#i asked a bus driver on a different line and he was like yeah that lines running. um girl where

[zxvmp]

Cracked (Stoner!Dabi x Nerd!Fem Reader)

tags: Smut, highschool AU!, there’s no quirks, dabi doesn’t have burn marks, dabi has an eyebrow piercing, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, marking, rough sex, degradation, smoking, peer pressure(?)

summary: you get assigned to tutor the senior stoner. going to his house for a study session escalated to something more.

You weren’t stoked for tutoring Dabi. Sure, you loved to help people study, but when it came to people like him, you found it difficult. He was failing practically every class and the only senior in Physical Science A. You were amazed he was still even allowed to attend the school.

When you were told you had to tutor him, you almost ended it all in that exact moment. You, a straight A student, top of all your classes, tutoring him, a failure.

“No disrespect, sir, but why me?” You asked your principal, attitude in your tone.

Dabi scoffed and slouched into his chair next to you. The principal eyed you both before letting out a sigh.

“Miss (Y/N), I know this task may seem…” He paused and stared at Dabi who grinned and gave a small wave, “Difficult…. but he could really use the help.”

You side eyed Dabi before pouting, “Fine.”

~

After your meeting in the principals office, you and Dabi exchanged numbers. You set up a study date at his house directly after school, and he surprisingly agreed without complaints. He even offered to drive you after school since you normally took the bus. You were a bit hesitant a first, but you took him up on his offer.

Once the final school bell rang, you waited at the doors to the student parking lot. Multiple students left and the cars in the parking lot dwindled down. You began to wonder if Dabi lied and ditched you.

Just as you were about to press his contact to call him, he turned the corner of the hallway.

“Took you long enough!” You cross your arms and leaned your weight onto your right leg.

He smirked, “My apologies, your highness.”

You rolled your eyes and followed him out of the school. His car was parked at the end of the lot. It was an all-black hellcat. You almost forgot he came from a rich family. His brother was a very smart student, almost on your level. However, he had three more years ahead of him to reach yours.

The moment you opened the passenger door, the scent of weed entered your nostrils, causing your nose to scrunch up. Dabi noticed your facial expression and chuckled as he hopped into the drivers seat.

“Seriously?” You peaked your head into the car and raised an eyebrow at him.

His right hand was already on the steering wheel, ready to drive. “Um, yeah? Get in.”

A groan escaped your mouth as you tossed your backpack onto the floor of the car before plopping down onto the leather seat. Before he backed out of his parking space, he pulled out a vape and took a long hit. You stared at the device and read: “Blue Rasperry, Breeze Pro.”

His eyes met yours and noticed what you were looking at, “Wanna hit it?”

“Are you crazy? No.”

Dabi snickered as he placed his hand on the back of your headrest, twisting his body to look in the back window, “Figured.”

You peaked over at him as he backed out of the parking space. His black T-shirt slightly lifted, causing his lower abdomen to show. Your eyes immediately darted to his prominent V-line.

Dabi caught you looking as he returned to his sitting position and smirked. You rasied eyebrows and averted your eyes away from him to act like you weren’t caught.

The drive to his place was quiet. Neither of you spoke a word to each other. Only occasional glances. His music taste was much different from yours. Though, you did know some of the artists he played: Lucki, Pierce the Veil, and Chase Atlantic.

When you arrived at his place, you picked up on the fact that he had his own apartment. It made you wonder why he moved out so early. It’s not like you were in college yet, and it was only the second trimester. However, you kept your questions to yourself.

His place smelled like weed and air fresheners. At least he tried to mask the scent.

You slid off your uggs at the doorsteps and followed him towards the kitchen. Not knowing where to go, you nervously held your backpack and waited for him to say something.

Dabi noticed you looked lost and pointed towards the large couch in the living room, “You can set up, or whatever, in there.”

You nodded and did as he said. You placed your laptop on the coffee table and set out pens and pencils along with some notebooks.

Dabi was busy searching the refrigerator for food while you patiently waited.

His apartment was neat for the most part. There was a large TV that gang over a fire place with blue flames. You found the blue flames fun to look at.

“You want pizza?”

You perked up at his voice and turned to look at him. He was leaned against his counter, facing you with his phone in hand and a lit joint in the other.

“Um, sure.”

He nodded and brought the joint to his lips. You turned away and began to scroll through your phone as you waited for him to finish ordering. Once he was done, he took a spot next to you on the couch with two water bottles and an ash tray.

You eyed his joint, “Do you really have to smoke right now?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Helps me focus.”

His words made you curious. Did weed really do that? You thought it made you freak out.

Dabi could read the curiosity on your face. He held out the joint for you to take it, nodding his head slightly for you to hit it.

You shook your head, “I don’t smoke.”

He frowned and left his hand out, “Oh c’mon, one hit won’t hurt.”

You hummed and stared down at his hand. Would one hit really hurt? You were honestly considering it.

“Here,” Dabi took a long hit and scooted closer to you. You could smell his cologne and the weed much more. He raised his free hand and pointed at your mouth. You blushed, nervous at what he was indicating. However, you complied. You opened your mouth and watched as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth. “Take a deep breath.”

You followed his instruction. As soon as you did, you felt a slight sting in the back of your throat, but you didn’t cough.

Dabi hummed, “That’s funny. You took it a lot better than I expected.”

In your mind, you were stressing out. Why were you going along with what he said? Why did he look at you the way he did? And most importantly, why was he looking better than usual?

Dabi had attractive features, you knew that. You just didn’t care. You didn’t like his personality. He was a jerk, a loser, and he smoked. But, you couldn’t help but feel something towards him. You always have. That’s why you hated the fact you had to tutor him. You knew your feelings would increase.

“Um- So, what class do you wanna focus on today?”

He took a drag of the joint and squinted his eyes as he thought. Smoke trailed out of his nose as he softly exhaled. “Ask me later, I wanna finish this joint first.”

“Dabi-” You were cut off by him placing the joint in between your lips. Your eyes widened, but he calmed you down by giving you a reassuring lazy smile.

“Inhale.”

Once again, you followed his instruction. This time, there wasn’t a burning sensation. You took it a lot more smoother. It made you wonder yourself how you took it so well. As you pulled back, you maintained eye contact with him and exhaled softly. His half-lidded blue eyes peered into yours. It made you nervous.

Your study session somehow turned into a smoking session. Never in a million years would you think you’d be seated on Dabi’s couch smoking with him. Each time you tried to bring up the topic of studying, he’d blow you off and say ‘one more hit, then we can.’ Except that was 10 hits ago and the pizza he had ordered earlier was opened on the coffee table with two slices gone.

Dabi handed you a water bottle because he could tell from the look on your face you needed it. You’d never been high before. Everything was hitting you at once. Your vision was slowed and your body was much more sensitive than usual.

“How you feelin’, pretty?”

The joint was smooshed into the ash tray, finished by the two of you. You finished your water bottle and placed it on the coffee table.

“I… don’t know.” You giggle. “You sure this helps you focus?”

He nodded, “Always. Now, can you help me with this.” Dabi pulled out an old test he took in science. “My teacher told me he’d let me retake it Friday.”

You stared at his score, 10/45.

“Damn, that’s terrible.” You blurt out.

He choked back his laughter and looked at you. Your eyes were red and lowered. Your always neat hair was disheveled and you had a blush coating your cheeks. You were absolutely fried. He smirked at your broken form. He managed to crack the nerd.

You took notice that he had been staring at you and tried to recollect your thoughts, “Um, right, science.” You picked up his paper and stared at each question he got wrong. However, your mind couldn’t focus with his eyes scanning your body. You felt nervous under his gaze. “So, what don’t you understand?”

Dabi leaned in closer next to you and scanned the questions you had just looked at. You swallowed a thick lump in your throat from how close he was. Your thighs were touching and his arm was mere inches away from brushing up against yours. You admired his side profile as he looked at the paper you were holding up. His jawline was sharp, like his nose.

Dabi side eyed you, “Are you gonna help me, or keep staring?”

If you were sober, you’d know exactly how to answer his question. The fact was, you weren’t. You were high and somehow horny. Being near him wasn’t helping either. Anything he did made your body slightly twitch.

Your lips parted, but you couldn’t form a sentence.

The next thing that happened shocked the both of you. You dropped the paper and began to straddle him. His hands rested on the waist band of your leggings, while yours rested on his chest. Your heart was beating fast, and your chest was rising and falling rapidly.

He smirked at the state you were in, “What’s up with the sudden change of heart? Thought you wanted to study.”

“No, what I want now is…” You paused, unable to say the next word out of shame and embarrassment.

Dabis hand began to creep his hands underneath your crewneck that loosely rested on your shoulders. “…Is?”

You turned your head to the side and balled your hands up on his shirt.

He lowly chuckled as his hands stopped at the clip of your bra. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Your bra was unclasped and shortly after, disregarded on the floor. Next was your crewneck. Inch by inch, Dabi lifted it up your body. Just as your breast began to appear, he stopped and looked at you. He had a smug smirk plaster on his lips, almost like he knew you’d end up like this.

“Well?”

You let go of any restraint telling you not to and leaned in to kiss him. It was a quick kiss. You pulled away ever so slightly to look at him in his eyes. All you could see was lust. In an instant, he crashed his lips onto yours roughly and fondled with your breast underneath your crewneck. You began to grind on his crotch in the process.

Finally, he got your crewneck off of you and tossed it on the floor. His mouth latched to your neck, littering it with his markings. While his mouth was busy on your neck, his hands were busy groping your boobs.

Soft mewls escaped your lips as you continued to grind against him. You could feel the bulge in his pants grow the louder your sounds were.

“You’re a freak, you know that?” Dabi muttered in between kisses.

You disregarded his words and reached down to take his shirt off. However, he stopped you and pulled away from your neck.

“Lay down.”

His tone was darker, more dominant. You followed orders and laid on your back with your head against the arm rest.

“So quick to follow orders,” Dabi chuckled, “just how desperate are you?”

You sigh, “Dabi-”

He hushed you. You formed a line with your lips and stayed silent. His eyes traveled down to your leggings, making your thighs press against each other. He smirked watching you squirm.

Your leggings and panties were ripped from you, tossed to the side. Now, you were completely bare underneath him. Dabi looked at each curve of your body, thinking of all the ways he could crack you even more. Just the thought of you going dumb on his cock made his dick twitch in his boxers.

The tension was thick. Dabis boner poked at his grey sweats, making your stomach do somersaults.

“Sorry, (Y/N), but I can’t wait any longer.” He began to rid himself of his pants and boxers, letting his cock spring free. “I’m sure you can take it though, right? I mean, you handled the weed well.”

You stared at his dick. It was big, thick too. A vein ran up from the base towards his tip. He kept his dick clean, which you liked. It wasn’t perfectly shaved, but it wasn’t extremely hairy either.

“C’mon, let me hear you say you can.”

You swallowed, “I- I can.”

He smirked and took off his shirt, tossing it to the side to join the rest of your clothes. “That’s my girl. Now, just lay there and look pretty for me, ‘mkay?”

You nodded.

His tip parted through your wet folds, gathering your slick to make it easy to slide in. Once his tip pressed into your tight hole, the two of you hissed. But that didn’t stop Dabi, he couldn’t stop. His hips bucked forward, shoving his length into you fully. You cried out, tears forming in your eyes from both pain and pleasure. He stretched you out, but at the same time made you feel so full.

“So fuckin’ tight..” He breathed out. “Relax, baby.”

Your tensed muscles calmed down, making it easier for him to move. Once he was able to complete a thrust, any sign of concern left Dabis body. You scratched at his back and moaned as his pace quickened. He gripped your hips so tight they were sure to leave bruises.

With each thrust he thrusted, the more it felt good.

“Fuck—Ah!” You gripped his forearms and tilted your head back.

Dabi was in love with the way your stomach bulged when his dick would move. With one hand, he pressed down on your stomach to feel himself moving in you. Your eyes widened and a broken cry came out of you mouth.

“You like that?” He laughed, “Man, you really are a slut. Underneath that nerdy persona, you’re just a freak aren’t you?”

Your eyes rolled back as his hips snapped upwards, making his dick hit deeper into you.

“Answer.”

“Yes! Fuck—yes.”

He hummed and continued to thrust into you at a brutal pace. You were on cloud nine, lost in pleasure. The weed in your system made the sex so much better. In addition, Dabi was constantly hitting your g-spot, which really made you go dumb.

Dabi shook your hands off him and hooked his arms underneath your thighs, putting you into a mating press. In this angle, he could reach even deeper.

You couldn’t form words anymore. Only, his name and moans came out your mouth.

“That’s right, keep on moaning my name pretty girl. Let me hear you scream.” His thumb began to rub harsh circles against your puffy clit, making you clench around his dick. You felt your stomach began to tighten.

The combination of his dick thrusting into you and the stimulation on your clit was beginning to become too much for you.

“Please, slow down. ‘S too much.” Your voice was high-pitched and whiney.

Dabi didn’t slow down, in fact, he picked up his pace. You were completely over the edge. Your orgasm took over your body without warning. Ringing began to form in your eyes and your vision blurred as you came on his cock.

You threw your head back and let out a final moan, clamping down on his member. Dabis thrusts began to stutter from how tight you became.

“Ah—fuck, don’t go giving out on me now. I know you have another one in you.” Dabi leaned down to your ear and continued to thrust into you, “Give me another, yeah?”

Even though his breath was warm, his words made your body shiver. You reluctantly nodded. You don’t even think you could stop him if you tried.

Your body was still recovering from your last orgasm, but Dabi paid no mind to that. He wanted to completely ruin you.

When he saw tears fall from your eyes, he knew he achieved his goal. You were hanging on by a mere string, clinging onto his forearms once more to help steady yourself.

Dabi was coming close to his high, and he so desperately didn’t want to leave your warm walls. His thrusts became erratic, his rhythm lost.

“Want it in me.” You mutter between moans. “Please.”

Your words broke something in him he didn’t think he had. It boosted him. With a final snap of his hips, he emptied his load into you. Filling you to the brim.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

Dabi collapsed beside you, his head cradled into your neck as he caught his breath. You closed your eyes and blacked out from being so tired.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were in his black T-Shirt and had a blanket draped over your body. Searching the room, you saw him in the kitchen in nothing but grey sweats. His dark hair was messy and you could see his muscles flex as he lifted a frying pan. When you saw a pancake flip, you shot upwards. Was it already the next day?

The noises of you shuffling on the couch caused him to look over. A smile formed on his face.

“Mornin’ princess.”

[nkirukaj]

Fawning for You (2)

Pairing: Alastor x Voe (Fem!OC)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Slight Angst (& Humor!)

Word Count: 4.8K

2. Stressed Out

“How do you get to the castle from here?” 

“Well, you have to go through this war zone, take a bus, not sure if it’s 2 or 3 stops, maybe it’s 4-“

Voe looks frustrated “What?”

“What? I usually take a limo there,”

“So can you just call me a limo??”

“Oh, why didn’t you ask?”

So the princess had a limo come and pick the doe up and take her to the castle in the center of the city. It was a long and quiet ride. She sat and thought about all the things that took place since the last time she saw him. She didn’t mean to break his heart, she didn’t even know she had his heart to break. What did he even see in her to fall for? She thought that everything about him was amazing, he was such a brilliant man, but the way she felt about him couldn’t hold a candle to her feelings for Alastor. 

She sighs, Alastor. She didn’t know what to think about him right now. Ugh, should I even be thinking about him right now? This is why I need redemption. Maybe it was best that she broke things off before he asked her to be his new Queen. It would’ve been cool to be Queen. The difference is that Lucifer felt like an option, while her entire body and soul craved Alastor.

She shakes her head, this was not what she needed to be thinking about right before she went to speak with the man that she chose Alastor over. When she came back to reality she realized that the limo had stopped moving. They’d been in front of the castle already.

“How long have we been here?”

“About 15 minutes miss,” the driver answered 

“Thank you,” She tells them, exiting the car

She stands in front of the door apprehensively. She raises her fist to knock and the large golden door creaks open on its own. 

“Hello?” she calls into the door

“Enter,” she heard the King’s voice call, and she obeyed. She closes the large golden door behind her and the room is completely dark until a snap turns on the lights “Hello,” Lucifer says with surprise when he sees her

He looks good, as always. His eyes are bright and his cheeks are full. He’s wearing his hat and suit, she thought that he must be doing much better if he can groom himself to this degree.

“Hi,” she waves and stands awkwardly allowing him to examine her fully

“What can I do for you?”

She seems taken aback. Guess we’re getting right to it “Um, Charlie said I would have to come to you about getting a building..?”

“Ah! Yes, that! For what? I need to know the deets,”

She cautiously steps closer “Well, I want to open a theater,”

“Hmm, that’s nice,”

“Yeah, and I think it would be helpful for the sinners of Hell to have other hobby options, I guess?”

“Hmm, okay,” he snaps his fingers and an application appears “Sure, just sign this and I will approve it right away. It’s a theater right?”

She nods “Yeah,”

“Okay great, I approve applications and they’ll say that it’s a clothing store, but it’s secretly a drug ring, and what can I do? It’s Hell!”

“Well, you are the King,”

He shrugs “So you can just sign this and you’ll get your building right away,”

She takes the quill and holds it over the line “Nice, can I just read it over? The last time I signed something I lost my soul,” she chuckles

“Yeah, sure. I don’t want your soul or anything. Everyone thinks I want their souls, but it’s the other sinners that have ‘em. Seriously it’s really annoying,” his expression flattens

Voe chuckles “Yeah,” then clears her throat looking down at the paper

“Yeah, so read away,”

She gestures to the couch he’s sitting on “May I sit?”

“Oh yeah, yeah!”

She sits down and reads the application over, the terms seem fair so she signs them.  “Here,” she hands Lucifer the papers

“Thank you, and….approved!” he sounds silly and it makes Voe smile “So where do you want your theater to be? Lots of abandoned buildings in the Pride Ring,”

Voe shrugs “Well I’d like it to be in Pentagram City,”

“Plenty of vacant buildings here! You can pick one!”

“Really?”

“Yeah. All right, if that’s all then..you can let yourself out”

“Oh uh- okay,”

Lucifer widens his eyes “Did you need something else?”

“Well I don’t need anything per se, but, I just thought that we would talk. I-If you want to,”

“Uhhh, what would you like to talk about? I’m not busy,”

She turns her body toward him “How are you?”

“I’m fine. How have you been?”

Voe pulls in her ear “No, really. How are you?”

“I-I’m fine,” 

“How are you…when you see me?”

“I’m fine Voe. Did you need something?”

She purses her lips “We miss you at the Hotel,”

“Yeah, have a lot to do,”

“You said you’re not busy,”

“Not busy busy, but you know,”

“Lucifer...” she scooches closer to him

“Yes,”

She looks away “How do you feel about me?”

“I feel fine,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,”

“Okay, I guess I’ll go then,”

“Mhmm,”

She stands to her full height and approaches the doorway again, looking back at Lucifer, waving. He waves back with a fake smile on his face. And she exits.

_____________________________________

Voe lays on the parlor couch alone, scrolling through her phone when she hears Alastor’s humming, she decides to be silly and sticks her leg up in the air as he approaches her and Alastor grabs it, massaging her foot

“I already knew what you wanted,” he purrs lifting her foot to his lips. He nibbles on the side of her toes, and she giggles pulling her feet back “No no, this is what you wanted” he cheeses at her, nibbling her foot more with his large, sharp teeth.

“I can’t believe this is a man that tears apart souls,” she laughs “When was the last time you did that?”

“Oh many years ago darling, long before I met you,”

“Would you ever tear my soul apart?”

He snickers “Only if you’re being a bad girl,” he nips at her foot again, making her giggle

“Where was all this a few days ago?”

“Hmm, I just felt like being alone,” 

“And today?”

“Well, obviously today I would like some company,”

Voe kneels on the couch, facing the tall deer. She drapes her arms around his neck again, and this time he does not resist, in fact putting his arms around her waist

“You look, so good today,” her voice low and sultry as she runs her hands up the bare skin of his undercut

"Thank you, my dear. I take it, you like my new coat? I just got it tailored, and- oh, I need to show you the shop, you'd simply adore it. Perhaps we could get you something new? Better fitting? Of course, you look ravishing as always, such a stunning beauty-"

"You want an excuse to pamper me."

"You know me too well, darling." (@hazbinhotelie)

“You know I never turn down a chance to be pampered,” she smirks at him

“Oh, I know,”

She tilts her head and stares at him curiously “You know what I just realized?”

“Hmm?

“You never gave me back my panties,”

“Who told you that you were going to get them back darling?”

Her jaw drops and gasps “The smell must have faded now,”

“I’ll never tell,”

Voe scoffs “Where did you put them?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,”

“You’re not a magician,”

“But Husker is,”

“Ugh, you dragged Husk into this? You’re sick!” she tells him with a small smile forming afterward

Alastor chuckles “So I’ve been told,”

She sighs “I love looking at you,”

“Aww, me too,”

“You love looking at yourself?”

“Yes!”

She laughs and they stare at each other longingly, but just as abruptly he pulls his arms and steps back, forcing Voe to drop her arms

“Well, this was nice. I have things to take care of today in my radio tower,”

“Really?” Voe is incredulous

“Lots to be done, my dear,” he says before dissipating

“Wait!” Voe reaches for the air where he used to be. She groans in frustration and shoves a pillow over her face, screaming into it.

The activity for today was riveting, Charlie was so very excited to get to her idea, that she skipped over everything and went straight to Voe.

“Voe tell them about the totally awesome thing that you’re planning!!”

Voe looks up somewhat startled “Sure, just I have to say something first”

“Of course! Go ahead!”

“Do you know a few weeks ago when I said that you weren’t a sinner?” she pauses “I wasn’t saying that as like a gotcha, I was saying that because it’s important. Your not being a sinner explains why you’re finding it difficult to get to the root of redemption. I feel like you’re focusing on the sin itself and not on why each person sins. You were born here in Hell so you don’t know this, that’s not your fault, but it is your fault if you continue to not know this. Your approach towards redemption acts as if sin occurs in a vacuum. But it doesn’t. People sin because life on earth does not reward good people. Good deeds are punished, and bad people succeed all the time. There are a multitude of reasons why a person may feel like they have to sin. Because of social norms or maybe even family pressures. Or perhaps some sort of trauma experience that teaches them that the only way to act is this. There may be some people who send just because they can but I feel like that is a minority. And even the sinners who don’t intend to get redeemed, are just people who don’t want to address their trauma because it hurts. It hurts to address your trauma. It’s a long arduous process to heal from your trauma. Some people don’t want to do that, maybe they don’t want to experience that trauma twice. That’s something I feel like you should think about.” 

Charlie seems flabbergasted by her speech and starts slowly clapping “That was amazing! And so true! Thank you for that! That’s actually super informative, I will have to keep that in mind. Maybe you can help me. But first, get to your idea!!” She sounds sing-songy at the end

“Right, so I want to open a theater here in Hell. I’m an actress at heart and in my days of doing theater, I’ve found that doing shows brings people together in ways that nothing else can. I’ve also found that when people participate in the arts they become better people over time. Maybe it’s having something to do with their time, maybe it’s because it’s much easier to be a good person when you have a support system, or maybe just because it’s fun and not destructive. I’m not sure, but I genuinely believe that the more sinners that participate, the more will get redeemed. Theater gives people purpose, and theater is mine. So this needs to happen. I already got approval for the building, so what do you guys think?”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Angel chimes in

Voe smiles excitedly “So what about you guys?”

“Sure, why not” Husk shrugs

“I love the theater!” Niffty exclaimed kicking her feet

“What about you Bean?” Voe asks

Bean sits up as if she wasn’t listening before “That sounds fun,”

“Awesome!” Voe smiles “And you Cherri?”

“Eh, I’d come watch the first show,”

“Are you sure? You seem like a performer,”

Cherri furrow her brow “Nah, I’ll just watch,”

“All right, I already have Angel as an actor, anyone else wants to sign up?” there’s a prolonged silence in response “Okay. Is this what it was like?” She asked Charlie

“Yes,” she smiles

Voe shakes her head “Okay whatever, that’s not gonna stop me!”

“That’s the spirit!” Charlie grabs her shoulders “I knew my positivity would rub off on someone,”

“It’s okay I know that a lot of people are just afraid to invest in themselves and put in the work because they’re afraid that it won’t work out or they don’t think they’re worth it!”

Charlie smiles widely “You just have to make people see the benefits!” She shakes her shoulders “I believe in you!”

Voe smiles back “I know. Thank you,”

“Is the meeting over?” Angel sticks his hand up

“Uh, I mean is that all you have to say Voe?”

She shrugs “Uh, yeah I guess”

“Then yeah!”

“Babe wait, you didn’t do the activity!” Vaggie reminds her

“Oh shit right! No, it’s not over!”

“Fuckin thanks,” Angel says to Vaggie, who shrugs

___________________________________

It seemed like Alastor was avoiding her. He didn’t say he was and when she spoke to him he was more than cordial, but Voe just could not shake the feeling that she was being ignored. This was not something she could learn to be okay with, if this was anything else, she would say screw them, but this was Alastor, she wanted to be around him so much and he didn’t feel the same way. He said that he still liked her, but now she wasn’t sure if she believed him.

Voe turns on the live, sitting in front of her laptop camera “Hey guys, I know that I haven’t seen you all in a while, but I was sorting things out in my life and now I’m ready to come back.”

hey guys look it’s that crazt bitvh that killed the vees

lol

hey bitch! what you been up to?

nah remember when she killed val?

wyd sis

“I’m mostly just chillin’ y’all what y’all doin’?” she eats from her bag of chips

none ur bizness

getting my ass destroyed

“How you fucking on my live?”

lol you don’t have nothing to talk about

nahhh lmaooooo

frfr thoooo

“Nah, this is just a casual live,”

casual my ass look in her eyes she’s uncomfy

nah who looks in peoples eyes

nah tf you sum psychic? don’t luk in my fucking eyes?

wtf i’m not a psychic

then y u luking in my fuking eyes? 👀

Y YALL FIGHTING ABOUT EYES?????

aint nobody fighting abourt eyes

then wth yall talking bout???

YO MIND YO BISNESS?

WTF????

“Woah relax y’all damn, I’ll ask y’all a question since y’’all can’t behave without structure. What do you think it means if someone starts behaving like distant from you?”

maybe they dont like u no more??

they prob want u to figure it out?

is this about the info you spread about the radio demon???

“No!”

 nah that shit was hilarious

HILARIOUS!!!!!!

Y’ALL HEARD VOX 2 NITE IS COMING BACK

i missed vox

i miss zaddy

VOX IS HOT AF 

“Wait, the Vees are back?”

BACK AND READY TO DO CRACK

NAH THATS ANGELS JOB

DONT TLK BOUT ANGEL LIKE THAT

BUT HE DO DO CRACK

“How do the Vees have the same amount of power when everyone they owned is free now?”

power is earned

but they’re not overlords anymore

but they still got power

DEATH AINT TAKE THAT AWAY

“What about me though?”

😭😭😭😭😭😭

😹😹😹

no offense but killing the vees dont mean nothing

the radio demon killed heavy hitters

likw vox vs alastor????? cum on!!!!!! 😹

“How y’all telling me that the Vees are hella powerful, but me killing them isn’t enough?”

lmao the vees count as one person

the radio demon is different kill him and now we can talk

“I’m not gonna kill Alastor,” she looks away from the camera

we know you love him too much 💗😹

Voe blushes and looks down “I don’t-“

holy shit

ARE U ACTUALLYMIN LOVE WITH THE RADIO DEMON

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 😹😹😹😹

i feel so bad 4 u ….not really tho

“I don’t,” she pauses “love him,”

thats good, cuz if you did and he found out he would use you to heaven and back

hes used more people than the vees

“Wait, what do you guys mean by that? Like, would it be awful for someone to…love him? Has anyone ever loved him?”

lol no idea!

probably not lmao

any1 that trusted him ended up on the end of his chain

“No, but Alastor doesn’t want to own me,”

😹😹😹😹😹😹😹😹😹

r u sure

“But he burned my contract,”

where u belonged to velvette

now ur free….to b his 😹😹😹😹😹

‘he burned my contract’ 😹😹😹

“He knows that I don’t want to be owned,”

and what do oyu know about him?

“A lot, actually,”

ooooh tell us

SHE ALREADY TOLD VOX AND HE TOLD EVERYBODY

riiiiight

hop u not tryna be an overlord

“Wait, why not?”

uhave no clue what it takes

Voe slams the laptop closed. She pulls at her ears and hugs herself at the same time as tears sting her eyes. She sniffles and looks around the room. What was she even doing? What had she gotten herself into? What was she thinking that she could be somebody important?

____________________________________

Voe approaches the bar and a frustrated Husk. She sits on the stool and he sighs

“Hi,” she says

“What can I get you? Some apple juice?”

Voe blinks “Is that a joke?”

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you,”

He rolls his eyes “Can’t tell you about Alastor. Boss’s orders,”

She seems very confused “Wait, what?”

“You think he’s gonna want me to talk about him while he’s not around after that incident,”

She sighs and taps the bar looking away “Am I ever gonna live that down?” she says under her breath

“Well, it’s Hell, but you’ve got time. But don’t expect things to go back to the way they were. Once you lose trust, it’s gone.”

She looks back up “That’s not what I’m here for anyway,”

“Well, what do you want?”

“Tell me what it takes to be an Overlord,”

He scoffs “Is this a hypothetical?”

She raises an eyebrow “Why does it matter?”

He snickers “‘Cuz if you’re serious…” he turns and drinks from one of the bottles

“What?” she snaps

“Not really the Overlord type,”

She throws her hands up “What is the Overlord type?”

“Not you,”

“What does that mean? What about me?”

“Oh, you’re serious,” Husk scratches the back of his neck “Wow,”

“Yeah,” she states flatly

He groans “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to be an Overlord? Power?”

“I mean, yeah but not selfishly,”

He laughs at her “You gonna take the souls for charity?”

“I would employ them and protect them,”

“It’s not as easy as you think kid,”

“I know it’s not easy, that’s why I’m here!”

“And I’m letting you know it’s not easy!”

She slams her hands on the bar table “I KNOW THAT’S WHY I’M HERE ASKING WHAT IT TAKES!”

“STOP GETTING LOUD OR YOU ASK SOMEONE ELSE ABOUT THIS BULLSHIT!”

“You were yelling at me,”

He sighs “Anyway, first you need to prove that you can be an Overlord. Right now you’re just some influencer,”

“I killed 3 powerful Overlords!”

Husk uses quotes “‘Powerful’. The Vees are petty children that no one takes seriously. They lie and manipulate, that’s all,”

“So what would I have to do then?”

“Back in my day, it was just getting rid of heavy hitters, collecting souls, proving that you have what people want,”

“Okay, but that’s the Overlord ‘type’?” “Ruthless, not caring what people think. You wanna be an Overlord, other people’s opinions really shouldn’t be on your agenda,”

She pokes her chest out “I’m confident,”

“I didn’t say anything about confidence. I said caring about what other people think of you,”

“You don’t think any of the Overlords care what people think of them?”

“If they do, they don’t show it. You show it every day. It’s on your face, it’s on your face right now,”

She slumps “I have to go back to masking?”

Husk stares at her “I don’t know what that means, but you’re breakable kid,”

“No, I’m not,”

“Honestly, I’m surprised that you got rid of the Vees that fast, people still think highly of the Vees you know. You gotta destroy their reputations then destroy them. I thought that’s what you’re in Hell for. You ruined boss’s reputation,”

Voe blows out air “That wasn’t on purpose,” she speaks quietly

“Well, you did it,”

“Doesn’t that mean that counts for something?”

“No, because you care too much. Apologize or don’t. Move on,”

“So I’m supposed to become a cold, calculating, unfeeling machine?”

“I didn’t say cold and calculating, you just need to control your emotions better. Are you sorry about what happened?”

She raises her brows “With Alastor?”

“No the Queen of England,”

She rolls her eyes “You could’ve been talking about the Vees,”

“Are you sorry about them?”

“No, they deserved it,”

“That’s not what their supporters think,”

“Who gives a fuck?”

“Good. Are you sorry about Alastor?”

She lip trills “Yes,”

“Then say sorry and move on,”

“I did!”

“What’s keeping you at a standstill?”

She scrunches her face “He’s being weird,”

“He doesn’t trust you,”

“Yeah I know,” she said dejectedly “Am I not supposed to care about that either?”

“You can, but you’re letting it stop you,”

“How?”

“You wish Alastor would help you with this theater idea you’ve got huh? It bothered you that he chose his radio tower over you, didn’t it?”

Voe blushes “Why does it matter?”

“Do you want to be an Overlord, or is it just a thought?”

“I want to be an Overlord,”

“Then everything can’t be about Alastor,”

She looks offended “It’s not!”

“You’re making it,”

“If I am, that ends now,”

“Good, put some hair on your chest,” he slides her a drink

“Why would I want hair on my chest? I’m female,”

He raises his brow “Fine, here drink this it tastes really good,”

“I don’t believe you,”

Husk smiles “Good, it’s good though it’s a nice fruity drink,”

“You hate making fruity drinks,”

“But you’re my favorite customer,”

She purses her lips “Yeah, right,”

“All right,” he pulls the drink back “One step closer,”

_____________________________________

“I guess you don’t have to worry about copyright infringement when you’re in Hell right?” she asked Angel

Angel types on his phone “Eh, yeah but you do have to worry about people doing stuff about it,”

“Stuff like what? Bombing the theater?”

“Yeah, or sabotaging your production,”

“Do you like musicals?”

“They’re okay, I didn’t really go to many when I was alive,”

“Why? Too much mafia biz?”

He looks up at her “It wasn’t something a man was supposed to do. I mean, my sister went to musicals,”

“Right, ‘cuz it made you ‘gay’,”

“I went with my sister on our birthday,”

“Oh right, you’re a twin,”

Angel’s face falls “Yeah,”

Voe stares at him.

“What?”

She points at him “You’re sad,”

“No no no no no. No no, let’s get back to the theater, no sappy stories. Back to musicals,”

“But you’re sad. You sad about your sister?”

Angel shakes his head “No no no back to Broadway. Musicals!”

Voe tilts her head “Do you miss your sister?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t miss your twin sister?”

“No, I don’t miss that little girl,”

“Your other half?”

Angel groans “You know I wish it was extermination day. So you could ask me that and an angel would come down and spear me in the head. Bam! Never get your answer!”

“You know I was thinking about the extermination day thing,”

“Why?” 

“‘Cuz I wasn’t here for the last one?”

“Feel lucky that you weren’t,”

“Right but isn’t it annual?”

“Well, we don’t have to worry about that!”

“Holy fuck! Where did you come from?” Angel asks Charlie who is standing behind him

Vaggie walks around the couch “Why are we talking about extermination day?”

“Wasn’t me. It was her!” he points at Voe

“It’s okay, she can know,” Charlie sits down next to her girlfriend

“Yeah, so I was filled in on the whole extermination day stuff.” She turns to Vaggie “Why did we not kill Lute?”

Angel stares at vaggie with a blank face as Charlie smiles nervously “I don’t know, why didn’t we?” the spider asks

Vaggie rolled her eyes “I was feeling merciful okay? Why does it matter?” she looked to Voe

“Because, if she’s still alive, she’s definitely going to become a problem later, right? Am I the only one thinking that?”

“Didn’t I say that? Didn’t I say that?! DIDN’T I SAY THAT?” Angel climbs up on the couch

Charlie puts her hands up “Well, we’re going to cross our fingers and hope that doesn’t happen,”

“Ugh, you are disgustingly pure,” Angel scoffs

“Aww, thanks,”

“Not a compliment,”

Voe sticks her hand out “But are we prepared for if- well when Lute returns?”

Vaggie punches her palm “Don’t worry, I’m ready for that cunt,” she says smugly

“Vaggie!” Charlie says flirtatiously

“Gross,” Angel comments

Voe leans over to Angel “So..Charlie is definitely the top yeah?”

“You never know with those two,” he whispers back

“Should we be expecting the extermination again this year? Because I’d like to be prepped,” Charlie shrugs

“Yeah sure you can hide in a cupboard or something,” the spider offers

“Hide?” Voe asks

Angel scoffs “Or fight, whatever fuck,” he shrugs

“So all of you fought in the extermination?”

“Hell yeah!

“Wo what are the odds they come back then?” 

“I don’t know, I was never good with math,”

Voe turns to the Princess “Charlie?”

She just shrugs

“Look, don’t worry about that, worry about your theater. We will take care of all of that,”

“You know it would also be happening to me too?”

“That’s why I said that we will worry about it,”

Voe looks off to the side “Okay,” she says through her teeth

“Okay,” Vaggie stands “Let us do our jobs,”

“Fine, but that means all the blame goes to you if something goes wrong,”

“Vagina’s used to all the blame cuz she hates herself,”

Vaggie groans “Shut up!”

Alastor sits in the empty parlor at dead of night reading. He liked the quiet, no insolent sinners asking ridiculous questions, no Charlie with her ever-present optimism, and no Angel Dust propositioning him. He sat as he turned the pages quietly, keeping the silence intact. 

Alastor’s ears turned to the sound of footsteps that were trying to be silent but were actually loud in the process, and his nose picked up the scent he’d become familiar with. 

“Yes, my dear?” He calls out into the almost pitch darkness

Voe clams up, embarrassed at being perceived “Sorry, I was just coming down to eat something before bed,”

“You’re fine,”

“I know you like the quiet,”

“Mhmm,” he says not looking up from his newspaper 

Voe’s footsteps made small noise as she made her way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, removing the cold plate, heating it up all the small noises he made note of. 

“This pasta is really good,” she says between swallowing and putting more noodles in her mouth

“Thank you. The sauce is homemade!”

She smiles a bit, chewing and staring at Alastor as he reads. 

“So.. how have you been?”

“Pretty good, looking for more things to talk about on my show. Not much happening these days,”

“Oh,” she eats more, not knowing what to say “You’re feeling okay?”

“Why yes I’m just fine, just reading the paper,”

“I see,” she finishes the pasta, looking for another reason to stand there but couldn’t find one. “Um, goodnight,” 

She walks past him and starts ascending the stairs

“Goodnight darling, sweet dreams!”

Voe stops in her tracks “Are we okay?”

“Hmm?” He looks up from his paper

“Are we okay?” She speaks slower

“Of course! Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because you’re-“ she uses her hands to make a shape

“I’m what?”

“Kinda.. distant I guess?” 

“Oh, I’m just laying low for a while. Every time I step outside some lowlife sinner thinks they can step up to me. It’s growing tiring to rip them apart every day,”

“It’s growing tiring?”

“Well, when I do it every day, yes,”

“I-“ she scratches her head “I meant distant from me?”

“Hmm.. I don’t know what you mean,”

Under the surface Voe’s insides warned themselves, blood rushing everywhere. She was certain that her body matched her hair. 

“Fine,” she tells him, charging up the stairs. 

“All right?”

If Alastor wanted nothing to do with her, nothing of her is what he would get. 

[agendabymooner]

9 to 5 || f1 drivers (5)

(SPIN OFF OF COLOUR ME YOUR COLOUR (WIP) and RUSH)

Summary: Lorelei Hester ‘Lester’ Alessandro is a bassist first and Daniel Ricciardo’s partner second. But it seems like another role is added to her resume as she begins her weekend in Baku as Toto Wolff’s children’s babysitter. 

Chapter summary: Daniel Ricciardo stopped by to say hi to what the team principals had considered as threats to their drivers - it was very hard not to get distracted by Soren and Tia Wolff after all. AND Lester Alessandro envied the Wolff cubs' intelligence as Soren was already on his fourteenth short story on a Thursday noon (he just started reading the book that morning).

Content warning: family-centric content, people trying not to swear in front of children, Uncle Danny content, Australia references, Christian Horner mentioned, Hearth sister!OFC x Max Verstappen relationship, Hearth sister!OFC x Charles Leclerc relationship. 

masterlist

v. the little weapons of destruction distraction

Fourteenth story. 

They were barely halfway through the day and Tilly and Toto’s eldest son had finished thirteen fairy tale stories. The thick book of Grimms Fairy Tales, if she was being truthful, would be something that she’d be able to read in the span of three days. Six hours, if she was motivated enough. 

But as she sat there with her own book opened, she couldn’t help but wonder if Tilly worked extremely hard on getting these children to read a lot. 

Lester knew that the kids she was babysitting were fluent in four languages, but she didn’t know if fluency came with the fast paced reading comprehension skills that Soren obviously had been showing. 

Soren Philip Alphonse Wolff was born to an unmarried couple, Tilly Marie (Hearth) and Toto Wolff. When he was born, it was almost like the wall that Toto used to protect his heart broke down. Despite the obvious features that came from Toto, Ren was more like Tilly, if you were to ask Lester or anyone close to them. Timid, shy, but if you ask him about his books and the characters, his eyes would brighten and he would endlessly ramble about it. At the age of five, you would think that he would be talking about dinosaurs (he likes dinosaurs) and rockets (and he likes rockets too) but not Soren. Soren would share his interest in children’s literature to anyone who would like to listen.

So it somehow didn’t come as a surprise when the boy finished his thirteenth story and moved on to the next. He was so occupied by it that he could hear no one but the characters and the background noise. 

“Zia Lori,” a tiny voice beside her spoke, making the bassist turn and give Tia a smile. The girl looked up at her aunt and raised the colouring book that she was just working on. “Do you like it?” 

There were colours outside the lines but Lester could tell that Tia tried staying inside the shapes while she used different crayons. Paddington had never been this vibrant until now. 

Besides from the initials of her name, Tia Christie Vienna Wolff had more commonalities shared with her namesake. She had Toto’s temperament and the way of how she thrived to colour without going outside the line just proved how she was practically Toto’s carbon copy. 

She had a tendency to get frustrated whenever she sat herself down in front of the shape sorters and she couldn’t fit the right animal on it. The first time she (a year and a half during that time) threw the blocks out of frustration, bewilderment was written all over Toto’s face. But when he turned to look at Tilly for an explanation all she said was, “Haven’t you looked at the mirrors lately?” Still to this day, Toto’s reminding his mini me to take a breather first before her temper goes down to shit. Her perfectionism and the frustration that came with it? Yeah. That was all Toto, and ironically, neither of the parents had ever set some expectations for the children. 

“Like it? What do you mean? I love it!” Lester exclaimed, giving the little girl a high five. 

“But look,” Tia pointed at the colours outside the line, “this is bad.”

“No it’s not,” Lester shook her head, “that’s an accident, and an accident isn’t bad sometimes.”

“What’s acc-ent?” Tia tilted her head, curious about the foreign word that came out of her aunt’s mouth. 

Lester chuckled, both at her curiosity and the fact that she could speak as much German and French (and Italian) as she'd like yet not know the word accident in any language, “It is when you do something that you did not mean to do. Like… Oops!” 

“Ah!” Tia nodded enthusiastically. “Acc-ent!” 

“No, no, Tia,” Lester instructed, “follow Zia Lori… ready?” 

“Mhm!” Tia nodded again. 

“A…” “A…” 

“…k…” “…k…”

“si…” “si…”

“…dent.” “…dent.” 

“Accident!” Lester said the word faster.

“Accident!” Tia repeated with a clap of her hands. 

“There we go,” Lester nodded approvingly. She should teach kids about phonics. It seemed fun to teach. “You do so well at words. Do you read with Mama every night?” 

“Yes,” Tia said meekly, shying away from the woman as she continued, “Mama reads English… and French… and I-t’lian! But she only do French and English more. Papa teaches Italian.” 

“Ahh,” Lester nodded. “It must be exciting reading with Mama, eh? How do you like it?” 

“I love Mama! She reads so well,” Tia paused while she thought of something, “but Papa can do Eeyore more. He sound sad! I love Eeyore! But! So-en reads books to me too!” 

The little lad sitting across the two paused from reading and looked up from the page he was reading, wondering why he was called by Tia. Not sensing any cry for help, Soren returned to his book. 

“I hope Adelmo— when he grows— he can listen to me read,” Tia said with her eyes twinkling. “I can teach him F-ench! Like Mama!” 

According to Tilly, Soren and Toto often hover over Tia. They tended to be more protective when it came to Tia—perhaps it’s the effect of being the only girl in the family. Soren loved his sister a lot and would always read her books, trying to raise her as another version of himself.

Toto loved his kids equally, no doubt. His older kids (not with Tilly) were the subjects of his love alongside his little ones, but even they couldn’t deny that Tia was the most loved one. 

But it seemed like Tia, despite being everyone’s favourite, loved her little brother Adelmo more. It never caused any rift between siblings, but Tia tended to be protective of Adelmo more than anyone. 

At least none of them were bitter or arguing over who liked who. They all loved each other equally. It was just an observation that Lester had done. 

“He’ll grow soon enough, Tia,” Lester told the little girl. “But, right now, he has to feel better so when you get home… you can tell him about your trip with Papa.” 

“Hey, hey! Are those the mini Tillys I’m seeing?” The kids’ eyes widened at the voice as they turned and gasped. 

“Zio Danny!” “Oncle Dan!” 

“I have different names in different languages,” Daniel hoisted the two kids up in his arms as he grunted, “You two are becoming more like your dad. So heavy and tall!” 

“Not tall enough,” Soren crossed his arms with a huff, “Papa is tall like a building!” 

“Godzilla!” Tia exclaimed as Soren nodded in agreement.

“Or… Or King Kong!” It was Tia’s turn to nod enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, he’s incredibly tall, indeed,” Daniel turned and walked towards his girlfriend, leaning forward to kiss her on the temple as he asked, “What have you and the little wombats been up to?” 

“Wombats?” Soren slightly shoved himself away from Daniel’s face as he asked, “what is a wombat?” 

“Ahh, I forgot, you haven’t been to Australia yet,” Daniel let out a ‘tsk’ with a shake of his head. “Your Mum and Dad are depriving you of those little adorable creatures! We need to get that fixed. Tell your Mum or Dad to take you there next time.”

Lester chuckled quietly before finally answering, “We have been doing a lot of colouring and reading so far.”

“‘s that right?” 

“Yes,” Lester insisted with a widened pair of eyes, “too much reading if I am being honest.” 

“Oh! Uncle Dan!” Soren placed his hand on top of Daniel’s head, making the Australian look at him with a slight frown. “Guess what? I’m reading Hansel und Gretel!” He shook himself off from Daniel’s hold and grabbed the opened book from the table, raising it as Daniel looked down at the book.

A frown etched on Daniel’s face as he said, “Ren, lad, I can’t understand this.” 

“What do you mean?” Soren asked. Walking up to Lester, Soren raised the same book for her to read. 

At least Daniel and Lester could agree on not being able to read German. At this rate, they’re both thinking that Toto and Tilly were raising intellectuals. The next Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Hypatia of Alexandria, if you would ask either of them. 

“That explains why Uncle Daniel can’t read it,” Lester found herself chuckling, “we both cannot read German language, Soren.” 

“Oh,” the boy murmured, “okay.” 

“But are you loving it so far?” Daniel asked, now sitting next to Lester with Tia perched on his lap. 

“Yes,” Soren nodded eagerly, “I am about to finish the story!” 

“Such a smart boy,” Lester complimented Soren, the little boy’s cheeks turning red at the compliment. Much like Tilly, her children always shy away from the compliments thrown their way. They were the sweetest children that Lester had met. It was probably because her younger siblings and her nephews and niece are just chihuahuas in the form of human beings.

Lester looked up at her beau, “I am more worried that you’re here and you’re not where you’re supposed to be now.” 

“I got here first before any of the people in the grid does,” Daniel told her smugly. “Some of them are just hearing that the kids are here this weekend and it will be an absolute disaster if all of them found the two at once.”

Tia and Soren Wolff were what Lester could call the tactical team of Mercedes. Well… of any team to be fair. Anyone from other teams could get easily distracted by the kids. Jenson at some point had joked about the two working for their father in Mercedes to distract Red Bull’s drivers hours or days before the race. 

At some point Christian had wanted to ban the kids from visiting their motorhome, but why? The kids were toddlers and entering the school-aged stage. They know nothing about tactics and driving besides from “Papa! Look, cars go fast!” But they still had Tilly’s heart and the drivers, if you were to ask anyone on any team, enjoyed being around Tilly. The Wolff kids often lifted the spirits up in the grid. 

The most fortunate driver to spend his time with the children would be Lewis Hamilton. Not only did he drive for Mercedes-AMG but he was Soren’s godfather. He had been Tilly’s best friend first before Toto was Tilly’s partner. Toto had gotten more softer on him once Stevie changed her surname to Hamilton on Valentine's Day. The other two didn’t stand a chance. 

Max Verstappen was certainly trying to be on Toto's good side. It took him a good while to convince Sylvie, his now-girlfriend, that he hadn’t meant to screw her over once— so you could barely imagine convincing Toto that. Not only was he trying to appease the older man, but he had an opportunity to prove that he’s a good uncle to the kids by babysitting them. Perhaps to prove that he would be a good father as well, but it wasn’t the right words to say in front of Toto Wolff, of all people. 

Charles Leclerc was fairly close to becoming a welcome face at some point, if it hadn’t been for the fact that some gossip page decided to take the context out of a private conversation where he said that he wouldn’t have a child with someone who nearly broke him one way or another. He was speaking of an ex-girlfriend who wouldn’t let go. But once that the story had spread out and his girlfriend had gotten a hold of it, she ran straight to Toto. Yeah, no. Still to this day, Toto wasn’t as convinced that Charles’ intention was to remain true. 

But still. Tia and Soren were what the team principals assumed to be Mercedes’ little weapons of distraction. Especially with Max Verstappen? Yeah. Christian Horner definitely did not want the kids near him during the race weekends. But it wasn’t like he could say it upfront. Max was fairly close to marrying Sylvie. Max’s family was practically connected to Toto’s. 

“Who was the first to hear that?” Lester asked her beau with a brow raised. 

“Charles,” Daniel answered with a shit-eating grin, “but he can’t get out of his media duties.”

“Wow, if Ferrari only made time for their strategies instead of putting their drivers in front of a camera for their spare time,” Lester feigned satisfaction as she sighed dramatically, “just imagine the podiums that they could get.”

“A lot!” Soren piped up before his guilty eyes looked up at the adults, “I am sorry, Zia and Zio. Papa and Mama said it is rude to listen to adults talking.”

“No, it’s alright, mi niño pequeño,” Lester smiled sweetly at the boy. “Thank you for apologizing.”

Daniel only shrugged, “But he isn’t wrong.” He and Soren exchanged grins. 

If there’s anything that Lester had learned at the very beginning of her relationship with Daniel, it would be that he would be one to encourage Soren to say something that a smart-ass would say. Tilly told Lester once that Daniel was the devil on her shoulder back when she started in her racing teams in 2014. Like that shoey during the Silverstone 2014. That was all Daniel.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise when Soren nodded at Daniel’s approving look. Soren was smart, indeed, and clearly Daniel’s trying to “corrupt” his brain with mischief and whatever it was he’s concocting at the paddock. 

Maybe this was what they meant when Soren and Tia were Mercedes’ weapons of destruction. And they were both being influenced by a Red Bull driver. Ironic.

[innytoes]

Road Trip AU / bonus points if it involves the GPP

-Ever since he was like eight, Willie has had this idea in his head that when he was 18, he was going to go on a Road Trip Across The States To Find Himself. Even though he's pretty confident in who he is now, he doesn't want to let down Tiny Willie.

-Except he's kind of maybe sort of part of this great big Polycule. And if he invites Alex, who honestly looks like he could use a Coming Of Age roadtrip, he has to invite his other boyfriend. And his boyfriends' girlfriends and girlfriends. And their girlfriends... and boyfriends. It's complicated.

-So clearly his idea to steal one of Caleb's cars... ahem find a car and hit the road isn't going to work. But doesn't want to give up on his dream, and he also doesn't want to leave everyone behind. What if they figure out they don't really miss him?

-Reggie finally teases it out of him, but Luke's the one who is most enthusiastic about it. For a hot second, Willie is worried his big adventure is going to be co-opted by some kind of music tour, but it turns out Luke just thinks it would be really inspiring.

-"And it'll be one last summer all together before everyone does their own thing," he adds shyly. Because yeah. Julie and the Phantoms is pretty much set to explode onto the music scene, but Flynn is going to head off to college. So, shockingly, is Carrie, after Dirty Candi crashed and burned their senior year.

-Carrie is the one who comes up with the solution. By which she means 'throws her dad's money at the problem' and suddenly they have a converted bus which is... like a tour bus-camper van-tiny house combined.

-She admits she knows it's not exactly the rugged living Willie envisioned, but she shows him that inside the storage, there's room for a bunch of tents so they can still go camping and stuff, too.

"You're going camping?" he asked.

"Obviously not, but you guys can and I'll make sure nobody steals the bus," she rolls her eyes.

-They set out and it's different than Willie imagined it, but also better. Like, he never expected that him and four of his friends would have to get their special Driving A Giant Ass Tourbus licenses beforehand, but it's better than Carrie's idea of bringing a driver. That's not very coming of age at all.

-There's people to bicker about the music with. He doesn't have to do all the driving, so sometimes he can just sit and watch the scenery. There's always someone to snuggle with, at any hour.

-They do a lot of things and go a lot of places that Willie never really thought about. Kayla and Flynn seem determined to hit up the weirdest tourist traps. Luke knows all the best music-y places to go. Julie keeps them updates about every region's cryptids, because her brother keeps sending her links. (Of course their giant fortress has perfect wifi.)

-Reggie really flourishes when they get to 'yeehaw country' and he makes them all go horseback riding with him. And line dancing. And there may be a mechanical bull that gets a lot of use while they're there. Even if Alex is worried they're going to break something until Reggie coaxes him on with him.

-Watching his two boyfriends on a mechanical bull together Does Things To Willie, okay.

-Okay, so maybe watching Luke on the mechanical bull also Did Things To Him, but he tried to avoid thinking of that.

-Between the mechanical bull, swimming in the lake at the park they stopped by, the campfire sing alongs, and seeing Luke in something other than IT'S ABOUT THE MUSIC mode, Willie is like: oh no I have a crush on my boyfriend's boyfriend.

-Of course Luke is still wrote songs, scribbling away in his song book, plucking at his guitar at rest stops (no guitars or skateboarding in the enclosed space with no escape while we're hurtling down the highway, they'd established.) But he also made time for all of them, and indulged every group photo in front of World's Biggest Bowling Pin or Ball Of String or what not, listened attentively to Reggie geeking out over a comic book exhibition they stumbled upon, and agreed to stay with Kayla while the others went on the Big Scary Roller Coaster so she wouldn't have to sit alone.

-And maybe there's more to Luke than meets the eye. They end up driving through the night together and talk, really talk, and yeah.

-Alex is the first to notice and just gives Willie a fake judgemental look. He and Luke never worked out romantically after they dated when they were fifteen, but he still knows the appeal.

-Reggie is over the MOON when Willie maybe kind of confesses it on one of their private walks. They all make sure to spend time together one on one, either splitting up to do different stuff when they hit a big city, or just going to different places to get food.

-Of course his stupid boyfriends do everything in their power to get him and Luke alone together over the next week.

-By the end of their big coming of age road trip, Willie may not have found some mythical version of himself, but he did find a new boyfriend.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Four (Part 2)

It’s cool but crisp outdoors. We are overlooking an empty backstreet below from the balcony which is rammed with people. Jude and I find a spot near the railings, and I only when we’re there do I lament my empty handedness. I don’t drink very often anymore, but at this moment I find myself wishing for something just to hold. I tuck my hair behind my ears instead and comment; “It’s a bit quieter out here.”

“Yes.” He says, even though it isn’t by much. The noise of other people’s conversations is raucous, rising to a level whereby we still have to shout a bit. He stares out over the railing at the street with a concentrated expression as though there is something of note to be looking at. I watch at the side of his face, aware that there is something different about him too. It’s a bit indescribable, intangible. He holds it in his posture, in his facial expressions, in the slight sluggishness of his movements. He’s not acting like something wound up and ready to fly across the floor anymore, and while his fingers drum a steady beat against the railing, it feels more like an anxious tic than an expenditure of excess energy.

“I was very surprised to run into you today.” I tell him, and he tears himself away from the street to look at me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too. I wondered if I’d see you again.”  His mouth is a grim line. 

“I know.” I swallow, “Look, I’m really sorry about the things I said to you that time.”

“Don’t be sorry. I think you were right when you said them.”

“I wasn’t.”

He sniffs, turns around and leans with his back to the railings. His eyes dance over my face with intrigue. “Shane said that things ended with Dean.”

“Ah. What did he say?”

“Just said it was over. I didn’t want to ask about why, you know, seeing as there are things that aren’t my business.”

“Well if he had told you why, he would have said that it was because the things you suspected about him were right. Actually, everyone was right, I was wrong.”

“Oh.” He looks sympathetic. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

“It’s not that important, he just wasn’t who I thought he was in the end.” I lean against the railing with him. We are almost touching. He smells like sea salt and warm laundry. “It’s actually a bit crazy what you’ll allow people to do to you when you believe that you deserve it.” 

“Well, okay, but you didn’t deserve it.”

“You don’t actually know that I didn’t.”

“Whatever he did, whatever happened, you didn’t deserve it.” 

From the angle we’re standing at it is easy to watch who is coming in and out of the bar. People filter out to chat, smoke, mill about in groups. I see a familiar pair come out and stand in the corner together. 

“There’s Jen and Pamela.” I remark, if only to steer the conversation away from Dean and save myself the putrid feelings that accompany any mention of him.

“You know Pamela?”

“I just met her tonight.” I say. “Do you want to go and say hi?”

“Not really.” The two women are speaking very intensely. I can’t see Jen’s face, only Pamela’s. Her’s is harsh, rigid, the kind of face that hasn’t thanked bus drivers or smiled at a barista, but perhaps I’m being too quick to judge her.

“Good shout, whatever they’re talking about looks serious.”

“Mm.” I watch him watching them, a stiffness in his shoulders, fingers clawing at his sleeves. I recall his troubled expression earlier when I mentioned Jen outside the café. “Is everything alright with you two?”

He hesitates. “I think if you asked her you might get a better answer. I don’t know. She doesn’t talk to me a whole lot anymore.” I’m surprised. What on earth has the last year done to both of them? “Why not?”

“She’s a complicated person. It’s been weird.” Then he is reaching for his pocket and fishing out a battered packet of loose tobacco. In another pocket are skins, filters and a plastic lighter. “Do you want a cigarette?”

“I don’t really smoke.”

“Yeah me neither.” He grins. “Go on.”

“Peer pressure.” I note, but I hold my hand out anyway. I do want one. 

“Hang on a sec.” He chuckles, lightly batting away my eager, wiggling fingers. “I have to make it for you.” I watch as he lays the skin out on his palm and sprinkles tobacco into the fold of it, fingers moving with a fascinating fluency, like he’s preparing some sort of delicious meal for me. He places the little filter on one end and then rolls it, sealing it by licking along the sticky edge of the paper. The sight of his tongue makes me shiver slightly. 

Then he starts on his own, pausing only when he remembers to light mine, which I’ve placed expectantly between my lips. The flame warms my nose and I barely flinch away from it. I inhale, exhale a plume of white smoke. He does the same, but I note that the way he savours that thing isn’t the way that a non-smoker does. He’s drinking it down like a tall glass of water, his lids even fluttering closed for a blissful moment. His eyes are bruised with dark circles, a tell tale sign that he hasn’t been sleeping very well. 

I realise what’s new about him. He’s sad. 

I’ve seen Sad Jude before, but when he cried beneath the canopy of trees at the festival it was tinged with frustration, and that time at Jen’s flat he was desperate, confused. This time it’s quiet, lacking any of the intensity of before, untouched by the peaks and valleys of neuroticism. This new sadness feels more like a void, the vast, empty space left behind after something has been scooped out of him. Realising this makes my throat feel a bit tight. His eyes flit over to Jen and Pamela again, and he watches them go back inside, and then quickly steadies himself and pretends he wasn’t looking. I wonder if he knows that he’s bad at hiding his emotions.

“Tell me about college.” He says suddenly, eyes so intense that I want to squirm away from them. 

“Oh. Well, college is boring, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, I’d like to know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

I start going on about the extra year I’ve taken, the internship and the Christmas cards and the window murals, and he nods along with interest, asking smart questions in the right places, and yet I can sense the very moment that his mind begins to drift elsewhere. His eyes glaze over, he disappears. I want to talk to him about whatever it is, to reach inside his mind and unpick the knotted threads of the things that are eating him, but I know I forfeited my access to him that day at the flat. We haven’t been friends for a year, so I can’t just act like one.  

It feels like a sort of a game after a while, noticing when he’s gone into his thoughts and reeling him back to present moment with me by asking him about his year, partially hoping for some insight into what happened between him and Astrid, like, why they broke up and what made them get back together, but he stealthily steers the conversation away from her at every point. He’s slippery like that, he always has been, but I know that men like Jude never do or say anything that they don’t want to. 

He talks about his degree and the excitement of his final year instead, and about the travelling he’s been doing. Since I last saw him he’s toured Japan, Australia and New Zealand, and when I ask him if he has any cute new tattoos or piercings to show for it, he simply smiles and tells me no, he decided against it this time. I want to ask him all about it because sometimes I feel like the only way I’ll get to experience these sorts of faraway places is through the stories of another person, but still, I find something is bothering me. Niggling at my psyche, so finally, I decide to broach it. 

“Hey.” I say. “You know, I can’t stop feeling like I owe you a big apology.”

He blinks, “But I said it was fine.”

“I know, but I really shouldn’t have said all of those things to you when we last spoke, you know, I didn’t mean them but it doesn’t matter how I meant it. I think that I was hurtful and wrong and-”

“You don’t owe me an apology.” He stubs out his cigarette and turns his whole torso towards me. “I’m the one who should be sorry, to be honest.”

I pause. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I did.” He insists. “I’ve been an asshole consistently for my entire life, and the way I treated you was pretty terrible, and-”

“You weren’t, you haven’t-”

“-please, Evie, I know you don’t want an apology but I’m afraid you’re getting one-”

“-but, I was the one who was wrong-”

“-no there’s things I need to fix right now and-”

“There’s not much to fix.”

“It’s important to me that you let me say my piece.” His hand comes to my shoulder and warms me through the fabric of my top. I open my mouth and he quickly interrupts me. “Will you let me say it?” He looks a bit amused, if anything, atop his remorseful expression. Once he’s sure I’m not going to try and talk again he continues. His hand drops from my shoulder. “The way that I’ve handled our entire friendship has been really fucked up. I think I was stupid, and arrogant and selfish and while I’d probably have liked to say that I was trying to do right by you the whole time, really, secretly I think I was just being an impulsive idiot with no genuine concern for anybody other than myself.” 

I try to say something again but a quick twitch of his hand reminds me to zip it. “I’m sorry that I led you on when we were teenagers, that I couldn’t keep my hands to myself, that I ruined things with Liam, and took him down as a way to make myself feel bigger. I’m sorry I was a shit at my going away party and that I was so weak at the end, that I avoided you after asking you to come all the way to see me.” He tugs at the front of his hair and then reflexively smooths it down again, and I notice that his index and middle fingers are stained with nicotine. “I think I had, like, somewhat legitimate reasons for all of those things in my head at the time, which must have been why it was easy to do them, but I can’t even remember what those reasons were anymore. I think even if I could, it wouldn’t matter.” A sharp intake of breath. “I’m also sorry for thinking that I’d be an acceptable friend to have after all of that, you know, that I thought I could just come back into your life after more than a year of complete silence on my part and that I wouldn’t have to explain myself. For some reason I thought that you’d be okay with that, okay with me just reappearing and avoiding the conversations we-” 

“Jude.” Somebody interrupts his monologue, and we both snap around to see Michelle standing there looking more than a bit uncomfortable. “Here, sorry to butt in but I need to talk to you.” 

“About?”

She gives him a meaningful look and he concedes. “Alright, give me a second.” He whirls back around to me and stares me very intensely in the face. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Um, working. I have that window to paint.”

“You take lunch though?”

“Yeah, at one.”

“Okay.” He reaches out to quickly brush my cheek with his thumb, and then he disappears into the crowd. I stand against the balcony railings watching them slip through the door and wondering what on earth a pair of exes who split up over three years ago could possibly have to say to one another. I wonder if it’s even possible for anybody to be in love with that man and fully move on from it. Does she still feel a thread connecting them even now? I don’t know what’s happening with him, with her, with Astrid, with Jen and Pamela, but I will think about this all evening, all night, all morning and I won’t stop until I see him again tomorrow. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[saintsofwarding]

EMBRYO

Chapter 15: Epilogue

A few minutes before her bus was scheduled to reach its stop, Rose gave Sam a call.

She picked up.

"Rose?"

"Hey, Sam," Rose said. She leaned the side of her head against the cool glass, watching the small town roll by. Illuminated windows cast panes of amber over the snow, and Christmas lights hung from fences and around doors, colors bright against a darkening sky. Even in the dead of winter, this place had a cozy feel, trapped in time.

"Where are you?" Sam asked. "Are you okay? Those people in the suits, they...they told me you wouldn't be able to talk to me anymore, that...that I shouldn't try and contact you..."

"Yeah. Technically I shouldn't be calling you at all. I just wanted-" She cut off with a sigh. "I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry. And that...I wish it had all worked out differently."

Sam was silent on the other end of the line.

"You still there?" Rose asked.

"Yeah. I'm...just thinking."

"About what?"

"The same thing."

Rose smiled a little. She shifted on the bus seat, adjusting the strap that hung crosswise over her body. "What are you doing?"

"We're gonna go to this ice-skating thing they put on every year. Me, and dad, and...and my mom." She paused. "She's doing better."

"That's wonderful, Sam."

"It is. I wish you could be here. Meet them." She paused again. "Maybe...someday..."

"I actually have all these records I wanted to ask if you would listen to with me."

"No way. Records? Get out."

She sounded so unenthusiastic Rose snorted. The bus driver glanced back at her; she was the only passenger on the bus, a girl with blonde hair now bobbed to her shoulders, dressed all in black, something that might have been a lacrosse stick in a sheath over one shoulder. It wasn't a lacrosse stick. Rose fixed her attention on the snow flurries outside.

"We don't have to do that," she said, allowing herself to luxuriate, for a moment, in the fantasy. "It probably won't be cold enough to ice-skate once I get back, so...roller skating?"

"I totally suck at roller skating, heads up."

"Well, I've never been at all, so you've got that on me."

The automated voice called out her stop. Sam must have heard it over the phone. "Got to go," she said, softly.

"Yeah."

"Take care of yourself, Rose."

This time, her smile felt true. "Always."

Sam hung up. Rose listened to the silence.

The bus drew to a halt. She swung out and onto the icy pavement, waited for the bus to shudder along, then dropped the burner phone to the ground and crushed it under her heel. With a glance at the darkening sky, she began up the path, toward the cemetery gates.

It spread before her, blanketed in snow, in deep-blue shadow. Gravestones stood like dark smudges against the snow, trees creaking in the light breeze, in the flurries of snow that gusted each time the wind blew.

Rose moved through the cemetery with her hands in her pockets, her chin in her scarf, headed for the lonely tree atop a small hill near the place's center.

The grave beneath it wasn't ostentatious. No grand mausoleum, no monument. Just a slab of dark granite, a little carved scrollwork at the corners, and an inscription.

In loving memory of

ETHAN WINTERS

a kind husband and loving father

who put family before all else.

"I know you did, Dad," Rose whispered. "Thank you."

No one was buried here. According to Chris, the grave was empty. The last he'd seen of Ethan Winters was his back at a distance as he faced down Miranda and the Black God, as he set off the explosion that ended them all. Whatever remained of him, whatever remnant, crystalized corpse or bones or dust, was still there, in that mountain village, where all of this began.

Where she began.

Part of her, at least.

Was she Rosemary Winters? Had she ever been? She lifted her hand, snowflakes drifting into her pale palm. All consciousness within the Black God, combined. A dead girl, a girl made to be a monster, a girl born to be a god, and her. Maybe Ethan Winters had never truly saved his daughter at all.

Her hand curled into a fist.

Maybe it didn't matter.

Now, she reached to her back and grasped the hilt of the sword sheathed there.

After the docks, after Chris had worked out the situation with the backup the BSAA had sent, once the last remains of the Embryo were destroyed, he'd taken Rose to an evidence lockup and showed her everything they'd pulled off Heisenberg when they took him into custody. There was the Tickle Stick, of course, now oozing oil. A clutter of spare machine parts, pocket knives, and cigar stubs, the kind of junk he took around everywhere. A tiny brass compass on a chain. And a hammer.

Massive, welded together from scrap metal, too heavy even to lift unless you happened to be able to cancel out its weight with magnetism. Rose recognized it, of course; Heisenberg had brought it with him from the apartment.

"He had something of a penchant for these," Chris had explained, with a hint of bewilderment. "It's yours, now. If you, uh, want it."

Rose touched the edge of a gear, traced the snarl of wires and cables that attached the massive head to the handle. The places where his finger marks had worn divots into the handle was almost too much. Looking at them, mere hours after she'd last seen Heisenberg seemingly consumed in an explosion, was painful as a finger in a bullet wound. Was he still in one piece? Had her mother put him into crystalline stasis, like Rose had once been put into, a dreaming state somewhere between life and death?

Either way. She ran her hands over the divots in the wood, as if, somewhere, he might know she wasn't gonna give up.

"Kinda ostentatious, don't you think?" she said, keeping her voice steady as best she could.

Chris had shrugged. "Seems to me that was his style."

He was gonna be so mad at her when he saw what she'd done to his hammer. Rose figured she'd be able to handle it when the time came. They had a mutually-agreed-upon ass-kicking appointment, after all.

Now, she drew the sword. It gleamed darkly in the fading winter light: a massive blade forged from the hammer's scrap, its hilt a twisted thing made of cables and gears and a tiny brass compass, handle molded perfectly to her palm.

She swung it round and plunged it point-down into the earth over Ethan's grave, then knelt, her hands clasped around the sword's hilt.

"I'll fix this," she vowed. She pressed her forehead to the flat of the blade. "This whole mess."

It wouldn't keep going forever. The fear. The vengeance. The grief that had driven Mia Winters to do such terrible things, all in the name of family. Cycles of rage, cycles of pain. It had to come to an end. It wasn't Rose's fault to make right, but she'd make it right anyway. For the people she loved. For the dead.

For herself, and the life she knew was possible, somewhere on the other side.

She had a plan, her and Chris. The beginnings of one, anyway. Mad, maybe. Dangerous, almost certainly. Would it work? She doubted it.

Would she still try?

Until her heart stopped beating.

The sound of engines traveled to her through the still, snowy air. Slowly, Rose stood. She withdrew the swordpoint as footsteps crunched through the graveyard, approaching her.

"That is so dramatic," Chris said.

"Yeah, well. I was raised by the most overdramatic showman in Europe, so. It's kind of my lot in life."

Chris joined her before Ethan's grave. Silent for a long moment, he contemplated the stone, the inscription.

Then, "You shouldn't have left."

"I know. I had to see this place."

"Yeah, I get it." He paused. "You ready for what comes next?"

"Are you?" Rose said.

A smile split Chris's chiseled features. "He'd be so proud of you," he said, nodding at Ethan's grave.

Rose nudged him, lightly, with her elbow. "I think he would be of you, too."

"Then let's do this."

"Okay." Rose nodded. "Let's go get our monsters back."

She made a promise, then, deep inside herself. She'd find Heisenberg. She'd find her mother. And when the fight began in earnest, everyone standing in her way would see why even Miranda was afraid of her.

Then-

She'd show them all what she was really made of.

***

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 04x13

After School Special

“Bitch” “is she going to stab her into the fucking neck?” “Do people actually give people swirlies in real life?” “oh shit” “Are you sure you’re more open-minded Sam?” “Yes, he is crazy” “hey it’s a different license plate” “Is this young Dean?” “So they were at this school before? And there’s a case?” “Oh hell yeah brother. Look at Dean” “Is this dodgeball?” Jensen had a hand in a lot of the costume choices

“Look at his hips in these stupid things. They’re not fitted to his body very well, and the way that it’s folded at his crotch makes his dong look huge. I think I just looked at his ass too much to realize it’s a uniform” We watched that scene like 4x

“Why did he lick his lip? Such a weird thing to do” “Oh is he going to grind the guy’s hand off?” “It wouldn’t have that much torque but it would fuck you up pretty bad” “Coach Winchester” “I mean I like making out with girls in the closet, too. Is the metaphor that Dean has to get out of the closet sometime?” The metaphor is that Dean didn’t try at school because he didn’t see the point. And Sam tried anyway to get out of the life

“That clearly doesn’t solve the problem since the episode isn’t over” “That was a good dean line” “sam is a fucking bleeding heart” “Perfect moment for a teacher to come around the corner and ask what he’s doing with that teenager” “It’s a bus” “dude Jensen can stand up straight in a bus? He’s short as fuck”

Jensen is 6’1” “Jensen being 6’ something isn’t tall enough. 6’1” is pretty short, even for girls” Spouse is 6’6” so he thinks everyone is short

“Does Sam kill this kid and turn him into a vengeful spirit?” “That’s not creepy at all, Dean” “salt water works. Why can’t you just be really sweaty?” “What does that mean?” Neither of us understand the 21 Jumpstreet reference

“You just shot a high school student and a bus driver” “Gross” “That doesn’t seem like a Dean thing to say. The lying about the girl” Dean is also a high schooler and moves around a lot

“I hope the thin eyebrow trend doesn’t come back.” “Who is stunt dad?” “Might want to clean the blood off your face first” “Sam didn’t give him much of an answer”

"it's been pretty Sam heavy this season"

[rudys-corner-of-hell]

Pozier- A short story (by me)

The large clock reads 8:30 as Margaret walks to the bus stop, right on time, like she is every day. There she waits. Her black leather shoes tap on the asphalt, their wearer impatiently checking a watch. The bus is late. 8:32. 8:34. 8:37. 8:40. She is the only one standing there, probably because not many people catch this line.

Then a black car pulls up. A tinted window rolls down, and the driver smiles politely. 

“Mary Pozier?” he asks, his eyes meeting hers. 

“Why, you’re more beautiful in person.”

Margaret blushes in embarrassment, but recomposes herself.

“Me?” she asks, looking around for anyone else.

The man laughs.

“You aren’t just beautiful, Mary, you’re funny as well! No surprise that Trucs de Vêtements hired you! Now hop in, or you’ll be late for your photoshoot.”

Shrugging, Margaret pulls open the back door and steps inside. She sits on the cream-coloured leather chair and exhales as she depresses into it. 

“Champagne?” asks the man, notioning to a minibar where the front passenger seat should be.

“Sure.” she replies, letting the man take a classy brand of liquor from the fridge and pour her a glass.

He hands it over, and starts driving.

“Well here we are.”

The car stops in front of a large building, glass windows covering every floor from ground to roof. Handing the man her empty glass, Margaret leaves the car. She does not watch it drive away, but instead walks towards the door. Another man is there to welcome her inside, opening the door for ‘Mary Pozier’. 

“Hello there, Madam Pozier.” he says, offering to take my coat. 

I give it to him, and he neatly folds it up.

“I assume you’re ready for your photoshoot.” he says, giving a curt nod.

“I am,” I say. “But remind me, what is it again?”

“You’re modelling our new items of clothing, Madam.”

“And what kind of clothes are they?”

“Expensive clothes.”

Reluctantly, Margaret nods in reply, and follows the man down the hallway. 

Brushing down her t-shirt, she suddenly feels underdressed compared to the two men she had met, both in full formalwear. 

“Don’t worry, Mary. You’ll be out of those cheap rags soon, anyway.”

The man presses a button for the elevator that dings upon arrival. The doors whoosh open, letting Margaret and the man enter, before closing once again.

Assistants guide Margaret into a white dressing room, with clothes carefully hung on hooks attached to the wall. After she got changed, stylists quickly did her makeup and hair, and guided Margaret into another room. In the centre of the room is a pedestal, adorned with a black handbag that would go great with her expensive look. As per the photographer’s request, she takes it, and steps onto the pedestal.

“Just pose like you do every time, and let the cameras work their magic.”

Awkwardly posing, Margaret could feel stares from the staff.

“Mary seems a bit… off today.”

“Yeah! Her hair was much harder to do as well.”

“And didn’t she have those diamond earrings?”

“And that pearl necklace she said she never took off?”

“Now that I think about it… She looks a little different, doesn’t she?”

“Where’s the bathroom?” Margaret asks after the photoshoot.

“To your right down the hall.”

The assistant walks away, leaving no witnesses to see Margaret place the handbag into her fur coat, take the lift down to ground floor, and walk out the great glass doors.

[muirneach]

waiting for a bus that might not come. this sounds like a metaphor but i may genuinely be massively late to my besties show. and my walkman died. what even is the point

[spinningwebsandtales]

How Would The Top Gun Guys React To Their Wives Visiting Them On Base Heavily Pregnant Pt. 2

(A/N:) Ask and you shall receive. I’ve had several comments on the first part asking for another part with more characters. And the first one did so well that I’m more than happy to make a part 2! This time our line up is Maverick, Goose, and Iceman. Going with the OG trio this time and I may possibly do some more of the lesser known characters sometime. But we’ll see. I’ll include a link to the first part in case anyone didn’t get to read the first one, though reading it is not necessary. So happy reading! ~Countess

Part 1 here

Taglist: @the-marshals-wife​

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell X FemReader

Maverick felt like he hadn’t seen you in so long and it showed when you exited the bus that had brought you onto the base. He held you tightly despite the stifling heat and kissed you like no one was watching. The other Top Gun pilots whistling teasingly at your affectionate husband. Despite all the happiness, you seemed a little distant. Maverick just chalked it up to the long trip to see him. So grabbing your bags with one hand and taking one of your hands in the other he started leading to the one of the private rooms that was being provided to married pilots. The little apartment was set up nicely and had all the accommodations that a person could want.

“How was the trip up here,” Mav asked as he set your bags on the single bed.

“It was good,” you said stretching, still not very talkative. “It’s just a long trip.”

“Yeah,” he nodded looking at you with concern. “Hey you doing okay?”

“Of course I’m just really exhausted,” you smiled softly. “The ride here was pretty rough. I’ll just take a quick shower and a little nap and I’ll be good as new.”

Maverick took your smaller bag that he had sat down, he knew you carried all your toiletries in that specific bag and grabbing a towel from the closet for you. Handing you the items he kissed your cheek before watching you disappear from his sight. The door closed and the sound of the shower starting filled the room. He didn’t want to let you see that your lack of enthusiasm to see him had hurt his feelings, but surely after getting clean and resting up you would be more like yourself. That’s when he thought he’d take you out for a nice dinner, maybe that would cheer you up.

“Hey (Y/N) how about I take you out tonight,” Mav barged in to see you standing in front of the mirror holding your stomach. You hadn’t stripped all the way yet but your baggier clothes laid in a pile at your feet and your soft stomach that had once been normal for you was a little more round and different.

“Mav,” you screeched hiding yourself. Normally you were never shy around your husband but you weren’t ready to face him just yet, but in true Maverick fashion he found himself once again leaping before looking.

“Are you???”

Sighing you nodded, “Yeah.” Then you started to cry.

“Hey don’t cry,” Maverick panicked taking you into his arms. “This is awesome!”

“I was going to tell you,” you cried, “but I was scared and I didn’t know how to tell you.

He felt a little bit like a jerk now. “It’s okay I understand. Leave it to me to upend everything.”

You laughed at him, “That’s why I love you.”

“Want to stay in, order pizza, and talk,” Maverick offered.

You nodded, “I would like that a lot.”

Nick “Goose” Bradshaw X FemReader

Goose had planned a whole week of spoiling and date night ideas when he heard that the commanding officers were shipping the pilots’ families in. Now with his list in hand to go over with you he impatiently waited for the bus to park and open the doors. He couldn’t help himself and found himself waiting at the open doors while others filed out but once he saw you the excitement and impatience became concern. You were pale and had a green tint to your skin. Looking at the bus driver he didn’t give him an explanation. Goose took you by the hand and led you inside the air conditioned building. There went all his plans for today.

“You okay,” he asked once he got you sat down and a glass of water.

“Yeah I’m good,” you laughed nervously. “It was just stuffy in the bus and I got carsick.”

“I don’t remember you ever getting carsick,” Goose said his concern bleeding into confusion.

“Babe our bodies change when we get older. I’m perfectly capable of getting carsick thank you.”

He laughed happy to see you returning back to your quirky self. He fell for you and your sassy ways and you fell for him and his goofy ways. The name Goose was completely perfect for him. Now that you were feeling better Goose wanted to get you settled in before taking you out to the newest restaurant in town. You both caught up with everything that had been going on in your life, but when Goose asked how you had been doing lately you got really nervous and changed the subject. He looked at you waiting for you to answer him but you still rattled off topic. He shrugged and let it go. 

You were impressed with the room that had been prepared for you and Goose. It was like staying in a hotel, but surrounded by Navy Personnel at all times. Goose suddenly dropped the bags and scooped you up. You laughed holding onto his broad shoulders while he carried you over the room’s threshold.

“Goose,” you giggled.

“Welcome home sweetheart,” he replied, putting you down and then going to get the bags.

You looked around, rubbing your arm in a nervous motion. Once again Goose noticed but this time he had enough of you dodging his questions. He wanted to get to the bottom of what was bothering you.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah?”

“We need to talk,” he said seriously.

You felt like a kid caught stealing candy. Goose was rarely serious but when he was it was when something had to be fixed.

“Yeah we do,” you finally relented and sat on the bed. Patting a spot beside you Goose took that spot, holding your hand.

“Is there someone else,” he asked before you could even talk.

“Goose,” you shrieked. “No! There will never be anyone else!”

“Then what has you so nervous that you won’t tell me?”

“I’m,” you paused looking at him with tear filled eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

“Seriously?!”

You nodded. Goose jumped up from the bed bouncing around the room and shouting.

“Great balls of fire,” he yelled at the top of his lungs and you busted into a fit of laughter. Goose raced over to grab you but remembered immediately what you just said and like picking up delicate glass he brought you up from the bed and held you against him.

“Are you happy?”

“The happiest I’ve ever been,” he replied.

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x FemReader

Iceman had been waiting for this moment forever it seemed. Pressing you into the mattress he kissed you passionately. He was everywhere at once and it was overwhelming your senses. It was only when he started reaching down towards your stomach did you stop him, earning a confused look.

When Iceman had called you a couple weeks ago to announce that every pilots’ families were invited to stay for a little bit you were excited. But you couldn’t help but be a little nervous, since so much had changed since the last time you had seen Iceman. It seemed so long ago that last night you were together and now you had news that would turn his whole world upside down. You looked out the window nervously when you saw him standing amongst the other pilots. Expressions of anxiousness were all around as everyone waited to see the ones they love. You had decided to wear one of your looser sundresses just for the occasion. You were definitely going to tell him but you wanted to wait a little bit. You were sure he was going to be happy but that still didn’t ease the anxiety of getting the news out in the first place. With a welcoming kiss Iceman lead you inside to unpack your bags in the room that was being provided.

Behind closed doors he didn’t hesitate kissing you and backing you up into the bed where he laid you down gently. Now he began to explore and tease. He missed you so dearly he couldn’t help himself. You stopped him at your stomach looking flustered.

“Something wrong,” he asked in concern.

“Well nothing’s wrong but something has happened,” you stated cryptically causing him to raise an eyebrow.

“Care to elaborate,” Iceman snorted helping you up into a sitting position

“Well the last time you were home some things happened,” you started before pausing. Iceman nodded his head for you to continue. “Well congratulations hotshot you’re gonna be a papa.” 

“You’re,” he looked at your stomach in awe.

“Mmm hmm,” you nodded placing his hand on your swelling stomach.

“This is amazing,” he breathed while gently caressing your belly.

“I just didn’t know how to tell you,” you replied the weight on your shoulders finally lifting.

“You can tell me anything,” Iceman replied easing you back down but this time laying beside you. He kissed you again and again knowing that everything was absolutely perfect.

[random-imagines-blog]

Connection {Steve Rogers x gn!Reader}

Wordcount: 3369 Summary: Just two New Yorkers, waiting for a bus. What happens on the bus? The usual NYC bigotry, but also a nice little surprise. Notes: Does have racism from a Karen, no slurs.

Everyday had the potential for a great many things in the city of New York. You always tried to hope for the bright side, but hope wasn’t always enough. You had to throw yourself into the day, you had to plow through it and make the good things happen, attract all of that positive energy towards you. Leave your house in the morning, hand out resumes, go to a promising afternoon interview. Your feet were sore from all of the walking. You treated yourself to a decent lunch, finding a nice little cafe where you could still stay under your budget and enjoy some good eats. All smiles. But on the flip side, a taxi driver nearly hit you when you were crossing the road because he was too into the sandwich that he was eating to notice the light was red. You witnessed two fist fights going on in the sidewalks and had to take long ways around to avoid getting caught up in all. You gave a homeless man a dollar bill and he ranted at you about how you looked like you could give more and you walked away feeling a little worse than you had been when you had handed over the dollar. But it was still a good day. Not even the fact that the bus was running late was enough to actually bring you down. There was a seat on the bench available - the small blessings.

And the man who was seated next to you? He wasn’t bad on the eyes. Blessing number two in the last minute. He was even kind enough to shuffle over a little to give you a little more room. You smiled over at him with appreciation. He returned it and then went back to what he was looking at. Or doing, rather. Trying not to appear to be too curious, you did chance a look.

He wasn’t reading like you originally thought. He was drawing. Using a charcoal pencil to sketch in some details of the building that was across the street. All of the lines intersecting to show off the architecture of New York’s infamous style. It was really good.

“What do you think?” His voice said, surprising you. You felt a little flushed. Caught sneaking a peek. He chuckled at your reaction, the way that you turned your head to try to appear like you hadn’t been looking when he knew that you were. “Honestly.”

“Oh, um - I’m not really an art critic,” You started off by saying.

“And I’m not really an artist,” He said, turning the book so that you could see more of it. Well, since he was asking, you did take a closer look at it. Eyes scanning the page, at each of those very dark lines.

“You could be,” You admitted. “It’s really good. The lines are umm - they’re simple but they’re good. Clean is the word that comes to mind. And the subject is very identifiable if that helps. Yeah, I think that’s something worthy of signing,” You said, noticing that nowhere on the page was his signature.

“When I’m done, maybe,” He said, taking the book back, closing it, and putting it inside of his coat, an inner pocket. You gave him a smile and then looked back out towards the street. The bus was five minutes late. But you were still feeling alright. You weren’t in a huge rush to get home. The only things waiting there were Netflix and your dinner plans. You leaned back against the bench, holding your bag close to you, and let out a little sigh. You were mostly just happy to be off of your feet. “Long day?” The stranger asked.

Normally, talking to strangers was a no no. Be polite to try not to piss them off but don’t go engaging in full on conversations. But this man seemed to be different. He seemed nicer. So you would answer. “Yeah,” You nodded. “Job searching in the city. Fingers crossed though. I think today is the day.”

“Good luck,” He said with a nod, and he held up his own hand, middle and index fingers crossed. It gave you an incredible view of his biceps, the material of the fabric squeezing them tightly. Oh lord. You had to look back out to the street. Feigning looking for the bus. Hoping for a breeze. You weren’t usually the swooning type but between the bright blue eyes that you saw and those arms, you were feeling it. “I hear it can be quite hard these days.”

“It can be,” You admitted. Understatement. You had to have handed out a hundred resumes and filled in a couple dozen online applications. “But it’s not something you can just give up on. Just keep swimming, as Dory says.”

The man tilted his head a little to the side. His eyes showed no trace of recognition.

“Dory, the blue fish from Finding Nemo? Sorry, it’s a - it’s a kids film, it’s a bit of a silly reference. Good movie though. You should check it out.”

He nodded and brought a small notebook out of his pocket. A notebook and a sketchbook. He was like a walking stationary store. He flipped through a couple of pages and used the charcoal pencil to write ‘Finding Nemo’ underneath Fight Club. You couldn’t help that peek either. It was his own fault really. He caught you looking at his art, obviously you were going to look at his notes too. He had a list of movies to watch. That was - kind of really cute. “Thanks, I will,” He said with a smile, flipping it closed and then putting it back into his pocket.

“Yeah, no problem. I hope you like talking fish,” You laughed. He gave another smile and then went back to his sketching. You went back to looking for the bus, feeling a little awkward. Hope you like talking fish. What a stupid thing to say, y/n. You licked your lips and went back to counting down the seconds until the next bus was supposed to come. Thankfully, it wasn’t in the hundreds, for a minute later, it turned around the corner and towards your stop.

You got up, secured your bag around you. Had your Metrocard ready. “Have a nice day,” You said quietly to the man that you had been speaking to and stepped up onto the bus. Scanned the card. If he replied, you didn’t hear it because of the sounds of people getting off and others lining up behind you to get on. It wasn’t the rush hours so it wasn’t too cramped. You were able to get a seat, settling in comfortably, having room on either side of you.

And the handsome stranger got on a few people after you and sat directly across. Your chairs were facing each other rather than towards the front of the bus. Another little bit of awkward eye contact. He gave you a little wave. You smiled and waved back. Nothing was really said, this was a New York bus after all. People were talking on their phones, to each other, playing music without their headphones on, singing to themselves. A melting pot of cultures, but also a melting pot of different noises. You were used to it, but it could get overwhelming if you weren’t. You centered yourself, thinking back on the interview. Did you say anything that might have cost you the job? You really needed this job. You really WANTED this job.

The man across from you was sketching again. You couldn’t see what it was, of course, only seeing the front cover but he looked concentrated on it. You didn’t bring a book with you today, didn’t want your bag to look too bulky in front of the job interviewer. You were regretting it now, of course. So you brought out your phone instead. Played a few games on it. Just passing the time until your block was announced. Fifteen more to go. Fourteen. Thirteen.

A lady started to yell about some men speaking a foreign language on the back on the bus. Eyes were turned that way. Phones were out to capture the entire thing. Maybe if she throws enough of a fit, a video could go viral, the people here could make a couple of bucks from it. You shook your head. It was a sad state of affairs, all of it. The racism. And the people that would film it but not do anything about it.

“Excuse me,” You said, standing up. Cameras turned to you. You put a hand in front of your face, not wanting to be filmed but it was a bit too late, alas. You knew what you were stepping into, unfortunately. “Hi, ma’am, would you mind keeping your voice down?”

“You’re asking me to keep my voice down?” She asked with a venomous sass to her tone. “I am an American citizen! And last I checked, we are in America! And in America, we speak ENGLISH here, ENGLISH.”

Oh. Okay. So it was one of those. “I’m sure that as an American yourself, we here believe in a thing called freedom, and that includes the freedom to speak whatever language you’re most comfortable speaking in,” You said, keeping yourself calm, leaning against one of the poles for people to hold onto. “But if you feel so inclined to listen to people talk, you can come and sit beside me and we can have a conversation. There’s no need to try to eavesdrop on other people.”

There were a couple of snickers from people holding their phones. But you ignored them. You just wanted to do a bit of conflict resolution. You didn’t want to embarrass anybody here. That wasn’t your plan. You weren’t going to go around calling her a Karen or anything, getting things even more riled up by yelling and inciting some sort of violence.

And apparently that wasn’t the sort of reaction that this woman had been expecting. She had come on the bus today, ready to complain. Set out looking for it. To have people to blame for her bad mood. Even if that meant yelling and snapping at innocent people.

“Well, they could be talking about anything! Anything at all! Don’t you get worried about that?” She asked, a smug little look on her face like she just had an a-ha moment.

“I suppose that’s true, they could be talking about anything. Just like a lot of people on this bus that you can’t hear. Maybe they’re talking about their kids or how much they love their wives. How happy they feel to be in a country with a lot more opportunities than the one that they had come from. Perhaps even how thankful for they are for the public transit system, which was only running a little late today rather than very late. Or what they’re going to have for dinner tonight. A movie that they just watched. So yes, they could be talking about anything. I don’t really see that as worrying. You could have been talking about anything to someone today and I don’t see any reason for it to be a worry.”

She paled. Of course that was no guarantee that she was going to calm down but at least I can say I gave it my best shot. Her beady little eyes looked around the bus, saw the cameras that were still on the situation. Baited breath on what she was going to do. What she did was pull sunglasses out of her purse, slip them on over her eyes, and turned her face out the window, nose held high. A couple of disappointed sighs from the videographers and I sat back down. I got myself comfortable again.

I had my phone back out. It didn’t look like I was going to be making the FYP anywhere since a fight didn’t happen, thankfully. I leaned back and returned to counting how many stops I had left. Eight. Seven. Getting closer now. Reaching home. God, I couldn’t wait to get home. To just collapse onto the couch. As I made myself comfortable again, I looked across from me at the handsome man. The artist. It looked like he was back to sketching again. His pencil was making many marks, and he had his darker-colored brows furrowed in concentration. He must have felt you staring again. More than once in one day. You were getting really bad at this. His blue eyes shot up and caught yours. He smiled sheepishly. You did the same and looked back down at your phone.

Six.

Five.

The man across from you rang the bell. You could see it out of the corner of your eye. That muscular arm stretching up above him to plink at the yellow cord. First try. That was impressive for these older buses. Usually you had to give them a really good tug. He scribbled something on the bottom of the paper. Signed it, maybe. Had finally finished what he had been working on before? Stop thinking about him, dammit, it’s getting creepy now.

He got up. His sneakers were pretty close to yours, you could have tapped his toes. But they didn’t move towards the back of the bus right away. His shadow covered you. So you looked up. The sunlight from outside created a sort of halo against him, making his hair shine brightly too. He was holding something out to you. “It’s - for you,” He said, a smile curling against his lips.

You took it the small piece of paper in your hands. It was turned so that it was perfectly facing you, not upside down. It wasn’t what you thought that it was. Rather than it being the architecture of earlier, it was a drawing of a person. A person sitting on a bus. You. This handsome guy, Steve Rogers according to the neat signature at the bottom, had gotten onto this bus and used his time to not only draw you, but to give it to you as a gift.

“Wow,” You said, noticing the detail that he had put in though it had been such a short time. Your hair was in the way that you had worn it this morning, the wind hadn’t damaged it too much. He even went in with the outfit. The shoes. The bag that was leaning against your side. And the face. You had such a look of patience and yet determination. He caught the moment when you were looking at the woman who was acting a fool on the bus. “Thank you,” You said, sincerely, bringing your eyes back up to meet his. “Steve Rogers.”

“You’re welcome,” He said, that cute smile still on his face. He didn’t linger. He stepped on away with a nod of his head and off of the bus before you could give him another thank you. Before you could even tell him your name. Anything.

Four. Three.

Steve Rogers. What a simple name for a man like him. Old fashioned. Who even drew anymore, on pad and paper? It was usually all digital art now. Tablets and electric pens.

You didn’t want to put the picture in your bag. You didn’t want to ruin it. You didn’t want it to get crumpled. This wasn’t the old days, the Elizabethan era where everyone had portraits done of themselves. You didn’t have anything of yourself that someone put work in, unless selfies counted, but you didn’t think so. So this - this was special.

Two. One.

You rang the bell. You got off the bus and started the walk, carefully holding the paper in your hands. You were smiling on the walk back, and not just because of your interview, not this time.

--

His face was all of the news. The Steve Rogers that had drawn you a picture was the same Steve Rogers that was Captain America. Fighting aliens in the center of the city. A lot of damage was done, but at the same time, who knows how many lives were spared. You kept this to yourself, though your friends did know about the handsome man that had drawn you a picture. They just didn’t connect the dots yet. You enjoyed it being your little secret.

Though there was destruction, you still had to go to work. You took the bus, which was running only half of the time that it was supposed to. A lot of them had gotten damaged in the attack. Making more was in the docket but this was public transportation, the cities weren’t going to put it anywhere near number one. The mayor’s focus was mainly on the corporation offices that had been damaged. Always in the pockets of those corporations.

You entered your workspace. It was still a disaster. It was a wonder that you weren’t let go, all things considering. But the owner had a good nest egg and was using it to rebuild, and keep as much staff on as they possibly could. It helped that you offered to work the clean up as well, even if that wasn’t your job. Thick boots on your feet, gardening gloves on your hands, and armed with a broom and dustbin, you started working on the debris. Another coworker came in with coffees for yourself and for her, which you appreciated. You took drinks between chores, but the getting things into the trash and disposing of them was a big task when it was things like ceiling tiles, concrete from the sidewalks, and all manner of city dust.

You were thinking about taking a break when you heard a throat clearing from the makeshift door. Okay, so it was basically a door that your boss has unhinged from his own house and brought to the business with a padlock on it to try to keep looters away, not that there was anything in there. You turned your head to give this person directions or whatever it is that they wanted, and paused when you saw it was Steve. Not Captain America, he wasn’t wearing any sort of uniform, but rather the tan trousers and very fitted white t-shirt of any citizen of the city. You leaned on the broom, looking at him. He still looked tired. Exhausted. After everything, of course he would be.

“So you got the job?” He asked, his blue eyes somehow still sparkling despite the dark circles beneath.

“I did,” You nodded. “And managed to keep it. Did you watch Finding Nemo yet?”

He laughed at your question. “Yeah, I did. Dory gives out some pretty sound advice.”

“Just keep swimming,” You reminded yourself out loud. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I did,” He said. And then he looked almost shy fofr a moment there. Boyish. “Did you ... keep it?”

The drawing. What else could he have meant. “I did, Steve, I did,” You said, even showing that you remembered his name. “I never got to introduce myself either. I’m y/n,” You said. You thought you heard a little squeal coming out of your co-worker who was watching the whole interaction, but did your best to ignore them. Steve would step in further, hopping a bit over some cinder block that you hadn’t been able to move on your own and approached. He shook your hand. You shook his. For it being Captain America’s hand, it was actually pretty soft to the touch. You had assumed that all superheroes had calloused hands, unsure why.

“Do you need some help?” He asked, looking around the place after. “I’m sure you two got it on your own but - I’m here, I’m offering.”

You were still holding onto his hand as he put that forth. You would finally let it go, only to look around yourself. “That’s an offer I’ll take - as long as you let me buy you dinner later.”

He let out an unexpected laugh. It was melodic. It was joyful. “Okay, dinner sounds good. I’m not so convinced on letting you buy it but - I recently found out about a great shwarma place not too far from here.”

[andreafmn]

Collision - Chapter 1

Word Count: 3,434

Characters: Female Reader Uley Character, Sam Uley, Allison Uley, Charlie Swan, Bella Swan, Seth Clearwater, Billy Black, Jacob Black, Emily Young, Paul Lahote, Harry and Sue Clearwater, Leah Clearwater

Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life at it’s first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same. 

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Twilight, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Stephanie Meyer and Summit Entertainment. The only thing I own is Uley Reader insert, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.

Chapter: 1/?

A/N: There’s no Cullen’s in the first chapter, we’ll see them soon though. Also, Esme is in the story but her and Carlisle are not together romantically. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

Next->

Chapter 1

Going back home felt bizarre for (Y/N). It had been 4 years since she had moved away from the La Push Reservation on a scholarship to a prep boarding school in Seattle. Although students were expected to go back home during summer break, she spent her time in summer taking college classes or attending internships in the area, so going back didn’t fit into her plans.

But she had just graduated from high school and decided that taking a gap year could not hurt. Seeing her family wouldn’t be that bad either.

(Y/N) Uley had not reunited physically with Sam and Allison Uley since she left for school, only calling occasionally but always being to busy for anything else. The mother and son duo had grown accustomed to the short phone calls and vague emails they would receive from their studious family member. The Uley siblings used to be a very close pair, being only a year apart helped their bond. But since (Y/N) had invested all her energy into her high school career, their relationship rapidly dissipated; replaced by untold secrets and life-changing details.

The Uley girl had no idea what was in store when she went back home. She had left when she was 14 and was coming back an 18-year-old with a high school diploma and a bachelor’s degree. (Y/N) had always been an over achiever and applying to the school she had and taking dual enrollment was no surprise to her mother and brother.

The bus ride from Seattle to La Push lasted almost eight hours, so (Y/N) equipped herself with two books, plenty of snacks, and a fully charged iPod to handle the ride. She had gotten the earliest ride available always enjoying the intriguing mystery that 3 am travels brought. Her brown eyes surveyed the curious characters that voyaged alongside her a young woman sat with a sleeping baby in her arms, the dark circles under her eyes signaled the baby was still a newborn getting adapted to a sleep schedule; there was a middle-aged man, his eyes attached to a computer and a briefcase tight to his side; there were two teenagers, backpacks at their feet and shared headphones in between them. They were wearing light blue polo shirt and her school insignia embroidered on the left side of their shirt. She had seen them in passing, two freshmen still energetic and excited for their school life. She looked at them and smiled, remembering being in their shoes four years ago.

Four hours in, (Y/N) had finished one book, and the bus made its first stop in Port Angeles, the place where everyone that traveled with her got off. It wasn’t surprising to see from the top of her book as everyone got off, she didn’t recognize any of them from the reservation so it would have been surprising if any of them had stayed in the bus. For the next four hours, (Y/N) continued to read her second book surrounded by a comforting silence. The sun had risen about an hour ago and a nice warmth was streaming from the bus window and (Y/N) felt herself drift in bliss.

Her eyes fluttered open once again when she felt the bus finally rolling to a stop. She blinked a few times as she adjusted her vision to the bright midday sun and her brain restarted normal functions. The brunette gathered the bag with her travel companions and got up from the chair she had been glued to for eight hours.

“Have a good day,” the driver chimed as (Y/N) was walking down the bus.

“You too, drive safe!” The girl smiled and got her two suitcases out of the side of the bus.

(Y/N) got startled as she felt two arms wrap around her midriff and quickly swung her elbow back.

“Woah, woah, careful with those arms, (Y/N). It’s just me,” the girl turned around, a gleaming grin adorning her face.

“Sam!” She jumped onto the open arms of her older brother, seeing the years that had passed on his tired face.

“Look at you, darling. All grown up,” Allison Uley smiled, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“Mom, I’ve missed you.” (Y/N) hugged her mother tightly, noticing the difference in heights of her and her mother. Another thing she noticed was the strain between her mother and her brother. Before she left, they all had a very close relationship but now it felt like so many things had interlaced into their bond. “Let’s go home yeah?”

“I’m, actually I gotta go to my house,” Sam scratched the back of his neck.

“What house?” (Y/N) chuckled.

“I moved out, but I’ll come over for your welcome dinner.”

“Sam, she just came back. Don’t you wanna spend time with your sister?” Allison begged, wanting to have both of her children under the same roof again.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t, mom. Leave it.” Sam sighed. “I’ll see you at dinner, (Y/N).”

He kissed the top of his sister’s head and left. He wanted to tell them the whole truth, but he knew he couldn’t. Knowing that information would put them in a level of danger that he didn’t want them to be aware of.

(Y/N) stared at the retreating figure of his brother as he ran down the street, leaving her and their mother.

“What’s up with him?”

“Oh darling, if only I knew.” Allison sighed grabbing one of the suitcases her daughter had brought. “Let’s just head to the house so you can rest.”

“Yeah, let’s.” (Y/N) gave Allison a comforting smile and wheeled the second suitcase towards the truck.

The drive home was as short as she remembered, and the house hadn’t changed a bit. She walked up the steps to the porch and opened the old wooden door; it still made the same creaking sound. The house still smelled of seawater and pine, an odd mix but a comforting scent. (Y/N) regretted all the summers she missed here and all the days she spent away from her family.

She made her way up the stairs and entered the first door to the right. She ran her fingers through the stickers she had pasted on there when she was 13: a wolf, a rainbow, a heart, and a picture of her family. Her name still carved at the highest point of the door and she smiled at the memory of that. She sat atop Sam’s shoulder when she was just 12 years old, a trembling hand holding a pick as she carved as best as she could the name “(Y/N)”.

The doorknob as it was turned let out a squeaky groan and the door needed an extra push to open. The room had not changed at all. The walls were still painted a light green, the light switch still had the pink princess cover, the bedding had the little purple butterflies embroidered on them, and the pillows were all pink and purple. In a corner rested the five boxes (Y/N) had sent to the house from her dorm room.

“It hasn’t changed a bit,” (Y/N) commented as she felt her mother’s presence behind her.

“I didn’t want to change it until you came back,” Allison smiled. “But I’m sure you’d like to give this place a bit of a makeover.”

“Definitely,” she laughed. “I think I’ll go to Port Angeles this weekend, doing some shopping can’t hurt.”

“That’s true.” Allison side hugged her daughter as she laughed. She headed towards the door but stopped when she was called upon by her daughter.

“Hey, mom?”

“Yes, darling?”

“By any chance, do you know where Sam’s living?” Allison’s body stiffened but shared the information with her daughter. Maybe she could figure out why he’d just disappeared.

(Y/N) was surprised to hear he was living with a girl she barely knew. She knew of Emily Young through Leah Clearwater, but not much after that. Last thing she had heard Leah and Sam had been dating. She certainly had missed some very important pivotal points in her brother’s life.

The house wasn’t far, so she decided to walk there. Upon arrival she could feel the warm and inviting aura that the quaint house emanated. The blue door called to her as she knocked on it. It finally opened and revealed her brother.

“(Y/N), what’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to see my big brother. Is that such a crime?” She laughed.

“No, of course. Come in,” he smiled begrudgingly. “I don’t have much time so we gotta make this quick.”

“Wow, feeling the love there,” she chuckled passing through the doorframe.

“There’s just some things that I have to do before dinner tonight.”

“It’s okay, I get it. I just wanted to ask if you could help me on the weekend with my room. I’m bringing it four years into the present, gotta make sure it looks like an 18-year-old sleeps there.”

“Yeah, I’ll come over Sunday afternoon and help you then. Anything else you need?”

“Well, not exactly, but it wouldn’t help to catch up. You know make up for four years of chit chat conversations and get me up to date with at the happenings in your life.”

“There’s not much to say other than I moved out and I’m engaged.” He said nonchalantly.

“Excuse me?! You’re engaged and failed to mention that to me?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, (Y/N).”

“Yes, it is, Sam! You’re getting married and this is the first I’m ever hearing of this or the fact that you moved out or the fact that you’re engaged to your ex-girlfriend’s cousin. I think it is a big deal.”

“Okay, yeah. Kind of a long story on that one.”

“Enough time to tell it to me?” Sam hesitated. He could hear Emily’s truck approaching and two male voices coming back from patrol. He needed to get (Y/N) out of the house before they got here.

“Maybe another time. I’ll call you on Sunday, yeah?” Sam asked as he nudged his sister out of his house.

“I guess.” (Y/N) mumbled as she was pushed out the front door. “Bye.”

“See ya.” Sam kissed the side of her head and closed the door.

(Y/N) left the house with more questions about her brother that she had begun with but didn’t want to press on. There was no use if he wasn’t going to talk, so she walked back home.

Her mother had gone out, possibly grocery shopping for tonight’s dinner, giving (Y/N) time to catch up on some much-needed sleep. She walked up the stairs and into her room, plopping down on the bed not caring how she landed. All she wanted was to close her eyes and rest.

By six in the afternoon her eyes fluttered open once again. She could smell the dinner her mother had been cooking. The room had darkened as the sun was going down and thankfully her mother had turned on a lamp for (Y/N) to have some vision. The girl got up from bed and grabbed some clothes from her suitcase to take a quick shower before dinner. She stripped all her clothes off and let the water wash away all the hours of the day. As soon as the water started turning cold, she shut it off and got out.

For a second, (Y/N) stopped and stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. She barely recognized the girl staring back. The bags under her eyes were deeper than the last time she had seen herself in this specific mirror, her cheekbones were more defined than before, her skin paler than usual since she hadn’t really seen the sun in a while.

It didn’t take her long to change into some new clothes and head downstairs, where she saw her mother on the phone. Disappointment evident in her eyes.

“Sam, it’s your sister… please… ok, fine. Just don’t flake on her on Sunday,” Allison sighed, turning off her phone and slamming it on the counter.

“Everything okay, mom?”

“Oh, yeah, darling. Your brother won’t be able to join us, but Billy and Jacob, and the Clearwaters are on their way, and I also invited Charlie and Bella Swan. I hope you don’t mind that they join in.”

“No, I don’t mind. What about Paul?”

“You know I’ve never liked that boy, honey.” (Y/N) stared at her mother. Refusing to continue the conversation until Allison answered the question. “I did invite him, but he couldn’t come.”

“I love seeing you make an effort,” (Y/N) laughed and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll set the table.”

“Thank you, darling.”

(Y/N) grabbed the 10 plates needed for the night and the respective cutlery. She still remembered how her mother liked the table arranged and set it as such. She set the vase filled with fresh flowers in the middle of the table, leaving space on the sides for the dinner platters. The arrival of the guests was soon after. (Y/N) had grown alongside Jacob and Leah, and on the summers, she would spend her times with the Swan girl. Once Seth was born, he became very close with the Uley girl.

“My oh my, (Y/N), how you’ve grown.” Billy Black grabbed Uley’s hand and smiled up at her, with the warmness that summer brought.

“Indeed, I have, and you haven’t aged a day in four years. What’s your secret?”

“It’s in the genes,” he laughed alongside the young girl. She’d always been a charmer, he thought “You remember my boy, Jacob, right?”

“How could I ever forget? Hey, Jake!”

“How you’ve been, (Y/N)?” Jacob approached his friend and wrapped her in a hug. “Been an awful long time.”

“Four years, that’s not much,” she smiled. “Come in.”

The father and son duo entered the house, and next came the Clearwaters. Harry, Sue, and Seth. No Leah. They had always been close to the Uleys, a bit of divide coming after the rupture between the eldest offspring of each family.

“Oh, wow, where has the time gone?” Sue commented, greeting the girl with a tight hug.

“4 years really do go by quick, don’t they?”

“They sure do, Harry.” (Y/N) smiled, motioning the couple in.

Finally, Seth walked in and engulfed (Y/N) in a tight hug. The girl was 5 years his elder, but he considered her one of his best friends. Seth and Paul were the only two people (Y/N) kept in close contact other than her family. For some time, Paul and (Y/N) had drifted apart but Seth always sent his monthly excited letters, updating her on what he had been up to.

“I missed you, (Y/N)!” Little Seth spoke into a bundle of brunette hair.

“I missed you too, Seth.” She smiled as he walked past her, joining his parents.

The last to enter were Sheriff Swan and Bella. The cop smiled at the girl and gave her a quick hug, commenting on how much she had grown, a low chuckle leaving his throat. Bella entered with hunched shoulders, possibly not wanting to be there but she still smiled at her old friend. Vague memories filled the girls’ heads of summer play dates and days at the beach.

“It’s been quite some time, huh?” Bella muttered.

“It sure has. It’s great to see you again,” (Y/N) smiled. “How have you liked Forks now that you’re back full time. Still hating cold weather?”

“Yeah,” the pale girl chuckled. “But it has its better days.”

The girls joined in a quick giggled before joining the rest of the group at the dinner table. Allison had already set the table and had said her hellos to the group.

The three males had engaged in sports conversations and the teens were all huddled in the kitchen munching on cheese and crackers and engaging in small chit chat.

“So, (Y/N), 18 and already a degree, how does that feel?” Jacob asked, stuffing his mouth with cheese and ham.

“Well, as good as it can be. Don’t know exactly what I’m gonna do now. All I know is that I’m taking a year off and taking a breather for the first time.” (Y/N) chuckled.

“I just can’t believe you’d spend all this time going to school, twice as much. I don’t like school at all,” Seth chimed in, picking apart the cheese and filling his mouth.

“So, you spent these past four years studying, including your summers?” Bella added.

“That’s correct,” (Y/N) smiled. “And now I have a degree and nothing to do with it.”

The group chuckled and moved towards the adults as they were being called to dinner. In the center of the table was a big platter of spaghetti and meatballs, (Y/N)’s favorite food, a tray of toasted garlic bread, and a bowl of a colorful mix of spring salad.

(Y/N) always enjoyed her mother’s cooking. Even on her saddest days, Allison’s cooking could warm her heart at any time. She and her mother had a very close relationship, even after four years of distance. Since her father left early in her life, her mother had always tried her hardest to make sure both her children were loved and cared for. And she stayed wondering where she had gone wrong with Sam and hoping (Y/N) didn’t stray away as her eldest had.

The dinner group had all taken their seats at the dinner table and were passing around the various platters, serving themselves their desired portions. Jacob and Seth were overfilling their plates, receiving a laugh from their respective parents. Charlie, Harry, and Billy were filling their plates with more protein than carbohydrates and the moms at the table smiled at the males engulfing the meatballs. (Y/N) looked around the table and smiled. It had been a long time since she had sat down with the important people in her life and was relaxed, even if two of them were missing.

After everyone was served, everything went almost quiet. Some background music could be heard from the living room and the sound of forks hitting plates and mouths chewing filled the environment. Everyone was comfortable with the silence, but there was still one question in everyone’s mind.

“Where’s Sam?” Seth spoke up, voicing everyone’s question. The whole table paused in action and Seth felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Sue softly elbowed her son. “What?”

“It’s okay, Sue,” (Y/N) smiled. “He couldn’t be here, bud.”

“Maybe he was feeling bad, like Leah.” He added earning a burning stare from both his parents.

“Maybe, Seth.”

“I just wanna apologize for our daughter missing this dinner. I know she really wanted to see you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, Harry, it’s really no problem. I’m sure I’ll catch up with her soon enough.” (Y/N) smiled trying to ease the tension felt in the room. She could see her mother gripping her fork tightly as she kept her head down. “But I would also like to apologize on behalf of Sam, I know he wanted to be here.”

Everyone simply nodded and went back to their plates. The rest of the evening was enjoyable. No one mentioned the pair that was missing, and (Y/N)’s past four years were questioned in depth. She had an answer for everything except “What are you gonna do now?”

She didn’t know and that’s what she answered. She mentioned she wanted to study medicine, having finished a degree in biology and always loved taking care of other people. Sue was excited, being a nurse herself. But (Y/N) had landed at a standstill in terms of her life and career. A vast portion of her life had been defined as a student and now that this part was over, she didn’t know who she was.  

The dinner festivities were over soon thereafter, leaving Allison and (Y/N) to clean up after the group. The Uley pair put everything away in silence, exhausted from the eventful day. (Y/N) could see as her mother wiped away a few stray tears, sniffling behind her hair. The girl knew better than to bring the topic back up and left her mother with a kiss on the temple and a good night.

Upstairs, (Y/N) prepared herself for bed. The event had drained nay energy still left in her and she plopped down on the bed with a small thud. She had prepared her clothes for the next day, knowing her energy would also be drained but still excited to have this change. Her eyes fluttered close as she heard in the distance her mother’s quiet footsteps on the staircase, darkness overtaking her.

Next->

A/N: if you wish to be tagged for the next parts, please let me know. I’d be happy to. <3

[ellavogues]

london sunrises - harry styles

summary: harry made you feel like home in a place far from it, but stupidly ruins it in fear of losing you

a/n: hey, second fic in two days! let me know your thoughtsss :) thanks for reading angels

Sometimes you wish you were seventeen again.

The carelessness, easy breezy lifestyle you lead was problematic and unproductive, but you never felt more free. Even now as an adult, unrestricted by menial rules made by your parents or your school, you don’t feel the same liberty as you felt when you were seventeen.

Maybe it was him that made you feel so free.

You met him at sixteen, when you moved countries from the USA to England. Originally pessimistic about the complete upheaval of your life, you took it upon yourself to not even try and socialise and familiarise yourself with people at your new school.

But one day, around a week after you moved, you were sat on the bus, headphones in your ear and gazing out the window as you waited for the bus driver to start the journey home, a brown, curly haired boy sat next to you, sporting a huge grin on his face.

“I’m Harry,” he introduced himself, extending his hand as if to ask you to shake it. “Mind if I sit here?”

You shake your head, “Yeah, go ahead. I’m Y/N.”

“You’re new, right? We’ve got homeroom and science together I think.”

He’s smiling the whole bus ride, cracking stupid jokes and telling stupid stories, right up until you get off at your stop. You’re smiling too, feeling grateful to have met a friend in this new place.

The next day, he sat next to you in homeroom and science, and you conversed as if you had known each other for years. He was just that easy to talk to, always able to quickly come up with a witty, smartass remark to whatever you may say and chuckling to himself when you get slightly irritated at his teasing. He noticed you sitting by yourself at lunch, and insisted you sit with him and his mates.

Over time, your friendship with Harry gradually and organically blossomed into something more. Worried that it was only a one-sided feeling, you kept it to yourself and put on a front when you were around him, attempting to veil your new-found feelings with excessive teasing and smart remarks at his expense. But keeping up appearances proved to be difficult as time progressed and the two of you got closer and closer and as he got to know you better, picking up on the way you deflect your emotions.

One night, after a lot of weed and talking, you both found yourselves on Harry’s roof, just above his window to his room. His parent’s room was thankfully on the other end of the house and given it being the early hours of the morning, they were surely asleep. At least you hoped they were, he did manage to make you laugh louder than you thought possible and you crossed your fingers that they didn’t hear the two of you. The night sky was full of stars, you remember, and you finally didn’t have a weight on your shoulders, finally comfortable enough to be your true, authentic self and genuinely happy for the first time since you moved. Neither of you realised how long you had been up there, talking, laughing, smoking, until little glints of orange light began peaking through the clouds in the sky, the birds starting to sing their morning songs. You were honestly disappointed that the memory was over, that the rare moment that you got to feel like yourself alone with Harry had come to its inevitable end.

It was hard making friends in a new city, but his cheeky grin made it so easy to be his friend. 

The next time you went up there, you had your first kiss. It was like you thought it would be, your friends implanting in your mind that your first kiss is never as special as it is romanticised on film, but the kiss with Harry made butterflies swarm in your stomach, his soft lips feeling like the closest thing to home in this foreign city that with him you’ve grown to love. You later found out that it was his first kiss too, making the moment feel more special.

You were giddy again that night, but not because you had alcohol. A smile was stuck on your face with no setback being able to push you out of this happy trance. Harry loved seeing you happy, he loved the way your eyes got that little sparkle in them when you got all excited, a detail that no one else would be able to notice. He made you feel giddy in the best way possible, the feeling almost addicting. Dangerously, it seemed you had the same effect on him. 

It seems for once the two of you were on the same page about your feelings, making a hopeful promise of what the future may hold

By the time you were seventeen, London sunrises on Harry’s roof after a long night of talking and weed have become a habit for the two of you. Something about being wrapped up in each other’s presence, in a space just for the two of you and distanced just enough from the world around you, is incredibly addictive. But the rays of sunlight pop the little bubble over you and Harry every time, though despite your disappointment of being brought back from your own perfect world where all you have and need is each other, you’re quick to get over it because it just means it’s time to climb back in his window and go to sleep in each other's arms.

All you had with him was friendship, but it felt like so much more than that. He gave you butterflies, he made you feel free and invited you to be a part of his world when you had no one. When you were with him, you had nothing to hide. He gave you this warm feeling that you had never felt before, a safe feeling. A feeling of home.

All you desperately wanted was to be more than friends, but you were simultaneously so scared of losing what you had with him. The love you had him was unfathomable, you couldn’t wrap your head around it and nothing made you more scared than losing him.

He was scared, too.

Despite being enlightened that your feelings were mutual, Harry couldn’t comprehend in his mind what you had, It didn’t make sense to him that you could love each other so deeply but not be together. He wanted to be mindful that you were heading in completely different directions in life, knowing your dreams of starting a startup and his dreams of having a career in music. He was scared that if you both wanted different things you’d lose each other forever. And he can’t lose you. 

So he pulled away. He forgot to invite you to his X-Factor audition, making up some lame excuse that everything’s been so hectic and he knew how stressed you were about our own future. It hurt your feelings, because in spite of his carefully crafted excuses, you could tell he didn’t invite you on purpose. 

It quickly became apparent that not inviting you wasn’t just a mistake, because he didn’t hold you safely and securely in his arms after you watched the sunrise anymore, kissing the back of your head as you fell asleep tangled in each other. He didn’t kiss you like he used to, no butterflies forming in either of your stomachs, his hand barely grazing your cheeks as he reluctantly connected your lips. Eventually he barely kissed you at all. 

He wanted you so bad, but he wasn’t willing to lose you to get you.

But he pulled so far away that you were barely in sight anymore. He tried to convince himself it was for the best, because at least this way you’d always be on good terms and he’d always have you in his life. He’d always have a part of you. But he missed the smell of you in his sheets, he missed the way you rubbed your nose against his when you were sleepy. He missed making you laugh so hard that you were practically falling off the roof (not that he’d ever let that happen, you were too secure in his arms to even slip an inch.

He wanted all of you, the good, the bad, the ugly. He wanted to wake up and see the remnants of your makeup from the night before still on your face, your sleepy smile completing the look. More than anything, he wanted to have you as his, to announce to everyone that he finally got the girl.

You wanted him just as bad, but his distance hurt you more than you’d ever admit to him. Harry had always made you feel free, like you can have anything you could possibly want. That is, except for him. 

That was the fucking catch. He gave you everything you could have ever wanted. You had the passion, the love, the sensitivity, the jokes. You had it all with him, except you never had him. That’s what sucked the most.

It wasn’t til graduation that you finally worked up the courage to put everything on the line. You went back with him to his house after everything with the school finished, him driving you because even after all this time, he absolutely never trusts your driving. 

“We need to talk,” you start ambiguously.

He laughs, raising his eyebrows as he turns to you for a second, “Should I be scared?”

“Maybe,” you mumble back, anxious and growing fidgety in the seat next to him. Harry clocked this, his hand coming to rest over yours to calm your fidgets down. Glancing over at you briefly, the worry was evident in his features. “H, you’ve always brought out the best in me and made me feel special when I had absolutely no one. I didn’t need anyone else because your friendship, our relationship is all I’ve ever needed. I mean, we’ve dreamt about our futures while we were fucking high on your roof, but when I told you about what I want in my future, I never told you that I wanted you. You’re all I see when I see my life five years from now. You’re all I want, H.”

Harry goes unusually quiet, processing what you told him. It’s uncomfortable, usually by now he would’ve made some inappropriate joke, called you stupid or even just reacted in some way. It’s painful when he looks at you for a moment as he’s stopped as a stop light, and it’s blatantly obvious to you that he’s carefully considering what to say next. 

“Y/N, you’re my bestfriend-“

“Fuck that,” you laugh dryly, unimpressed and masking your hurt with anger.

“Y/N-“

“No,” you raise your voice slightly. “I fucking get it. It’s fine. But I can’t be your friend, Harry. Fuck that. I want more than that.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” his voice is a whisper, tears beginning to form in his eyes before he roughly wipes them away, clearing his vision as he parks in front of his house and turns to meet your gaze. “I can’t lose you.”

“And I can’t be just your friend.”

This moment still replayed in your head like a broken record for years later. 

Maybe you were stupid for letting him go, but you might’ve driven yourself insane if you were still his best friend after everything that you’ve been through together. It wasn’t sustainable for you to continue to just be there, waiting for him to decide that you’re what he wants or, scarily, sticking by him and watching him be with another girl. It would have ruined you to see him treat another girl the way you wanted him to treat you.

You ran into him when he was strolling London a few years later, on his rare day off from touring and concerts and meetings. Even though the run in was supposed to be short you got to talking and laughing and he saw that sparkle in your eye again, something that he hadn’t seen in years and something that made him feel at home. Old habits die hard, and you and Harry ended up staying up all night together, catching up. It felt like you were seventeen again, hopelessly and foolishly in love with a man you could never have.

Before you left the next morning, he grabbed your wrist, turning you to face him. “I have to see you again. Please, Y/N, don’t say goodbye forever.”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach, contented that after all these years apart, you finally have a part of him again. You always had a part of him, you just didn’t know it. “Take me to your album’s party tomorrow?”

And he did, picking you up sporting that grin that made you weak in the knees. He was proud, introducing you to his friends, showing you off on his arm. It felt right.

As the night started getting old, Harry laced his fingers in yours and led you out to the balcony, escaping the chaos and noise inside and making the world just about the two of you. Letting go of his hand, you stepped towards the railing and admired the view while Harry admired you, breath taken away as you turned your head back at him and smiled. Harry wondered how he ever let you go.

Tapping your shoulder gently, he prompts you to turn around to face him. His hand finds your cheek, tilting your face to face his and leaning in to kiss you, lips soft against yours and his free hand finding its home on your hip.

He finally felt like yours again.

[jamaiskookie]

meet me in your memories (knj)

✂︎ pairing: memory traveller namjoon x gender neutral reader

✂︎ wc: 11.8k

✂︎ TW// car crash, mentions of death, crying, mental health, mental breakdowns, spoilers for frozen 1?? um, vomiting, mentions of PTSD, three seconds of family drama, memory loss

✂︎ notes: a little gift from me for being away so long <3 luv yall also ignore how short and shitty this is!!! ignore it!!!!! 

✂︎ synopsis: namjoon is a memory traveller - he is thrusted back and forth into his world and the world of his memories, forced to re-enact his past experiences. but he doesn’t recognise you, who keeps showing up in his memories. why doesn’t he remember you? why can’t he recall any of these scenes if they’re supposed to be his memories? and why does it always feel like he’s forgetting something? 

he comes to find out that he would choose you over and over again, in whatever lifetime or world he’s in. because he always returns to you. 

✂︎ fic tunes: "eight"- iu (prod. & feat. suga) but you're at your favorite secret spot after a long day by neptjoon

masterlist asks

The road is slippery and Namjoon cranes his head out to look at the window. Rain splattering everywhere, he notes worriedly. He hopes that nobody crashes. The bus driver sitting about three meters in front of him is humming a melody to a song he doesn’t know nor recognise. While listening to the poor man hum the off beat tune, Namjoon sits in silence, wondering how sad it must be to drive a bus with no passengers but himself. 

Suddenly, his stomach drops and his head spins, and this time Namjoon is certain it’s not from the rain or the driver’s subpar driving. He lurches forward, watching as the rain knocks against the window and falls in thick ribbons. 

Click. 

In an instant, Namjoon’s world collapses around him and he is thrown into his mind. 

Seoul is sweltering hot - hot like he’s never felt before. Namjoon reaches up to clutch his head, which is still spinning, and finds himself standing in a pair of light washed baggy jeans and a sleeveless tee shirt, unlike the padding coat and thick boots he had on just a moment ago. 

“Namjoon!” Someone squeals behind him and his heart jumps. He jumps around, facing you and the view of hot street food stalls and tall buildings behind you. Suddenly, his hand is reaching out to grab onto yours and you smile softly. 

He hears his own voice ring out, clear as day: “Don’t run. I was looking for you.” 

“Psh.” You wave off his concern, handing him a shiny golden hotteok. You hold an identical one in your fist, so he accepts it and murmurs his thanks, tearing apart the pancake and stuffing it into his mouth. Sweet, hot honey and small pieces of walnut flood into his mouth, and Namjoon is momentarily surprised. Science states that you cannot taste or physically feel anything in your dreams. 

But Namjoon already proved that wrong long ago. 

He takes you by hand and drags you over to a shelter, for some rest, apparently uninterested in your cries of wanting more tteokbokki or some Chinese food. He flings you over to his side and places his hand over your shoulder, while you both silently devour your hotteoks. 

“This was a nice date.” You mumble tentatively, and oh. That’s what this is? A date? He wants to turn around and ask you for your name. Where are you from? Why am I here again? He wants to scream it out until his lungs hurt and he gets an answer that makes sense, but no matter how much he tries, his throat will not allow those words to tumble out of his lips.  

Why don’t I remember you?

Instead, he replies: “Yeah, it was. This was fun.” He tilts his head down to smile at you and Namjoon finds himself nervous. Nervous enough that his hands are shaking against his will, but he tells himself that the sweat and the nervousness are all side effects of the swampy heat this summer. 

You beam at him and Namjoon thinks you’re an angel. You lean up onto his chest to place a soft kiss onto his lips and Namjoon thinks about when he’s going to be thrown back out of his head. 

“Wanna go home?” He asks, nudging at the sky, which is already filled up with first streaks of the sunset. Purple hues and pinks and blues that all blend together nicely. You watch the sky for a moment.

“Never.” You offer no explanation after that and Namjoon doesn’t pry. He feels like he understands you, which is scarier than any other encounter he’s faced, in real life and in here. You stare up at him more intensely, and a shudder of fear runs down Namjoon’s back. “I just want to stay here forever,” You enunciate, like you want him to remember this. “Just Y/N and Namjoon.” 

Something tugs in his chest and Namjoon screams in his head, no. Longer. Not now. He slips away, gone, disappeared from the world before he can even tell you how pretty your name is. And he awakens back at the bus, where the driver is shaking him and yelling at him to get out. 

Namjoon walks home in the rain, yelling out your name in happiness until his neighbours come over politely asking him to shut the fuck up. 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… Y/N?” He keeps repeating the name over and over again, enough to make Seokjin annoyed, who has moved away from Namjoon’s desk to the sofa in his office just to escape the random spiel that Namjoon is hurriedly rushing through. 

“I can’t find a single Y/N in here!” Namjoon cries frustratingly, and the corners of Seokjin’s eyes soften in something that is either pity or empathy. He discards his non-fiction novel about drag queens and wigs to come over and clap a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. 

“My friend, my crazy, idiotic, slightly insane friend.” Seokjin bends down. “You’ve checked all your yearbooks, social media, archives, newspapers… Have you perhaps considered that this person wasn’t that important? Just a passing stranger?”

“No.” Namjoon shoots down stubbornly. “They appear far too often for them not to be important.” So Seokjin shrugs, leaving Namjoon to, once again, search through the Facebook friends of a friend of a friend of a friend. 

But no Y/N’s pop up, and he’s wondering if Y/N was just a nickname. Was it even your real name? With a sigh and one single (rather impressive) agitated brow wave, he lets go and spills. He tells Seokjin about how he finally learned your name, about the places you’ve been together and how much you adore street food. 

He appreciates Seokjin for being a good friend, for sitting there and not interrupting to call him a crazy person, even if he is most certainly thinking about it in his head. Because Seokjin, at least, knows about a miniscule part of Namjoon’s tragic life. He doesn’t understand, but he gets it, and that’s all Namjoon needs in a friend. 

He doesn’t tell Seokjin about how soft and pillowy your lips feel against his, he doesn’t tell you how much he longs to do unspeakable things to you when you show up in those blue short shorts. He definitely doesn’t tell him how much he loves your name. 

Seokjin suggests a number of things. That perhaps you are a character from long ago, or maybe a passing stranger Namjoon once had a summer fling with. You may be someone long forgotten like a mutual friend in high school or college. He also suggests a psychiatric hospital to screw his head back on (as a joke, Namjoon’s pretty sure.) 

But none of those seem right. Namjoon does his best to explain, he really does. For an award winning journalist and aspiring writer, he does just about a terrible job of trying to string his words together. Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose and falls back onto the sofa, already spacing out. Namjoon weakly cries out that he knows you. He really does - he just doesn’t remember how, or why. 

Like a puzzle with a few missing pieces. 

He wonders when and if the missing pieces will ever make their way over to him. 

Namjoon gives up and flops down onto the sofa next to Jin, who squeaks out various protests about how heavy he is and how stupidly huge his arms have gotten after he started working out, along the lines of comparing him to Jungkook and calling him a gym rat. 

As usual, Namjoon doesn’t listen. 

It’s difficult to explain the feeling of falling to someone who hasn’t experienced it. The cursed Click echoes out and suddenly, the world spins around, the axis breaks and he’s physically thrown into another time, another place… another memory that he can’t seem to recall. His stomach lurches, his head hurts and there’s a small breeze flowing in. 

For a short moment, the loops of space and time are completely open to him. He can’t see it, but he can feel it. It flips his mind completely upside down and boom. He’s in a specific, random time and place. His body feels light, and every step he takes, he can physically feel it: He doesn’t belong here. He isn’t supposed to be here. Everything feels different. Even the air is more smoky, because something in this world is suddenly wrong, and it’s him. 

The next time he meets you, he is in just about the worst place to fall. Sitting in a press conference, his stomach drops and he’s dreading the fall. Namjoon can already hear his boss screaming at him, and he desperately tries to root himself to his seat, typing whatever the assemblyman is yapping on and on about. About farming and agriculture and tax cuts… 

Click. 

He can distantly hear the assemblyman candidate talk about corrupt government workers as he’s thrusted out of his world and into another. 

The memory he has the pleasure to be in this time is something not too unfamiliar. For a second, he thinks if this is just a normal day of him in his cramped, tiny city apartment. Until he turns around and realises you’re lying right next to him, sound asleep and nuzzling into the side of his neck. 

The air is crisp. It’s spring, not winter anymore, and he can hear the flower petals outside his apartment complex falling lightly on the ground. This, Namjoon thinks, may just be the best memory he’s been in. The press conference and his life and his boss slips his mind and he cradles you in his chest, holding you closer and closing his eyes shut. 

“Mm?” You mumble, half asleep. “You’re suffocating me.” You hoarsely call out, and Namjoon releases you with an insincere apology. He brushes the hair out of your hair and grins, framing you in his head. He reaches to his alarm clock, which is right next to his bed as it always is to check the time. 

April 1st, 2017. 

Oh god, Namjoon winces. This means he still has that god awful haircut right now. He reaches up to feel his head, and sure enough, the horrible slicked back bleached hair is still there, an unfortunate result of his friend Hoseok daring him to drunk dye his hair. 

“You’re awake?” He asks you, and you nod slowly. 

He wonders if this memory precedes or follows the one he had with you last time, and he desperately hopes things are going in chronological order. He wants to know you just as much as you know him. Namjoon naively prays to whatever deity that controls his dreamworld: Please follow things step by step, follow the clock. 

You roll around, saying something he can’t really catch. He asks you what you said and for the first time today, you peel open your eyes directly facing him. Namjoon’s heart almost falls out of his ass, seeing your eyes bore into his own. 

“Where’s my morning kiss?” You ask cutely, nudging his nose with your own button nose. 

“Right here.” He finds himself saying, leaning in to close the inches in between your two faces. You taste like hotteok, even early in the morning. You taste like a spring day and a never ending forever. As your lips capture his and his everything is consumed by thoughts of you, Namjoon begs himself to kiss you harder. 

His past self declines politely, and Namjoon thinks about whether this counts as himself being controlled if he himself is still controlling what he says and does. 

In that moment, listening to your slow breathing and someone across the street playing simple, melodic piano chords, Namjoon tells himself: Do not ever forget April 1st, 2017. You rise from the bed and some form of protest bubbles up from Namjoon’s mouth, to which you just laugh and drag him out of bed with the excuse of wanting breakfast. 

You push him into the bathroom, where he expects to meet his sad single grey towel and foggy mirror. You push him in front, and he cringes at the sight of his hair in the mirror. You sigh. 

“Calm down. The blonde looks sexy. You can dye it back black later.” He laughs, because it’s clearly not very sexy. For once, his past self is doing exactly what the current Namjoon is pleading him to do. Does it count as reliving your memories if someone else was living through them originally? But, he reminds himself while you hand him a green toothbrush and squeeze a dollop of toothpaste on both your toothbrushes, this is him. He lived through this once and he is just taking a trip down memory lane. 

The person who lived through this before was him. 

He has to remind himself many more times before it sinks in. 

You brush your teeth next to him, fluffing your hair and squinting in the mirror to wake yourself up. Without a second of hesitation, Namjoon brings the toothbrush up and starts to brush his teeth. Nothing has ever felt more domestic or right than this, despite the tentative steps and heavy lead feeling in his throat telling him he still isn’t supposed to be here. 

You spit out toothpaste in the sink to gargle your mouth and Namjoon mimics you exactly. Somehow, you find yourselves in the kitchen, giggling while making some sort of french toast with an abundance of cinnamon floating through the air. Which makes Namjoon cough and makes you laugh even harder. 

“This is a perfect morning.” You say, peering out the window to watch the city life slowly bustling to life. People scrambling out their doors, ushering their children or pets with them. People you don’t recognise going on walks or runs. Mailmen and delivery people dropping off packages and people yelling into their phones as they hurriedly walk along the sidewalk. 

And you and Namjoon, calmly staying in your pajamas while frying toast on the pan. 

“Is something burning?” You ask, sniffing the air, and Namjoon’s blood runs cold. 

“Oh, shit!” 

You smile and shake your head while Namjoon attempts to save the blackened piece of bread to no avail. He catches sight of the corners of your mouth lifting, even as you chastise him about watching the stove and ranting on about how you’re never going to trust him in the kitchen again. Namjoon watches your pink lips, stained with a brown mudge of cinnamon french toast mixture, which lifts up and your head falls back, hair flowing around your head like a halo. 

Your laugh plays out in front of him in slow motion, and absentmindedly, he thanks that deity he prayed to for slowing this moment down. Because if there’s anything he yearns most to remember, it’s the way you laugh. A chuckle makes its way out of his own throat as well, and he’s not sure who’s in control at the moment. 

Himself or himself in the past?

Either way, they both did the right thing. Namjoon forgets. He forgets the life he has back home, he forgets Seokjin’s warnings, he forgets that he has at least a hundred articles waiting for him at work to be written. He forgets that this world is nothing but a chance for him to follow the footsteps of what he once did, with no control to say or do anything he wishes to do himself. 

But, oh, he really can’t bring himself to care. 

Those piano chords from before blend together beautifully, and you scrape the black toast into the garbage can, still teasing him relentlessly, and oh. Oh, this is what it means to have a home. You made this junk of a house into a home, and he feels like he has to return here. This is where he’s meant to return to, everyday. Each time. 

You turn around after discarding the toast and with a bright smile, you ask him to kiss you again. Namjoon thinks that he doesn’t ever have the capability to deny you when you smile like that, so he complies and crashes his lips onto yours. 

The lead, heavy feeling in his throat is still weighing him down. Except Namjoon isn’t sure whether it’s weighing him down to this world or the real world.

 The cursed deity pulls him back, pulling him through the time and space back to his own responsibilities and life. His heart is wrenched out and he reaches out, trying to grasp your hand for the last time. He falls back to his own world in a hospital bed and an IV attached to his arm with half a piece of french toast dangling in his mouth and another promise he makes with himself to meet you again with a smile on his face. 

Memories… memories that he’s lived through but can’t remember. Memories he slips into to live momentarily through the actions and words of his old self. 

Somewhere along the line of diving back and forth his own life and this past one, he has forgotten which is which. 

“Most likely due to exhaustion. Lack of sleep, lack of rest. It’s quite common with working young adults, workaholics. I’m putting him on medical leave for the rest of the week. He needs a rest - He needed it yesterday. Don’t worry too much, Mrs. Kim. A long nap and a meal or two will fix him right back up.” Namjoon groggily registers the white walls and beeping noises, the chatter of doctors and nurses rushing around. 

He’s in a hospital, and a rush of fear runs straight through his blood. He sits up to eye his mother, sitting next to him and holding his hand. She shushes him, laying him back down on the bed, but all he can do is panic. 

“No, not here. Not here again.” He mumbles incoherently. His mother puts a hand over his eyes, shushing him again and telling him softly to go back to sleep. He doesn’t want to go to sleep, he wants to get out of here. But his eyelids are already feeling heavy and he weakly fights against his body, but before he can even process it, his eyes are shut and he is asleep. 

Seeing her son close his eyes and drift off to sleep, Mrs. Kim turns back to the doctor. 

“I’m not surprised,” She starts. “He’s always worked himself to the bone. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about his brain.” The doctor cocks his head and looks through the papers which are clipped to a clipboard in his arms. 

“Ah, yes. I see he was in a car accident a few years ago.” Doctors are some of the most heartless people, and you can always tell how experienced a doctor is by how much sympathy they show. This doctor shows none at all, which must mean he’s been working for a long time. 

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Kim.” The doctor continues, peering over Namjoon’s sleeping body. “I see he suffered light effects after the accident. Selective amnesia, no external damages to the skull. He didn’t suffer as much. In fact, I believe the doctor in charge believed that the amnesia was mostly due to the shock of the event. But he’s received treatment for PTSD since then, right?” 

Mrs. Kim nods. 

“Good. Doctor Park also noted at the time that his amnesia actually didn’t affect much of his memory. He couldn’t remember distant relatives or kindergarten friends, but that seemed to be the extent of his amnesia. Oh,” The doctor slipped through the clipboard. “He also couldn’t remember certain knowledge about philosophers such as Freud, which he was, quote, ‘devastated over’ un-quote.” 

Mrs. Kim stays silent. 

“So, you don’t have to worry too much. Best thing your son could do for his well being is rest. And a therapist if he has a relapse or shows some symptoms such as sleep difficulties or nightmares, or physical signs like fatigue and nausea.” 

Mrs. Kim nods. “Thank you, doctor.”

That’s it, and she turns back to her son, with her hand in his. She stays there, unmoving until he opens his eyes, mumbling incoherent questions and asking his mother why he is in the hospital again, demanding to be discharged immediately. Her heart breaks a little, small cracks form for her beloved son and she kisses him on the forehead, telling him he’d be out of here in no time. 

“What did you see?” She asks quietly, and Namjoon is surprised. She never asks him about his memory walks. It’s taboo to mention it in his household. Not even his sister is comfortable talking about it. “Anything? At all? You passed out at a rather unfortunate time, I heard.” She continues. 

“Nothing much.” Namjoon replies, lying through his teeth and trying to justify it with the sight of your laugh. He leans back and closes his eyes once more, bringing up his memories of you and your bedhead. He tries to fill the gap inside of him with thoughts of you, as if that can make up for the empty feeling that he’s forgetting something. 

In the hospital, staring at a white ceiling and glaring lights, Namjoon is left to think about what’s happening to his head. During the end of his rather short stay, he comes up with a terrifying conclusion. One that scares him more than he could imagine, but it’s the only one that makes sense. He’s falling in love with you. 

He voices out this concern to Seokjin when he visits after his mother leaves. Seokjin stays silent, mumbling out an apology that feels like the wrong thing to say. The elder boy can only look at his friend with sadness in his eyes, telling him that someone as great as Namjoon shouldn’t be suffering so much pain. Namjoon jokes that a witch must have cursed him when he was born. 

None of the two friends laugh. 

This routine continues on and on, without Namjoon dwelling too much on it. Which is so much unlike Namjoon, whose main personality trait is overthinking about the smallest things. He lets the flow of time and space take him wherever they wish to plop him down. He lets the evil deity toy with his heart and wrench him away whenever you smile the largest. 

It hurts right after he is torn away from you, but he’s filled with so much joy in the moment that he can’t bring himself to do anything else about it. Even if he wanted to do something without it, he has no idea where on earth he might start. 

Sometimes he questions the validity of his memories. What is real, what is fake? He still can’t answer, and this is what he spends most of his time wondering about. The memories he has with you don’t make sense. Those are large gaps in his life that he seems to have no recollection of. 

He goes everywhere with you. 

One day he showed up on November 5th, 2015. 

The next day he jumped to August 23rd, 2017. 

Another time, he was thrown into March 15th, 2016. 

None of it makes sense. Are they not memories? He thinks. There’s no possible way he’s spent this much of his life with you and can’t recall any of it. What is real - the world he spends with you, or the world where he always returns to by default?

And yet, nothing else can explain these short periods of blackouts. Ever since one day in some horrible hospital, he’s gone under and pulled and thrusted into some land where he has no control over his own hands. Everything else makes sense. This world, everything else is accurate from the settings to the props, with one anomaly in his memory. 

A character who goes by the name of Y/N. 

He could go the science-y logic route that he so often frequents, come up with theories that can somewhat explain these periods of time. Theories that include explanations such as hallucinations, or that Seokjin’s right and he’s finally gone crazy. You’re just a figment of his imagination, that this is all in his head and he’s out of his mind. 

But he rejects all those theories when he’s clicked into another memory. Somehow, he just understands. These are memories. These are memories he’s had with you, whether that was in a past life or in some sort of messed up alternate timeline where he’s actually happy. 

Is this a gift or another curse from this stupid deity?

He has too many questions. 

He cannot explain these memories using science, logic, common sense, or even using his own words. But in the moment, while you’re in his arms, he can feel it. He can explain it by describing the way you smell, like pancakes and fresh mint. He can explain it by describing the way you feel, like a warm marshmallow filling up his insides and consuming him. 

It’s cheesy, cringier than Seokjin’s dad jokes, but only he gets it. 

Namjoon is in his living room, switching channels on the TV and thinking about this when his stomach sinks again. He braces himself, and disappears. 

Click.

Seoul is freezing cold. The air is light and he is sitting on a bench on his college campus, rubbing his hands together and zipping up his huge jacket over his sweater. Namjoon shudders, his body not yet used to the bite of the cold compared to the warm breeze he was just enjoying. 

He sniffles, nose slightly red like some knockoff Rudolph and wanders around. His body pulls him to go to the right, despite the warm coffee shop being on the left. He shudders again and tries to protest, but his body won’t listen, standing up and walking over to the right with no particular destination in mind. Students are rushing around, complaining about the cold and talking about their next party or study session. 

Namjoon pulls himself forwards, and thank god this version of himself still has terrible tolerance for the cold, because he reaches up and pulls his beanie down over his ears, still wandering around aimlessly. Where are you going? Namjoon wants to scream out frustratingly. 

His brain doesn’t reply and Namjoon sulks. 

Eventually, he is pulled over to another bench, outside in the cold, and he sits down, deeply resenting himself and wondering why on earth he just stood up from one bench to walk to another one. If anything, it’s colder here. He watches the students that pass by for a minute or two, thinking that this is the most boring memory he’s ever been in. 

There is no snow falling, but almost everything on campus is lined with a sheet of ice or cold steam. Namjoon nuzzles deeper into his own clothes, cursing himself for not being able to go buy another sweater or something to fight the extreme cold. 

Suddenly, you appear in front of him and Namjoon perks up. There you are. He thinks. Finally. You come over and sit down, holding something in your hands. He smiles, waiting for you to speak up and greet him with a kiss that will surely warm him up, but you silently sit next to him, ignoring him. Namjoon urges himself to say something, but instead, he continues to watch the students bustling through campus grounds without looking at you. 

Are we fighting? Is Y/N mad at me? 

This is excruciatingly frustrating, Namjoon bites his tongue and thinks. Why can’t he just say something? Abruptly, something lands on his jacket with a splat and he straightens up, snapping his neck towards you, who is looking at the yogurt splat on his jacket with a look of terror. 

“Oh my gosh!” You squeak out, quickly setting your yogurt aside and reaching for some tissues in your purse. “Oh, god, oh god, I’m so sorry. Please, let me-” Namjoon frowns, taking his hands out of his pockets to thumb at his jacket, debating whether he wants to take it off or not. 

You lean over, pawing at his jacket and wiping the yogurt off of his jacket. “I’m so sorry!” 

“No, don’t worry.” Namjoon says, chuckling. He reaches for another tissue, helping you get the yogurt off of him. “It’s no big deal.” The yogurt is mostly wiped off and you side eye him with the unmistakable look of guilt filling your eyes. Namjoon laughs again. 

“It’s fine, really! No, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m literally so sorry. Do you want me to pay for dry cleaning? Laundry? I can, um, wash it for you! I’m not the best at laundry, but it’s the least I could do?” 

Namjoon briefly wonders why you’re being so polite. 

“No, it’s fine.” The words tumble out his mouth again before he can process it. “Really, this jacket is old, anyway.” Not really, Namjoon thinks. It feels really new. “But who the hell eats cold yogurt in this kind of weather?” He jokes. “You sure you’re not a demon?”

You freeze, terrified before realising he was cracking a joke. “Oh. Hah! Yeah, no, I guess I just really like yogurt.” You offer lamely, and you break out into a small giggle. “Yeah, I guess I kind of am a psycho for eating it right now. It’s freezing today.” 

“God, tell me about it.” Namjoon says, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. 

“Thanks for not going bonkers on me. This jacket looks insanely expensive.” 

“Not really.”

“I’m Y/N.” You greet, holding a hand out for him to shake. I know, Namjoon thinks with a secret smile, but everything makes sense now. You don’t know him yet. To you in this moment in time, he’s just a random stranger who didn’t blow up on you after spraying some yogurt onto you. To him, you’re… you’re… 

“Oh, um, I’m Namjoon.” He says, hurriedly taking a hand out of his pocket to shake your outstretched hand. Your fingers meet and Namjoon swears a small zap just went through his hand. 

“Namjoon. Nice to meet you, Namjoon.” You say with a small smile, yogurt already long forgotten on the bench beside you two. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” He says in return, even though he doesn’t mean it. He already knows you, he knows you better than everyone. He knows your favourite food is Korean street food, and you always wake him up with kisses and your favourite colour is periwinkle and you absolutely hate abalone with more passion than he’s ever seen in his entire life.

But this is your first time seeing him, ever, he reminds himself. This is your meet cute. This single moment set off the events in the next god knows how many years. This is the first time he ever had your name grace his tongue. This is the first time you’ve seen him. 

Another moment to treasure. You let go of his hand, after realising you two have been shaking hands for much longer than the socially acceptable rate of hand shaking. Blushing, either from the cold or humiliation, you sit, turn back around, grabbing a hold of your yogurt once more. 

Suddenly, Namjoon finds himself blurting out: “Hey, you wanna go get some coffee?” You look over curiously, pointing to yourself like you can’t believe he’s asking you out, because you don’t know that you’re all he ever thinks about at any given moment in any given day. “You’ll probably freeze your ass off if you keep eating that yogurt.” He jokes, pretending like this is all because he’s caring about how cold you are and not how cute or incredible or kind you are. 

“Sure.” You say, nodding shyly. He stands up, leading you to walk over to the left where the campus coffee shop is. Along the way, you throw the yogurt cup in the trash. 

“You can’t bring food brought from outside into a shop, right?” You ask. 

Namjoon smiles. “Yeah.” He stays there until night takes over the sky and one single twinkling star in the sky is signalling that it’s time to go home. Possibly the longest time he’s ever spent in a memory. He keeps glancing at the clock, praying that he gets one more minute with you, one more second, one more moment. 

At any time, he could be pulled out of this world, and he needs to make the most of it. You tell him about your childhood bedroom and your major. You tell him about the love you have for pancakes, and how much you want a puppy even though it’s prohibited in the on campus dorms. He nods, pretending like this is all new information even though it’s not, and he’s known all of this for the longest time. He knows you better than you know yourself, which he keeps to himself. 

In return, he tells you about his own childhood bedroom, which was adorned with posters of western hip hop rappers. He tells you about his passions for writing and music, that if he didn’t major in journalism, he’d be studying music production in school. He tells you that he’s obsessed with philosophy, and in all honesty, is a bit of a nerd. 

Instead of laughing or pulling a face, you nod and smile, saying that you think he should tell you more about philosophy on a second date. 

You leave the coffee shop with a small goodbye, and even though he desperately wants to, Namjoon can’t kiss you. 

He gets pulled back after you disappear pass the corner of the street, and the world morphes into a huge motion blur. When he gets pulled back into his living room, the TV is playing late night TV shows already. Namjoon checks the time. He was pulled in for five hours, the longest he’s ever been in that world. 

After that, no matter how much more he prays and begs, he never stays any longer than that. 

Three days later, Namjoon suddenly pops into Hong Kong, which is hotter than anything he’s ever felt. The streets are heavy with people, squabbling in cantonese while selling raw meats in a wet market. The sun is glaringly bright, and Namjoon starts to sweat almost instantaneously. Taxis and huge buses drive past, Namjoon jumps to a side only to find a vast ocean. He’s at the harbour front. 

The smell of food, of egg tarts and pineapple buns and meat dumplings along with other Hong Kong delicacies waft through the air, combined with the salty air of the sea. It makes for a strange combination that confuses his senses but works nonetheless. 

He thought he knew a city like Seoul, but this is a true city. This is busy and fast paced like he’s never even seen before. People shove each other aside to catch the bus, dogs are yapping everywhere and he soaks it all in before the thought enters his head.

What the hell is he doing in Hong Kong?

It’s like every time he wonders aloud, you pop up. “I’ve been looking for you.” You say, echoing the words he said to you that day in the streets of Seoul. 

“I was exploring!“ He says defensively, and you roll your eyes. 

“Come on.” You say, walking along the harbour front. 

“You’re not still mad at me, are you?” Namjoon asks, the words spilling out and surprising himself. Are you mad at him? You’ve never been mad at him before, not in the memories he’s seen. He hasn’t ever seen you fight with him, and immediately, he wants to apologise, fix things before he’s pulled back out and he has to live with the guilt and overthinking of whether you’re still mad at him for the next week. 

“Can’t believe you’re mad at me during our vacation.” Namjoon says, and that’s why he’s in Hong Kong, he realises. He’s on vacation. How strange. Namjoon thinks back to when the last time he took a break from work and the only thing he can think of is when that doctor put him on medical leave not too long ago. Oh no, you’re mad at him on holiday?

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You retort back, and Namjoon has never heard your voice this curt. “Just sit around pretending like everything's okay?”

“What do you want me to do?” Namjoon replies. “You act like this is my fault!” 

“It is your fault!” You cry out indignantly, and Namjoon knows that, but why? What did he do? What did you do? “Is this even a vacation?”

“Yes!” Namjoon cries out again in response, and you shake your head. 

“You promised, Namjoon.” You say like it’s a warning. 

“Yes, I know,” Namjoon says, even though he doesn’t and really, what on earth did he do? “But this is out of my hands! I can’t just say no, you’re not looking at this from my point of view.”

“You’re not looking at this from my point of view!” You argue back, and Namjoon looks around, realising that this squabble is attracting a small crowd of chinese people, gathering around to watch the free entertainment along the sidewalk of Victoria harbour. He awkwardly laughs, raising his hand and bows, a universal sign of apology, grabbing your hand and walking to the other direction. 

“Come on, I’d rather not have the whole city witness our fight.”

“Oh, so this is a fight now?” 

“What? Yes!” Namjoon says exasperatedly. “How else would you classify this argument?” 

Once he makes it to somewhere with at least a sliver of privacy, he turns around with his brows furrowed and a glare etched on his features. Why do you look so angry? Namjoon chastises himself. Just relax, relax, relax. As usual, his body doesn’t listen. 

“Why are you so mad at this?” Namjoon asks, and feels a flow of relief go down his spine. Finally. 

“It’s not just this instance, Joon. I know work is important, but sometimes it feels like you put literally anything else above me! Like last time? You bailed on our date, like, at least twice. You keep saying you can’t say no, but you can. You have that right, Namjoon.” 

Namjoon’s heart softens a little bit. His workaholic tendencies ended up biting him in the ass after all. Sighing he rubs the back of his neck, eyes glued to the floor. “I’m not prioritising work over you, baby.” He tries to explain, and tries to ignore how his heart sinks when your eyes turn stony at the sound of the pet name he often uses to address you. 

“It’s just important to me as well, okay? It’s not my fault my boss heard I was going to Hong Kong and insisted I come to interview some investors about Hong Kong’s economy.” He explains slowly. “It couldn’t take more than a single day to get everything organised and tidied up.” 

“But-!” You huff angrily, spitting out your words. “You don’t understand! You keep doing this, Namjoon. You keep working, working, working. It’s been this way since college. It’s like you’ll die if you just take a break to come talk to me. I even went over to your office to have lunch with you last week and they told me you were in a meeting.” 

“It was important!” Namjoon insists and he can feel things sinking and getting worse and worse with every word he says. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? You can’t expect me to put you in front of all of my responsibilities. I’m sure you have things you can’t give up for me too.”

Hearing that felt like a slap to the face to both you and Namjoon, and he’s screaming at himself internally, why would you say something so, so, stupid?

“Excuse me?” Your broken voice rings out and Namjoon’s accusatory finger falls. 

“Wait.” He mumbles, fumbling with his hands. “Wait, I didn’t mean that. Wait, I-” 

“Fine!” You yell angrily. “You think nothing’s more important than work? You think I haven’t given up anything for you, Kim Namjoon? Because I’d quit and give up anything for you, you asshole.” You bite out, tears desperately trying not to fall. “You fucking asshole.” You say, before turning back around to weave through the crowd. 

“No, wait, baby!” He calls out, and even he knows that he’s messed up. Messed up big time. That was more hurtful than any cuss word or insult he could’ve ever said. “Kim fucking Namjoon, you idiot.” He mumbles to himself. Seeing you cry is more painful than anything else in the world, Namjoon thinks. He’s not ever going to see that sight again if he can help it. 

He walks forward, trying to find you. Maybe you went back to the hotel, or went to look at the sea to clear your head. He thinks he sees the back of your head for a second, and he reaches forward, clutching at air. He’s about to cry, and Namjoon has never seen himself be more pathetic. 

“Oh no, where are you?” He murmurs to himself like a crazed man. What if you were hurt somewhere? He needs to know you’re safe, he needs to know you’re okay, he needs to make everything better. With each step, the lead feeling in his throat grows heavier and heavier until he feels like it’s sunk to his chest. He wants to kneel down, he wants it to stop hurting, but he can’t. 

He must aimlessly follow his shell to do whatever he is doing now. 

The lead feeling continues to grow, and Namjoon feels like he’s suffocating. He’s not supposed to be here, he reminds himself. But he has to find you first, then he can leave. Then he can go, but where are you? He wants to cry, he wants to breathe. 

Namjoon tells himself to gasp for air, but he cannot. He tells himself if this is the last time he ever sees you, he needs to see you smile. He needs to see you laugh. 

Like the pattern in the rest of his meaningless life, an evil deity always pulls him away from the ones he loves when he needs them most. He feels the lead feeling being lifted and pure panic races to Namjoon’s head. He tries to croak out no. He tries to resist, he shoves people aside and calls out your name. But no one answers him, and the cruel deity laughs at his demise. 

He is too weak, too weak to control himself. 

Namjoon is plucked out of the world and transported back to his bedroom with the threads of time slowly ravelling and tangling themselves around his neck, all while he reaches forward, only to grasp at air and pretend in his head that everything’s alright. 

When he reaches his bedroom and wakes up, he stumbles into the bathroom and vomits, all while longing for the warmth of your lips.

-

Walking around dazedly, Namjoon somehow manages to make his way to Seokjin and Jimin’s apartment, knocking and hoarsely asking them to open, open up please. Because he’s not sure he can hold on to another night alone. Jimin opens the door instantly and catches Namjoon in his arms, frantically calling for Seokjin to come fast. 

They lay him on the couch, hearts slowly breaking and trying to convince themselves their friend will be fine as they watch Namjoon whimper in his sleep. 

Namjoon wakes to the smell of breakfast, of bacon on the stove and Jimin chattering around while watering his plants. He gets up, headache pounding and throat sore. Seokjin wordlessly hands him a few pills and a glass of water, while Jimin plates up breakfast, placing the sausage, eggs and toast separately on the plate because Namjoon can’t stand it when food on his plate touches. 

Silently, the three friends eat. Nobody speaks until Namjoon clears his throat and looks up. 

“Thank you.“ He whispers. 

“What are friends for?” Jimin says. 

Namjoon wonders why he’s got such amazing friends. Jin replies that he was born perfect and God created him like this, so Namjoon shouldn’t dwell too much on it. Jimin and Namjoon both throw a spoon of scrambled eggs in his direction simultaneously, high fiving without missing a beat when Jin lets out a protest of unjust behaviour. 

 As the three friends sit quietly, Namjoon says: “I think I’m going mad.”

“I’m glad you’ve realised.” Seokjin replies offhandedly. 

“I don’t think I can keep going between these worlds. I think it’s making me lose my mind.” 

Jimin stills. Seokjin stops washing the dishes and turns off the faucet. 

“Do… do you know how to stop it?” Jimin asks hesitantly. Namjoon shakes his head, and Seokjin sighs, in deep thought, which is a strange and rare sight to see itself. 

“Well, I guess we’ll have to figure this out together.” Seokjin says casually. Jimin agrees and the faucet comes back on, Seokjin going straight back to washing the pan he used to fry up the scrambled eggs. Jimin unplugs the toaster and Namjoon sits, smiling at his beloved friends. 

“You can borrow some of my shirts.” Jimin calls from the bathroom. “You know, if you want to stay over a couple more nights. Feel free.”

“Make yourself at home and shit.” Seokjin mutters, waving his hand around sarcastically. Namjoon almost bursts out into tears of happiness, but he decides to hold it in until Seokjin doesn’t have access to his phone and won’t put Namjoon’s breakdown on instagram live. 

The next day, the entire gang comes over, all with varying degrees of understanding what the hell is going on with Namjoon. For example, Yoongi pretty much knows as much as Seokjin does, who still doesn’t really understand what’s going on. Taehyung was just told Namjoon’s been feeling down because God knows that boy has a big mouth and definitely can’t keep a secret to save his life. 

Seokjin supplies homemade snacks and burgers fresh off the grill, Yoongi brings over his unlimited Netflix and HBO account passwords he probably stole off of some innocent family member to watch Disney movies, Taehyung comes over with Yeontan clutched to his side because that’s the group's emotional support dog. Jungkook and Hoseok offer up their extensive alcohol collection and bring over some quality wines. Jimin, after a long three hours of consideration, gives up his lucky plushies and fluffy blankets to build a fort. 

For one night, the seven boys crowds around the television, watching everything from The Lorax to Tangled to Frozen and bawling their eyes out when Anna turned to ice (spoiler alert!!!) For one night, the fully grown men all turn back into their 8 year old selves, playing video games and staying up as late as they wanted even though they all had responsibilities to tend to the next day. 

When they all awake from their mega-sleepover the next morning, the remaining six friends all insist they just felt like watching Disney movies and drinking wine suddenly. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Namjoon’s been feeling a little off in the past few days. 

Absolutely not. 

Namjoon’s eyes brim with tears and he tackles all the boys to the ground in one incredibly coordinated group hug, ignoring Yoongi’s complaints of being anti-social and that his love language is not physical touch. 

“Thanks, guys.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jungkook mutters. “Now could you please get the fuck off?” 

“Never.” Namjoon says, muffled because he says it while his head is buried in Hoseok’s chest. 

“Love you.”

“... Love you too.” 

The next time he falls, Namjoon thinks he’s prepared. Ready, not to get attached, ready to make clear of what belongs in his world and what doesn’t, after lots of pep talks and therapy sessions with Seokjin and Jimin and Yoongi, who is surprisingly helpful with shooting down ideals of toxic masculinity and talking about mental health. 

He’s wrong- he’s not ready, but he doesn’t know that yet. 

Click. 

He’s come to resent that stupid sound. In an instant, he’s dropped into a car, which is strangely familiar. You are next to him, driving, and thank goodness, because everyone knows Namjoon cannot drive. If he were dropped in the driver’s seat, things may have taken a turn for the worse. 

“You want to play some music?” You ask, and Namjoon nods. 

“Yeah sure, turn up the radio.” You reach over to flip a switch and a pretty tune fills the car, echoing and bouncing off the walls of the small vessel. You bring your hand down and interlace it with Namjoon’s, who is suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings. 

“You’re driving, baby.” He says, and a great sense of relief floods back into his system when he sees you smile at the pet name. He hopes this moment is after the Hong Kong trip. He hopes he did the right thing and made up with you afterwards. 

“We always do this. When there’s not many cars around, anyway.” You hum along with the music. “Nobody’s on the road tonight.” Sure enough, there are no cars in sight and Namjoon sighs, curling his hand tight against yours. He looks out the window. 

“No stars tonight, either.” 

You snort. “There are never any stars around the city, babe.”

“Ahh.” He huffs playfully. “Fuck global warming.”

“Fuck capatalism.” You add on, and he nods, wholeheartedly agreeing. 

“I love you.” He murmurs. 

“I love you too.” You reply with a sweet smile and Namjoon just realises that no, he’s not ready to let go of you, because his heart still flips like crazy when he hears you say that. He’s so unbearably, horribly, absolutely in love with you. Not in a creepy or obsessive way like he was probably in love with you a few months ago, but so in love with you. 

He wonders why on earth he’s so drawn to you, but as usual, there’s no definite answers to his questions. Namjoon thinks about how he likes the way you cook pancakes, and how he likes the way you always reach down to pet a puppy no matter where you are or where you need to be. He loves the way you’d give up anything to defend the people you love. He admires your bravery and your courage. He admires the way you present yourself to the world. 

He loves you simply because you are who you are, unapologetically and unashamed, which is something he never had the guts to do. But he gets pretty damn near to being fully and truly himself when he’s around you, so maybe that’s why he’s so in love with you. 

Namjoon feels bad for a moment because he realises his love isn’t selfless or humble like the ones he sees on dramas and TV. His love for you is shamefully selfish, because he needs you more than anything else. He voices this out to you in a long speech while you keep your eyes on the road. 

“I need you more than you think I do, Joon.” You say, while laughing, and Namjoon doesn’t know whether to feel offended or relieved. 

“You think your love for me can trump my love for you?” He asks with his eyebrows raised.

“One hundred percent.” You drawl out, and this time, Namjoon’s offended. 

“Excuse me? Who the fuck?” He asks, sitting up. You laugh bashfully, enamoured but mostly just entertained by your needy boyfriend who is very willing to prove how much more he loves you right now. “I love you way more than you love me!” 

You laugh, your eyes still fixed on the road. “Oh no, please, we’re not arguing about this.”

“Yes we are!” Namjoon demands with a huge smile on his face. “How could you possibly think you love me more than I love you?” Your laugh only grows louder. 

“I don’t even know if you’re being serious or just joking around anymore.” You say through bit back laughter. 

“I’m being dead serious.” Namjoon softens for a bit, laying a hand on your thigh. “You’re my everything. You’re my future, you’re my present, you’re my past.” A part of you wants to tell him he’s being cheesy again, but the romantic in you who doesn’t want to hurt your boyfriend immediately shuts the realist in you up. 

“That was sweet.”

“I try my best.”

You turn your head back to the road and he keeps his eyes on you. On the hoodie you’re wearing, which definitely doesn’t belong to you and he now has a certain inkling of where his missing hoodie went. He likes how it swallows you up. He likes that you have something of his on you. 

Not as a weird mark of possession, but he likes that you’re comfortable with wearing something that essentially brands you as his. But you are his as much as he is yours and wow, Namjoon thinks in his head, is this the real Namjoon or the past Namjoon speaking? And his brain replies that it’s both. 

“I love you.” He repeats, because as much as he seems to say it, he can’t seem to express how much he loves you (hint: it’s a large amount). 

“I love you too.” You say right back. 

He wants to say it more. He wants to say it better. He wants to repeat it until you get annoyed and tell him to shut up, he wants to let you know how much he loves you. But his lips are sealed, and he can’t say another word. Instead of what he wants to say, the words that come out his mouth are, admittedly, just as true. 

“You’re pretty.” 

You giggle. “Did you just realise?” 

Namjoon shakes his head. “You’ve always been pretty. You were pretty on the day we met. You were pretty the day we fought in Hong Kong. You were pretty the first time you stayed over. You’re pretty when you cry, you’re pretty when you… I wanted to think of something that rhymes with cry, but it slipped my mind and now everything’s ruined.” 

You laugh, a real, huge one this time. He can always tell when your laugh is real or not. 

“Thank you.” You say. “For the record, you’ve always been pretty too.” 

Namjoon leans back into his seat. “Damn straight.” 

“When d’you think you first fell in love with me?” You ask, genuinely curious, and Namjoon thinks for a moment. He thinks about what the Namjoon in this moment would say, and he thinks about what the present Namjoon would say. 

If he had verbal control, what would he say? That he fell in love with you during the very first memory he was thrusted in? But that wouldn’t be true, and that wouldn’t be honest. He fell in love with you during the memory of when you met? But that wouldn’t be true either. He fell in love with you in between memories, when all he could think about was the next time you could be in his arms, or how much he longed for your touch. 

He tries to say that, he really does. 

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is: 

“I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s a specific moment. Maybe it was that time we went to the movies and watched Coco while crying over popcorn, or maybe it was that time we went to Disneyland.” Namjoon’s heart slouches, because he doesn’t know any of those moments. He hasn’t been in any of those memories. 

“But I don’t think falling in love is a one moment, time stops kinda thing. I was always falling in love with you. From the time you spilled yogurt on my jacket to right now, where you’re asking me when I fell in love with you. I’m going to be falling in love with you tomorrow and the day after that, until the day where we shrivel up and die from old age.”

Oh, good answer, Namjoon thinks. 

“Good answer.” You say. “I think I’d say the same thing.” 

“Great minds think alike.” Namjoon sighs out. 

Something strikes Namjoon’s heart. It’s not the lead feeling or the heavy weight he’s grown used to. It’s strange, like a wave of deja vu. And suddenly, Namjoon stops thinking. He glances over to the control board to look at the time, which proudly reads: December 3rd, 2018. 

So that’s why he’s always had the feeling that these were memories. Why he was so adamant to believe these things really had happened to him. Even more strangely, what feelings strike him then is not panic, nor fear. It’s a strange flow of calmness that rushes through his veins. He looks over at you again, driving now with both hands on the steering wheel. 

He wonders why the deity would make him witness something as cruel and horrible as this, and he gets the weird feeling that this will be one of his last memories to enter. Namjoon looks at the dark blanket covering the sky and sadly thinks that the deity could have at least placed a few stars in the sky on this night. As consolation, or perhaps an apology. 

Something is ticking in the background, and Namjoon has no idea if it’s coming from the car or if he’s imagining it. Flashing memories go through his mind, so fast he can barely register them as images or moving pictures before they are gone again. Your smile, your laugh, your first date, your second date. The day he asked you to move in, the day you told him ‘I love you’ for the first time and he literally fainted. 

The day he came to pick you up from work for the first time, the night where he first laid his hands on you and kissed all your worries away. 

It comes fast and hurtles towards the two of you, but Namjoon doesn’t even see it coming because all he is looking at is you. Your face, your lips, your eyes, trying to engrave it all in his memory. You yelp out something to him, which he doesn’t hear. Floating images spin around both your heads and a high pitched screech rings out, a spark of orange lighting up like a stack of fireworks. The dark van shoots forward and collides into the driver’s seat. 

The world collapses. It goes sideways, rotates then flips completely upside down, and the dark fog starts to eat up Namjoon’s eyesight. Oddly, nothing hurts. Perhaps because of the shock, or panic, but nothing on Namjoon’s body is in pain. Everything crashes, Namjoon’s head hits the window with force. Something breaks, glass cracks, people scream and he cannot tell which is which. Red and white flashes are all he can see before everything fades to grey and he can only reach around in the darkness, to find your hand. 

He clutches onto your unmoving, still hand desperately, trying to calm his jumping heartbeat. Are those sirens in the background he hears or is that his imagination? Is that your voice he hears or is that a hallucination? 

In the end, his final thought before leaving the world once again is a wish. A wish that he prays the deity will grant him. He hopes that in your final moments, you were not scared. 

He falls. 

When Namjoon arrives home, his entire body is numb. He doesn’t know where he is, nor what he was doing before he was clicked in. He opens his mouth and screams for a full minute without stopping. 

It feels good in a fucked up way. 

Namjoon has never been one for confrontation. Just ask his middle school bullies, who tormented him all they wanted because he wouldn’t do anything but put up with it. Just ask Mingyu from work, who keeps piling his unwanted projects and articles onto Namjoon because he never protests or complains to the higher-ups. 

But while walking towards his childhood home with the birds chirping and his hands placed casually in his pockets, confrontation is all he can think about. He lets himself in the door; his mother never locks it and walks in calmly. 

His mother is sitting on the couch, stitching up a sock which has a hole in it. 

“Mom. I’m home.” He says softly, and his mother greets him normally. Namjoon leans on the wall and his mother stares at him strangely, calling him over to sit and have some fruit. He declines, telling her he won’t be staying very long. “That car crash that happened two years ago.”

The needle in his mother’s hand stills. 

“They said I had selective amnesia, right?” 

The needle picks up speed, stitching faster and faster, his mother’s hand moving faster than light. 

“What did I forget again?” 

“What did you remember?” His mother asks, never one to beat around the bush. 

“Mom.” He says, firmly this time. “What did you do to me.”

The sock is torn apart in his mother’s hands. “Namjoon,” She starts and Namjoon already has a growing urge to shake the truth out of her. “When you got into that crash two years ago, you came out of it with very little injuries. We were all so relieved. When you woke up, you didn’t remember Y/N.” All that fills the air for another moment or two is the spongy sound of silence. 

The gap in this family became clearer than ever to Namjoon. He thinks about how everyone must have been in on the secret, even his sister. And he was left to suffer, wondering why his life seemed so empty after forgetting something he couldn’t clutch onto. 

“And what?” He demands, screaming and throwing his hands out of his pockets. “Do you think you can just keep something like that from me? The love of my life, and you just decide to erase them from my memory?” His mother stills and looks up at her son. 

“You didn’t remember Y/N. You lost contact with all your college friends, and then when I asked the doctor how selective amnesia worked,” His mother cleared her throat. “Sufferers often forget some parts of their memory. Relationships, talents, skills, certain areas or certain people.” His mother looks up directly in his eyes. “Sometimes, especially after going through a traumatic event, people forget certain parts of their memory as a coping mechanism. To erase bits of pain and regret.”

“I thought,” Her voice breaks and her face twists in regret and bad memories. “I thought maybe by forgetting her, I’d be saving you from more pain and hurt. I just wanted you to stop hurting”

Namjoon held eye contact with his mother for three full seconds before collapsing and gasping for air, lying with his head on her lap. All words of scolding, anger. All the confrontational tactics and all the accusations he’d thought of shooting towards her had gone. 

“Hurts.” He let out through large gasps of breaths. “Hurts, mom.” He lied there, with tears threatening to spill out his eyes for the rest of the night, with his mother caressing his hair and apologising to him with tears in her eyes. 

“Miss Y/N. I miss Y/N.” He hiccups out, and his mother wipes away his tears, but it feels different from when you used to do it. 

“I know, I know.” The woman looking down at her son wonders why she put him in so much pain. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” The night carries on like that, with the lights eventually dimming and the night covers up the light in the sky. The mother son pair repeat their grievances and apologies to each other until the sun comes back up, peeking through the curtains and extending out their warm embrace as if it wants to comfort the hurting humans. 

It doesn’t take long for Seokjin and co to come knocking on his door, sent by his mother who must have filled him in on everything, judging from the looks on their faces. It only takes one single glance at his friends, tilting their heads and all asking to come in for him to burst into tears. Ugly crying, with snot coming out of his nose and eyes bloodshot red from the nightmares. 

Jimin is the first to reach forwards and bring Namjoon into a hug. Soon after that, the six friends surrounded Namjoon, comforting him with the warmth of their arms and soft spoken words of encouragement. 

“You did well.” Someone mumbles into his hair. 

“We’re all proud of you.” Someone else says. 

Namjoon’s sweater sleeves are sopping wet with tears when he asks the boys to help him get into therapy. 

Things went on like that for another while. 

Therapy isn’t as bad as Namjoon had thought it might’ve been. He wasn’t forced to be vulnerable or open up or confront his worst fears. He certainly didn’t want to tell the truth about the world he’s thrusted in, for fear of getting thrown out of the building and into a mental institution. 

Even his mother didn’t believe him the first time he told her about it. She urged him to visit a doctor. How could a therapist who doesn’t even know him believe the nonsense he spouts? Even he himself wouldn’t believe himself if he hadn’t experienced it firsthand. Slowly, but surely, he began to open up, and to his surprise, there was no calling of hospitals or kicking him out. His therapist sat there and listened like everything he was saying was valid. 

He started eating again, mostly because of Seokjin, stuffing his creations down everyone’s throats every two seconds, claiming he needs opinions on his new recipes even though Namjoon’s fairly certain that the past three dishes of spaghetti were the exact same recipe. 

Namjoon started to workout again with Jungkook, much to the younger boy’s surprise and happiness. They talked about their own struggles while panting on the treadmill and spinner. Jungkook eventually tells him that he also has a secret he keeps from the rest of the guys, which is his high school sweetheart who broke his heart so horribly that he still feels hurt from it. 

Jungkook told him to cheer up though, because most of the pain fades away with time. It’s still there, ever as present, but other things will become more important to you and cover up a scar or a wound with blooming flowers. 

“Like us,” He said cheekily. “Your friends.” 

He talked to Yoongi most days of the week about nothing in particular. He enjoys the time with Yoongi because he’s the only one who never walks on eggshells around him. He still pelts him with pillows and roasts the outfits on Rupaul’s Drag Race with him. Taehyung and Jimin even helped him adopt a dog, an furry white Eskimo named Rap Mon which is literally now Namjoon’s entire life. 

Would likely kill all of his friends if one of them hurt his precious baby. 

Life is good, Namjoon learns. He gets better at his job. He never forgets you, but things seem to hurt less. But he gets relapses sometimes. Some days he wakes up screaming about the stupid lead filling up his throat. Sometimes he gets nightmares so intense he has to take medicine.

Therapy isn’t as bad as he painted it out to be, but recovery is ten times harder than he thought it would be. Some days all he can do is lie in bed or do nothing, thinking of you. 

His therapist tells him that his life is more than his past memories. Both Yoongi and Hoseok agree, when he pulled up a random conversation about it late at night. Hoseok says that there’s never going to be a time where he won’t think of you, or still love you. Perhaps not as much as he once did, but he’ll never forget about you. Yoongi tells him he’s healing, and that they’re all proud of him.

Namjoon meets his friends, for the first time in the two years he’s known them. Taehyung has an extraordinary and (slightly strange) obsession over art museums. He’s been to almost every single one in Korea, and he dragged Namjoon over to one an hour away in Gangnam in the summer. Jimin is an amazing dancer, which Namjoon never knew.

Until Jimin brought it up casually, looking through old footage of his dance competitions. “Nothing big,” He said. “I used to dabble.” Namjoon’s eyes bulged out of his head and he told Jimin if that was ‘dabbling’, then he was wasting away his talent. He asked Jimin why he never made a career out of dance, and Jimin replied casually:

“I feel like if I start to make money off of it, and I’ll lose my love for it. Now that I haven’t really has time for it... I dunno. I feel like I’ve lost the talent a little bit.“

Namjoon told his friend that talent is nothing but a bunch of practice and time dedicated to a certain skill. Nobody loses talent, people just get a little unfamiliar with it. Jimin turned around in deep thought and told him he may just have a point. 

Still, some days, he can do nothing but sulk around, feeling like a waste of space. Take today for an example. He walks down the street and out of the corner of his eye, he thinks, and he might be wrong, he thinks he sees you. The back of your head, anyways, but you’re wearing a red sweater with headphones over your ears and you turn around the corner. 

Namjoon panics. He drops his coffee, which splashes all over his leather shoes and runs. He runs past the corner and he doesn’t know what on earth he’s doing but all he can do is run, and the wind dries his tears faster and faster, and he forgets all over again, that you aren’t here, that there’s no way he can go back and see you unless it’s in his memories, which he doesn’t even know how to control. 

Somewhere deep in the depths of his mind, he knows something about this doesn’t seem right. That it couldn’t possibly be you, because he watched you go right in front of his eyes. He knows that in order to heal, he can’t chase after you or center his world around you. He knows all of that. But in that moment, he forgets that he still doesn’t remember everything about you. 

He forgets that you’re dead. 

And one day he’ll be free from this constant spinning. One day he won’t ever have to think twice when he cooks pancakes but that day and all that work he’s put in is the last thing on Namjoon’s mind and all he can think about is if that’s really you. 

He sprints faster and reaches out, misses your wrist by an inch and ends up clutching at nothing but air. He heaves a huge breath, about to clap his hand over your shoulder-

Click. 

tags; @jksbbyfacebunny @extremeobsessions101 @dwcljh @bishuthot @s0seo @stonyiscanon @cecedrake2217​ 

[beann-e]

Mha characters reacting to you forgetting things in the store

Read Part One Here

Deku

You’d been traveling down different aisles for hours so many that deku found himself getting amazed that the store could even hold this many

he found himself thinking that the store just had its own shape shifting quirk that could change the aisles anytime someone went down them

that was the only way to explain it I mean It had to have one right because how did you find this new brand of ceral and he didn’t

How did you just pick up this new candy bar that he had never known abo—

wait candy bar

he snapped himself out of his trance drawing himself back into the real world finally hearing your voice and seeing your cart that was filled to the brim with different items from the original plan that he didn’t even know you two needed

“ oh god babe look — they “ you jumped in your shoes as you reached up to the top shelf “ they have hot chocolate “

“ we um y/n— baby”

you turned to him with a smile on your face

“ we don’t nee— “

“ deku could you get the hot chocolate it’s too far in the back at the top my hand doesn’t reach that way it’s at an awkward angle “

he looked to the floor for a moment before turning his head to look at the hot chocolate biting his lip as he stayed in his spot on the ground maybe if he just stayed here he could lie and say he’d been hit with a glue quirk you wouldn’t know righ—

your stare sent chills down his spine as he hurried over to pickup the box setting it neatly on top of the rest of the things in the cart shaking his head when he finally seen everything you’d gotten

He could never tell you no

all he wanted was for you to be happy he loved seeing you and everyone else happy he hated to see people with any other emotion it made him feel like it was his fault regardless of who it was

family or friend

villian or hero

he felt like everyone deserved to be happy which is why he was following every order you gave him like a puppy

his little protests every once and a while falling on deaf ears

“ my love we don’t need crackers “

“ but I want to make s’mores “

“ but baby then you have to get the rest of the ingredients for s’mores you can’t just buy crackers “

he moved to grab the box carefully putting it back a pout on your face as he bit his lip shaking his head in defeat and holding it out to you and looking to the floor

“ yay —now where are the other ingredients for ‘ em do you know deku ? “

his last attempt finally hitting you when you two were standing in line to checkout “ y/n “

“ yeah “

“ baby can —how about I pay for the stuff ok “

you looked at him in shock

“ I don’t —you just did all the shopping and I want to help and let you rest “

he reached in his pocket as he maneuvered the cart to be placed In line dropping his keys in your palm “ here—go sit In the car ok my love “

he kissed your forehead as he moved up in the line

“ but—“

“ no I swear I got this just go you’ve been on your feet all day “

“ but dek—“

“ look how about this “

he moved to stand on the side of the cart next to you “ you tell me what you really look forward to that your buying and i’ll make sure to get that first ok so you know that I got it and whatever else is in the cart i’ll pay for last ok “

you smiled as you listed off the ten things you’d originally had a taste for which, is why you guys ended up going to the store in the first place

you just wanted to get some groceries so you two could have some food in your new apartment

Deku had finally agreed to move out of his moms apartment thinking that she was ok and had finally come to terms with him being a real hero

allowing him more time to spend with you after making sure she was taken care of

The hero association offered him a house with no down payment after they found out but they were hit with your boyfriend saying no and explaining how you would both like to work hard for everything you two get in the future

sad thing is you wanted the house

you kissed his cheek leaving the store him putting every item you just said on the check out register watching it move up as he started conversation with the lady in front of him

“ yeah being a hero’s actually harder than I thought “

he laughed as he watched her ring everything up “ y’know actually could you do me a favor “

she shook her head small smile on her face as he gulped “ might uh — might be a weird request bu— “

“ no we don’t do hero referrals here “

“ wait no I — wait hero referrals no I “ he laughed uncomfortable with how many people were around “ no I don’t want to trade companies — uh let’s not uh “

he looked around making sure no one heard as he set his arms on the ledge speaking soft “ let’s uh let’s not say that aloud ok y’know —cameras—my company — and yeah “

he cleared his throat “ what I was actually y’know talking about was “

“ we don’t do — “

“ please allow me to speak “

she moved to scan his items as he sighed and started over “ again this may be a weird request but can you um — can you just like take this and put it back “

“ oh yeah of course you should of just said that “ she cupped her mouth as she screamed to her friend “ hey mari can you put his item back for me “

“ yeah sure —an item where’s it at ?“

“ oh it’s um not just one ite— “

“ it might be this — I don’t know who eats canned fruit so — he’s probably putting it back “

“ no uh — “ his eyebrows furrowed in slight annoyance “ actually my s/o eats those i’m not putting them back “

he whispered under his breath “ they’d kill me “

“ ok then where’s the item “

he laughed as he talked to her “ well um I meant could you actually put this back “

“ oh yeah sure if it’s just like 4 thin—- the whole cart“

her eyes widened as she watched deku push the cart towards her “ s-sir the — that’s like our whole store in one cart “

he shook at the comment

“ do you know how long i’m going to be walking around and putting things back where they belong “

his head dropped in embarrassment as he turned red his ears wiggling in fear “ oh trust me I know —i should be applying for manager with the way I know every aisle by heart now “

she shook her head and grabbed the cart as she rolled off

“ w-wait actually “

he ran after her as he rummaged through the cart “ ok yeah got it i’m done “

she stood stone faced as she looked to the male in front of her in pure annoyance and hatred

“ you stopped me to grab the things to make s’mores from the cart “

“ my —my s/o wants to try s’mores “

“ you have to be the best boyfriend ever or something because you allowed them to get all this stuff and waste your time and mine just to put it all back “

the lady at the register moved to grab his card bagging his stuff and handing it to him “ the fact you even acknowledged this and love them enough to let them run wild in the store for hours —like a child says a lot “

“ their not a kid “ he snapped eyes hard on the woman in front of him only softening when he saw her scared expression

“ yes I do — I love them and just being in their company so I love our trips when they get lost in what their doing and I just get to see them happy “

he left the store hand gripping at the backseat as placed the bags he held there

smile nervous and shaky while getting in the driver seat starting the car

“ babe I coulda sworn I got more stuff than that “

he shuddered as he sweated “ I—wh—no I —that’s all you l-left me in the store with babe—with —with your stuff“

his nervous smile widened “ got —got it all “

“ huh guess you did I was kinda out of it anyways “

you looked to him he looked away afraid to make eye contact

“ oh yeah deku did you get the stuff for us to make s’mores I totally forgot to tell you I left it off the list of things I wanted when you asked “

he took a deep breath as he turned his left turn signal on ‘ thank god I stopped her ‘

“ I got it y/n your good “

you smiled as you looked to the backseat again “ damn it is really bugging me that I really only had so little in a cart that looked so full “

his grip tightned as he pulled into your apartments parking lot “ god it all looked like so much in the cart“

“ yeah that uh that happens to people —it’s—it’s like science my love “

you moved to open the door to the backseat as he screamed at you through the cracked window from the drivers seat

“ hey uh babe you can go in the house I got it “

“ aw your so sweet deku you keep doing nice things for me “

he shook his head up and down as he watched you walk off to your new shared apartment

his head falling to the steering wheel as the horn went off in a slight honk jolting him head only moving over a bit mouth opening in a silent prayer

“ god of all might I ask that you don’t allow her to find out — and shit—theres no way to hide thi —wait I didn’t mean to curse don’t hurt me quirk gods please —i’m just stressed “ he almost cried when he thought about it

“ god we even live in the same apartment now there’s no way I can keep a secret or even the fact that I put her groceries back to myself all night “

he cursed as he thought about everything you were so happy about “ please I pray I haven’t left anything important or seriously i’m gonna cry “

he sucked it up as he got out the car walking through the hallway and placing the bags on the marble top walking over to go sit down trying to get as far away from you as possible

hoping if he could go to sleep or even stay out of your way he may be able to get out of this

his body doing what he wanted by almost falling asleep until he heard your voice pout out in front of him “ baby — have you seen my advil “

his eyes widened” I swear I bought ‘em because my head was killing m— wait deku babe why are you crying “

“ I— I i’m worsening your headache — I— I i’m making y-you hurt “

your eyes opened as you hugged him tightly “ no no why would you say that “

his voice was whiny as tears fell “ I put all your stuff back and only got what you could remember —which was only 10 things because I knew the stuff you remembered was the stuff you really wanted “

he sucked up his tears as he looked at you “ but I got you s’mores— I put everything else back but got you s’mores “

he choked back a cry “ baby I put your stuff back “

your voice was hot as you moved away from him flicking his head after turning your body towards the door “ you put my stuff back—all my important stuff that i was looking forward to “

he shook his head as you went to grab the keys “ asshole “

you slammed the door his body shaking as he heard the car start up wiping at his eyes

moving to the door to lock it only to hear the door open wide and present you who fell straight into his chest that was blocking the entrance

voice muffled as you spoke “ I can’t even remember half the stuff I picked up “

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home — Chapter One: Flightless Bird, American Mouth

a/n: I've been working on this story for mooonths now and I'm so excited to finally share it with the world! It's heavily inspired by Harry's Behind the Album mini doc, except I changed the setting to Hawai'i because I've personally spent some time there and as they say, write what you know! YBMH takes place in the period between One Direction's hiatus and Harry's first album/tour, but with that being said, this is entirely a work of fiction and some events don't follow the true timeline. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little story, I hope you love it as much as I do! It will be updated every Friday at 5 PM PST. My inbox is open, so feel free to talk to me once you've finished reading! I'd love to hear from you :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 5.5k

May, 2016

Harry watches LAX get smaller through the airplane window and visualizes all of his worries stuck at the terminal gate, their magnitude also diminishing as he takes flight. He sinks lower in his seat and skims through playlists on his phone when a nagging feeling at the back of his mind pulls his attention away from the screen. Looking up from the song choices, he spots a cell phone quickly lowered from his line of vision and a girl with flushed cheeks who quickly averts her gaze. Harry shoots a tight-lipped smile in her direction and goes back to his phone with a sigh. The days when he could roam the streets freely without fear of recognition—or worse, harassment—feel like an entirely different lifetime. He sometimes imagines that he’ll wake up back in his childhood bed as if the past five years had all been a dream, but he never does. In fact, his privacy and anonymity seem to dwindle with each minute of radio play that One Direction receives. It’s a bittersweet pill to swallow, but one he hopes will go down easier with some time in the Hawaiian sun.

His close friend and new manager, Jeff Azoff, had suggested the vacation as soon as the band privately agreed to take a hiatus.

“You’ll go home for a few weeks,” his voice had crackled through the speakers of Harry’s phone. “Visit your mom and Gem, lay low for a while until the smoke blows over,”

Harry mulled it over in his mind, eyes flickering over the rolling landscape outside of the tour bus window.

“Then what?”

“Then you go for a little vacation. The label offered to cover a house in Hawaii so you can start working on the album,”

“Alone?”

Jeff chuckled lightly on the other end before responding. “I mean, if that’s what you want,”

“No,” Harry corrected. “You and Tom should come. Mitch and Bhasker, too,”

“The dream team,”

“And there’ll be a studio there?”

“Yes,” Jeff started, almost hesitant. “But I don’t want you to think about that too much,”

“But you said the label—"

“I also said vacation. Look, Rob said ‘it will all happen in due time,' did he not?”

Harry twisted the rose ring around his finger, tracing over the silver petals and thinking back to his conversation with the CEO of Sony Music, Rob Stringer. Upon the proposal of his debut solo album, Rob had told him that the most important ingredient for a successful debut would be patience. The singer had agreed in the moment, but every day not spent in the studio felt like a test he hadn’t studied hard enough for.

“Yeah.”

“So you take the free vacation,” Jeff suggested. “You go out, live, get some writing material. Maybe mess around with some tunes. And then we come back to L.A. and get to work. But until then, I just want you to focus on taking it easy.”

So take it easy he had. Or at least he had tried to when he was back home in England. Harry quickly grew restless after what felt like the millionth awkward conversation with past friends and acquaintances, all of which eventually led to the topic of One Direction and it’s unexpected hiatus. After one month at home, his mind and journal were full of ideas for songs, things that he wanted to say before he lost his nerve. One night as he tossed and turned in bed, he shot Jeff a text, just two words that would kick off a three month getaway to the Big Island of Hawai'i:

I’m ready.

********

“Sounds great, I'll go put in your order.” Alani offers sweetly, trying not to overdo it with the customer service voice. After waiting on the family at her designated table, she heads back to the kitchen and finds her younger sister, Pua, crouched in the corner taking what appears to be a serious phone call.

“I don’t know, I just saw it!” Her sister cries in a hushed tone. “Where do you think he’s going?”

“Is everything okay?” Alani cuts in with concern.

Pua whispers into the speaker before bringing the phone to her shoulder.

“Harry Styles was just spotted on a plane this morning,”

“Who?”

“The guy from One Direction,” her sister explains with a hint of irritation in her voice. “The band who sings that song you secretly like, ‘Fireproof,'”

Alani vaguely recalls the melody, but she waits expectantly for Pua to elaborate. “And this is news because…”

“Because the band just broke up, so where could he possibly be going?”

"The unemployment office?”

Pua rolls her eyes and returns to her phone call while Alani envelops her in a tight hug.

“I’m just kidding!” Alani apologizes, squeezing tighter despite her sister’s attempts to break free. “I’m sure he’ll be living off of royalty checks until he’s, like, eighty,”

“Get off me, freak!” Pua cries out, finally breaking the embrace.

Alani clutches her chest and pulls out an invisible knife. “Ouch. I’m telling Harry you said that,”

“This is exactly why I don’t tell you things.” the younger sister huffs, storming out of the kitchen through the employee entrance where Alani’s best friend, Maleah, has just arrived.

“Looks like someone forgot to eat their Cheerios today,” she remarks, tying her curls into a high ponytail.

Alani shrugs and leans against the counter. “She’s going through something. Just discovered that boys in pop bands are, in fact, just regular boys.”

“Poor thing,” Maleah frowns. “We all have to learn eventually.”

********

The sky is a blend of cotton candy pink and burnt orange when Alani returns home from the café with a strawberry smoothie in tow. She empties the mailbox and sorts through the various bills and advertisements, but her stomach drops when she sees a familiar return address label. After a quick greeting to her excited dog who waits at the door, Alani bolts up the stairs and quietly shuts the bedroom door behind her. Breathe, she reminds herself before tearing into the envelope and discarding it onto the wooden floor.

Dear Ms. Hale,

We are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine. However, we regret to inform you—

She doesn’t read the rest, slumping to the floor in defeat. The sixth rejection letter from Rolling Stone lies crumpled at Alani’s feet and she kicks it across the room with a frustrated grunt. She had worked for over two months perfecting her analysis of Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi and its allusions to the environmental impact of urban development in Hawaii. As part of her initial research, Alani had even traveled to both the Royal Hawaiian hotel in Honolulu, which is the famous Pink Hotel mentioned in the song, and Foster Botanical Garden that Mitchell referred to as “the tree museum.” She was certain that her effort and persistence would result in at least a consideration. The second third time's the charm! Maleah had joked watching Alani submit the piece. Six articles in the span of two years, each one facing the same rejection despite the increased effort Alani had put in over time. The fact that the rejection letter hadn’t changed over the course of the two years brings an incredulous smile to her face, and her stomach turns when she considers that the editors probably hadn’t even read her work, anyway. All that effort, she thinks to herself, all that time, for nothing.

“It will take time,” her favorite professor, Dr. Hudson, had reassured her three months after the Joni Mitchell article was submitted. “Every great writer faced countless rejection until that one piece. Yours will come. Keep your eyes open and your pen ready.”

Alani sighs and lifts herself off the floor, choosing to crawl into her unmade bed instead of slumping onto the hardwood. She hears a soft scratching at the door before her King Charles Spaniel, Freddie, pads into the room.

“Come here, bubs,” Alani whispers. He obeys and burrows into the duvet, giving her temple a gentle lick before nuzzling into the nape of her neck.

“You still love me, right?” she asks, voice cracking. “Even if I’m a failure?”

Freddie sniffs her ear in response.

********

“Right,” Harry says, his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he reads the map. “No, left, sorry,”

“Do you actually know how to read a map?” Jeff teases, correcting the turn.

Harry pouts in response, his brows furrowing. “In my defense, we’re literally in the middle of fucking nowhere,”

“There are worse places to be,” Mitch pipes up from the back seat. “England, for example, where they say things like ‘litchrally’,”

“Very well said, Mitchell,” Jeff Bhasker adds with a fake British accent of his own.

Harry turns to his friends in the back seat with a finger pointed like an agitated mother. “If you lot don’t shut up, I’m gonna lead us to a volcano and push you in,”

“Where are we even going? I forgot,” Tom complains.

“To get food,” his manager responds from the driver’s seat. “I think,”

“Why can’t we just stop there?” Mitch asks pointing to a café pulling up on their right.

Jeff merges into the turning lane quickly without a second thought. “Good enough for me, I’m starving.”

“Sorry, H.” Mitch pats his friend on the shoulder.

Harry scoffs. “You’re the one who wanted poke.”

The Aloha Nui Loa Café is much more spacious than the exterior suggests, yet it still feels cozy. The walls are painted sage green and adorned with various local art pieces, as described by the plaques that accompany them. A skylight fills the center of the room with plenty of warm lighting, leaving the space along the walls in a bit more shade for an intimate feel. In one corner, a hanging disco ball leaves freckles of sparkling light along the walls where the sunlight hits, making the whole image very idyllic in Harry’s mind. As if he couldn’t enjoy the setting more, he hears the beginning of an Otis Redding song that he’s had stuck in his head drift through the restaurant speakers.

“Welcome in!” a voice calls, which pulls him from his survey of the room. His head whips to the source—a girl around his age with wavy, dark hair and honey skin. “For here or to go?”

Harry takes a hesitant step up to the counter. “For here,”

She smiles warmly and pulls some menus from under the counter. “How many in your party?”

“Five.”

“Great, follow me.”

Harry and his friends follow the waitress to the corner of the room under the disco ball and take their seats at the round table.

“My name is Alani,” she introduces herself, setting the menus down. “I’ll be serving you today. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

Harry continues scanning the restaurant while his group orders. His eyes land on the shirt that Alani is wearing, a white tee with the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey” in blue lettering that surrounds a picture of a cartoon bee.

“Harry,” Jeff says gently, catching his drifting attention.

The singer turns to his manager, who nods to Alani waiting with a pen pressed to her notepad. Harry feels a rush of embarrassment creep across his cheeks and he clears his throat to cover it.

“Just water,” he says, eyes glued to the menu. “Thanks.”

“You got it.” Alani nods, flashing a toothy grin at the rest of the group before turning back to the kitchen. Harry. Her mind repeats, finding a hint of familiarity, though she doesn’t know why.

When Alani arrives at the drink station, she finds her sister staring at her, mouth agape, while Maleah unsuccessfully conceals her laughter.

“What?” she questions, checking herself for any embarrassing stains or smells.

“You were—and he—” Pua stammers. “He was—and then he—”

“That’s Harry Styles,” Maleah translates, her voice hushed as she peers over her friend's shoulder.

Alani turns to steal a glance at the table she just seated, but Pua and Maleah latch onto her and shake their heads frantically.

“Don’t look!” her sister hisses.

Alani smirks, amused at their reactions. “No shit. That’s One Direction?”

Maleah snorts, clasping a hand over her mouth as Pua huffs. “No, dumbass! It’s just Harry. I don’t know who the other guys are,”

“But the blonde guy? That’s not—?”

“No!” Pua and Maleah giggle in unison.

“Okay, geez,” Alani relents. She manages to steal a quick glance at the table over her shoulder, immediately searching for Harry. Her eyes scan over the long, curly hair kept out of his face by a pair of white sunglasses that she had seen on Kurt Cobain once. All of his features are sharp and striking, from his pointed nose and defined jawline to the bright blue eyes. Or maybe they were grey? Alani wonders, trying to remember the exact shade. He doesn’t look anything like the fresh-faced teeny bopper she’d had in mind, the one from a music video her sister had shown her a long time ago. She would have never guessed that the What Makes You Beautiful singer had so much dark ink trailing down his bicep and forearm, though her knowledge of One Direction was very limited.

“What did he order?” Pua questions, her eyes wide.

Alani quickly snaps back to reality and resumes filling the drinks. “A water,”

“Oh my god,” Maleah swoons. “I’m never drinking anything else ever again,”

“I didn’t even know you liked him,” Alani teases with an eyebrow raised.

Maleah sneaks another peek at the table and catches her lower lip between her teeth. “I mean, I didn’t really think so either but look at him. What a fucking dream,”

Harry was objectively handsome, this Alani could admit, but she personally didn’t see the appeal and had a strong feeling that he was just like every other male celebrity. The fact that he hadn’t even bothered to make eye contact with her only served as further proof of what she knew to be true.

“Okay, well, your dreamboat is waiting for his water. So excuse me,” Alani winks, making her way back to the table.

The singer spots Alani returning out of the corner of his eye and the sight of her causes a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach that makes him want to duck for cover. Instead, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and pretends to be occupied with something on the screen.

“Okay,” she greets, setting the drink tray down. “I have a Blue Hawaii, a Mango Mama, two Loco Cocos, and a water,”

The group graciously accepts their drinks with a chorus of “thank you," but the only one under Alani’s scrutiny is Harry. He still doesn’t meet her almond eyes, and though she figured he wouldn’t, she can’t help the inkling of disappointment that washes over her. After taking their meal orders, Alani heads back to the kitchen, checking on her other customers along the way. Harry’s eyes follow her and he observes the way customers light up at her presence, indulging her conversation with laughter. He watches as she lingers by the jukebox in one corner of the room, a detail he had missed in his initial scan, and waits anxiously to see what song she chooses. Baby I’m-a Want You begins softly and Harry feels the corner of his lip curl ever so slightly. Good choice, he thinks.

********

“He’s still here,” Pua muses, peering through the tiny window in the kitchen door. It had been nearly two hours and the five men were still seated around their table cracking jokes and doing a lot of talking with their hands.

Alani doesn’t look up from her bowl of sliced kiwis, offering a hum in response. “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“Nothing,” Pua shoots back. “Don’t bother him,”

“What kind of girls do you think he’s into?” Maleah asks, attempting to peek through the window.

Alani shrugs, bored of the conversation and of thinking about Harry. “I don’t know, but I’ll bet he’s a real sucker for the ones who stalk him while he’s eating,”

“How does he make eating a salad look hot?”

“Can we talk about something else now?” Alani whines, poking holes in a lone kiwi with her fork.

Pua tosses a wet dish rag in her sister’s direction and cheers when it lands in her face. “Go see if he wants more water, he looks thirsty.”

“I already refilled it,” Alani defends. “Twenty minutes ago. I’ve refilled it a hundred times, I’m surprised he hasn’t peed his pants.”

I’m gonna piss myself. Harry thinks, his right leg bouncing to distract himself. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. Like clockwork, she would return to fill his glass almost as soon as the last drop had been drained, and so what began as a little experiment slowly turned into a bladder hazard. But if the trend was to be trusted, she would be back any minute and he wasn’t going to miss it; afterall, there were only so many ways to casually linger in a small café without making it weird. Unable to bear it any longer, he heads to the restroom and hopes that Alani doesn’t clear their table before he has a chance to see her again.

Harry pads down the back hallway with his eyes cast down at the floor, which proves to be a mistake when he walks directly into another person.

“Sorry!” they both apologize quickly, Harry’s palm taking purchase on the other person’s upper arm.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” he offers, finally meeting the dark, mocha eyes already looking back at him.

Alani presses her lips into a tight smile. “Me either,”

Harry’s heartbeat picks up when he realizes it’s her, and he isn’t aware of how close they’re standing until he detects the faint scent of kiwi on her breath. He takes a step back and rakes a hand through his hair.

“So I guess I’ll just—”

“Yeah, sure.”

Green. Alani notes to herself. His eyes are green.

********

Shortly after Harry returned from the restroom, him and his friends settled their bill and headed out. Alani cleared their table and her eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw the hefty tip left behind. The word mahalo was also left behind on the receipt, underlined twice, and she wondered if it was his handwriting.

Later that night, she settled into bed with her laptop and hesitantly typed his name into Google. As she expected, countless articles about the split of One Direction emerged, most of them speculating what was next for each member. To her surprise, however, Harry’s name seemed to be mentioned more than his fellow bandmates as various sources labeled him “the next Justin Timberlake” and rising star of the group. Upon further investigation, she learned that the demand for information about the elusive Harry Styles was high, especially concerning any possible solo music. No news had yet been confirmed by Styles himself, nor anyone claiming to represent him, but she still wondered if his presence in Hawaii had anything to do with a possible solo project. Almost as soon as she thought it, Alani dismissed the theory in favor of the idea that he was most likely just taking a vacation. And from the buzz that she saw surrounding the news about One Direction, she couldn’t blame him.

The more Alani read, the more she wanted to know, and something deep down told her that his was a story worth telling. Of course, the only problem was that she had hardly talked to him, and there were only so many things she could say about the fifteen glasses of water he downed. There was no way of knowing if she would ever see him again, either, or if he was merely stopping in Hilo on his way to another island or somewhere else entirely. Alani sighed, thinking back to her most recent rejection from Rolling Stone. She knew that there was no possible way she would ever see or talk to Harry ever again, and even if she did, why would he bare his entire soul to a stranger? Still, she let her mind wander through the possibility.

Dear Ms. Hale, the letter would read, we are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine and are pleased to inform you that your piece on Harry Styles will be featured in next month’s issue. Additionally, we would be honored to have you on staff, effective immediately.

It was far-fetched, Alani knew this, but she dozed off that night with endless ideas swimming in her head.

********

By the third day after his visit, the only trace of Harry is in Alani’s search history. She would have completely forgotten about him if it weren’t for her sister’s constant reminiscing and multiple attempts to rename the house salad to the “Harry Special.” As a result, a part of Alani’s thoughts periodically linger back to that day and the subsequent hours spent on Google that she’d rationalized as research instead of stalking. Somehow the knowledge that she’ll never see him again only adds fuel to the questions still burning in her mind, but a customer clearing their throat while she sorts menus below the hostess podium interrupts her thoughts.

“Welcome in!” She calls, standing. “What can I—”

She stops in her tracks, unable to believe her eyes. Harry blinks and waits for her to continue.

“What can I get started for you?” Alani tries again, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her shock. Luckily for her, Harry had been too focused on choosing his next words to register her mistake.

“What’s in the Honu smoothie?” he asks, mentally kicking himself for asking such a stupid question when the menu just inches above her head clearly spells it out.

Alani hums, thinking back to the times she had made the smoothie herself. “Kiwis, spinach, mango, avocado, and a hint of lime,”

“I’ll take one of those,” Harry says, reaching for his wallet.

Alani punches in the order with trembling fingers and nods. “For here or to go?”

“To go,”

Disappointment fills her chest. Sure, she hadn’t planned on seeing him ever again, but the fact that she did felt like a sign. If she wanted to take the chance, she’d have to do it fast.

“Anything else?” she asks, weighing her options while he skims the menu.

“No thanks.”

Alani makes the smoothie quickly, head spinning. She had spent most of the night after their initial meeting planning out exactly the type of questions she hoped to ask him and what kind of article she would write. She was used to writing about what she knew—artists and music she’d admired for years— but she figured that starting fresh with someone she hardly knew would be a good challenge. Not to mention that it seemed like just the thing Rolling Stone would jump for. Alani finally works up the courage as she finishes his smoothie, but when she returns to hand it to him and hopefully strike up a conversation, his ear is pressed to his cell phone. She holds out the drink and he graciously accepts, giving her a small nod as a “thank you” and rushing out of the restaurant.

Two days later he returns and is seated at the counter, typing away on his phone. Alani feels both a rush of optimism and annoyance at the universe for dangling his presence so unexpectedly. She starts heading over to him, but Maleah cuts in.

“Trade me?” she proposes, eyes wide.

Alani blinks. “Oh, I would but I—”

“Please,” her best friend pouts. “I’m leaving to see my grandparents in stupid California for two months. Who knows when I’ll get the chance to see him again?”

Alani sighs, but gives in, reluctantly exchanging Harry for the family of four seated by the window. A strange feeling settles into the pit of his stomach when he sees that she heads in the opposite direction after a hushed conversation with another waitress. He doesn’t know why she traded him for a different customer, but he takes the hint.

A week goes by without another sighting of Harry and Alani has permanently taken on the role of greeting hostess in hopes of seeing him again. Her heartbeat temporarily speeds up when she sees a long haired customer approach the door, but her spirits quickly fall when the face doesn’t match his.

Another week brings another disappointing realization that Harry might be gone for good. One rainy morning when the restaurant is quiet and only two customers huddle together in a booth near the back, Alani hunches over the hostess podium and doodles on a stray receipt— a sunflower, a crescent moon, and two hearts. The bell above the door jingles but she doesn’t look up, too absorbed in her scribbles.

“Do you serve coffee?”

The familiar accented voice stops Alani’s pen dead in its tracks. She lifts her eyes first to confirm, and then straightens up when she sees that her ears haven’t deceived her.

“Yes,” she swallows.

“Great. I’ll take it to go,”

She slightly deflates, but Harry thinks he’s reading too much into it.

“Actually,” he corrects anyway, just in case he isn’t. “I think I’ll stay for a while,”

Alani flashes a warm smile and nods in the direction of the counter. “Right this way,”

Harry sheds his windbreaker onto the back of the seat, revealing a black and white Rolling Stones t-shirt that makes Alani’s blood pressure rise. A sign, she thinks.

“What do you want in your coffee?” she questions carefully.

“Nothing,” he responds, shaking out his damp hair gently. “Or actually, uh, butter...if you have some,”

Alani blinks, not sure if she’d heard correctly or if there had been some transatlantic miscommunication.

“Butter?”

“Yeah,”

“Like the—”

“Spread, yeah,” Harry confirms. “It’s weird, I know,”

She lets out a light-hearted laugh and nods. “It’s a...unique request,”

“I thought the same thing at first,” Harry confides. “It’s not bad, actually. But maybe I’ve just been in L.A. for too long.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She offers a polite smile and heads to the kitchen where the cook and two other waiters talk amongst each other. Alani is grateful that the restaurant is slow this morning because she knows that it means minimal interruptions to her time with Harry. To ensure this, though, she asks one of the other waiters to cover the podium and returns to Harry with his coffee.

“One butter coffee, free of judgement,” the waitress announces, setting it down.

Harry grins softly, stirring the drink with the spoon Alani provided. “You can judge, it’s alright,”

“I just wanna know why,”

The coffee had been part of a fad diet while on tour in order to boost Harry’s energy on stage and stay trim for the hundreds of photo-ops he would be a part of. He doesn’t know how to communicate all of this to Alani, however, not sure how much she knows about that part of him, so he shrugs and tells a simplified version of the truth.

“I read about this trend a while back, it's called bulletproof coffee. Supposed to get your energy up and I needed it for my job,”

“Which is…” Alani trails off, downplaying the knowledge that she had acquired from Google.

“I make music,” is all Harry says and he takes a sip of the drink to avoid elaborating.

“Anything I would have heard?”

He swallows hard and listens to the faint rumbling of thunder outside before replying. “Possibly,”

“Try me,” Alani challenges.

He narrows his eyes and takes another sip of coffee. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself first?”

“What do you wanna know?”

Everything, Harry responds internally, though he reigns it in. “How you got into waitressing,”

Alani sighs, resting her elbows on the counter across from him. “There’s not much to tell, it’s a family business. What I really wanna do is write,”

“Music?”

“Articles. I’m studying Journalism at UH,”

Harry hums in response, filing the detail away in the back of his mind. “Sounds interesting. You ever publish anything?”

“Not yet,” Alani shakes her head gently, toying with the sleeves of her green University of Hawaii crewneck. “Hopefully soon, though,”

Harry racks his brain for something else to say, but before he can, Alani speaks up again.

“Is it my turn to ask something now?”

He offers a curt nod and stirs his coffee.

“What kind of music do you write?”

Harry chooses to be vague again. “Different stuff. Pop, usually. Been messing with some classic rock, though,”

“Explains the shirt,”

He peers down at the design on his tee and agrees. “Yeah, I guess so,”

“Do you like it?” Alani asks, her eyes begging to make contact with his again. “Writing music, I mean,”

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, tapping his spoon against the rim of the mug. “I really do,”

Alani’s heart pounds. This is her chance, a moment to finally secure her breakthrough piece. She doesn’t know how to approach it, so she opts to dive right in without looking back. The worst he can say is no.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“That’s cheating,” Harry teases lightly. “It's my turn,”

She pouts playfully, but obliges. “Fire away,”

Harry doesn’t know which question to ask first, but when he glances down at the crescent moon inked on her wrist, he decides to start there.

“What’s with the moon tattoo?”

Alani isn’t sure what she expected him to ask and wonders what purpose such a detail could possibly serve him, but she answers anyway.

“Oh, well,” she begins, tracing her index finger over the outline. “It’s kinda the meaning of my full name. It’s Mahealani, Hawaiian for ‘heavenly moon,'”

Fitting, Harry comments to himself. Every detail he learns about her makes him want to learn that much more, from her favorite foods to the last thing she thinks about before falling asleep. Studying her expectant eyes, he suddenly remembers that it’s his turn to respond.

“That’s cool,” is all he says.

Alani doesn’t know what to make of the faraway look in his eye, but she decides to pose her most burning question while he appears to be in good spirits.

“I know this is gonna sound totally out of the blue,” she starts, working past the lump in her throat. “But when you mentioned how you write music, I was just reminded of this assignment I’m working on in my class,”

Harry waits for her to continue, nursing his now lukewarm coffee.

“I’m supposed to write a piece about someone who I don’t know that well,” she continues. “You know, to practice our interviewing skills. And, well, I was just kind of wondering if you might be interested in helping me out—being the subject, I mean,”

Alani had every intention of telling Harry the truth, about how she really planned to submit the article to Rolling Stone in hopes of securing an internship before her college graduation next Spring. But as she started speaking, she quickly realized how it would come off: a complete stranger asking for personal information to submit to a well-known publication. She knew that there was a chance he would shut down and never return, so she lowered the stakes and hoped that this route would be less risky. Was it ethical? Alani hadn’t decided yet, but she would work out the details later. After six failed articles and two years of rejection, she saw a ray of hope and wasn’t going to let it slip away.

Harry ponders her offer for a moment, which confirms that she had recognized him. Normally he would be off-put by such a request, and to a certain extent he is, but there is something sincere in her voice that he trusts deep down. Before he agrees, however, he decides to fish around a bit to test her reaction.

“You know who I am,” he says gently. “Don’t you?”

Alani’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach, not sure what to say next. She hopes with every fiber of her being that she hasn’t upset him, or worse, ruined her chances, so she decides to offer some truth to throw him off her scent.

“My sister recognized you,” she explains. “That day you came in with your friends. I thought they were your bandmates at first,”

This lets Harry know that she isn’t a total stalker, which is comforting, but he wouldn’t have been minded if she were a fan simply engaging in conversation.

“Oh,” he laughs weakly.

“I totally understand if you say no,” Alani offers quickly, trying to smooth things over. “I just thought it was worth a shot. And that it might be more interesting than interviewing our produce guy,”

Harry decides to give her one last scan for any sign of insincerity. He’d always felt that his gut instinct was strong and it hadn’t led him astray thus far.

“An interview?” he clarifies.

“Just one,” Alani promises. “An hour, tops. And you can proofread all of it once I’ve finished, too.”

Harry waits a beat, already knowing his reply, but he wants to see how she will react to his silence. She doesn’t budge, almond eyes set and determined.

“Okay.”

next chapter