towards the locker room entrance.

By no means was she an excellent runner. After spending all her time with her head in a book, her stamina had gotten a little low, to say the least. Side cramping and shins aching, she kept on running.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity had passed, her exhausted arms flung open the door. Kuroo jumped at the sudden intrusion. The bewildered young man took in the sight of his favorite girl, sweaty, disheveled, and wheezing with effort. That cute furrow in her brow that he enjoyed so much deepened as she marched right up to him.

The completely wrecked girl in front of him grabbed his face in both hands. Before he could even process what was going on, her mouth was ranting to him a mile a minute.

“Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but I know you’re better at volleyball than this, and you know you’re better than this, so get it together! The guy I like is an excellent athlete and middle blocker, and you don’t have to win, but you will not go down like this, Tetsurou!”

Kuroo wasn’t sure what he felt first, her hands gripping the fabric of his jersey or his back slamming against the metal lockers with a thud. Any of those thoughts left his brain when her lips insistently met his. The world melted away and he tasted mint, strawberry, and something else uniquely her. She tasted like everything he ever dreamed she would. His strong arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her closer. Every nerve in his body was electrified while her hand snaked through his sweat-slicked hair. For the entire time he knew her, she just seemed so flawless, fitting in perfectly wherever she went: their lecture hall, her apartment with Kenma, that party with his teammates, but she’d never felt so ethereal as she was right then, flush against him, his senses completely consumed by her touch, her taste, her soft lips on his.

When their lips finally parted, his hand slid up to her cheek, pulling her back to him hungrily, so that her heavenly mouth may never leave their rightful place against his ever again. Bracing her hands against his chest, she gently nudged him back. He compromised by placing his forehead against hers.

“Good luck,” she whispered against his lips.

Kuroo pulled back and gave her a determined look.

“I won’t need it.”

~~

“Tetsu-chan!” Oikawa tossed to Kuroo, who did a wipe across the opposing team’s block. Ever since the coach agreed to put him back in, Kuroo was on fire.

The opposing spiker growled in frustration at getting shut-out once again. Tokyo-U’s head coach nodded in approval.

“Gave yourself one hell of a pep talk in the locker room, huh?” Bokuto said. His friend shook his head.

“I guess I did,” he dismissed.

“Did that pep talk include putting on pink lip gloss, or was that just a side effect?” Nishinoya taunted from the back row.

Kuroo brought a hand up to scrub at his mouth, then decided not to, just in case that kiss was a one-time thing, or the very real possibility that he had fantasized the whole thing.

It was Ushijima’s turn to serve. One bounce, then two. The mountain of a man jumped and sent the ball flying to the other end of the court with breakneck speed. Somehow, the other team managed to get the ball in the air. Kuroo’s mind was going a mile a minute. The second set, the opposing team had done a back row attack, but it seemed this setter from the first set preferred to use the outside hitter, who was left-handed.

Grabbing Bokuto by the shoulders, the two quickly switched places, and, on Kuroo’s count, jumped up just as the ace’s hand connected with the ball, meeting Kuroo’s exceptional block and hitting the floor just in front of the libero’s save. The referee blew her whistle and crossed her arms, signaling Tokyo U’s victory.

~~

Taglist: @nekomas-kuroo @joyful-jimin @ohwow-ok

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Not What It’s Cracked Up To Be ch.2 (baon)

Summary: Edge and Stretch are finally getting back on an even keel. Edge’s broken leg is healing well, Spring is finally here and the flowers are close to blooming.

Be a shame if anything disturbed their domestic bliss.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Fluff, Chickens

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter 1  

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

If Stretch had to make a top ten list of people that he expected to find at his front door on any given day, Papyrus would be on it, but Stretch had to guiltily admit, he would have been close to the bottom of the list, just below the mailperson.

It wasn't that Stretch didn't like Papyrus, he really did, but somehow, their paths didn't cross that often. Papyrus did a lot of work up at the Embassy and spent time training with Undyne and the rest of the security team. He had his own group down at the Y like Edge did of younger kids and every year they did a nature hike out in the wilds of Ebott, down the walking path that ran behind the shopping center.

Papyrus had his own gig going on and that was fine, but it did mean they mostly saw each other on movie nights and holidays. Kinda like cousins, maybe, not that Stretch ever had any. Not exactly close family, but family, nonetheless.

Now, finding Papyrus AND Jeff on his porch? Both of them with their arms loaded with plastic food containers and cups from the Beanery that looked to be filled with gloriously caffeinated concoctions? That wasn’t anywhere on Stretch’s top ten list or even in the top fifty. That was one that might’ve wandered onto an alternate list in the AM hours when Stretch couldn’t sleep, but even then, the odds weren’t good.

Papyrus’s grin of maniacal cheer, though, that was to be expected. It was the same one Blue got going when he had a scheme up his pant leg and that made warnings prickles stand up and do the cha-cha-cha on Stretch’s spine.

“hey, guys,” Stretch said slowly, “what’s going on?”

“What is going on is we are here to see you!” Papyrus said cheerily. He shifted the boxes in his arms. “We can continue going by you letting us inside!”

“I mean, you can leave us on the porch if you want,” Jeff’s grin was less maniacal, at least. Honestly, he looked tired and also like he wasn’t about to let that slow him down. “We’ll just stand here, alone, sad and pining for the fjords, wasting away—”

“yeah, yeah, i get it,” Stretch grinned and held open the door. “come in before the neighbors get interested. they already think we’re better than netflix.”

Papyrus and Jeff trooped inside, and Stretch took a second to peek out the front door. Edge was still working diligently on his flowerbeds, so that was fine. He saw Stretch looking and blew him a kiss and maybe catching it was pretend, but the warmth in his soul from it was plenty real.

Didn’t mean Stretch missed that his loving traitor didn’t come inside, though.

By the time he closed the front door, Jeff and Papyrus had taken over the coffee table. There were several plastic containers alongside the drink cups and okay, yeah, Stretch was curious to see what largess had been brought to them. Hopefully not too much, with his cast off and permission to stand, Edge was probably itching to get back into the kitchen. He’d graciously accept anything the guys brought over, probably, and then he’d be stuck between his urgent need to make food for everyone in sight and his need not to waste any morsel that came into the house. It was a bit of a balancing act and Edge was already wobbly on his feet.

Stretch wandered over to give one of the containers a poke. “i hadn't heard the hospital cut you loose yet, Paps.

“Just yesterday!” Papyrus beamed and now Stretch could see he had a cane of his own, exactly the same as Edge’s but he was currently using it more as punctuation than for support.

Released yesterday and Stretch hadn’t even known. He could have, should have. He’d just seen Sans a couple days go and he’d asked about Red, but not his brother who was still in the fucking hospital. And what, he could send tweets out to his fans but not a text to Papyrus to see how he was feeling? Stretch swallowed hard against the rising thickness in the back of his throat. “listen, i'm sorry i didn't get up to see you at the hospital much.”

Papyrus being Papyrus, only waved that off. “Not at all! Everyone is very busy right now.”

“Yeah,” Jeff put in and there was a wealth of meaning in that single word that probably synced up to the shadows under his eyes. “I barely got up there to see you and Edge, too.”

“Besides,” Papyrus went on, “You had your own patient to handle in what I am sure was an experience that left you stronger!”

“heh, that’s one way of putting it. how’s the noggin?” The bandages that were wrapped around Papyrus’s head in the hospital were gone and all the bruising faded. The dark line of a hairline crack was still running along his parietal bone. At this point it was probably here to stay, healing magic wasn’t much good on scars, otherwise Stretch would have gotten to work on Edge’s a long time ago.

Papyrus mimed rapping on his skull with his knuckles. “Better. I am still on sick leave even though I am injured, not sick. But I am not falling down as much now so they let me go home!”

The phrase falling down had implications that made Stretch shudder, even though he knew that wasn’t what Papyrus meant. Especially after today, seeing Edge’s healing leg, all his new scars, hairline fractures, all of them, but they were still there.

Okay, yeah, a subject change seemed to be a good idea.

Stretch picked up one of the containers and gave it a little shake. “so what brings you over to see me. not that i don’t want to see you guys, but…” He gestured at the rest of the containers. “i’m seeing a plan here.”

“Yes!” Papyrus said happily. “I brought something for your chickens!"

Huh. Today was definitely going off the charts, because that option wasn’t on any of Stretch’s top ten lists. “seriously?"

Papyrus obviously had his own standards when it came to lists, because he nodded as if it were obvious. “Yes! You see, usually when you are sick or injured in the hospital because of germs or stupidity—"

“hey!”

“--i have cared for your chickens for you! this time i was in the hospital and so i brought them spaghetti!”

Impeccable logic, really. Except for one small detail.

Paps was a much better cook these days but pasta still tended to elude him. Even the mention of spaghetti still gave Stretch shuddering flashbacks of those first few weeks when they came to this universe. It’d almost been enough for him to wish they were back in Underswap.

Almost.

All the other dishes Papyrus made were more than palatable, even delicious, except for when he dug out the noodles. Much as he didn’t want to hurt any feelings, neither did Stretch want to murder his chickens by poison pasta. “um that's really nice, but, uh.”

Whatever Papyrus thought he was going to say, if there were any hurt feelings about it, he shed it like water off a duck’s back, “Have no fear! It is vegetable spaghetti!"

“Spiral cut veggies, “Jeff put in. He pried off one of the lids and held it out, revealing bright orange and purple strands. His grin was a little wry; Jeff was another victim of Papyrus’s attempts at carbonara. “We made it fresh this morning.”

Oh. They’d made it, together. For the teeniest, tiniest moment there was a twinge of stupid jealousy, bitter sharp in his soul, because Jeff was supposed to be his best friend and here was Papyrus poaching on his territory when he already had lots of friends, in a couple different countries even, pen pals and people at the Embassy, why did he need one of Stretch’s?

Then he squashed that thought like the stink bug it was; there was plenty of Andy to go around and he wasn’t about to end his week by being a dick to his best friends over veggie noodles.

So hey, time to unwrap the enthusiasm and get this chicken party started. Stretch pasted his smile back on and said, “well hey, let’s go out back! i bet they’ll be scrambling for it.”

Papyrus didn’t even groan at the pun, though Jeff booed under his breath. His smile brought new meaning to the word beaming, it really did, bright as the sun. “Let me get some plates!”

He caned his way into the kitchen before Stretch could even offer to do it for him and yeah, there was one of the ways he and Edge were alike, stubborn little shits that they were.

Stretch shook his head and turned back to Jeff to ask, softly, “how is he doing, really?”

“He’s been fine today, but he should probably sit down for a while,” Jeff said in the same quiet tone. “I had him sitting at home when we were using the spiral slicer and he was pretty good about it. Don’t let him fool you, though, the doctors told him to take it easy—”

“—and he’s not really good at following their instructions,” Stretch finished with a sigh. “yeah, i’ve had some practice with that.”

“I’ll bet,” Jeff laughed just as Papyrus returned, plates in hand. Stretch kept back any comments about what Edge might have to say about them using his plates to feed chickens. Hey, they were family, they could use the good tableware.

“I’ll bet, too,” Papyrus said, “if you two are finished talking about me behind my back! Unless you want to do it in front of my face as well.”

Yeah, there were definitely times Stretch could tell Papyrus and Edge were cut from the same cloth. Although if he ever saw Edge smiling like Papyrus did, Stretch would be checking for any other signs of the apocalypse. “nah, i think we’re good. let’s head out.”

“Oh, and we brought you—” Jeff plucked one of the plastic cups from the table and held it out with a flourish. “triple venti, iced caramel macchiato with whip and an extra shot.”

Now that was a drink and Stretch took the cup, clutching it to his chest without even caring for the condensation dampening the front of his sweatshirt.

“you are the second-best person in the world,” Stretch told him sincerely, “if i wasn’t already married to the first best, i’d be polishing up my flirting skills for you.”

Jeff only rolled his eyes, “Yeah, okay, I’ll add you to my dance card, Mr. Darcy.”

“The dating manual has a chapter on polygamous relationships if you’d like to borrow it!” Papyrus said brightly.

Immediately, Jeff’s pale cheeks flamed a bright red and Stretch felt a blush of his own warm his face. Uh, yeah, no, his love for Andy stayed above the waist, thanks. Now he was glad Edge hadn’t come inside, he’d either be annoyed or silently laughing his ass off. Either way, Stretch could live without it.

He clapped a hand on Papyrus’s shoulder, “you know what, paps, i think we’re good, but i’ll keep it in mind. c’mon, it’s a nice day and the ladies await!”

“Of course!” Papyrus followed Stretch to the back door while Jeff gathered up the containers. “Did Edge redecorate the kitchen? I seem to recall a lot less red paint splattered on the walls and also a table the last time I was here…”

~~*~~

A few days ago, Stretch spent a couple hours cleaning off all the chairs on the patio from any winter gunk left on them. He’d done it for Edge so he could come outside while he was still off limits on any marathons, just a quick scrub down and some sunshine and they were good.

Now he wondered why he bothered because so far, every time anyone came out to the backyard, they ended up sitting on the damned ground. At least they grabbed the cushions off the chairs to keep the damp away. The chickens were gabbling eagerly from the moment the sliding glass door opened and the volume doubled when they realized it was more than the usual amount of suckers to demand scritches from.

Stretch let loose the chicks and Papyrus laid down the plates, already scolding, “Now hold on a moment, there’s more than one flavor! You’ll need a serving of each for the full decadent experience!”

Soon enough the grub was out and they were all sitting on their cushions, watching the chickens feast.

“gotta say, this was a pretty good idea,” Stretch admitted. Pretty good was understating it, the chickens loved the veggie spaghetti and they were gobbling it down, switching plates at will as they scarfed it as fast as they could. Noodle let out an indignant squawk when Nugget stole a tasty looking tidbit from under her beak and ended up on the other end of a strand with Dumpling in an impromptu Lady and the Tramp recreation that ended a lot less romantically when Nugget stole a bite right through the center.

“Of course it was!” Papyrus said loftily. Then he surprised Stretch by adding, “JeffAndy suggested it.”

Stretch raised a brow bone and Jeff shrugged, awkwardly, “Julia used to make veggie spaghetti all the time and Blue had a spiral cutter, so.”

“i haven’t seen blue for a few days.” Stretch fumbled into his hoodie pocket for his lighter, the metal smooth and cool under his fingertips. “how’s he doing?”

“Good. Busy, like all of us,” Jeff said. He took a drink from his cup and it left a slight whipped cream mustache on his upper lip that he licked away. “Think everyone will be glad when Edge is back full time.”

“yeah.” The lighter flicking through his fingers wasn’t enough suddenly and Stretch pulled out a pack of cigarettes to go with it at the same time he nudged Papyrus with an elbow. “and how’s your bro doing?”

“Very well!” Papyrus plucked up a far-flung piece of spaghetti and tossed it back towards the chickens. Dumpling all but snapped it out of the air. “He’s packing as we speak!”

“packing?” That was about the last thing Stretch expected to ever hear about Sans. He and Papyrus were the only brother pair still living together and Stretch would have put good odds on the that only changing if Papyrus moved out, and even then, Sans might try to crawl into one of the suitcases. Sans packing up was serious levels of gossip that he was missing out on.

Papyrus nodded. “Yes! Now that he and Red are betrothed, he is moving in! He didn’t want to leave at first, but I told him I would have someone stay with me until I am fully recovered!”

Betrothed was a weird way to describe that relationship and Sans actually moving in? Made Stretch wonder what’d happened that day when Sans carried Red out of the kitchen, not that he’d wanted to be a fly on the wall or anything. Maybe Red liked to play the spy guy, but Stretch had enough nightmares as it was. If he ever had to hear Red in throes of orgasm, he’d scrub the inside of his skull with a toilet brush.

“not undyne.” He couldn’t imagine her staying away from Alphys, especially not while she had a bun cooking in the oven.

“No, no, your brother!”

Stretch was in the middle of lighting his cigarette and sucked in too hard, coughing the smoke back out. His brother was staying with Papyrus? When did that happen? He was starting to feel more and more like Dorothy when she first stepped off the tornado.

“okay, hang on,” Stretch rubbed a knuckle between his sockets where an ache was starting to form. “can i get a timeline on this?”

“Of course!” Papyrus ticked off on his fingers. “First, Red gave Sans a betrothal collar.”

That choker he’d been wearing, with the heart-shaped buckle. Not at all the sort of thing he’d expected to be Sans’s taste, it’d been cute when Sans was more, ‘wear whatever fell on me today’. “is that what that was?”

“Oh, yes, Red told me that collars hold great significance in Underfell!”

“did he now?” Stretch said softly. Nope, that didn’t sting, not one little bit. His soul wasn’t at all lurching in his chest, rising up to settle painfully under his clavicles.

“Very much so! A betrothal collar is a promise and a warning.” Papyrus leaned in, his voice lowered conspiratorially to a level just below a shout. “More people probably need warnings about Sans.”

“you’re probably right.” Honestly, he should probably be wearing a sign.

“So he got his collar and told me. Then I told him he needed to move in with his fiancée and he said, ‘whoa, bro, don’t know about that you’re still pretty banged up and all.��”

Stretch couldn’t help grinning. He had to admit, that impression of Sans was pretty bang on.

“and I told him I would find someone else to stay with me and I asked your brother and he agreed!” Papyrus finished triumphantly.

He glanced at Jeff, who’d moved his cushion to be downwind of the cigarette smoke. “what about andy, thought you and blue were playing roommates.”

“I’m moving in with Antwan,” Jeff admitted shyly. He toyed with the laces on his shoes. “I mean, for now anyway.”

Normally, Stretch would have been squealing to hear that because hello, about fucking time. But from the sounds of it, if he wasn’t the last to know about all this, he was pretty damn close. “this all happened in the past couple days?”

Papyrus glanced at him. “If we are measuring by linear time, then yes.”

“always did prefer linear. helps to keep things straight. hey, congrats, andy,” Stretch said belatedly. Really belated, seemed like if this news was days old.

“Don’t congratulate me yet, Antwan hasn’t had to move my comic book collection,” Jeff laughed. But from his pink, pleased face he was pretty excited and why shouldn’t he be, he was moving in with his guy, Blue was moving in with Papyrus, Sans moving in with Red. All kinds of stuff going on that no one gave Stretch a call or text about it. Not that he blamed them, not really. He wasn’t being much of a good big brother lately or cousin or friend or whatever else the fuck he pretended he could do. Made him wonder how he was doing as a husband, since he was so shit at everything else.

The chickens were done mangling every speck of the spaghetti and Nugget wandered over to peck at the string on Stretch’s hoodie hopefully. It hadn’t turned into food for her the other hundred times she’d tried it, but that never stopped her before, especially since now it looked like her last treat. Stretch crushed out his cigarette and gave her a hopeful nudge, and she settled into his lap amicably, clucking happily as he smoothed a hand down her feathers.

Noodle was taking refuge in Papyrus’s lap, crooning for her own pets that Papyrus obediently provided. “Your chickens are very nice.”

“We’re lucky Edge isn’t here,” Jeff chuckled even as he coaxed Dumpling over for scritches of her own. “They think he’s the next coming of Chicken Jesus.”

Papyrus frowned. “I wouldn’t think that chickens followed Christian theology.”

It was always hard to tell when Papyrus was sincere or when he was fucking with you, and Stretch had a feeling he was being bent over today. “nah, these ladies are nondenominational.”

“If one must have a harem, one of chickens seems a good choice!” Papyrus said thoughtfully. “There are the eggs to consider.”

“a harem, why would---never mind.” Stretch decided he really didn’t want to know which way Papyrus’s brain was twisting today, he had enough of that with his own.

“By the way,” Jeff said as he struggled to keep Dumpling from attacking his shoelaces, “now that Edge is feeling better, I should probably tell you that your brother’s freezer is filled with bags of grapes.”

“grap..oh.” The grapes from Edge’s garden that he’d been picking when…well. When everything. He’d honestly forgotten all about them, that whole day was pretty much a suckhole of shit that he didn’t care to ever repeat. Even thinking that made Stretch feel a little queasy, knocking him even more off balance while he was trying to catch his equilibrium. Stretch let out a little laugh and if it sounded a little shrill, neither Jeff nor Papyrus noticed. “you froze them, really? when did you even have the time?”

Jeff shrugged, which meant it was probably after work, maybe even at the end of that long, horrible day, and he’d been exhausted and done it anyway. He really was a good friend, better than Stretch deserved.

“i’ll let him know.” Stretch rubbed Nugget gently under the chin and she cooed happily. “and hey, thanks for stopping by with the spaghetti for my girls and letting me knows what’s up with the nearby world.”

“Wish I could say it was my idea,” Jeff said. His smile was a little lopsided. “I’ve missed hanging out. With everything that’s going on, Papyrus thought maybe you were feeling a little out of the loop. He said not being at work makes him think it’s Sunday when it’s Wednesday.”

“yeah, he’s got a good point.”

“I usually do,” Papyrus said modestly.

The sliding glass door opened then, and Edge stepped out. Immediately the chickens abandoned all laps and ran to him, and usually Stretch thought that was cute as fuck, but today, it was an extra scoop of abandonment on top of his cone of salty guilt.

Edge crouched and gave each of them a quick pat, “Hello, everyone. I only wanted to check if you two are staying for dinner.”

“No,” Papyrus said, somehow managing to look sad and elated at the same time. “Blue is planning a welcome to my home dinner for me tonight!”

“I can’t either, Antwan and I haven’t done anything but sleep in the same bed for the past week. We’re planning take out and time together.” Jeff scrambled to his feet with a groan, stretching, “We need to get going, anyway.”

Edge nodded, like none of this was news to him. Maybe it wasn’t, Stretch really was the last to know everything. Even about betrothal collars and Stretch twisted the ring on his finger, feeling the delicate swirls etched into it with the tips of his fingers. The metal wasn’t cool like his lighter, warmed by his own bones.

It only took a couple of minutes for Jeff and Papyrus to gather up the empty containers, and Stretch got the plates, setting them next to him on the ground.

“see you guys later!” Stretch called as they went through the gate. He got waves in return and then they were gone.

Edge sat down on the cushion next to him, stretching out his leg brace in front of him as he nudged it closer than Papyrus had. Close enough for him to settle his own hand over Stretch’s and he couldn’t help wondering if that was to keep him from reaching for his cigarettes again. He was supposed to be quitting and that’d fallen to the wayside at some point, supposed to be seeing Alphys about his HP, when was the last time he’d done that? So many fucking questions today and Stretch wasn’t sure about some of the answers.

“Just you and me tonight then, love,” Edge said. His thumb grazed lightly across Stretch’s knuckles and he noted absently that he’d changed his gloves. These ones were worn soft, comfort gloves, like some of Stretch’s sweatshirts, and he didn’t know why Edge needed comforting.

“yeah, just you and me,” Stretch agreed softly, and when had that become less of a delight.

He really was losing his touch because Edge gave him a narrow look almost immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“nothing,” Stretch said, and he forced lightness into the word, “think i’m just a little tired, we had a lot going on today.”

Edge hummed softly in agreement, “Why don’t you take a nap?”

“take one with me?” Stretch offered and he knew from the split-second of hesitation on Edge’s face that he wanted to say no. Which, of course he fucking did, he just got his cast off, he was probably wanting a shower or maybe even a bath, give those newly scarred bones a good scrub before he went to do all the other shit he couldn’t do last week. “you know what, never mind.”

“Are you sure?” Edge asked, because of course he did. He always put Stretch’s happiness first. Like it was something Stretch actually deserved and that was a shitty thing to think and Stretch knew it, so he was stopping that right now.

“yep,” Stretch forced a yawn. “if it’s just me i can sprawl out.”

“Me being in the bed has never stopped you before,” Edge said dryly. But he lifted Stretch’s hand and kissed his knuckles, right over his wedding ring, the one Edge gave him when he promised to love and cherish him, and Stretch was gonna knock it the fuck off thinking about anything with collars or Underfell. Edge loved him and he knew it, he didn’t need anything else.

Not a damn thing.

~~*~~

Read Chapter Three

[useless-slytherclaw]

Chapter 8: Professor Dumbledore

Regulus woke up to the sound of someone knocking on the door.  For several long moments, he was completely lost.  Where was he? Where was the knocking coming from? Slowly memories filtered in and he remembered that he was returned to life and in his bedroom at Grimmauld Place.  Iset was curled up on the other side of the bed; they were both still wearing their clothes from yesterday.  

“What?” Regulus managed, shoving himself up and out of bed.

“Master Regulus, Kreacher has served breakfast, sir.” Kreacher’s voice came from the other side of the door.  “Mister Dumbledore is coming later.  Kreacher wanted to wake up master.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Regulus said, rubbing his face.  He didn’t feel like talking to Dumbledore today any more than he had yesterday.  

“Kreacher has brought some things for Miss Iset.”

Regulus opened the door.  Kreacher was bowing and offering a box.  Regulus took it; he could see some sort of dress and a hairbrush at least.  “Thank you, Kreacher.  Are there towels in the two bathrooms on this floor?”

“Yes, of course, Master Regulus.”

“Thank you Kreacher, that’s all.” Kreacher retreated down the hallway, stopping to bow every few feet.  With a small sigh, Regulus turned back to the room.  Iset was sitting up on the side of the bed.  Her hair was tangled from sleep and covering a yawn with her hand; the sight brought a smile to Regulus’ face. 

“Apparently my brother invited Dumbledore over later today.  Kreacher thought we might want to get up and have breakfast.  This is for you, I guess.” Regulus set the box on his desk.  For some reason, it was just occurring to him how entirely improper it was for Iset to be here in his room all night.  

“I’m going to use the shower.  There are two bathrooms, so feel free to use the one down the hall.”

He grabbed clothes from his wardrobe and headed out.  

Iset joined him downstairs forty-five minutes later.  She had her hair back in its usual neat braid and was wearing a black dress, which must have belonged to Walburga at some point, but had been altered for her shorter, fuller form.  Sirius didn't seem to be awake yet, so it was just them.  It reminded Regulus of Hogwarts, where they would sit together every morning at breakfast before most of the school was awake. 

“Morning,” Sirius said as he came into the kitchen later after they had finished eating.  Regulus noticed that he was wearing a muggle pair of jeans and a t-shirt.  

“Good morning,” Iset said politely.  

“Kreacher said you invited Dumbledore over,” Regulus said.  Iset gave him a reproving look, but he ignored it.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, slumping into his seat and reaching out to pour himself a cup of coffee.  “I’d guess he’ll be here after lunch, but he keeps his own schedule, so I can’t be sure.”

“You didn’t think to tell me about this?” 

Sirius just shrugged. Regulus gritted his teeth. But before either of them could say something, there was a jangling ring from the doorbell.

“Son of a-” The rest of Sirius’ curse was cut off by the sudden shrieking of Walburga Black’s portrait.  Regulus jerked as if physically slapped.  Iset reached for him as Sirius charged out of the room.

“Blood-traitor filth!”

“Shut up you old bat,” Sirius snarled at the portrait.  

“Shame to the house of my ancestors!”  

Regulus groaned and covered his face.  He could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment as his mother and brother continued to shout.  “I’m sorry,” Regulus said, voice muffled by his hands.

“She sounds like my grandmother,” Iset said, voice completely calm. “Except in English.”  Regulus reminded himself that her family was just as crazy as his, as he tried to fight down the blush that he knew was covering his face.  “Do you think that was Dumbledore?”

“I don’t know who else it would be.  I guess it could be someone else from this Order though.”

They went quiet and strained their ears.  They could hear muffled talking, but they were too far away to hear distinct words now that they weren’t yelling.  Regulus pushed himself to his feet and offered Iset a hand up. 

“The dining room isn’t for greeting guests,” he said automatically, and Iset smiled.

“It’s also not great for one on one conversations,” she agreed.  Moving out the door and up the stairs to the main level, Regulus was grateful that Iset was there.  He entered the main hall and saw Dumbledore standing there with Sirius.  

“I’m sorry to come by so early, but I’m afraid I have an important appointment this afternoon.”

“Of course,” Sirius said.  “Regulus is-”

“Right here,” Regulus said before Sirius could finish.  Both heads turned towards him.  Regulus reflexively straightened his spine as piercing blue eyes looked over him.  Regulus found himself entirely unintimidated by his former headmaster.  He took in the man before him.  Dumbledore didn’t appear to have aged much at all in the last seventeen years and he wore the same half-moon glasses he always had.  His robes today were far from the craziest thing he had ever seen the headmaster wearing: lavender and covered in stars.  But what Regulus did notice was that the fingers of his right hand were blackened and dead looking.  

“Professor Dumbledore,” Regulus said politely. “Why don’t you come up into the sitting room.  We can talk there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Black.”  

Regulus turned on his heel and went up to the next landing, opening the door to the sitting room.  He held the door first for Iset and then for Dumbledore.  Sirius looked unsure whether to come into the room or not, and Regulus closed the door.  If Sirius really wanted to be in on the discussion, he would be; Regulus wasn't going to wait around for him to make up his mind.  

“Please have a seat,” Regulus said as he used his wand to light a fire in the grate.  Dumbledore was sitting on one of the very elegant and highly uncomfortable chairs that filled the room, and Regulus joined Iset on the love seat.  She sat neatly at the edge of the seat with her ankles crossed and hands on her lap.  He’d seen his mother sitting almost exactly like that in that spot so many times that he had a horrible moment of sickening deja vu.  He blinked it away.

“Would you like something to drink?” Regulus asked.  

“No thank you,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.  Regulus shifted in his seat, not sure what to do now that he had finished his host script.  Luckily, Dumbledore spoke first.  “I must admit, Mr. Black, that I am very surprised to see you.”

“I can imagine.”  There was a long pause, but Regulus didn’t offer any more information.  To Dumbledore’s credit, he looked as if he routinely spoke to long-dead ex-students.

“Well, I suppose we should get down to the matter at hand.  Sirius told me that you had very important information about Voldemort.”

Regulus nodded.  Somehow giving The Dark Lord’s secret to Dumbledore felt like a bigger betrayal than stealing the locket in the first place, and he was momentarily tongue-tied.  Then he mentally kicked himself for being an idiot.  Regulus told Dumbledore the story: how the Dark Lord had used Kreacher to place the locket, how Regulus had realized what it was, and finally how he had gone to retrieve it.  

Dumbledore listened intently and without interruption, and his calm exterior never cracked.  Regulus noted the way that Dumbledore only nodded when Regulus mentioned Horcruxes.  The professor had already figured that out then.

“I must say,” Dumbledore said when Regulus had finished.  “That I am very impressed by you, Mr. Black.  It took me more than a decade to consider Horcruxes.”

Regulus didn’t say anything; he was used to being underestimated, just because he was smaller, quieter, and rather less exuberant than his brother. 

“I’ll hazard a guess that you think he made more than one Horcrux.”  

“I suspect so.”

“You are correct,” Dumbledore said.  “Two of his Horcruxes have already been destroyed.”

“You think there are even more,” Regulus said, thinking quickly.  The Dark Lord would want a symbolic number, something powerful: seven, seven parts.  “Seven parts, six Horcruxes, three found, three to be found, one to be destroyed.”

“Very good, Mr. Black.” Dumbledore sounded as if Regulus had just given him the correct answer to a question in a transfiguration lecture, and not worked out a weakness of the darkest wizard in the country.

“You want to know if I know where the rest of them are or what they are?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know,” Regulus said.  He could come up with something given he had time to think.  

“Mr. Black,” Dumbledore said, leaning forward.  He paused, choosing his words.  “We have precious few people on our side who have been close to Voldemort: two, including you.  Your knowledge of Voldemort is invaluable.”

“Spare me your recruitment speech.  I can’t attempt to resume my life until the Dark Lord is gone, so I’ll help you.”

Dumbledore smiled at him.  “You have a good heart, Regulus, you don’t have to pretend otherwise.”

Regulus said nothing.  Dumbledore sighed.  “Another thing, Sirius has again offered this house as a headquarters for the Order.”

Regulus barely bit back his ‘of course he did’.  But it must have shown on his face because Dumbledore paused.  

“I assumed he had spoken with you.”

“You should know him better than that,” Regulus said. “But I’m not going to stop you all from having meetings here.”

“That is very generous of you,” Dumbledore said.  Regulus just stared at him.  “Alastor Moody would like to come by before the others and ensure that all of the safety measures placed on this house are intact.  It is possible that the magic could have been damaged or even broken when you and Sirius returned from death and reversed the line of succession.”

“I’m sure Sirus will let him in,” Regulus said.  

Dumbledore stood up.

“Wait!” Iset’s voice broke into the conversation surprising both Regulus and Dumbledore.  Dumbledore turned his attention to her.

“Do you have something to add, Miss Senusret?”

“It’s just Iset now,” Iset said with a grimace.  Regulus supposed that she didn’t want to be reminded of her parents every time someone talked to her; he filed it away as something to talk about later.  Dumbledore inclined his head.  “You didn’t tell Regulus anything about the other Horcruxes.  You expect him to come up with ideas for you without providing any information.  More complete data leads to better extrapolations and you know it.”

There was a long pause and Regulus looked from Iset to Dumbledore and waited to see what Dumbledore would do.  Finally, Dumbledore smiled and sat back down. Iset didn’t smile back.

“You are, of course, quite correct Iset.  You’ll have to forgive me; it has become quite a habit of mine to hold any information very close: especially information this important. It would be disastrous if it reached Voldemort’s ears that we were aware of the Horcruxes.  Still, I will tell you what I know.”  He told them about the diary and the ring.  The diary had been brought to Hogwarts through Lucius Malfoy and destroyed with a basilisk fang.  The Gaunt family ring from the Gaunt’s house.  When he had finished, he said, “I hope you will keep this between us.”

“Of course,” Regulus said automatically.  

Dumbledore smiled at him and got to his feet. “Do consider the matters we discussed,” Dumbledore said.  Regulus nodded and moved to open the door for the professor.  

“Oh,” Regulus said as Dumbledore walked by him.  “Who is the other turncoat?”

“Why, I’m surprised Sirius hasn’t told you.  It’s Severus, Severus Snape.”  

“Good day, Professor.”

“Good day, Mr. Black.”  Regulus watched as Dumbledore walked down the hall and exited out the front door.  He sagged a bit when the door closed. 

Keep reading on AO3

[justimajin]

His First Love ⟨Epilogue⟩

➸ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

➸ Genre: Fluff, Angst 

↳ Vampire AU, Reincarnation AU

➸ Words: 2k

➸ Warnings: none

➸ Summary: Everything reminds you of him - the snow that dances outside, the faint tunes that you compose, the gliding of the white tiles beneath your fingers. But as the years have passed by, what does become of your story? 

➸ Moodboard Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8(M) Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Epilogue - series inspo post

➸ A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this series, I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did and I truly appreciate the amount of love that it recieved ^.^

It’s freezing cold.

The cool breeze of the wind brings shuddering chills down your spine, the tips of your fingers already lingering with the delicate frost. Fog disperses into the atmosphere when you exhale, the slight sharp edges of your teeth peeking through the subtle space between your lips.

Your boots heavily stomp against the slippery ground, trudging forward to make it all the way to your office. Burying your face into your red scarf again, you find yourself stopping when you watch two kids playing with the fluttering snow. Their innocent laughter rings through the air, the pure joy of witnessing winter in all its glory and being able to rejoice in their time together has a faint smile tugging at your lips. One of them, the young girl, perks her head up when she notices you watching and a wide smile is painted on her lips.

“Do you want to join us?” She asks, her eyes glimmering with the hope and the everlasting excitement radiating out from her.

You smile, but shake your head, “Maybe next time. Have fun you two.” You say and she nods, before racing back to her friend.

“Have fun,” you slowly whisper, walking away, “With all the time you can still spend together…”

You finally arrive at your office, wondering how it would have been remotely possibly for you to go up so many flights of stairs every single day when you were still human. Shaking your head at the thoughts, you walk inside the room and Sun’s expectant eyes land on you as you shrug off your coat.

“You’re back!” She exclaims, making her way over to you and engulfing you into a hug. Her appearance has since changed, opting to cut her long hair into a shorter style and wearing clothes that were loosely fitted on her frame as the years had passed by.

“I was going to come back sooner or later.” You simply state, setting up your materials down. On the other hand, you were slowly looking more and more like your own past-life, the years taking a wonderful toll on you for your appearance.

However, that was the one bright piece that the future had given you.

Each day continues to be a blur, climbing up the copious amount of stairs and arriving up at the office you shared with Sun to assist her with work. You had continued to study history, but as time went by your interest for it only seemed to decline, pending memories that you had kept locked away attempting to unconsciously resurface.

Because it seems like a part of you never did let go.

You turn your eyes to the side, faintly smiling when you see the brown piano sitting in the corner, pages and pages of new pieces composed in a safely kept leather-bound book for the time you had to spare.

“Y/N?” Sun questions, inwardly sighing when she catches you in a daze once again – your eyes suddenly flickering back at the sound of her voice.

She quietly walks over and sits in front of your desk when she knows all too well why you were eyeing the precious piano in the corner.

“Are you thinking about…” She trails off, not wanting to finish her sentence but you simply nod in response.

You let out a deep sigh, “You know it’s hard not to.” A chuckle escapes from you, “I just think he was better at dealing with this than I ever was.”

It was bitter to think about, the amount of times you wanted to lock yourself up inside your room and never come out for a single drop of sunlight were thoughts that never left your mind. The constant drifting of your mind never failed to stop either, always swaying to memories of him when you would catch yourself eyeing the wonderful brim of winter.

But he wasn’t there to share it with you.

“Y/N…” Sun says, “I-I’m sorry.”

You’ve lost track of how many times Sun had apologized to you, long having forgiven her when she told you how Taehyung had exactly found out about Yoongi in the first place.

“What?” You whisper, eyes abruptly enlarging when Sun musters up the courage to tell you.

“I was sent by Taehyung to find out more about Yoongi. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I realized that it was because Taehyung wanted to get rid of him….”

It catches you off guard that Suran’s reason for even going into Yoongi’s forest was because of the Prince. You take a deep inhale, no sense of hatred pouring out from you.

“It’s okay, you were in love, it’s not your fault Sun.”

She bursts into tears at hearing your response, not realizing how much she needed the forgiveness when the guilt continued to plague her.

“Sun. You know what I’m going to say.” You look at her with a soft smile and she holds your hand in hers.

“I know, I just wish you would smile more often like this.” Desperation laces into her voice and you know she’s been trying to uplift your spirits more, but you know they’ve faded, alongside with him.

After Yoongi was gone, Taehyung had vanished as well. The years had passed by at a steady state, no indication of his return throughout them. A part of you continuously prays that he doesn’t return, having fulfilled the Prince’s cruel wishes before departing and leaving you with no ounce of forgiveness to be given.

A knock sounds on the door and Sun straightens up, wondering if a client were possibly at the door.

Instead your met with the familiar shades of black and blonde entering the room.

You softly smile when Jungkook sits down next to you, boxes of food in his hand as Jimin talks to Sun, becoming surprisingly close to her as the years had passed by. The atmosphere changes into a joyful one, and Jungkook asks you about your day.

“Its been going well, you?”

Jungkook shrugs, “Attempting to find a decent job has been hard, but I’m bound to find something soon enough. Maybe I’ll just work in a crafting store or something.” He flops open a container and begins to indulge into the food, offering you some with completely stuffed cheeks. You let out a chuckle, shaking your head at your own empty appetite.

“Woah Y/N, you compose?” You turn your attention to Jimin, who had been previously eyeing the piano resting in the corner and was looking at the old book delicately placed on top of it.

“Uh yeah, those notes are from really long ago.” You explain, carefully getting up and watching Jimin flips through the crippling pages.

“First Love?” Jimin questions and your eyes flash when he’s discovered the particular section you had been hoping he wouldn’t stumble upon. “Can you play it?”

“Yeah, but not right now.“ Jimin continues to persist despite your wishes.

“Aw come on, please, it’ll probably sound really ni-“

“NO.” You snatch the book back into the protection of your arms and you suddenly notice everyone has their eyes planted on you.

You hastily give Sun a stiffened smile, the atmosphere becoming suffocating for you as you grab your thick coat and turn to exit. Walking down the stairs, you enter the snowy weather once again, letting it consume you completely after you disappear into the white chaos.

Sun sighs at your departure, but she decides it was best for you to take some time to yourself first before you returned. She returns to shuffling around her papers, observing the next couple of clients she had been assigned. The names and reasons for appointments are understandable to her, however, one certain file intrigues her interest, the description of having vague nightmares every single night with the inability to decipher them accordingly.

Unknowingly, a small smile tugs at her lips.

You walk back the same route you had taken previously, deciding to quickly take a shortcut through an alleyway when it continues to snow heavily. Narrowing your eyes, you start to have the inkling that it was possibly not the right choice to do so from the already daunting and dark appearance, but you simply just shrug it off.

You couldn’t exactly be classified as being weak anymore.

However, your ears immediately pick up on something from behind you, the slight crunch against the snow being emitted to your sensitive hearing. Raising a brow at the particular intrusion, you abruptly decline your rapid pace and simply wait, wait for the sound to arrive again.

The faint movement behind you is instantly detected.

There.

You turn around, reaching out for the person following you and pushing them against the brick wall, prepared to face anything that came into your sight.

But this, this was something you were not expecting in the least.

Your hand falters.

You immediately take in his features – the same eyes boring into your own except they had no red hues swirling within them. The strands of his hair swiftly brush against his forehead, the newly dyed dark red strands greeting you instead of the familiar midnight black shade. His teeth remain clenched, no signs of protruding teeth but regular white pearls being present.

He looks….completely normal.

“Argh, I wasn’t trying to do anything, can you let me go?!” You move away from him once you sense the irritation laced in his voice, but your eyes remain attached onto his form. You keep wondering if your hallucinating, or worse, if the past was possibly coming around to haunt you with nightmares once again.

“S-sorry…” You quietly whisper, and he walks away after scoffing and fixing his crumpled shirt.  

He keeps walking.

Further and further from you.

“Hey.” You say, barely audible through the small delicate, flakes fluttering down upon you, but he turns away, raising a disinterested eyebrow.

“Y-yoongi?” You question as your eyes begin to slowly gloss over, tears threatening to fall.

You don’t know if your hallucinating or dreaming, but he’s right in front of you and you don’t want to let him go.

“How do you know my name?” He wonders, taking a step towards you and your eyes widen with the confirmation.

You now understand how painful it is for him to continue staring at you, void of any emotion arising in his eyes when a thousand are emerging from your own. You force yourself to continue on, “D-do you ever have dreams…w-where you’re dying?” You abruptly say.

His eyes tense in surprise, walking over to you slowly. When he gets closer, his voice drops down and he asks in a hushed whisper, eyes darting back and forth, “How do you know about that?”

A loose smile adorns your lips, reaching out your hand to encase with your own. A part of you laughs when you see his delicate hand be placed within your own hand, which were now paired with angry black veins and elongated nails.

“Do you want to hear a story?” You suggest and you can already recognize the look of contemplation running through his mind, wondering if he should trust you or not.

The firm line his lips were drawn in finally drops down, before he nods and you tug him alongside you to walk in the snow.

“What kind of story is this?” Yoongi questions, a blooming smile arising on your lips when you turn to face him and gaze into his eyes.

“It’s a story…” More snow begins to flutter down, encasing around only the two of you.

“About his first love.”

[khaosgaming22]

Cryptic Messages from the Deep Stones Below

“Had another nightmare huh?” Rick held the sides of his head and nodded. Chao did not have them nearly as often as Rick and his were much lighter when they occurred. Most of the time he didn’t want to talk about them, but the few times he did he described one as a regular dream. It started out with him in a field of flowers with the sun shining, nothing but the city in the background nestled into the mountain side. Then the sun disappeared, the field of flowers immediately wilted and the city in the background changed. A tower arose and turned the sky from blue to red and it snapped in half to come crashing down on top on him. Then nothing but darkness and an endless army of Exos that came rushing to fight him, leaving no option but to fight back. Chao stopped asking after that dream...

~

The two of them eventually got up and put their armor on to go to the Tower, Exos didn’t need to eat either. Chao did with Ken and Drake on occasion but most of the time he skipped the pointless activity. They made their way toward Shaxx before going to the Crucible for the day, however the Titan threw a bit of a wrench into their plans.

“Ah! Chao and Rick my two favorite Crucible warriors! How has the morning been for you two?” Chao looked over at Rick who gave a shake of his head signaling to keep quiet.

“Been good so far Shaxx.” Chao responded fixing his mark a bit.

“Good to hear. Sorry to interrupt your utter domination of the enemy team but can I ask you something?” Chao shrugged.

“Sure thing. What do you need us to do?” Shaxx showed them a map on a tablet.

“I am thinking about where to put a new Crucible arena and this place looked interesting.” Chao looked at the area and nodded, then he stopped for a second when he read the location: Enceladus. A moon in Saturn’s orbit that was full of ice to most, but to Exos... it was full of terror. He knew he already agreed to it so he couldn’t back out now.

“We’ll scope it out Shaxx.” He replied nodding and Rick gave a thumbs up, the two were inseparable, whatever Chao did Rick did and vise versa.

“Excellent! I would pay you in Crucible tokens but I think you have enough of those already.” Shaxx said laughing in his booming voice.

“Glimmer is just fine, don’t sweat it.” Chao replied, Shaxx nodded and waved as they transmatted to their ships. Chao took the lead and Rick followed as they passed the asteroid belt and the large mass of the gas giant Jupiter.

“So I guess we’re goin pretty far today aren’t we?” Chao responded with a simple “yup”, refraining from telling where they were heading for the time being.

“So... where then?” Chao tensed his grip on the controls of the ship, he couldn’t lie to him, but he could tell him half of the story.

“Moon of Saturn.” He said simply, trying not to say it too quickly in fear of arousing suspicion. Luckily it didn’t and Rick nodded in his cockpit. Chao navigated them past the giant hole in the planets ring, the battleground of the Awoken people’s first push against Oryx the Taken King. Many lives were lost to the energy pulse that created the large gap and it was also the last player Mara was seen until one guardian discovered the Dreaming City. Chao and Rick touched down on the icy surface of the frozen moon and loaded their weapons just in case.

“Huh... this place seems oddly familiar somehow.” Rick pondered as the two walked to the site Shaxx mentioned, which wasn’t easy because the wind was strong and snow was blowing around everywhere. Chao stayed quiet, he would either figure it out eventually, or wouldn’t. He hoped it was door number two.

“Alright, here we are.” He said looking up at the map and taking in the large expanse of ice sheets from the cliff of a glaicer. He looked confused until he saw the cargo ship encased in the mass of the cliff.

“So... where exactly is he thinking this area is going to be?” Rick asked and looked down at where Chao pointed. Rick gave a very pleased smirk. “Oh helllll yes!” Chao laughed and began to make his way down to the ship as Rick followed taking glances at the surroundings. He could see almost all of the planet in the distance.

~

Chao and Rick jumped down onto what was the dock of the Golden Age freighter and looked around. The ship was completely lodged into the ice so they didn’t need to worry about it coming down.

“I can see why Shaxx wanted to put it here, the view is amazing and this ship is the perfect size.” Rick nodded in agreement.

“Definitely, I could see point A here, point B over there and point C right....” He stopped and looked at the logo on the other half of the split ship. Chao glanced over to him and could tell something was wrong even without his helmet off.

“What’s wrong Rick? oh....” He saw the insignia that read clear as day the words every Exo started from: Clovis Bray...

“Clovis Bray?! But we’re not on Mars, we’re on..... Enceladus.” Rick paced around frantically and his vision began to become distorted like he was having flashbacks, except they weren’t, more like visions.

“Hey hey hey, Rick stay with me bud.” Chao said attempting to snap him out of it, it wasn’t working though. Rick’s vision got worse then it blackened and he saw the tower in the distance. Nestled into the mountain range with the city, the ice disappeared along with the ship and Chao was only seen as an enemy to him. Rick’s eyes turned red and he lunged at Chao with arc energy crackling in his fist. Chao jumped and put up his barricade.

“Rick what the hell?! This isn’t the time for a match!” Chao noticed his eyes and terror ran down his synthetic spine. Rick took out his shotgun and rushed him spraying shells that only bounced off his wall. He jumped over it and switched to his Lunas Howl firing hancannon rounds at Chao. Chao realized this was no Crucible fight, if he died now he would tear apart Servo and he’d die for good.

“Alright then Rick, if it’s a fight you want, then it’s a fight you’ll get.” He said switching to his Recluse that hit him dead on but didn’t kill him entirely. Rick made an attempt with his grenade launcher and Chao put up his Ward of Dawn to shield himself from the explosives. They bounced off and hit Rick which sent him flying toward the edge of the ship. Chao exited his bubble and walked over to him keeping his SMG aimed and ready. He couldn’t imagine what this was like for Rick. Rick picked himself back up holding his side and lunged at him slamming the ground in one final push. It knocked Chao off his feet but he quickly shut him down with a well placed tracking rocket. Rick was blasted away and Getty appeared to revive him.

~

“Phew! That was intense.” Chao said putting his weapons away. Rick was back soon and held his head in his hands.

“What... what happened? And why does everything hurt?” Chao helped him up and sat him down on a crate that was frozen shut.

“I honestly have no clue, but since we are on Enceladus I’m guessing the Crypt got to ya somehow...” Rick’s optics snapped open.

“The... the Crypt? Oh god Chao what did I do?!” He grabbed his head and looked down at the dock.

“Hey hey Rick calm down everything is fine okay? You just went a little nuts for a bit, all that matters now is you’re back.” He stopped panicking after a while and nodded slowly. Chao smiled knowing his friend was back but knew that they probably should leave soon in case it happened again.

“Hey?” Rick asked Chao looking at the box they were sitting on. “I think this is a weapon symbol.” Sure enough the crate had the letters CB and a rifle in the middle of the two.

“Well... what say we crack this thing open and see what’s inside? Glimmer from Shaxx will be nice buuuut it’s not like we should let these go to waste.” Chao said smirking and Rick nodded, punched the layer of frost off and shot the latch. A pile of weaponry spilled out onto the dock and Rick grabbed a machine gun.

“Ooh! That looks like it could pack a punch!” Chao said looking it over, it had a dark red paint job with vents on the side, probably to keep it from overheating, as well as the Clovis Bray insignia. Rick arched an eyebrow and slung it over his giant shoulders.

“Yeah well I saw it first soooo dibs.” Chao looked at him and grinned.

“Now Rick, you know our policy with dibs.” Rick cursed under his breath.

“If you call dibs and someone else challenges you fight for it.” He quoted. “Yeah yeah alright...” He put the gun up on another crate and readied his handcannon. “Ready to get your ass kicked Chao-5?” Chao laughed and loaded his Recluse.

“Nope! But I hope you are Rick-6!”

[timelordthirteen]

Killing Time 4/?

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Mature

Summary: A Woven Beauty Law & Order-ish AU. Written for Writer’s Month 2019.

Chapter Summary: Flashback: Weaver and Belle get a start on the case.

Notes: Meanwhile, back at the hall of justice... You didn't think I was going to give up the bed sharing goodness that soon did you? ;) Okay, I am in the next chapter, but I need to balance present with past. I might try alternating chapters if that seems reasonable? IDK. I'm winging it here y'all. For the Writer's Month prompt #7: sports.

Warnings: Nothing much for this chapter, just the usual references to the crime. Please see AO3 for complete warnings and tags.

[AO3]  Previous: [1] [2] [3]

12 weeks ago...

“Sports? Seriously?”

Weaver rolled his eyes and dropped his head back to look up at the ceiling before he turned around. He pointed at the television mounted on the wall of Belle’s office with the remote that was still in his hand.

“You said ‘no news channels’ because they’re too distracting,” he snapped. “Movies with guns and explosions seemed inappropriate, and if I have to listen to another home renovation show I’ll fucking shoot something. The city only pays for basic cable. That makes our choices the Weather Channel, that will repeat the same useless, and probably wrong, forecast every half hour, or...”

He paused to gesture exaggeratedly at the TV as though he was displaying it on a game show. “Premier league.”

She huffed and stalked to her desk. “Fine, but keep it down so I can think.”

He gave another brief gaze up to the ceiling and then set the remote back where he found it, echoing her with a quiet but annoyed, fine.

“Court today?” he asked, noting the slim, navy pencil skirt and suit jacket she was wearing, with what she always referred to as a ‘standard issue’ white blouse.

Belle sighed audibly and dropped into her desk chair. “Yeah. Branson’s lawyer is filing everything he possibly can, so I spent all morning fielding that, and then I covered a continuance this afternoon for Mal. But starting tomorrow, my caseload is officially down to just this.”

She swept her hand towards the stacks of boxes and the large, blank whiteboard.

Weaver stood by the leather sofa, his hands on his hips as his eyes moved over the veritable mountain of evidence they had to go through. All they’d managed that first day was moving things around in her office and dragging the largest whiteboard they could find up from storage. That had been trickier than anticipated when they discovered it wouldn’t fit in the elevator unless they squeezed themselves into the corners and put it diagonally. Of course that took them a solid fifteen minutes of arguing to achieve.

If they couldn’t even get setup without being at each other's throats, he wasn’t sure how weeks of building a case was going to go.

“Where do you want to start?” he asked finally.

She frowned and sagged a little in her seat. She was already tired and done with today, but they needed to get started sooner rather than later. This case was the kind that could make or break a career, and there were far too many victims and victims families depending on her, a whole city in fact. It was something she kept trying not to think about, but that succeeding in keeping her up half the night.

Stretching her arms up, she bent to one side and then the other, trying to work out the knots in her spine before she answered. “The board?”

He nodded slowly and then moved to the whiteboard. There was a large pack of markers sitting on the ledge and he wasted no time in opening it and dumping them all into his palm before turning and holding them up like playing cards for her to see.

“Pick a color, any color.”

He wagged his eyebrows, and she laughed in spite of herself. “Red.”

Three hours and thirty dollars in Chinese takeout later, they had managed to get through one half of one box, and about a third of the information they had on victim number one.

“Oh come on!” Belle exclaimed, popping up off the sofa and bouncing on her bare feet. She’d ditched her heels almost immediately, and then her stockings about an hour into their work. “I cannot believe it’s going to end in dual red cards and a fucking tie. What the hell?”

Weaver watched her, bemused, and leaned back on the sofa. “I told you not to cheer for bloody Arsenal.”

She shot him a glare and then sat down, reaching for one of the takeout boxes. The chopsticks rattled around inside it, and she tipped it towards her to find it empty. “Did you eat the rest of the noodles?”

He held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Don’t look at me, oh, Queen of the Spicy Peanut Sauce.”

Her feeble swat at his leg only made him snicker. He relaxed against the sofa, and watched her from the side as she stacked the containers and tucked them back in the plastic bag they’d been delivered in. They’d spent so many nights like this, both at work and at home. If he closed his eyes, it could almost be four years ago, when another case introduced them and eventually brought them together, but there were far too many miles between then and now.

Weaver had lost the leather jacket minutes into their work, and rolled up his sleeves. It should have distracted her all that much, but for some reason it did. There was a weird intimacy in seeing someone be comfortable in your presence and your space. She wondered if he thought the same of her, and then pushed it aside, dumping the bag into the trash bin by her desk, and then turning to face the board. She read over what they had posted and arched her back, pressing a hand against her spine in a vain attempt to crack something.

Overall, it was going to be a fairly standard case board, with a picture of the first victim, a woman named Molly Macreedy. She was everything people loved about cases like this; she was young, pretty, and full of hope. Even her name sounded good, with a nice little bit of alliteration that made it easy to stick in people’s minds. It was a sad but true fact about anything like this, it helped when the victim was likable. They’d taped a picture of her at her college graduation under her name, written in red, and listed out all the particulars of the general crime scene, and a brief timeline leading up to when they believed she was killed.

That was the crux of the issue.

Nick Branson had been caught red handed - quite literally as his hands were covered in blood - trying to dump the fifth victim’s body. Later, they found Henry Mills, unconscious and tied up in Nick’s apartment. It was easy from there to tie Branson to the others, but his lack of confession meant they needed to work out the details of each murder on their own. DNA was great, but it wasn’t always enough. People wanted to know the where, when, and how. They wanted the existence of the DNA explained, and, in their minds, why any of it happened in the first place.

As if it was possible to find reason in something so senseless.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Weaver said.

His voice was soft, and Belle blinked, only just realizing that he’d turned off the television. She sighed. “I’m not sure they’re even worth that.”

He ran the back of his up and down her arm, shoulder to elbow, a light soothing motion. She wanted to lean into it, let his knuckles press just a little harder and ease some of the tension she’d been carrying all day. That was something he’d always been willing to do for her, a neck rub here, a foot massage there, purely for the sake of touching her and being close to her.

“There’s just so much,” she said finally. “I don’t know, you know? How to get through all of it.”

Weaver resisted the urge to put his arm around her. He knew she meant more than she was saying. It went beyond how to physically get through the boxes and folders and reports. It was how to survive the whole exercise, how to read about blood, injuries, wounds, and causes of death, and go home at the end of the day not feeling like you’d been through it yourself. It was how to live with it, and how to move on from it when it was all done, if any of them every really did in this job.

He swallowed and let his hand drop to the sofa, a hair’s breadth from Belle’s. “The same way we always do.”

Except that was a bit of a lie. Sure he’d probably finish of most days with a scotch, neat, but it would be at Roni’s instead of home, and there wouldn’t be a second glass with red wine in it for Belle, or the comfort of cool sheets and a warm body. But they would both still understand, still be able to look at each other and know from the dark circles and endless pots of coffee, the toll it was taking on the inside.

“Yeah.”

Her voice was barely above a breath, and then he felt something touch the edge of his hand. He glanced down to see her pinky brushing against his, and he turned his hand over to catch it between his thumb and index finger. She looked down suddenly, and then her eyes flicked up to his face. He tried to hold it back, but his lips twitched in amusement anyway, and she smiled.

“Sorry.”

He shrugged, letting go of her finger, somewhat reluctantly. “Don’t be. You always fidget when you’re thinking.”

“Yeah,” she said again, her head dropping for a second. Then she looked up, her stare fixing on Molly’s picture as she took a deep, steadying breath. This was the most civil they’d been to each other in a while, and also the longest amount of time they’d been in the same room. They didn’t even sign the divorce papers together, just shuttled them back and forth between lawyers.

“We need a plan,” she said.

Weaver pushed to his feet and walked over to the rest of the boxes, still neatly stacked under the window of her office, organized by which ones went with which victim.“Divide and conquer?”

He looked back at her over his shoulder at Belle, with raised eyebrows. “I’ll do the timelines, you do the lab results?”

“And we’ll do the autopsy reports together?”

She sounded almost hopeful, as if looking at the grittiest details together might lessen their blow on the psyche. It wouldn’t, but at least they’d weather it together.

His mouth curved crookedly. “Whatever the lady wants.”

[erosjeon]

Road to desire (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Rating: Nsfw

Warnings: SMUT: dom cocky Jungkook, rough oral (giving & receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, not much of a plot really. (Please do not try any form of sex whilst driving)

It was only a few hours after sunset, the orange-red hues of what was sunlight faintly visible behind the grey clouds.

Jungkook had been driving for hours now, the journey of your pre-planned road trip beginning just a few from the steps of your scanty accommodation where Jungkook honked his black i8; showcasing his car – and his ridiculously handsome face as he popped out of the window, calling for your name. Needless to say that it did not only attract your attention but that of the rest of the campus as well, leading to a group of girls and boys alike to form and take blinding pictures at the sight of the impressive car (and owner) before them.  

“Did you really have to do that?” you sighed as you got into the car.

“What do you mean?” he smirked, knowing exactly what you had meant.

“Make a scene out of everything. Forcing attention on me.” you huffed as you closed the door of the vehicle.

He let out a chuckle before he spoke, “You can’t blame me. Besides…” he paused before he leaned into you, so close that if he opened his mouth to speak your lips would touch, “I don’t need to force attention on you, especially when you look this delicious.” And just like that, he steals a kiss before the usual smirk is drawn once again onto his face.

This was going to be a long ride, you gathered.

“I know we said no stops, but are you sure you’re good for another couple of hours?” you asked after taking in his repeated yawns, wishing you could offer to drive in his place - only if you were good enough to pass that driving practical test last semester.

“I’m good babe. We’re not that far off now.”

“What’s the rush, though? I don’t want us to crash, let’s find some place to stay for the night. You’re falling asleep!”

“Then you better do something about it” you hear amusement in his voice as he speaks low.

“And what else can I do? It’s not like I can drive…” you spoke back, voice small as you sense the hidden meanings between his words, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You might not have slept with Jungkook before, your boyfriend of two years, but that didn’t mean you were a virgin to what he implies when he’s horny. There was far too many times when he was aroused, his eyes dark with need but he’d never voice it directly, he’s never forced you into anything you didn’t want and that’s one of many things you loved about him. You were never ready to sleep with a man again after how your last relationship with your first love had gone to ashes – the man you trusted had left you after a few nights of pleasure sending you own a spiral of self-hate and depreciation.

“I can think of one or two things you can do other than - having to drive” Your throat went dry as he practically moaned the words out, you didn’t know if he was just messing with you like he always does but you can’t deny the wetness that pooled in your undergarments as he glanced over you with those eyes that screamed so much need but held no expectation.

You let out a breath that has been kept for too long. You were done with waiting, what was there to wait for when you loved the man before you with everything you have and are.

You leaned towards him, confining your upper body in the little space separating your seat from him. You notice that he flinches at your sudden movement, signalling the bluff you suspected all along – but you had made up your mind and he’s going to get it. You still hoped the situation was safer and more convenient.

You draw your hand over the visible length confined in the safety of his tight jeans, adding pressure as you trace his member while looking up to find his eyes staring at you wide like a deer stuck in the headlights.

“Fuck-” you hear him murmur as his eyes soften and look back to the road.

“Wait!” you hear him say as you unzip his jeans, one of his hands shot to keep your in place preventing you from commencing any further. “A-are you sure?” he says in a constrained voice as you squeeze his length further in response.

You take his length and guide it to the outside where it has sprung free, you grabbed it once again except that it was your palm encircling his member instead of the rough fabric. You pumped slowly to test the waters, you don’t yet know what he enjoys but as he struggled to contain a moan you used the pad of your thump to swipe over his slit that oozed with pre-cum, using it as an asset to pump his length faster.  You lowered your mouth closer to his shaft and flicked your tongue at the tip, testing the waters.

“If you don’t just get on with it, then I swea-“ his words caught dry in his throat as you took him into your mouth and sucking it passionately.

You used your tongue to flick around his tip as you flicked your hand around his base at a faster pace, earning a groan of disapproval from above. Jungkook shifted his hand that laid idly beside his lap to your hair and pulling it into a make-shift ponytail as he tugged your mouth onto his length further.

“I want to feel your throat” he snarled as he bucked his hips up into his desired destination.

Your breathing was cut off by his hard thrust and the movement of his hands that pulled you closer every time, only releasing you for a brief second for air before he resumed his actions over and over again, his pace ruthless but you didn’t mind. Not when the sounds he made were heaven to your ears.

A one particular thrust had reached so far in your throat, triggering the release of tears and a gag reflex you didn’t know you had before he had inserted his whole length into your mouth. His groans grew louder, tempting you to take a look up through your wet eyelashes. The scene was sinful, his neck covered in sweats as he tried so hard not to give in and throw his head backwards.

“Babe, fuck” he huffed before continuing, “ I-I’m so close” you hear him whine again, his thrusts increasing rapidly before he came and flooded your mouth with bitter cum.

“Shit” you hear him say above you as you feel his gaze linger on you as you swallow it all in. His hands set you free but that didn’t steer you from taking his length in your mouth as you stroke it gently.

“I’d say sorry – but I wouldn’t mean it” he sighed, moving his fingers to wipe the tears away.

Jungkook was suddenly adamant on finding a place to stay overnight. Moving from the highway at the nearest station with a hotel sign. He hastily booked into a room where he dragged you, his body vibrating with need once again.

You were in the lift when you cornered him, your body craving for his touch as he is for yours. You tip toed in attempt to place your lips on the sweet spot of his neck while your hand travelled south to that damned zip, only to be rejected playfully.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners?” he purred, his upper body leaning into yours only to smash his lips into yours.

His tongue was warm, playing a fight of dominance over yours which he won easily before he let your lips go for his teeth to tug at your earlobe.

“Greedy” he whispered, “What is it you want?”

All it took was a three-lettered word for him to scoop you by the thighs and settling you below his waist, where you wanted to be kept. You grinded against him in need and felt his member twitch in response as he whispered, “I made a promise a while ago… to myself” his breath hot in your ear, “That I’d worship you when I get to touch you and right now? I can’t stop from wanting to break you.”, sending a wave of shivers down your spine and wetness to collect between your legs.

The entry to your hotel room was messy, the fight between your tongues were still taking place as he layed you flat on the table in the centre of the room. Your kiss deepened, motivating you to wrap your legs around his back, hooking him closer. Jungkook moved from your lips to nip at your tongue, he dragged his tongue down your skin as his hands slipped underneath the thin sweater you had picked to wear earlier, his hand moving up to cup your breast making you arch into the touch. His hands were quick at removing the shear clothing that covered your upper body.

Jungkook pulled back briefly, his eyes scanning your naked half from the waist up, his eyes had gotten impossibly darker as his hands roamed your breast again, his finger toying with your right nipple as he moved closer. “Had I told you how much I love these?” he purred before he lowered his mouth into your breast and sucked, his tongue flicking against your nipple. Your hands plunged into his hair, moaning as he worked for your pleasure.

Jungkook used his free hand to roam the rest of your body, moving downward to your belly button as his mouth catches the other nipple, his tongue moving leisurely.

But you needed more.

You grabbed at his clothes, he shifted into a position that made it easier to do so. His white shirt long forgotten on the floor followed by his denim, revealing that beautiful body sculpted with mouth-watering muscles.

His mouth moved against yours again, his hands shifting to remove your shorts and the undergarments with it before he gripped your thighs again and yanked you to the edge of the table, knocking a few items of what sounded like a remoter and tissue box. He had hooked your legs over his shoulders, his mouth drawing closer to your core where the first lick of his tongue set you in fire,

He had kept his word, his mouth had given your lower ones a kiss before his tongue started to worship your clit, making you moan in pleasure. His tongue moved fervently against your bud interrupted only by heart-felt sucks all while one of his hands pinned you to the table and the other plunging two fingers into your aching core.  He had growled in approval at the sounds you made, at the taste you had and he unleashed himself on you until your release.

He had given you no time to recover, keeping his second promise as he carried you to the bed before throwing you into the centre. He came closer to you, crawling to you as you slowly lock your legs around his back again, he used his hand to grip his girth, he nudged at your wet entrance and entered completely as he took your mouth with his.

His first thrust was slow but deep, allowing you to adjust to the feel of him as he stilled. He had stared at you as he pulled out just as slow, only to thrust in again. His speed building up as you spilled moans of his name repeatedly just like he is with yours.

You moved your hips with his, allowing him to kiss you over and over. You raked his back with the tips of your nails as you screamed his name at the new speed he mastered, coming closer to your second release of the night – as he with his, a slam in to the hilt was what had made you lose yourself to the light, cumming undone as you hear him whisper your name before he released into you.

Silence took over, interrupted only by your panting breaths. Jungkook withdrawed from you for a while until he had return with a warm cloth to clean you up.

“We should have done this road trip much sooner” he jokes before encircling your waist with his arm pulling you tight to his chest.

“I love you”.

A/N: first smut makes its debut (high-key anxious), what do you guys think? PLEASE don’t leave me hanging I really would love feedback, whatever it is.

[breakingdownsu]

Spiderweb Chapter Three

Note: This is coming out later than I anticipated, I'm under a new treatment regimen so I'm unsure of what writing time is available right now, but will hopefully keep updating on a semi-regular basis. Thanks for your patience.

…..

Pearl ownership turned out to be very different than Slim had initially feared. She had acquired enough cash over the orbits to afford a brand-new one, for her needs were modest, but her natural wariness over being in the company of other gems had her thinking it would be awkward to have a gem, even a gem that barely counted as a gem, permanently in her space.

But the pearl was so unobtrusive she kept forgetting it was there. She could spend entire quadrants going over spatter evidence with such focus that whenever she turned around and spotted the pearl, she jumped. It wouldn't move unless she told it to, so it was more-or-less a constant fixture in the corner of the apartment.

Slim asked it to pick up things, tidy the apartment, even process some of the more boring data for her, but she was naturally self-sufficient and there just wasn't much work to give the pearl. A fleeting thought of using the pearl for her carnal urges occurred to her, but it was gone in the next moment; Slim had never really had trouble with those urges in the first place, and she found the idea of doing that with the pearl oddly distasteful.

It wasn't until a full seven cycles passed since Orthoclase had handed over the pearl that Slim finally hit a breakthrough.

She had been analyzing some crime evidence that didn't seem to make sense. Improvising as she always did, she picked up an object of equivalent weight and heft to the supposed weapon (a small sulphide container) and swung it in the supposed trajectory of the evidence. But her swing was clumsy, and the container was heavier than she expected, it slipped from her grasp.

She had, more-or-less, hurled it at the pearl.

There was less than a single pelmetre between Slim and the rest pod that the pearl had been sitting on, and less than a parsec to avoid being hit. Slim didn't see the pearl move, but it had, and the container hit the back of the rest pod, smashing the control panel there.

“Hm. You dodged it,” she murmured, a little stunned.

“I'm sorry,” the pearl responded.

“No, don't be sorry,” Slim said. Her mind was ticking over fast, as it usually did when she was piecing evidence together. “Why did you dodge it? I didn't have time to tell you...”

“I have a basic self-preservation program in place, and you did not order me to ignore it.”

“I can do that?”

“It's recommended in the manual.”

“Which I never got, because you're illegal,” Slim mused, tapping her forehead. “And your previous owner didn't follow the instructions?”

“My previous owner didn't read the manual. She only owned me for three cycles before she lost me on the tracer.”

“I see.”

Slim wanted to test the pearl's reaction time, so naturally she didn't give any warning when she struck out and slapped it across the face. To her shock, the pearl didn't even attempt to defend itself.

“What...?” Slim sputtered. Her hand stung, she hadn't held back. “Why didn't you block me?”

“I'm sorry. Did you want me to block?”

A deep purple bruise was already blooming across the pearl's cheek. Looking at it, Slim felt a little sick.

“Well, yes!” she said, fiddling with her hair as she always did when she felt on edge. “You just told me you have self-preservation programming, I assumed you'd stop me and I wanted to see how fast you could...”

“You're my owner. I can't defend myself from you.”

“Even without me ordering you to let me beat you up?” Slim snorted, incredulously.

“Of course. It's a basic rule.”

Slim made a little noise in the back of her throat. She had assumed the pearls that had been mutilated by their murdered owners had been ordered not to defend themselves, but she hadn't realized that all pearls were programmed to be helpless towards their owners in particular.

“Okay,” Slim sighed. “I'm going to hit out at you again, and this time I do want you to try and avoid getting hit. In fact, I want you to avoid getting hit by anyone or anything from now on, okay?”

“I understand.”

Slim held off for about half a quadrant before she struck out again. This time, the pearl had been idling by the corner of the apartment and the only way to avoid Slim's fist was to jump over her.

She did.

It looked to Slim like the pearl had disappeared into thin air, with just the slight air displacement that set Slim's hair floating to indicate she had moved at all. Slim's fist just about glanced the wall, and the pearl was behind her.

That's interesting.

Slim knew from the evidence she had found that a pearl's physical strength was nothing compared to even the weakest of gems, but not much had ever been written about their speed. It made sense for them to be fast, they had considerably less mass than normal gems, but it seemingly had never been utilized in any real way.

A little shiver ran down her spine. The great advantage that the zoatox species had had against gemkind had been their unbelievable speed. Breeding, growing and attacking had all happened in the blink of a gem's eye, and every time gems managed to gain some upper ground the zoatox evolved and attacked in a new and more vicious way. Diamond Core's great and horrific sacrifice had just barely managed to stop them.

Whispers across Homeworld were saying that these murders bore the hallmarks of a zoatox attack. Perhaps they did, but pearls had been compared to zoatox more than once and for good reason.

Slim was just about to download the most recent pearl ownership manuals when her holocast rang. She didn't even have to look at it.

Another one.

…..

The markets were so busy when Slim made her way to the far quadrant it was hard to believe a gem had been shattered.

Let alone two.

Well, one and a half. We can't register a pearl as a gem shattering.

On the surface, it looked like the pearl was mere collateral damage. According to the witnesses (who were talking rapidly in the constructs about the little they had seen), whatever had struck Hematite had gone through the pearl. Slim inspected the perspex box the pearl had been inside, measuring the cracks.

There goes my theory.

Her mind had just been starting to come around to the idea that a pearl had committed these crimes, perhaps on the order of some gem that had seen possibility in their speed. Whatever had hit those targets had been long and thin, and could only do serious damage if they were used at high velocity. But she couldn't imagine a pearl destroying another pearl in the process.

On the other hand, pearls didn't seem to be capable of going against orders even at risk to their own safety, why wouldn't they destroy a pearl if they were following orders?

I don't know enough about pearls for this.

And that was probably why Orthoclase had handed over the pearl.

Lavender. That's its name. Her name.

“What are you thinking?” the commanding Amethyst asked her. “Turf war?”

“Unlikely,” Slim mumbled. “Hematite's had this shop here for seven hundred plus orbits.”

“So?” the Amethyst scoffed. “This whole quadrant changes hands every couple of orbits. Maybe she was a holdout.”

“Whatever you say,” Slim said, rolling her eyes.

The attack trajectory was once again coming from the ceiling. It had gone through the upper corner of the perspex box, through the pearl's gem, out of the base of the box and through Hematite's shoulder. The pearl wouldn't have felt a thing, but the Hematite had been in enough pain to scream, loud enough to attract the attention of every gem shopping in the district. By the time anyone was in direct line of sight, Hematite was shattered and whatever had attacked her was long gone.

All within the space of three parsecs at most.

No gem was capable of that kind of speed.

As far as they knew.

“Aw, they got the pearl too?”

A Spinel was lingering by the door (probably just released from the evidence constructs), staring at the perspex box with vague dismay.

“I'm afraid so,” Slim told her. “But even if it wasn't, it would have been taken in as evidence.”

“I know that,” the Spinel groaned. “I wanted to get dibs when it gets released on the pre-owned circuit.”

“Why? What's so special about this pearl?”

“It's freaky,” Spinel said with a cheerful grin. “Hematite used to sell tickets.”

Aha.

“Freaky how?” Slim asked, feigning disinterest by rummaging through her toolkit.

“Like, it's been dead the entire time she had it,” the Spinel explained. “Except sometimes it used to move when you weren't looking. Hematite kept it in that box to show she wasn't making it move. It was seriously spooky,”

Curiouser and curiouser.

“How shattered is it, exactly?” Spinel asked.

“Completely.”

“Ah, slag it,” Spinel muttered and slumped away.

Two mutilated pearls and a dead one that moved.

The squad dealing with the case were packing up and moving on. No doubt they'd be pinning this as a turf war between rival gangs and Hematite as an innocent bystander. Slim, of course, knew it ran much deeper than that, but she also knew they wouldn't listen to her.

…..

Slim lingered around the market stalls for a little longer than was comfortable for her. In the past it had been a good place to pick up rumours that lead to case facts, so it was worth the mild anxiety being surrounded by so many gems tended to provoke. They never clocked her for a patrol Amethyst; at her size, she was usually mistaken for a strangely-coloured Jade.

Even so, the cycle had nearly ended before she heard anything useful.

A downstreet stall selling offcut compound mixes was a quiet corner in the otherwise-crowded market, a steady stream of gems stopped by to drink compound and chat to the Iolite running the stall. Slim camped out there for a while before a Larimar stopped by and, over the course of three compounds, told her entire life story. Slim half-listened right up until she heard something interesting.

“She just hasn't been the same since,” the Larimar moaned. “It's like, nothing's really exciting anymore!”

“Well, why don't you hit the backstreet? They've got that blind pearl, it's supposed to be pretty nifty...” the Iolite responded. She sounded bored.

“We got banned from that place,” Larimar groaned. “She got carried away....besides, when you've seen the Murder Pearl take out old zoatox veterans everything else just pales in comparison.”

Murder Pearl?

“Better you than me,” Iolite shivered. “Personally I find the whole idea of murder pearls creepy.”

“Lucky for you there's only one then,” Larimar laughed. “But I asked and Hematite says she has no idea when the next fight is going to be. She says the pearl is down for maintenance, but like I believe that...”

There were many Hematites on Homeworld, and a good number of them involved in criminal activity, but Slim knew exactly what Hematite this Larimar was talking about. Only one Hematite was known for hosting underground fighting matches. She paid large amounts of cash to the Amethyst squadrons to look the other way.

…..

“I don't have it,” Hematite growled. “Don't you need a warrant?”

“Actually, I don't. I have authority to raid at random,” Slim responded. “I don't really feel like doing that, though.”

“Okay, what do you want? I can give you a few thousand...”

“I don't want cash, I just want you to answer some questions. All off the record.”

Hematite cursed under her breath, rubbed her temples and sighed.

“Okay, fine. I'll tell you what I can. Off the record. If it goes any further, I'll deny everything.”

“Deal,” Slim shrugged. “Tell me about the pearl.”

“It was a joke, okay? It was just some old broken pearl I got off the black market, got it rejigged and set it up in the arena. It was supposed to get smashed. It was never meant to fight.”

“But...it did fight?”

“It did. It fought and it won. Over and over.”

“How is that possible?” Slim asked. “Pearls aren't built for fighting, and from what I understand you get really tough gems volunteering for this kind of thing...”

“I don't know how, it just kept winning. It just...always found a way to kill them.”

“What orders did you give it?”

“I didn't give it any orders,” Hematite moaned. “I just said something stupid, like 'try not to die too quickly' or something, I don't know! I never had a pearl before, Larimar had a bunch of them...I didn't know what I was doing, okay?”

“Okay,” Slim agreed. “So, where is this pearl now?”

“No idea,” Hematite growled. “Orthoclase borrowed it and never returned it. Not that I want it back, it made me lots of money but it scared the slag out of me...Larimar left me for a while because of it....why do you want to know, anyway?”

“No particular reason,” Slim lied.

[colorfulwizardpolice]

Is this seat taken?

My first attempt at a fanfiction, first actual writing I've completed as an adult. Hope someone enjoys it. Based on a prompt from a list I saw on Tumblr somewhere - I forget where sorry!

Pack gatherings had devolved over the past few months into nothing more than an excuse to get together and movie nights rolled into one.

Since the alpha pack had been dealt with it had been pretty quiet in Beacon Hills and the gang were making full use of the free time for some much needed bonding and rest, and this Friday night was a typical gathering.

Alison and Scott cuddled up on one of the chairs in corner of Derek's loft where Stiles had insisted they set up a full entertainment system (especially since he somehow managed to talk Derek into footing the bill for it) complete with 50” television and PlayStation for their gaming and viewing pleasure, “shut up Isaac, it's totally better than X-Box”.

As Stiles looked around the room at their little ragtag group he couldn't help but be amazed at how far they had come in just a few short months.

Boyd sat in the other armchair with his arms wrapped around Erika who sat between his legs rubbing her hands absently up and down his calves in a low key possessive manner, while Lydia looked unfairly poised and elegant in the middle of the floor for someone who was currently supported only by a bean bag chair.

As per usual Isaac had sprawled himself over the majority of the sofa directly facing the television and given Stiles just enough space to squeeze on next to him. Fitting the two of them with the longest limbs onto the one surface was difficult at best, and they spent weeks shoving and bickering before Scott got sick of it insisted they alternate who got to stretch out each week.

Derek walked in from the kitchen carrying snacks having let the rest of the pack settle the argument of what to watch since no matter what they picked he knew that he wouldn't be focusing on it.

He looked around the room trying to decide how to navigate amongst the limbs hanging off of each piece of furniture and where he should situate himself.

They had left his usual chair open, a show of deference to the alpha that he had his own spot which was touching, really it was, but unfortunately it meant that he had to sit separately from all of the other members of his pack.

He knew they were trying to be sensitive to the fact that he was not the most tactile, especially for a wolf, a habit born of years of holding himself apart from people to avoid being hurt again.

At first he had been grateful for the distance and the fact that his new 'family' were not going to pressure him into sharing his space when he wasn't ready, but a few months in and he was more than ready to bridge that gap and get up closer with his pack (one member in particular more than the others perhaps) and he hadn't been able to figure how to make that happen.

After he set the chips and popcorn down on the small coffee table along with several bottles of soda he took a step back and hesitated for what felt like a long time but was probably only a few seconds.

Stiles noticed anyway, he noticed everything which was both a blessing and a curse. Derek used to be irritated with Stiles for pushing for answers, picking up on little things that Derek didn't necessarily want anyone else to pick up on.

But over the past few months they had fallen into a more relaxed rhythm and, now that the information that Derek was withholding was not life and death, Stiles had stopped pushing him (though he clearly had not stopped noticing when Derek was holding back, as evidenced by the shrewd look he was now giving his alpha as he stood in indecision).

Derek knew what he wanted, had been telling himself for weeks he needed to just 'wolf-up' and do something about this need he had to be closer to the pack...well closer to Stiles if he was being honest.

Since things had calmed down what had begun as a low key attraction to the long limbed teen, had been slowly building in something deeper.

Stiles was the most loyal and courageous human Derek had ever come across, and his ability to see right through Derek's defences combined with his long fingers, sinuous muscles and hypnotising amber eyes had resulted in the older man becoming more than a little infatuated.

He knew of course that Stiles found him attractive, he could scent that much from the chemo-signals the younger man gave off.

What he didn't know was whether or not Stiles was just concerned that Derek would reject him, or if he was only physically attracted to him and had no desire to take it any further than casual flirtatious remarks.

Derek's main concern was that Stiles never seemed one to hold back when he wanted something, he had gone after Lydia with a laser-like focus for years and only seemed to have stopped pursuing her in the last few months.

Derek held a flicker of hope that perhaps that meant Stiles was ready to move on (with him?), but he had a feeling if he wanted things between to progress beyond their current relationship he was going to have make the first move which was something he had never been comfortable doing.

Taking a deep breath the alpha steeled himself, for Stiles he was willing to take the risk and put himself out there trusting that even if he didn't get the response he wanted the younger man would never be cruel about it.

He tore his gaze from Stiles' eyes which had been assessing him curiously while he built the courage to take this step, and moved from the corner of the living space toward Isaac. He roughly tapped the beta's feet causing him to startle and look up into Derek's eyes.

“Move” Derek's voice brooked no argument, though he could see Isaac's face was full of questions and he could feel every other pack member's gaze land on him at the unexpected request.

He had no plans to explain himself or ask again (if you could consider his command asking) so he just stared at Isaac for a moment with one eyebrow raised until he curled his legs up and pushed himself up off of the sofa.

Isaac stood for a moment looking slightly bewildered but when Derek lowered himself into the space he had just left he seemed to be spurred into action and went over to the remaining armchair and, with one last glance as his alpha after finding no disapproval in his gaze, he crashed down into Derek's usual seat looking confused but somewhat pleased to have his own space.

At this point Derek was sitting stiffly on the sofa next to Stiles, who was ostensibly watching the opening of the movie on the television in front of them but was surreptitiously sneaking glances over at Derek trying to determine what had brought this change to the seating arrangements about.

After another minute of silence everyone seemed to relax as nothing else unusual happened and their focus shifted back to the movie, while Derek tried to calm himself as his heartbeat had sped up in response to all of their attention.

Now that he had managed to get himself into the position he wanted to be in he was having trouble figuring out where to go from here, he wanted to get Stiles to relax and understand his intentions here but since he wasn't exactly sure what those intentions were except to be closer to him, actually achieving that was proving more difficult that he had anticipated.

It takes about 10 minutes of incremental shuffling, helped along by the fact that Stiles has relaxed enough to settle into his seat and so is leaned slightly in Derek's direction, but eventually Derek finds himself close enough to Stiles to be able to shift subtly and press their thighs together.

It takes everything in him to not react to the jolt of heat he feels when he finally manages to connect to Stiles, and also ignore the tension he suddenly feels coming in waves from his sofa companion.

Stiles cuts his eyes over to Derek, seemingly noticing for the first time that he has edged so much closer and after a moment of hesitation he seems to decide that he is going to call Derek's bluff, and swings his legs into the air and up onto Derek's lap.

Startled for a moment, Derek freezes before realising that this is the opportunity he has been looking for and relaxing while leaning over slightly towards Stiles and sliding his arm along his back wrapping it around his shoulders pulling him even closer while his other arm wraps around the gangly legs now draped across him.

Derek sweeps his eyes around the room at the rest of the pack but no one seems to have noticed their change in position, so he swiftly moves his gaze back to the side of Stiles' face who is still facing forward seemingly focused on the film, but Derek can hear his heart racing and see the slight pink tint to his cheeks revealing he is not as unaffected as he would perhaps like Derek to believe.

Another moment passes and Stiles slowly moves his hand along his thigh towards Derek's and the alpha takes his queue from Stiles and slots their hands together, and after a moments held breath they both seem to exhale and relax falling even further into their embrace.

Stiles shoots a look over to Derek who risks connecting eyes with him and a finds a soft smile on his lips which Derek returns shyly. They both turn back towards the film with a blush on their cheeks as they contemplate where they go from here, before Stiles seems to make a decision nodding to himself slightly and leaning his head over towards Derek's to speak softly into his ear.

“Did you just kick Isaac off of the sofa so that you could cuddle with me?” He murmurs with a smirk on his lips, sending a shiver running down Derek's spine at the brush of Stiles' breath across his ear.

Derek turns towards Stiles and finds that they are even closer than he had realised, just a breath away from each other now and being as brave as he can Derek breaths a soft exhalation across Stiles' lips “Yes” and then moves forward those last few millimetres to join their lips in a ghost of a kiss before pulling back to look into the young man's eyes to check he hadn't misread this moment.

He finds Stiles with his eyes closed, lips slightly parted looking rapturous and as beautiful as Derek has ever seen him. Feeling reassured he starts to move in again and Stiles meets him halfway for a kiss which is far less gentle but just as full of care.

They trade breathless kisses for a few moments, hands tightening their hold on each other before a cackle from across the room breaks them apart in shock as they realise they are not alone.

Erika is rolling on the floor with laughter as the others stare at the pair in shock and they all freeze for a moment before Stiles rolls his eyes and declares “Guy's, come on we all knew Derek couldn't resist my considerable charms forever!”.

The tension is broken with a smattering of laughter and there are some mutters of bets being settled up as the group turns back to the television.

Derek lets out the breath he had been holding, and turns to Stiles with a blush on his cheeks to see his reaction now that they have accidentally informed all of their friends of their mutual attraction.

To his surprise Stiles is looking right back at him with a broad smile, only the slightest hesitation in his gaze as though perhaps he is a little unsure if Derek will be okay with this development.

But Derek couldn't be happier that their little ragtag pack seems to have taken this change in stride with minimal mocking (though he expects there will be more of that later), and wants nothing more than pull Stiles back in for another taste of those addictive lips.

He returns Stiles' smile to reassure him and takes a hold of his chin and does just that, completely uncaring of their audience surrounding them.

He still has no idea what film they are watching, but when it ends he has thoroughly learned the cavern of Stiles' mouth and how to encourage the little sounds of pleasure he makes.

After that the sofa becomes Derek and Stiles regular seat and Isaac keeps the armchair since no one wants to be in between the alpha and his 'cuddle buddy' “Stiles no one calls you that”, “Well they should Sourwolf, we all know that's what I am”.