#so that black smudge is Amy’s thumb | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shadowofthelamp · 2 years

Text

Musing

Shadow thinks to himself about the past, the present, and what the future might hold.

Rating: G

Warnings: Mpreg

Pairing: Sonadow

Wordcount: 1400

Ao3 Link

The house was dark. Sonic was either asleep or on a midnight run- Shadow had seen him pass into the bedroom a few hours ago, but more than once he’d finished work late and found open, rumpled sheets when he headed to bed. (Sometimes Sonic rolled in the next morning with grass smudged into his fur, saying he’d decided to ‘conk out’ in a field or up a tree, and Shadow rolled his eyes but offered a sip of coffee and a brush at ruffled blue fur. Sonic was as much a part of nature as the breeze and the spring blossoms, that was something he’d long since accepted.)

Either way, it left Shadow space on the couch, alone but for the muted news that scrolled a story of a volunteer effort to clean up a beach in Spagonia and something about the stock market.

Well. Not quite alone.

His hand rested on the gentle swell of his stomach, thumb tracing a circle below the white puff of fur.

Twins. Who could have thought?

One ear twitched as he leaned back on the couch, the taste of chili still lingering on his tongue. Having to actually eat in regular intervals was going to take some getting used to, but at least it was only for a finite amount of time. He would take it over the little ones swallowing his chaos energy and causing him to collapse any day.

It had taken a few weeks to fully accept that, that he wasn’t just spontaneously experiencing decay, wasn’t splitting at the seams from the inside as his body stuttered in an attempt to help nurture the beings inside of him. He was really pregnant, carrying two living creatures. They were barely larger than lemons, if that, but were going to continue growing and changing and living, living lives full of hopes and dreams and endless possibilities.

Shadow shifted. Without any kind of clothing (setting aside his gloves, of course), he could feel how the weight of the children rested just the slightest bit on his thighs, and his eyes drifted past them to the stripe on his leg.

It was strange, to think of the pieces that made him, and wonder what would be passed on. They’d be part of the Black Arms, but they would never know the Hivemind- Shadow had more than taken care of that. (Would they resent him for something they hadn’t had a choice in missing? It was the right choice, he was sure of that, they were a scourge and he hadn’t missed them one whit since, but who knew what the genetic lottery may encourage that had laid dormant in him, an errant switch kept unflipped while the professor and Doom had been experimenting in his creation that would activate in the children. He would simply have to cross that bridge when he came to it.)

Idly, he flexed his fingers, watching the claws twitch underneath the specially-made fabric. How much of it had been the particular hedgehog whose DNA had been selected to pluck up and swirl with Doom in a chaos-bathed cocktail? He’d seen other hedgehogs with claws that nearly matched his own, once noting Amy’s were sharpened to a point when she threw an arm over his shoulder at a party while gleefully tipsy. (It was possible that she simply manicured hers, but that seemed a little silly to him to go under gloves. From the power she held behind her swing, the fact that they were a natural defense mechanism seemed more likely to him. Perhaps they were distant cousins. He wouldn’t mind that too terribly.) If the kids ended up with sharper claws and quills, they’d have to get caps at first, but then it would allow them to defend themselves, and that wasn’t bad of a thing to pass on.

If they were anything like their father, they’d be beautiful, bubbly little creatures, shimmering with so much light that he could hardly look away sometimes. Making a few more people like Sonic would be a net good, he decided. (Not that he would say it in those terms. Gaia knew that his ego could suffocate a whale, but the almost charming way he rambled on, so certain of himself- it was a beacon on his worse days when memories blurred hot and fast and the world didn’t seem to be quite tilted right on its axis.)

If they were anything like him, though... well.

If this had happened a few years ago, when he’d been new to the world again and fumbling for purpose when what little he knew had been burnt away from him again and again, left only to relive the past, he would have said that what he had to offer was physical capability, chaos and violence and a fire to burn away anything that needed burning. Now, though... the flame was quieted but burnt equally bright, and he was the one cradling it instead of being ignited by others with their increasingly ill intentions.

He’d had years to have settled and experienced and loved. He was a protector as much as Sonic was, as much as he’d been originally envisioned to be, and his fate was in his own hands. Shadow had made himself into a better person with the grace of days and days and days to do so. He had explored the planet, and there was still ever more to see with curiosity flaring with new cultures and histories in a way that it hadn’t since he had pored over one of Maria’s textbooks with her. He had made Rouge laugh with a dry joke while they were on a mission and chatted with Tails about the stars, murmuring myths he’d learned alongside Maria before they slipped into discussing supernovas. (Tails had seemed surprised, but he’d had ears before he’d had a tongue, and the beauty of nature in all its unpredictable forms had fascinated him since ‘birth’- what kind of world could make a thing like him?) This world was home now, and its people his, and he would help them. True, he still had his physical capabilities and was proud of them, but he was more than the sum of his carefully-chosen parts, a lifeform that lived as much as he was the ‘ultimate’.

If they were like him, then he’d be there to guide them, but they’d never have to experience that horrible confusion of having no identity at all except for what was branded on you. No matter what, they would be loved.

He hadn’t exactly had anyone to nurture him, in whatever approximated for his childhood. That had been why time with Maria had been so precious as she’d begged for the chance to show him around, to show him the stars so close and yet far away from the lab aboard the Ark. They’d helped each other, as she showed him what it was like to be alive, and he had been the companion she’d needed so desperately. He’d only realized how lonely she must have been when bits of memory sharpened enough to feel the tightness of her frail hands around his bicep when he was tugged away for tests, or the way he’d seen her curled up in her bed with a hiss on her lips at the unfairness of fate before he was allowed to re-enter her life in brief spurts. A thousand miles from anyone but the scientists and her grandfather and him.

Perhaps it would be good that they would be twins, so they wouldn’t have to be alone through the first few stumbling blocks that were life.

(He knew that she would be watching. He only wished she could have been there so they could meet her, but... while that particular candle would flicker in his heart forever, it no longer felt like a stab and a twist in his chest. She would be watching. That was enough.)

He would show them the Ark at some point, perhaps, when they were older. There was no better view of the stars than from its windows. But as he pulled up a pillow and lay down to rest, it was with thoughts of the future. A future that he could be assured that he would have, with a man he loved and friends he cared for, and a pair of children that he hadn’t expected but now couldn’t imagine being without.

#bruise boys #shadow writes stuff #sonic writing #mpreg cw #sonadow #shads #sonic #sth #sonic blogging #I haven't really written shadow in this kind of depth in years so forgive a bit of oddity #but I just really wanted to muse on this for a bit #daddy shadow

33 notes · View notes

amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

Note

mr mendes just released a new song & i was wondering if you could write something inspired by the line: "i wonder what it's like to be loved by you" 😌✨

Ericaaa I loved this prompt! 💕 Of course I had to throw in some Pining because it’s so good ... hope you enjoy! (here it is on AO3)

to be loved by you

It’s a secret to absolutely no-one that Amy Santiago is the kind of woman that likes to excel in any skillset. Unapologetic in her badass-ery, she can (and has) chase a perp through the boroughs of Brooklyn in boots that have a higher heel than three of her male colleagues put together. Her finely tuned memory - the same one that has led Trivia Newton John to seven straight victories - helped solve a series of long-dead case files, and her problem solving skills are the reason that one of the city’s biggest kingpins is currently behind bars.

With this in mind, one could consider it safe to say that Amy regretting her natural ability to ace any situation would be up there with hell freezing over, or for a flock of pigs to soar across the sky.

But tonight, here in Shaw’s bar as she watches Jake have what seems to be a lovely date with Sophia; Amy just might be, if only maybe a little, slightly regretting her highly graded observation skills (yes, the same ones that pushed her into the highest percentile when graduating from the academy - which she very rarely brags about, and she really should - it was mentioned in the commissioners speech and everything).

To be fair, it wasn’t all bad. She could, for example; hear the jukebox in the corner, playing Come on Eileen for the fifth time in a row - unknowingly settling into a duet with squelching sneakers as a bunch of drunken frat guys danced, all of them too far gone to notice any repetition. Plus, she could pick up on the subtle click of the acrylic nails on the woman at a neighbouring table, listening to them tap against a series of her friends’ photographs, rotating between descriptions of priddy and gawgeous.

Mixed with the scent of spilled beer and day-old peanuts, it was exactly the combination that to others may appear seedy, but to Amy and the squad, just seemed … familiar. Shaw’s was their watering hole, the basement bar each could disappear into and drink to forget their days, and despite the five empty glasses on her table and the half-full one in her hand, Amy was finding it incredibly difficult to stop noticing just how sweet Jake was with his girlfriend.

Even more impossible was to stop imagining what it would be like if she were the one standing near the dart board, with Jake’s arm resting comfortably over her shoulders.

It had all started earlier today, when she had glanced over at her partner just in time to pick up on the tiny little smile that grew on his face when he noticed a text from Sophia.

(Okay, it’s possible that it had actually started back at The Maple Drip Inn, with that look he’d given her after maybe, yes, a little. It had definitely led to a series of Thoughts after Teddy’s departure, of which she’d only given herself just that night to think about.)

(Except ‘that night’ then turned into that week, and okay fine then it had turned into ‘just that month'; and now here she is, several weeks later; completely unable of getting Jake Peralta off of her mind, and it’s becoming very likely that this is more than just a little crush.)

It had been so endearing to see, that tiny glimpse of joy and enchantment as he’d read Sophia’s message - just fleeting enough for Amy to wonder if anybody had ever reacted to a message from her with such glee. (Teddy, she remembers, preferred not to text; and would instead express his affections by saving her the last bottle of his favourite pilsner, or brewing a new concoction ‘inspired by her’ … sweet, but somehow didn’t hold the same sentiment.)

So she’d kept her eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her as she listened to Jake pick up the phone and order a bunch of flowers to be delivered to Sophia’s office - using his debit card, and not a combination of the five questionably balanced credit cards under his name - which in itself is huge. Pretended not to notice the multiple kiss emojis in his reply, or the soft tune that he hummed for a few minutes after, focusing intensely on the case file in front of her as she described a recent interrogation in finite detail. Kept up the facade of all that stuff with us is in the past as he recounted a romantic weekend to their squad in the break room - laughing along in all the right places, doing her very best to keep the wistfulness out of her eyes.

And all the while, Amy’s mind had kept contemplating if she would ever get to know what it would be like to date someone like Jake: to have somebody who would take all the black and whites of her life and show her the beautiful greys in-between.

So when he’d shown up at Shaw’s this evening, with Sophia’s hand carefully wrapped around his own and a grin that announced his contentment to anyone who cared to look; Amy had felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. Her painted smile had just lasted until the couple retreated to the corner for a crazily competitive game of darts, and Amy had decided tonight would be a great opportunity to drown her sorrows in a few glasses of whiskey, doing her absolute best not to notice all the little things she will never have.

Like the way Jake would punctuate each congratulatory high five with a kiss, even when it meant that his girlfriend had beaten him at a game. The gentle way he steered them away from a rambunctious crowd, keeping an eye on the raised voices as his unaware girlfriend played her shot and came so close to hitting the bullseye. Or the way Sophia’s hand would rest on Jake’s chest as he held her in his arms (just the way that Amy wishes she could do), and the way she would laugh so happily as he commented on the drunk guys dancing near them.

It was all very simple, but undeniably sweet, and Amy doesn’t know how she ever doubted that Jake would be anything but.

“Your covert skills need work, Santiago.”

The chair beside Amy scrapes angrily against the worn floorboards and she turns, startled by the interruption, quietly praying that her face isn’t quite as red as it suddenly feels. Terry, far more interested in taking the last sip of his scotch than commenting on her appearance, settles in to his new location next to her, and his glass hits the soaking cardboard coaster with a slap.

“Wha-huh? Covert skills? You really must be drunk, Sarge. We’re not even on a stakeout right now. Unless you’re talking about us staking out the contents of that fridge behind the bar haha!”

(She’s rambling - she knows she’s rambling; but cannot stop the desperate need to pretend that she hadn’t just been completely busted for spending her entire evening staring at a life she may never know.)

“Ugh. Okay fine.” Her mouth stretches out into a cringe, eyes flickering to the colleagues Terry had just walked away from. “How noticeable are we talking here?”

“Noticeable enough that Charles has spent the last 40 minutes lamenting on ‘the beautiful tragedy of unrequited love’”. Dropping his air quotes, Terry rolls his eyes, one eyebrow lowering as he returns to his drink. “He lost me when he started quoting poetry. Terry loves Shakespeare, but he could do with a little less soliloquies - and a little more spirits - tonight.”

“Oh! You know what, there was just a Shakespeare play in Polonsky that starred - ” Terry overlaps her last words with his own heavy voice, and Amy’s stops in it’s tracks.

“Dianne Wiest. Terry knows. That was his segue, Amy.”

She nods, sensing the need to dig up. “Should have known. Charles loves his Wiest feasts.” Terry grunts his assent, pressing his lips together as he savours another verse-less sip, and Amy seizes the opportunity to cast another furtive glance at the happy couple.

“Seriously, though. Just because Peralta hasn’t noticed, doesn’t mean the rest of us haven’t.”

Amy brushes her hair to the side, swirling the liquid in her glass with her free hand. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t been very subtle tonight, or whatever.” Her gaze returns to Jake, drawn to him like a magnet, and her heart squeezes once more.

To his credit, Terry gives her a moment; waiting for a silence to settle over their table before leaning forward in his chair, ignoring the sticky residue of the tabletop as he rests his arms on either side of his glass.

“Out with it, Santiago.”

She shakes her head, swallowing hard to push down the burgeoning lump in her throat. “They look really happy together, don’t they? He looks … happy.”

Terry shrugs, glancing in the direction of Amy’s eye line. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“He does! All shiny and cheerful and just .. happy.”

“I don’t know. Terry remembers a time when you and Teddy looked just as content.” His look is pointed, and followed by the unsubtle raise of his eyebrows. Amy nods, draining the last of her drink. Somehow, she has a feeling that Sophia’s underwear isn’t lined with mesh like Teddy’s had been (and even if it was, it would be some kind of inexplicably sexy mesh, for sure).

“Sometimes things aren’t what they seem, sarge.”

“You know that works both ways, don’t you?”

Nodding again, Amy wipes her thumb along the smudged lipstick print on her glass, choosing to remain silent. Terry didn’t get it - none of them got it, really. She’d had her chance, the very first time the words romantic styles were uttered, and she’d let it slip away. And now, she has to live with the consequences.

Clearing his throat, Terry continues. “I mean … she is a defence attorney, you know.”

“But see, even that isn’t something that I can fault. Not fairly, anyway.” Clocking the look of disbelief on Terry’s face, Amy shrugs defensively, waving her hand vaguely in Sophia’s direction. “I know we all like to joke and call them evil, but really … all they’re doing is making us prove that our findings are beyond reasonable doubt. If anything, it’s people like her that push us to do better - to work harder to make sure that we’re definitely charging the right person. And as annoying as that can be, it’s definitely not a reason to hate her.”

“Kinda sounds like you do, though.”

She shakes her head, feeling the sense of defeat sink into her bones. “I really don’t. She’s incredibly smart, and funny and beautiful … she honestly looks like she should be in a commercial for shampoo or something. She’s perfect for Jake, and I’m just …”

“You’re just … ?”

Shrugging, Amy slots her thumbnail into the edge of the coaster underneath her glass. It, like her heart, had seen better days, and it was time for her to cut her losses. “I’m just … going home.”

“What? No. Stay! Our squad kicked butt this week, Amy. We all deserve a drink.”

Painting another smile onto her face (she really is getting good at them), Amy pushes her seat away from the table, allowing herself one more glimpse at Jake’s smile before shaking her head at Terry. “Sorry sarge, I just can’t seem to celebrate tonight.”

Heading towards the exit without a second thought, Amy doesn’t see Jake pull away from Sophia, taking a half step in the direction of the door as he watches her leave. She doesn’t notice him pull out his phone, start to type a message before hesitating, pocketing it without hitting send. The night moves on as Amy walks away, and the streets are deafeningly silent as soon as the bar door closes behind her.

The sky seems to feel just as morose as Amy this evening, tiny droplets dropping onto her grey work blazer as she waits for a cab; too lost in her thoughts to take in the frivolity of a parting crowd. As the rain increases and the splotches on her blazer turn into tiny Rorschach Tests she decides to give herself one more night - one last night of wishing for things that will never be.

In the backseat on her ride home Amy twists her hands together, linking her fingers and imagining not for the first time that one hand was Jake’s (she would imagine similar .. later). She thinks of what it could be like to have his warm presence near hers .. to have his hand resting on her leg, not out of possession but just to be near. Watching him get out of the car first, only to turn and offer a helping hand for her exit, every time without fail.

She pictures what it would be like to feel the brick exterior of her apartment against her back as Jake presses his soft lips against hers, kissing the life out of her, making her see stars before pulling her into the apartment for so much more.

He wouldn’t always be the perfect partner - and lord knows, neither would she - but Amy knows that through it all he would remain her best friend, because even through all of this yo-yo pattern of denial and admittance, thats who Jake has been for her. After all these years, he’s become the only one she wants to talk to, at any given moment of the day, who knows her coffee order better than his own and remembers her Abuela’s birthday, even when she hasn’t mentioned it in weeks.

The scent of rain lingers in her apartment as Amy readies herself for bed, casting her pantsuit aside with drunken abandonment and giving her face a half-hearted wash before stumbling towards her bed. She closes her eyes, the thoughts of what could have been still so loud in her quiet apartment, hugging the pillow beside her tightly while her mind begins to wander.

As she finally drifts off to sleep that night, Amy tries not to remember the smile that Jake gave her as they danced so long ago at the community hall - that special kind of smile, that made her think that maybe it was solely for her - and tells herself once. and. for. all. that sometimes, life just doesn’t work out the way you’d hope.

* *

It’s a rush of cool air that alerts Amy to a brand new morning, the drop in temperature squashed as quickly as it arrives by the wrapping of a warm arm around her middle. She smiles into the pillow as it completes its protective loop, letting her body get pulled closer to the human hot water bottle in the middle of her bed, and if there was a better way to wake up on a cold day, Amy is yet to see it.

She lets out a sigh of comfort as the bridge of a prominent nose digs into her shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his breath through her old academy shirt, nestling closer until her legs are well and truly tangled amongst his. It’s late, later than she would normally allow herself to sleep, but the two of them were far too invested in basking in the afterglow of a rainy Saturday filled with sex and movies to consider leaving the bedroom anytime soon.

Jake’s voice is rough, the remnants of a deep sleep obvious in his throat. “Today’s Sunday, right?”

Amy nods, wriggling herself just free enough to turn within her boyfriend’s embrace. His hair is sticking out on all ends - unaided, she is certain, by her hands the night before - and she runs the tip of her thumb along his right cheekbone. Though his eyes are still closed, he leans into her touch, and she grins. “Definitely Sunday. A rainy Sunday, but part of the weekend all the same.”

He nods, the short and prickly fibres of his morning stubble scratching her palm. “Good. More time for time machine building.”

“… we’re building a time machine?”

“Yeah, one that lets us skip past all the boring work stuff, and leaves us with all the time in the world for more of this. Kinda like that movie Click, but a lot less ‘trying to change the past’ stuff, and a lot more sex.”

She chuckles, and his left foot rubs along the side of her calf under the blanket. “You’re crazy, Peralta.” (Although, she will admit - the ‘a lot more sex’ part did sound kinda great.)

His eyelids flutter open, gaze growing soft as a smile stretches across his face. “You’re beautiful, Santiago.”

Amy feels her cheeks begin to heat up, resisting the urge to cool herself down by tucking her hair away, completely unable to move as long as Jake continues to look at her like that. There’s a pimple growing underneath the surface of her chin that is going to rival Mount Vesuvius, and her morning breath could probably wilt the flower pots living happily on her kitchen’s windowsill. But here, in bed with her boyfriend of almost two years, she feels more beautiful than all of her best days put together.

“I don’t think I’ve told you this today, but I love you, Jake.”

Leaning forwards, Jake’s soft lips press against Amy’s, and he winks as he pulls away. “I mean, we’ve both been awake for a sum total of three minutes, so yeah, you’re pretty late with the love you’s today, babe.”

Her free hand flies out from under the cover, delivering an indignant smack to Jake’s chest, and he grabs it back before she can pull away, linking their fingers together and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I love you too, Ames. Even if you don’t want to build a time machine with me, I still love you.”

She laughs - a giggle that starts in her belly and bursts through her lungs, something that she’s been doing a lot more of these days - and pulls Jake in for a longer kiss, morning breath be damned.

One day, in eight or so years time, they’ll have a son - a miniature version of Jake that, much like his father, runs to the beat of his own drum; and answers to the name Mac. Amy will fall pregnant again, and when they explain to their son that he’s going to be a big brother, his response is so perfectly him that it makes Amy’s eyes tear up with laughter.

For they are, by Mac’s decree, now officially a Ninja Turtle family. He is Raphael (or ‘Rafel’), Jake Michelangelo due to his love of nunchaku, and Amy nabs Leonardo purely out of homage to one of her favourite artists. The mini-Peralta still growing in her womb is, by default, Donatello (or Donatella, depending), and even though there was a time when Amy truly felt like she could never be this lucky, she will love their little family with all of her heart.

But for now, she has Jake; and together they have warm bedsheets and no plans for a future that isn’t together - no matter what obstacles may be thrown their way.

And Amy realises, as Jake begins to trace a series of kisses along her side of her neck; truly, being loved by him is better than she could have ever imagined.

#it's all about the yearning #pining!Amy #fic prompts #has the ninja turtle family thing been done? I can't remember #b99 fanfic #peraltiago fanfiction #b99fic

70 notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Lucid Dream

Category: Hurt and Comfort, Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Naruto

Characters: Shikamaru Nara, Sakura Haruno

EDIT: This beautiful piece of artwork was made by the lovely @deliathedork who just can’t seem to stop spoiling me rotten with all the presents! TT.TT Please give her some love too! She is very, very talented!

Bonjour, mes amis! Here’s today’s story for ShikaSaku Week Hanami, prompt “Drip, Drip, Drip (Our Blood). For some reason I really like writing in Shikamaru’s POV… Anyway, enjoy~

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The slow, melodic sound was the first thing to greet Shikamaru as he phased into consciousness. His vision rolled as he forced his eyes open but could only manage to part his eyelids into a small slit for the overwhelming nausea that engulfed him upon doing so. Eyelashes fluttering like a trembling leaf as he struggled to keep his eyes open and survey his surroundings and current situation, the water kept dripping. Drip. Drip. Drip. Dust was dancing in thin brown clouds all around him. It was dark save for a few spearing shafts of light pouring down from large, gaping holes in the ceiling.

A ceiling- he was in a building, or what was left of it. Chunks of the wall and roof were littered around him in great heaping gobs of crushed stone, with little pebbles and normal-sized rocks scattered around like their voluminous brood. Glass intermingled with the carnage, glowing with sheen as they reflected the harsh sunlight invading the dark space. Shikamaru turned his head to his left, though the muscles in his neck and shoulders screamed loudly in protest, to find a cavernous expanse stretching out just beside him. The floor- and the three stories underneath- lie far below in an indistinct collection of rubble. Illuminated by the sunlight below, a large red puddle bloomed on the smooth surface of one of the rock faces, a lake of blood that splintered off into many rivers that meandered into the cracks.

Drip. Another bead of blood bloomed on the tip of his finger from where his arm was slung carelessly into the void, then detached itself to fall down, down, down and splash into the puddle below. Blood. His blood, to be exact. It was a lot. How was he bleeding so much?

The spike of twisted metal embedded through his lower abdomen provided that answer. The jade green of his vest was dyed a dark brown where the blood had seeped into the thick fabric. He shifted slightly and could feel the sticky mass of blood squelching against his backside, traveling all the way down his left leg. The stretch of floor that he was laying on was sloped downwards and to the left, allowing the blood to run up his body, catch on his left arm, and pool on his hand before gravity stole it away.

“Well, shit,” he wheezed. His right arm twitched as he tried to move it, but the muscles were hesitant to comply at first. Slowly, he eased his arm up; his right hand shook violently that it made tremors wrack all the way up to his shoulder. Somehow, he wrapped his hand around the spear of metal that was jutting out of his stomach and gave it an experimental tug. All he earned himself was shooting pain blooming like flower petals from the epicenter of his wound; his head smacked back against the concrete as he hissed loudly in agony. That certainly wasn’t budging. It was probably his luck that the metal was worked into the concrete and had bent upon the building collapsing, and he had landed right on top of it. Pulling it out was counter-productive anyway; he would bleed out almost instantaneously. Shikamaru’s eyebrows threaded together as he fought to remember how he had ended up in such a drag in the first place.

The memories threaded like beads of dew on a spiderweb, spaced far apart but no less interconnected; he recalled something about raiding a suspected drug cartel compound. He tugged at the thread in his mind, hoping that all the dew beads would merge to form a coherent series of events. Green eyes and pink hair suddenly clouded him memories. Sakura, that’s right, he was with Sakura in the fifth-floor raid party; to catch the enemy unawares, they had planned to attack every floor at once to keep those on the upper floors from barricading themselves in or utilizing a secret escape route. It had been going all fine and dandy until some nutjob had decided to strap a bunch of paper bombs to himself to become a martyr. They had been in far too close quarters for the both of them to escape, and Shikamaru’s brightest idea at the time had been to wrench Sakura out of the window then dive for the stairs. The paper bombs had exploded and the floor had collapsed, and apparently, Shikamaru had ended up here.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The blood continued to accumulate in the rubble below.

Sakura… Is she okay? The girl was by no means a slouch, but she probably hadn’t expected to be flung off the fifth floor of a building, either. Shikamaru ought to be concerned with himself, but his thoughts were bent on the medical ninja. He could’ve killed her, really. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that were the case. Of all the things, that stupid set of decisions? He should’ve reacted faster. There were any number of alternate scenarios that could’ve unfolded, but that had been the one he had opted for. God, he was an idiot. If she did live, he almost hoped he did die to spare himself the beating he was sure to catch later.

Wow. He was actually acting like he was going to make it out of this alive. His vision, already fuzzing black around the edges, settled once more on the sharp metal bit jutting out of his abdomen. Shikamaru felt bile rise up in the back of his throat as he felt the acidic tang of fear beginning to flood his mouth. His grip tightened around the iron, as if his hand alone could shatter it. Waves of tingling numbness began to course over his body, head to toe. Then there was that goddamned dripping. Drip. Drip. Drip. It pulsed loudly in his eardrums like tinnitus, sending spikes of pain shooting into his skull with each accursed drop. He didn’t want to die. It’s not like Shikamaru was the biggest go-getter, but still, there were things he wanted to accomplish in life before kicking the bucket. He had to see Naruto become Hokage. More than that, he had to be that dumbass’s advisor, because he sure didn’t trust anyone else to do it. God, even though it was a drag, he wanted to get married, maybe have a kid or two, watch them grow up… Maybe, then, maybe he could die- but not right now. Not yet.

Sakura.

Maybe the blood loss was making him delirious. He was trying to keep his breath from coming in ragged, shallow gasps, because the faster he breathed, the faster the blood pumped through his veins, and the faster his blood began to drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Had it sped up? How long had it been since the building collapsed? One minute? Ten? How close was he to death, actually?

Sakura.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Girls were a drag. Shikamaru had always thought so. Seeing Ino and Sakura butt heads like fighting mountain goats was enough to solidify that in his brain. Yet… Somehow they had become less of a drag, over time. Especially her. Especially Sakura. He admired her, even. She was a bit feisty, but he preferred that to a total giggly fake pushover. She was smart, so he could hold intelligent conversation with her. She was strong, stupidly so, which meant Shikamaru never had to worry. Of course he hadn’t hurt her throwing her out of the building. It was Sakura, after all. She probably hurt the ground rather than the other way around.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He was definitely delirious. His vision swam like swirling water before his hazy eyes. He didn’t even have the strength to hold his head up any more. One minute? Ten? It felt like a lifetime. He was definitely delirious, because he was regretting not telling her that he loved her. When did that happen? They hung out, sure. They were often paired on missions because they worked well together. He’d walked her home after they went out to dinner a couple times, but that was just work stuff. Friend stuff, if he was being generous.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Did he think about her sometimes? Sure, but his mind just wandered like that. Wandered, to her pink hair like the cherry blossoms in bloom, to her spring green eyes that sparkled like a beautiful sea they had seen once in a mission out of the country, to her beautiful smile that shone like the sun itself. He had to be delirious, because he could see her before his waking eyes, calling his name with tears in those eyes like new spring growth.

“Shikamaru! Shikamaru, can you hear me?”

Was she actually there? Was she an illusion? Shikamaru really couldn’t tell. Everything around her was a smudge of indistinct grays and blacks and browns with those burning streaks of white light, yet she was so crisp and clear. His eyes settled on an abnormality, on the trail of bright red blood streaming down the side of her face from a gash in her forehead. Was that his fault? It traveled down her cheek, mixing with her pouring tears, down to her chin, where it beaded like a red jewel and dropped down onto his vest. Drip. Drip. Drip.

“Sakura… You’re… Bleeding…” Was that his voice? It sounded so garbled, like a frog croaking. His whole body was numb at this point, and the only point he knew that he had actually lifted up his hand was when it appeared in his line of sight. His trembling thumb gently swept over the thin laceration as his expression contorted into one of regret. “Sorry…”

“What? This? No, no, this is nothing!” Maybe it was his imagination, but she seemed to lean into his touch, cheek brushing into his palm. “Shikamaru, you saved me. I would have died in that explosion if you hadn’t pushed me out of the way.” His mouth twisted into a pitiful rendition of a smile. She wasn’t mad. No beating for him. He was finally catching a stroke of luck. That lovely pink hair of her whirled as she whipped her head around to shout at Naruto and Kiba, who were finally ascending the half-broken stairs to assist her.

“Sakura, you shouldn’t have run up the stairs like that! They’re all half-collapsed, believe it! We almost died!”

“Yeah, like, three times.”

“Shut up and help me!” Her voice was high-pitched, nearly manic. The tone demanded their will to comply. Shikamaru’s breath was rattling in his lungs now. It felt like it was water he was breathing, not oxygen, heavy and suffocating. He could vaguely hear the two boys suck in horrified gasps when they neared him, and Sakura vaguely instructing them to hold him still as she bent off the end of the pole. She stood over him, one foot on either side of his hips, while Naruto crouched down at his head to push his palms into his chest. Sakura grasped the end of the pole and charged her fists with chakra, and then bent the piece of metal as close as she dare to the gaping hole that was his wound.

The vibrations alone were enough to send Shikamaru’s legs to spasming, and Kiba had to dive on them to keep him from accidentally kicking her away. Short pained cries left his mouth, dignity ignored. It of course didn’t snap immediately; she had to bend it back and forth, working weakness into the metal until it finally broke, snapping off in a jagged point just above his heaving belly. “Shikamaru, this is going to hurt like hell.”

“Wha- AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGH!” he howled as the three of them all but jerked him off the remaining short spike of metal. The barbed end ripped through his flesh with fervor, sending more blood spurting into the air and his vision flaring white as he fought desperately against fainting. His entire body burned like he was being submerged in lava, but especially that small circle of agony in his lower abdomen. As soon as they had him on the ground again, Sakura was straddling his waist with her hands pressed deep into his wound, dying them a dark red that he could even see through the hemisphere of green healing chakra; his body continued to twitch with lingering tendrils of fiery pain wracking his nervous system. He was wheezing as his wide eyes attempted to fixate on her trembling form but failing miserably as they danced with white and black spots. He could feel the light tremors against his body. Her tears continued to flow, gathering on the end of her chin to splash down below.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

“S-Saku… ra… I…”

“No. Don’t you do that,” she growled at him. Her green eyes, alight with furious fire, snapped up to meet his. “You’re not dying. Not here. Not like this. I won’t let you.” He couldn’t help but allow the tired smirk to form on his lips. So angry all the time. It was amazing how much roiling rage was pent up in that petite body.

His hand was moving again. It settled in her threads of disheveled pink hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Stop moving. It makes this harder,” she ordered, but with much less bark. Shikamaru ignored her, going to tug on the neck of her shirt to get her attention. “What?” What he mumbled, she could not here. A faint tinge of pink arose to her cheeks, but whether that was from embarrassment or ire, she wasn’t sure. She shifted such that she was now kneeling by his side, allowing her to both continue administering medical ninjutsu to his wound and leaning close to his face. “What did you say?”

“Just in case,” he wheezed in a hoarse laugh, and with the last of his strength, he pushed his head up so he could press a light kiss to her lips. He actually managed to hold it for a few seconds before his head smacked back down to the concrete. She stared owlishly down at him for a few seconds more. She would probably still hit him even in his condition for pulling a stunt like that, but hey. “Don’t look at me like that,” he simpered weakly. “You’re not one to deny a dying man his first kiss, are you?” A trail of blush blazed across her cheeks like a sudden wildfire.

“Idiot,” she grumbled, looking back down to his wound. “You think I’m going to let you die now…?” He quirked his eyebrow at her soft features. Was that a smile he saw? He would’ve thought she would be angry. He yelped loudly when she suddenly applied more pressure to his abdomen. “Idiot! I’m gonna heal this stupid wound of yours so I can kill you myself! Jeez, men, can’t even handle a scratch before they start getting weird ideas in their head!” she raged loudly, and in tandem, her green chakra flared all the brighter and became bubbly and unfocused around the edges. He sputtered out apologies as the force of her fists against his stomach literally bent his spine and forced him to sit up a little.

“Yeesh, Sakura,” Naruto frowned at her. “I thought it was kinda romantic, actually…”

“Yeah, if I was a girl, I’d swoon,” Kiba agreed with his arms crossed.

“Shut up! You two want some of this?! Why don’t you go and make yourself useful with the clean-up effort before they’re washing your blood off the walls!” The two followed her advice and made a hasty retreat. She began muttering under her breath about their incompetency, which made him chuckle slightly. He soon regretted that, because it flared that flower of pain in his belly again.

“Ouch…”

“That was reckless,” she scolded him quietly. It took him a second to register that he was referring to his abomination of a strategy earlier.

“I know. I probably could’ve come up with something better if I had been thinking straight.” He could talk in longer sentences now without gasping for air, so he supposed his chances of dying were now slimmer.

“You? Not thinking straight?”

“I was too busy thinking about how I didn’t want you to die.” Her mouth folded in on itself as she blushed darker. She looked away, likely because she was embarrassed for him to see. A long period of silence unfolded between them, a book with blank pages. Shikamaru wasn’t sure of what he wanted to write there. Perhaps it didn’t need to be written at all.

“You…” she sighed, looking back to him finally as she removed her hands from his abdomen. “I’ve stopped the bleeding and sealed the wound shut, but it’s only a temporary fix. You need surgery. Move too much and you’ll bust it open again.”

“Moving too much? Doesn’t sound like me.”

“You could have died!” she shouted at him suddenly. Despite what he had just said, he flinched violently, and his hand shot to the half-closed wound as it snarled in protest. His eyebrows were knitted together as he stared up at her face, twisted in agony and regret. “You could’ve died,” she repeated, more softly, “and I don’t know what I would’ve done if you had.” She hung her head. He watched those tears, tinged pink with the blood still leaking from her forehead cut, drip down onto her lap. Drip. Drip. Drip.

He clenched his teeth tightly, forcing himself up onto his elbows, then pushing off to unsteadily pull himself into a sitting position. He slung his arms loosely around the crying girl, half in a consoling embrace and half in a gesture to ensure he didn’t fall right back down. He pushed his head into hers, his dark black strands weaving with those lovely pink ones.

“But I didn’t,” he breathed into her scalp, “because you saved me.” He felt her shaking hands screw into the fabric of the back of his vest as she held onto him tightly. Her face was buried into his shoulder, smearing it with blood and tears and low sobs.

Surely, he was no longer delirious.

He slipped his hand under her head to grasp her gently by the chin, lifting up her face. Somehow, it was possible for her to still be incredibly beautiful, even with her face smeared with dirt and smudged with blood and her expressed scrunched up into misery. Those bright green eyes peeked out at him through thick, tear-heavy lashes. “You saved me,” he repeated comfortingly. Her eyes flickered a few times before falling to his lips. Her gaze rested there for a moment.

“Just in case.” Her voice was like a breath among howling wind, nearly inaudible. She closed her eyes as she leaned into kiss him. This time, her lips molded fully into his, and he relished how soft and pliant they felt under his. With a hunger he had never known, he devoured her in passionate, starving kisses, pushing against her such that she had to brace herself with her palms flat against the concrete, back bent at a dramatic angle. His were holding her face in place as he kissed her fervently, over and over and over until both their mouths were sore and bruised. That ache in him wasn’t even close to being filled, but he forced himself to pull back regardless, mostly because his head was beginning to swim again. He laughed breathily as his forehead fell into her shoulder, and her arms jumped up to wrap around his broad back.

“Rest,” she cajoled him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“When I wake up, will this all have been some sort of twisted lucid dream?” he laughed wryly.

“No,” she laughed and pressed a kiss into the top of his head. “Not a dream.” Shikamaru decided to take that at face value and practically melted into her, allowing all of his muscles to finally relax. As he breathed in air, Sakura’s scent wafted in with it, a blend of strawberries and cream and the fresh spring breeze.

Even if he never woke up, he was pretty content with going out this way, held in the arms of the woman he daresay he loved while the sunlight warmed his back… Of course, it would be nice if he did wake up, lucid dream or not.

After all, there was a lot he still had left to do… Marry a girl, maybe have a kid or two, watch them grow up… retire to a home in the countryside, with cherry blossoms blooming in the brilliance of spring, and be greeted every morning by that smile that rivaled the glow of the very sun.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @searchfortheonepiece @shikasaku-week

#shikasakuweek #shikasaku week #shikasku-week #shikasakuweek hanami #shikasaku week hanami #shikasaku #shikamaruxsakura #shikamaru x sakura #sakura x shikamaru #sakuraxshikamaru #sakura haruno #haruno sakura #shikamaru nara #nara shikamaru #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto fanfiction #naruto fanfic

42 notes · View notes

a19yearoldtryinherbest · 5 years

Text

McLovin. Pt1 [Officer Slater]

Masterlist

Part 2 - Part 3

Prompt: Fogell comes home wasted with two cops, and her sister doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

Warning: Swearing, use of drugs and alcohol, mild sexual content.

A/N: Apparently I’m thirsting over every character Bill Hader has ever played, but i’m not complaining. So there is one or two Officer Slater fic/headcanon/imagines around (gee, I wonder why) so I thought to fill in the void. This probably won’t get many notes but I had to, also there might be a second part after this one, not sure yet.

Word count: 1754

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Fogell was a loser but every Friday night he would hang out with his idiotic friend Seth and the dorky Evan so Amy wasn’t worried when she didn’t found him around for her monthly visit from college. She was scared, however, when she saw him walk towards the hose, completely shitfaced, accompanied by two officers at seven in the morning. She put her shirt back on and ran outside, hoping her mother wouldn’t wake up from the noise and saw his brother completely wasted.

She was still a little drunk and a little high, she had just came from a night at the bar with some old high school friends that were in town and she hadn’t had time to sober up, so she didn’t really thought of anything else but to go downstairs open the front door and go to her brother.

— You little shit, what the fuck happened to you? — she said, almost forgetting about the cops.

— Nothing much, sista’.

— Fuck, McLovin, is she gonna rat us out? — the redheaded oficer said, standing still with his hands on his hips.

— Who the fuck is McLovin? — she asked, completely confused.

— I am. — her brother said and then turned to officer — She’s cool, Michaels.

Both officers mumbled an alright under their breaths as Amy kept looking for someone to explain what was happening, why were these two drunk cops with his drunk, underage brother at her parent’s house at seven in the morning. She knew it wasn’t the drugs or the alcohol but nobody explained anything to her as they just walked into the house bags on their arms clicking to one another as their went down to the basement, of course she came with.

— Slater, don’t you have to go to your wife? — her brother said as they laid into the futons, grabbing a few hard drinks from the bag.

— What, no, kid. That was to mess with you. — Slater said, opening up the tequila and taking a swing at it.

Forgell chuckled as he put a movie in the DVD player — I knew your ex wasn’t a hooker.

— No, that part was true. — he responded, a somewhat serious face as he winced from the alcohol going down his throat.

They remained quiet for a few seconds, waiting for the movie to begin but that didn’t happened. Amy grabbed the remote from his brother’s hand, stood in front of the TV and pressed pause — Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on? — she asked, annoyed and confused.

Slater took a good look at her, starting with her soft, bare legs, going up her short black skirt, taking a good look at her ass and her slim waist. He smirked a little as he looked at her boobs before looking at her face. She was really pretty, even with her make up smudged and her eyes red. Wait. Her eyes were red — What the hell are two drunk cops doing in my basement at seven AM?

— Seven? Nice, we’re off duty. — said Michaels, taking his batch off and throwing it away.

Slater stood up and walked a bit towards Amy, he didn’t took off his batch, he knew some girls where hot for the uniform so he accommodated his belt as he let his right hand hang there as he explained — Well, we found McLovin trying to buy alcohol with a fake ID so we took him under our wing and took him on a ride. — he looked at her, the whole time, more specifically, her eyes. Trying to see if those were high red or tired red.

— Then why is he drunk? — she asked, putting her hands on her hips and copying his stance.

— Why are you high? — he asked and she immediately dropped her hands, worried look on her face.

— Ohh! Someone’s in trouble! — Michaels chanted, teasing her as she was clearly nervous. She fidgeted on the spot, trying to find an answer, forgetting the bizarre situation and seeing only the cop who knew she was high.

Officer Slater broke down in laughter, as she stared at him confused — I’m just messing with you. — he said, making her relax and start laughing, his laughter was pretty contagious. As they both stopped, he said — We went drinking and busted a party, that’s were the drinks are from. — he omitted the part were they committed several crimes, McLoving got kind of laid, they falsified a police report, burned down their parole car and let the under aged boy shot a handgun at it.

— Glad we got all of that out of the way. Can we watch the movie now? — asked Michaels. Amy put play on and moved from in front of the TV, bumping Slater on the way.

As the movie began she was wondering if she should go or stay, but before she could make a choice he turned and asked — Do you have any left? — she looked at him, a bit dazed, and nodded when she understood what he was talking about — Would you share it? — she must have been hallucinating, there was no way that this -very cute looking- cop was asking her, after bringing his drunk little brother home, if they could smoke some weed together.

— I only got a bit less than a quarter…

— Don’t worry. It would be just the two of us. — he smirked.

She didn’t even know what to do with herself. She nodded and guided him to her bedroom. Fogell paid no mind to his sister walking upstairs with the older officer, too entertained with the movie and the way the alcohol made him feel. Michael did, he just smirked and looked over his shoulder to see Slater give him a very excited thumbs up.

— Nice bedroom, very… standardized. — he said, looking at the dark green and white decor. There was nothing that claimed this bedroom as her own except for some old literature books, some make up and the clothes that was on the small handbag on the floor.

— It’s the guests room. It used to be my bedroom but I don’t live here now, I’m just visiting from college. — she explained, still looking for her stash.

She found it, grabbed the bottle of water from her desk as he opened the window and both left to the roof, insisting her parents would wake up at the smell, otherwise.

She lit it and held her breath as she passed it to him, her mind was still assessing the situation. She had came back from a night out to see his brother come home, wasted with two cute and drunk cops, one of which was in the basement, watching a movie with his little brother, and the other was with her, on the roof, smoking weed. She drank some water at the second she flat her throat itching a little.

— So what do you study? — he asked, passing the joint back to her, trying not to blow out the smoke from his lungs yet. She inhale and when he started coughing she passed him the water.

— I’m doing a English major. — She said before exhaling the smoke and drinking some more water — Not really sure why.

They stayed quiet as they kept smoking, Slater offering her the last bit. She smoked it and turn it completely off with some saliva in her finger and pressing the tip.

— You’re really hot. — he said, watching her throw the remains of the joint into the house’s front yard.

— You’re more cute than hot, — she looked at him, a smile on her face as she saw the way his doofy eyes looked at her — but you’re hot too.

He smiled and came closer to her, closing in the distance between their lips, kissing her softly as he caressed the left side of her face. She immediately kissed him back. Her senses were quite off, so were his, but they both could agree that it felt nice, the kiss was a bit sloppy and slow, like if they were both savoring the moment.

They both started to lay back into the roof and Amy took the chance to sit on top of him, one leg on each side of his hip, softly grinding against him ever so often just to tease him a little. But she found it very enticing since every time she’d do it he would get a bit more hard. She smiled into the kiss as she felt his bulge harden more when she slid her hand towards his crotch, caressing him above his pants.

As they were getting more and more worked up and he slid a hand between her legs, caressing her on top of her underwear, she remembered where they were — Wait. — she whispered.

— Why? — he asked, his voice a bit hoarse as he stopped massaging her clit, however he didn’t move his hands away from her.

— We’re on the roof. — she laughed, moving away from him — Let’s go inside. — she said, taking the water bottle and the lighter before stepping inside. She helped him in, but he tripped and they both fell to the ground, laughing their asses off before the enticing levity of their position took them to start kissing again — Let’s get in the bed. — she whispered in his ear, sounding soft yet husky. He nodded almost fanatically, his mind was racing fast and was all over the place, even with the alcohol and drugs on it.

They laid on the bed, bedsheets pulled over them as they explored eachother’s body. He took her shirt off and kissed her cleavage and the top of her breast, he was gonna keep going until

— WHO THE HELL ARE YOU? — they both froze in their spot, luckily the yelling came from downstairs.

— Shit! —Slater looked at Amy with a puzzled look on his face as she looked for her shirt and put it on. She looked at him since he wasn’t moving — Get up! That’s my dad. — she said and took his hand to help him stand up.

How the hell was she gonna get them out of this one?

#officer slater #Officer Slater imagine #officer slater x reader #superbad #McLovin #bill hader #bill hader x reader #Bill Hader Imagine #bill hader x OFC

235 notes · View notes

charmingcentry · 5 years

Text

Nodes

Summary: Beca discovers about Chloe’s vocal nodule surgery over spring break after their acapella performance with the brunette’s change to the setlist. She decides to visit.

Entry for Day 5 - Why Are You Here?

AO3

It was the beginning of spring break and Beca couldn't feel more unhappy.

She could see the steam blow out of Aubrey’s head and Beca felt tears rise to her own eyes when the blonde made the choice of removing the brunette from the Bellas.

And no one stood up for her.

Not Fat Amy, not Stacie, not even Jessica, the most optimistic and smiley person in the group, no. Not even Chloe Beale, the co-captain. The only person who did defend the brunette, Beca screamed frustratedly at. She had turned right on her heel and stormed out of the auditorium.

Because that's what she did best.

If all else fails, she runs.

Beca misses strolling over to rehearsal every day at 4:00, even if she wasn't particularly fond of the captain or the cardio activity. She misses the parts where Stacie couldn't stop groping herself and the group would end up in a laughing fit. Beca misses how Fat Amy occasionally orders pizza during cardio and would dine in front of the girls with absolutely zero fucks given. She misses Lilly’s ominous comments and how her face would spontaneously pucker up.

Most of all, she misses that person who she sang Titanium in the shower with.

Beca misses Chloe Beale with her bright blue eyes full of hope.

As cliché as it may sound, the redhead made practice more enjoyable and worthwhile. The little winks Chloe would throw Beca during their stretching, the compliments of how good Beca executes a dance move even though the brunette is aware of how she's been half-heartedly doing these dance moves for the past couple of months. She misses how Chloe and she would usually be the last ones to leave rehearsal because the redhead insisted on walking Beca back to her dormitory.

Those were times Beca took for granted and now she may not even see the girls on a regular basis. Her first female friend group disappeared right before Beca’s very eyes just like that.

Everyone has each other's phone numbers, Aubrey created a Bellas group chat with everyone's number on it and was left with a text from Chloe.

Bree and I are proud of everyone's hard work put into this season… hopefully, you guys can carry on and get into the Championship next year! xxx

It was left on read by everyone, even Aubrey… looks like everyone was bitter after that performance. No one has texted the group chat ever since the performance which isn't surprising. Hell, no one even texted one another separately, even if Beca was on good terms with the other Bellas - must've felt awkward.

At this point, Beca didn't have any friends around with the exception of her roommate Kimmy Jin. Well, more like she's the only person that the brunette is able to communicate with… the Asian roommate still wasn't fond of Beca. Even if that may be the case, Beca still preferred to keep to pent up all of her frustrations.

She didn't know what else to do.

Beca's huddled up in the corner of her small bed, watching a movie. She's sniffling and crying when she notices her phone vibrate - it's been on vibrate ever since the group's fallout. The brunette wipes her tears away and picks up the phone and notices her father’s name.

Dad 1 text message

Beca quirked up an eyebrow as she removed her headphones, it's odd that her father would message her out of the blue, the two haven't talked or seen each other since Beca had gotten arrested even if they’re on the same campus. Before the brunette could answer, her phone pings again.

Dad 2 text messages

Beca decides to open the texting app.

Is your friend Chloe okay? I heard she got surgery and that’s why she hasn’t been attending study groups lately.

Surgery? What could Chloe be getting surgery for? Beca begins to text until her father sends another message.

Do you not know?

Beca swiftly types across her keyboard, head tilted.

havent talked to her since the performance

Oh. How’s the Bellas?

Beca looks up to the ceiling to prevent more tears from falling. havent talked to them since the performance.

I’m sorry.

Beca hovers her thumbs over the keyboard, circling around letters. She tugs at her bottom lip, she knows what she will ask might become a mess - but Beca is tired of running. do u know the address of the hospital?

Oh! Let me ask one of the students here… Chloe’s really close with the study group people.

The brunette nodded and removed the blanket on top of her along with the bulky black headphones. She shut down her laptop as she waited for her father to respond, slipping her boots on. Her phone pings and Beca immediately opened her phone.

423 Carnegie Way. You planning to visit?

It was too obvious at this point to lie. yes. can i take ur car?

Go ahead. Parked by your dormitory. You have the spare key right?

yeah

Okay, drive safely.

Beca shuts her phone off and just as she’s about to run out the door, her roommate stops her.

“Your makeup, idiot.” Kimmy Jim deadpans, the brunette turns around with a slightly amused expression as she walks over to her mirror. She notices her eyeliner smudged from the crying and somehow forgotten. Beca walks over to her bedside drawer and grabs a packet of makeup wipes then walks back out. “Beca?”

The brunette turns around. “Yeah what’s up?”

“Good job.” Kimmy Jins answers, Beca could tell she was fighting back a smile.

“Cya Kimmy Jin.”

The brunette exits the dormitory building towards her father’s car in the parking lot. Beca unlocks the vehicle and sits in the driver’s seat, wiping off the heavy eyeliner from her face and immediately starts the car once her makeup is completely removed. She pulls out of the parking lot as she starts the GPS for the hospital Chloe is located at. This is either going to be a big mistake or the greatest thing Beca has done.

The brunette parks her father’s car which is intact - Beca accidentally scratched his car against a tree during high school and he won’t forget it. Beca turns off the engine and exits the vehicle and enters the quiet building. She walks towards the receptionist and notices the “Visting Hours” sign is lit, luck is on Beca’s side today. The receptionist looks up and smiles gently at Beca, she looks like she hasn’t received much sleep.

“How may I help you?”

Beca clears her throat and speaks in a lower octave. “Is there anyone by the name of Chloe Beale here?”

The receptionist quirks up an eyebrow. “Who may you be? Visitors can only be friends and family.”

“Oh, I’m her friend. I’m in the same acapella group as her, the Barden Bellas.” Beca groans at herself internally, she has a tendency to overshare when nervously speaking with strangers.

“Alright… yes, she’s here. Would you like to visit her?” Beca nods. The receptionist logs information into the computer and grabs the untearable visitor bands from underneath her desk. Beca holds out her wrist as the receptionist wraps the band around her wrist and cuts off the excess part. “She’s on level 3, room 303. Enjoy your visit.”

Beca waves goodbye at the friendly receptionist and walks to the elevators, pressing the third-floor button. She feels her heart rate pick up and hands go clammy, not sure whether if she’s nervous for Chloe’s reaction or seeing the redhead in general. The brunette’s mouth goes dry as the elevator doors open, Beca immediately being able to see her room on the right-hand side of the building. She slowly approaches the door and takes a shaky breath. The brunette opens the door.

Chloe is dressed in a hospital gown and she manages to make those displeasing gowns look good. She’s staring out of the window, earbuds plugged into her ear as she nods slowly along with a beat. Beca walks closer to her bed and the redhead slowly turns her head towards the brunette, she gapes her mouth open as she removes her earbuds.

“Hi Chlo…” Beca awkwardly waves, confused when Chloe turns away. She’s relieved to find the redhead turn back around with a pen and notepad.

Why are you here?

Beca takes a seat at the edge of her bed. “Just wanted to see how you were… did your surgery go well? What was it for?” The brunette asks, nervously fidgeting with her hands. Chloe smiles and writes her response down once again, Beca notices she switched hands for writing this time… ambidextrous.

It went well, I’m on vocal rest. And it’s cute how you worry. Remember my nodes? I removed them…

The brunette’s jaw drops as she inches closer to Chloe. “Oh wow, that’s… shit. Can you still sing?” Chloe nods and writes a note down.

Can’t sing above a G# maybe ever. Probably have to take voice therapy for like four to six weeks.

Beca brushes a stray hair behind her ear out of nervousness. “I’m sorry about that. At least you can still sing after right?” The redhead nods and writes a reply down.

You’re the first person to visit me you know? I expected maybe Aubrey or something but no… it's you. How come?

“I don’t know… felt like I was required too. You’re my friend.” Chloe’s smile washes over her face, that’s the first she’s smiled since Beca walked in. “Also… I’m really sorry for what I said to you after the performance. It was so fucked up and I wish I could take it back.” The redhead grabs Beca’s hand as she writes down another note.

No, it’s fine. I’m sorry too, I should’ve stood up to Bree. And that’s the first time I’ve heard you mention that I’m your friend :)

Beca laughs at the smiley face drawn at the end. “Yeah… don’t tell anyone. I have this whole ‘badassery’ vibe going on here.” The brunette gestures to her body with the hand not being held by Chloe’s. The redhead rolls her eyes and the smile grows wider. There’s silence between the two as Beca stares into Chloe’s bright blue eyes, blushing at the sight of her smile. Beca breathes in and lets out a shaky breath. “I really missed you Chlo.” The redhead’s eyes widen a bit as she writes once again.

I missed you too. Have you talked to any of the other girls yet?

Beca shakes her head no.

Wow, I’m the first? I’m special, aren’t I ;)

“Don’t get too cocky there Beale.” The brunette teases while smirking. “You just, I miss seeing your smile and going to practices with you and shit…” Chloe tilts her head. “I’ve never really felt close to someone until you? Maybe that’s because you saw me naked within like a week of meeting each other… that’s at least two bases you skipped there.” Beca jokes, causing Chloe to bite down her lip to prevent laughing too much. “I just… really really like you and I was worried about you and… yeah.” Beca is confused as to why Chloe’s eyes were huge until she realized what she just said. She stands from the bed, covering her mouth. “Shit I- fuck.” Chloe quickly scribbles down something on her notepad.

Wait, Beca no it’s okay! Sit back down.

The brunette clenches her hands into fists and slowly sits down. “I’m sorry I just… I tend to ramble and just, ugh fuck! I’m just so bad with this type of stuff…” Chloe gestures for Beca to come closer and so Beca does. The redhead plants a soft kiss on the corner of Beca’s mouth and smiles when Beca appears to be dumbfounded. Chloe immediately scribbles something on her notepad.

I really like you too idiot.

Beca rolls her eyes as she slowly grazes over the corner of her mouth with her fingertips, the feeling of Chloe’s lips still lingering. The brunette blushes as Chloe slips her hand into Beca’s. The redhead notices the time and frowns. She writes in her notepad with her free hand.

Hospital people don’t like it when you stay for too long… you should probably get going.

Beca frowned as she slowly stood up, still holding hands with Chloe. “Yeah… probably.” Chloe scribbles something down.

I hope the Bellas will regroup sometime soon.

The brunette nods. “Yeah me too…” Beca plants a kiss on Chloe’s forehead and waves goodbye to her possible girlfriend. The brunette leaves the hospital with a smile on her face and the feeling of Chloe’s lips still tingling the corner of her mouth. When she enters her father’s car, she immediately gets a text from Chloe.

FOOTNOTES LEADER WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL AND GROUP WAS DISQUALIFIED. WE’RE BACK IN BEC!

She smiles as she starts the car… luck was really on her side today.

#bechloe week 2019 #bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #enjoy

56 notes · View notes

aggresivelyfriendly · 6 years

Text

Chapter 3- Hana No Ami

Thanks for the reads, interest, and love! All of it!! Thanks to the tripod, @bleedinglove4h & @dirtystyles it would not happen without you. or would be shit and barely English, and definitely lack Japanese!

And a big special thanks for Harry, for proving me psychic at times, for giving me so much fodder, and for being a god damn Greek Muse!

"God dammit!" Ada seethed. She wanted to scream, but she had been making nice with Harry on set, and when she did that, she was able to get a few decent takes out of him.

Fine, they were more than decent. They were magic.

But, a few decent takes out of so many, and only one to two stellar ones was making her so frustrated she wanted to scream. It was there, it, whatever that was but it was buried under foot thick nerves, that got thicker if she was clearly frustrated. So she whispered it while she watched him look like he'd never been in love in his life.

She'd listened to his album, once, when she agreed to do the movie, so she knew him a little better.

And a couple more times, not so begrudgingly, because she liked it.

If she went by that, he had been in love. Ada supposed she should ask him, but all of her niceties were expended on set with him. That seemed like and after hours question. When he tried to talk to her after hours, she was short with him, and left no quarter for small talk. He was too nice.

So nice, he was exhausting her. He was so good when he was good, but it took very broad shoulders on her part to get him there.

Harry was really great before the camera turned on, everyday. When they first met for the day. He was enthusiastic and bright. His ideas were good. Those first few minutes were a glimmer of an oasis on the horizon. Somewhere midway through the conversation he would drift off, ah, a mirage then, again. The he would be that balloon slowly floating away until she found some way to grab his string. She was beginning to think he may need Ritalin. She may have to look up her roommate from college, Ada thought she lived here. Katie, Yeah, Katie usually had a hook up.

He needed something, or she needed a helper. She felt a little like elvis' colonel, able to pull the performance out of this modern day musical king. Maybe with a prescription. That was wrong, even to think, and she couldn't. She was able get the goods out of him without director's little helpers. But it was such a chore.

He would talk well, then get a little drifty. She'd have to cut take after take, and he'd get more and more insecure. She'd watched him on stage, and before takes. He wasn't insecure, hell sometimes he was cocky, she could use some of that. The shades of it she saw in interviews. Maybe it was the hair cut? The longer his hair the bigger his dick energy?

Well, his hair wasn't growing fast enough!

"Go again! Keep rolling!" Ada felt like there was no time to stop. They had a section of Ueno Park to themselves, stunningly. Almost as amazing as the blossoming surroundings.

The city government had been more than generous, they had gotten access to so many open spaces. Her dream spaces. Well, she supposed it was Harry's or the scriptwriter's dreams. But they were magic. And getting to film in them was a gift. Like all gifts though, this pass had limitations. The city wasn't willing to shut down entirely for whole days. So they got specific times and areas to use for filming.

The areas were still open to the public in a limited manner. Ada loved that, and the curious locals looked good on film. The park looked dreamy to her eyes and on the dailies, and the people added to it. Sakura season was nearing its end, but the blossoms were hearty this year and were full in most spots, but still dropping like snow. Heavy and magic, casting pink light on the already beautiful setting.

It was a perfect set up.

Ada needed Harry to twirl in them in wonder. It wasn't in the script, but it was on her plan now. Because of him. He needed to twirl, just as he had been when they arrived.

She wasn't even sure he knew she was watching. His wardrobe was wondrous, and the setting, perfect, and she had no nerves at all for a few minutes. The unscripted moment was better than the plan. Today was gonna be different.

Ada was sure this was a turning point. Today was the day she got more that Harry's magic, but singular moments.

Maybe she should throw the boy a bone and sit down for the drinks he inquired about several times. If he did better, her irritation would go away enough for it. She liked him, it might help. Maybe they just needed to establish a better rapport. She'd turned him down several times. She was just recovering from her killer jet lag and, well, he was proving to be a pain in the ass. She didn't want to see him when she didn't have to.

But that was before, now she was even sadder to be wrong after all that hope, maybe even a bath in her future when they got home early. Instead.

Today looked like another long one, and she wasn't sure if she had enough novacaine to inject him with, or caffeine for herself. And she knew she didn't have enough time.

He'd continued his batting average. Either Harry whiffed at air, hit nothing, or knocked it out of the park.

She was hoping he'd be first time lucky earlier, when things had been set up and he'd walked out of his trailer, in the street clothes Akio had styled for Henry at the Harajuku shop. Nothing crazy or too bright. It was perfect actually, he was rockabillied out. A poof of hair in front, white y shirt - she refused to call them wife beaters, a leather jacket cocked off his shoulders- a large black belt and black straight pants with a high cuff, combat boots. He'd had a comb in his hand and Ada dug it. She'd have to high five wardrobe. He was a daydream. And it looked like it fit. Harry Presley indeed.

She watched him walk into set and stand in the middle of a blossom fall. His cheeks had lifted and his eyes shone. Big coin spot dimples daring anybody to try their pin ball luck. He looked pretty dreamy. If he could keep that up, there'd be no trouble believing Akio would fall, maybe even try for a kiss, but be interrupted and have to make a run for it just as the scene called for.

"Just like that, Harry." She'd walked up to him. "That's exactly how you should look in this scene. It's pretty irresistible." She'd smiled at him, all the hope and good feelings of her early morning workout and real, delicious matcha running through her veins. It wasn't even too cold for such an early morning. The scene was perfect. He looked perfect, like a hip Tokyo boy dressed him up, and the weather even cooperated.

His confidence looked high as well, along with the color in his cheeks.

"Yeah, this is pretty magic." He said and looked around and a petal fell upon his cheekbone. They pressed against his skin when he looked up, soft, but sharp enough to hold the side of the petal.

Ada wished she was already rolling, and she doubted the petal would stay. They needed another flower to float on down and stick to his cheeks. It wouldn't. But they could create movie magic.

How'd you do that, she had asked her first mentor?

Well, you cheated of course. She'd have makeup use a trick.

Ada reached up to brush the petal off and Harry turned his cheek at the same time. His cheek was warm and smooth, like her lakebed in the summer. She awkwardly realized that she was basically cupping his face for a long moment, and was about to yank her hand away when he blinked his eyes slowly closed and left them gentle there. She nearly ran her thumb over the sharp cheekbone.

"Makeup!" She flinched her hand off of him and went back to her seat when she realized what she was doing.

She had such a good feeling about this morning, but after their flower moment, he was a mess. He almost fell in the pond when he and Yuki decided to play around in the scene and walk on the railings like overgrown kids. It could have worked. She let them because she was desperate, they had about two minutes of usable stuff for their time.

What happened? He was ready to go just a little while ago. She was sure of it.

Harry was shaking. He had been for a while. Yuki was looking at him like he was crazy. "You ok Hari?"

"Yeah, Yeah, man, maybe my blood sugar is low?" So he'd had a pressed juice. This was after his near fall. A place to put clumsy blame. It helped a little. Mostly, it gave him a chance to get himself together. He was a little better when they started rolling, but he was off again. He was unbelievably frustrated. He'd had a good feeling about today. That he would "act good" like Jeffrey suggested. But he knew he was not doing his best, right now. Dunkirk had not been like this. But it was so physically taxing and mostly just a matter of reacting to the things around him.

And he was not the focus, dammit. That was wonderful, actually. To have the focus broadened, shared. Truly divided. Even in the band, he felt zoomed in on. Sometimes like a bug pinned down under a microscope. Dunkirk had given him a break.

So that when he was ready to be in the spotlight again, he felt ready, like it was on his terms.

Harry had decided these terms too. He wanted this movie. He was the force behind it. But now he felt like he was under the microscope again.

He was squirming especially because of Ada. He'd been happy to see her loose and open when she'd come onto set. The smudges under her eyes, the ones that worried him so, were lighter, almost gone. He could feel the dimples from that. And he'd seen hers! He'd only caught those in pictures before.

Plus, he was so excited about this day. He had never gotten to be in Tokyo, in Japan, during cherry blossom season.

His breath caught when he walked from his trailer to the bridge. Harry had given himself a talking to, and had agreed with himself that he was gonna loosen up, and he'd only ask Ada to have a drink with him one more time.

Just once more, he wanted to talk to her. He was sure he could charm her then. If he could just calm down. Since the shoes hadn't worked, he could finally give her a satisfactory apology. Which was probably just for him at this point, he needed to purge. Also, he wasn't sure she knew how sorry he was, how embarrassed. It was messing him up, his performance up. That the lack of resolution was affecting him.

She was affecting him. The way he felt when he talked to her, looked at her. It wasn't like a lightening strike, it was like......ichariba chode, she felt like home. But more, not just like his mom with hot tea, but those moments he'd had so rarely, with Grimmy and Camille a time or two. When he would come home and they'd be waiting for him, their arms outstretched with warm kisses, warm food, hot embraces, lazy lie ins.

Like a lover, a family of his own creation. He had a crush before he met her. But it was more now. Growing. He loved watching her on set. She was the boss, in such a way that she didn't need to be bossy. But she could be. God it was sexy.

Another thing he couldn't ignore. He was gonna have to. It was not mutual. That was jarring.

And distracting. He was so distracted today, he'd been on it, had absolute confidence that today he was turning a corner. All the elements had combined to make a great day. How could do it, and her confidence at the beginning of the day felt like closure. He didn't know what happened.

That was a lie.

Truth was, he knew exactly what was going on. Ada had touched him, again. And every time she did his stomach flipped like when Gemma forced him to go on the zipper at a carnival when he was eight.

He never learned to like rollercoasters.

Ada made him feel like he was upside down and inside out when she touched his shoulder while she gave him a talking-to. He could see she was really frustrated with him, but she was gentle and he wanted to please her.

And he should have known he was a bit fucked when she touched his cheek. He'd maybe never felt that good, maybe when Irving first told him he could be a legend. That was a similar feeling, but he didn't want to fall into Irving. Or kiss him.

That was when he knew he would need an intervention. Like every day. But he wasn't sure it could be her, she was definitely the problem today. If he was honest, like most other days. Though she intervened then too. She was the problem and the cure.

She was intervening earlier and earlier. He wasn't sure if she had figured out that she could appeal to his need to impress her and he would perform. Harry hated that he required so much work, he was supposed to be the leader on the film. He wanted to be the leader on set, be an example. But he seemed to require handholding.

"Cut!" Ada yelled while he was on his penitent Road, whipping away at himself mentally. Shit, head in the game Styles.

"You ok, Harry? Yuki?" They both nodded. "How can we make this better, get this shot before the city Insists we get the hell off of this bridge for the day?"

"What if Harry makes the move, maybe it's the set up he's uncomfortable with? Me kissing him?"

"I'm not uncomfortable!" Harry exclaimed while Ada was saying "I don't think he's uncomfortable with the affection, or dynamic."

Yuki looked confused. Harry laughed. "Mate, I'd hold your hand all day, on camera," he pointed to the fans nearby. "Don't really care about that so much, cats nearly out of the bag. I'm just...."

"Distracted." Ada filled in, She was good at reading him. Harry loved that. When he didn't have to talk. That would be so nice to come home to. Stop it! Those thoughts were not helping.

"Yeah!" Harry pinched his lip between his fingers, he did it often, it had been known, because it centered him. It had caught him so off guard, effected him so, when Ada touched his cheek, took him out of this scene of supposed natural affection. He looked at her and his cheek tingled. His eyes fell closed on the two hours old memory, still. He touched his cheek and opened his eyes and looked at Ada. A spark fired then and they talked over each again.

"You should touch his face!" Ada said.

"You should take a blossom off my face!" Harry basically yelled into Ada's ear.

She rubbed it for a second, but his "Sorry" was said on the sharp corners of his smile.

And Ada was the car, her lips curved like a Porsche on their collaboration. They could corner like they were on rails right now.

"Yuki-" She beckoned him over, and waved her hand at wardrobe. To the girl with the palettes in hand she said, "can you make his face sticky, so if I drop these," she pointed to the baby pink petals above, "they'll stick?"

"Yeah, I can use gloss, light will catch on it too!" The girl was thinking out loud,. "I'm afraid it will shine. Look out for that. Hold on." She disappeared and Ada turned to a waiting Yuki.

"So, I want you to come up behind him, and I'll have petals dropped on him." Ada pointed at her star, Harry was nodding too. "When he turns, it should look pretty dreamy, you should look like it is anyway. Like really compelling. Smitten, do you know this word?"

Yuki was laughing, and Ada felt like there was a conversation going on she didn't know about. Both boys were looking at her, Yuki back and forth between her and Harry.

"Yeah, I know what look you want. I can imagine it." He looked at Harry and cracked up. "We have a way to say - koi no yokan - a future at love, a vision." He looked at Harry, brow high. Like Harry knew what he was talking about. Could explain it.

Ada focused on him too, like he had an example in he and Ada's common language for it.

Harry's attention refocused on his costar, tore I His eyes off ada. "I don't know. I'm just learning Japanese. Trying." He supposed he felt that's little when he fell into Ada's cleavage, before he puked on her. After too he supposed. It just felt more hopeful before. He guessed he knew smitten, and a premonition of love.

"Oh, I think you know." And Yuki was laughing again. Ada was excited, and she was engaged, with her actors, but they were still pressed for time. And they needed this shot. She knew it was gonna be good, could feel the energy.

"You smitten, Harry?" She laughed at him, and Harry could feel his eyes get really big, but her attention shifted and she was walking back to her chair.

"Ok, let's do it! Roll tape!" She watched the make up girl come back to wipe Harry's cheek, apply lip gloss, and somebody throw flower petals at his face, which seemed both highly fitting and like something he was used to.

He barely blinked.

And then, the shot was perfect, they got it so easily.

"Yuki, almost kiss him! Closer!" Ada shouted, that wasn't in the script, but it felt perfect. Harry was lookin at her over his partner's shoulder and she could feel him lean in to Akio's space. Like a magnet. Magnetic, wow.

It only took one take, it was perfect. Ada jumped out of her chair and was running to start tearing down, so they could do some make up shots. Her excitement made Harry smile. Good, he had finally done something right.

"You could tell her." Yuki said over his shoulder.

Harry turned back to him. "Tell who what?" He missed that train when it pulled out of the thought station.

"The lady director, Hari!" He raised his eyebrows in a gesture Harry had never seen a Japanese person make.

"Ada? Tell her what?"

"Tell her you like her!"

"What do you mean? What's not to like? Course I like her, she's so talented, and she's our boss."Harry felt naked in the middle of Ueno Park.

"You like her. Koi no yokan. You look like Akio looks at Henry with the petal on his cheek - like you want to be the petal."

"I don't." Harry shook his head. Was he that obvious? What a mess, he knew she barely tolerated him. Never took him up on his invitations. To dinner, or tea, or the Gucci store. "I don't!" He protested too much. He shook his head like he had water in his ears, this was more uncomfortable than the cold Atlantic.

"Ok, ok, you don't like her. But you could invite her to the thing tonight?"

Harry just shook his head. It would ruin it. He did well in that scene, finally, surprised her. She had been happy. And he was so pleased that the rest of the day went well. He wasn't going to invite her to the bar where Konichi's band was playing.

Only because she had blown off all his other invitations.

But she was smiling so much at the end of the day, when he had accidentally on purpose passed her, he couldn't help it.

"Hey, Ada, if you have recovered from your jet lag and well, everything, we're all going to see my friend's band play. Want to come?" He doubted she would, he should have had Jeff invite her, she liked Jeff better. Harry worried his bottom lip.

Ada thought it over for a second. It might be good to bond with the cast. She hadn't been to anything they had done as a group. At first because she was tired, and then because the days often felt like she was pulling teeth, slow pitching Harry so he could hit his grand slams, leaving her mentally exhausted.

At least a few times it was because Harry had asked. She wasn't sure if it would be just the two of them. He hadn't mentioned the shoes she returned without tempting herself by looking at them. She was hoping to avoid that discomfort all together. Alone meant she'd have to flat out say no. She would, but would rather avoid it all together.

This was everyone though. She could go. If she could get herself out of her hotel room and out of the joggers and band tees that were her uniform. Though the zeppelin shirt she had on would look good with jeans and heels. She guessed she was going, if she was already planning outfits.

Her black lace red bottoms crossed her mind, definitely going out shoes.

"I'll try."

God, he really loved her smile. It was pretty much perfect, and he felt like he knew great smiles, his was praised so often. He hoped she came.

The night was winding down, for Harry at least, and he had reconciled himself to Ada not coming.

He wasn't drunk per say, not like the night before he made Ada hate him.

But he was warm, and had another shot to get over her no show.

It was just enough to get him on stage. After urging all night. It wasn't his band. He missed his band, performing too, apparently. This was fun!

He was really warmed up by the time Smells Like Teen Spirit came on.

"Gambarimasu!" Was the first word Ada heard once she had talked herself into coming in. She'd dilly dallied and found herself starving, she'd ducked into one of the little yakitori places. But dining alone was a drag. She needed to make friends, which is what finally pushed her through the door. She was gonna enjoy her already bonded cast and crew. Find her place.

"That sounds just like Nirvana!" She looked down at the shirt she'd changed to last minute. Funny coincidence. The voice at least, the instruments were great too, but not quiet as electrifying as the voice.

Which belonged to her star.

"Well, damn!" She heard herself say, and saw Yuki chuckling at her side.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #a premonition of love #apol #chapter 3 #hana no ami #blossom chapter #petal rain

54 notes · View notes

morningsound15 · 7 years

Note

You said you would take prompts of the precious events, so could you write a time Beca and Chloe were turned on, but the bellas were present, like in a rehearsal idk and they couldn't wait to get out of there

(I’m also going to be cross-posting these on AO3 I’ve decided, as a separate collection of one-shot prompts. If y’all wanna reread.)

http://archiveofourown.org/works/12203370/chapters/27712596

There’s something about being here, with the Bellas, surrounded by their loudly talking friends in a group setting in a very public place that feels… darker, almost. Dangerous.

Every Thursday night is ‘Bellas Group Dinner Night.’ They all pile into their fairly-small kitchen as a rotating list of Bellas takes turns cooking a family-style meal for the rest of the group. The schedule goes something like: Jessica and Ashley one week, Chloe and Beca another, then Stacie and Cynthia Rose after that, then Lilly and Flo, and finally Amy, as the odd-man-out.

They learn pretty early on that no matter who she’s paired up with, when it’s Amy’s turn to cook, they’re all better off going out and eating at a restaurant, instead.

It’s safer that way.

Chloe likes Group Dinner Night. She enjoys the bonding, enjoys eating everyone’s favorite home-cooked meals, enjoys cooking for a crowd of her favorite people, enjoys the warm feeling that builds up in her chest when she looks around their house and sees all of her girls together, laughing under one roof, grinning stupidly at each other as they trade jokes and flick food back and forth.

She doesn’t mind the nights when they have to go out, either. At first it felt like an annoying chore, because any time they want to go out and actually escape Barden’s campus it takes about 90 minutes for everyone to get dressed and do their hair and makeup properly. Most nights, Chloe would rather just stay in their house and eat together in pajamas and sweats, with no makeup and no expectations and no work.

But she learns to look forward to the nights when they all swarm into the only little Italian restaurant within twenty miles and stuff their faces full of pizza and pasta while trying to keep their lipstick un-smudged.

Mostly because Stacie insists on doing Beca’s makeup before every group outing. And, well… Chloe isn’t blind.

Beca catches her looking, like, all the time. Chloe knows it isn’t subtle or secretive and she’s pretty sure it isn’t allowed, what with all the unspoken rules of conduct between them, but she can’t help it. She can’t keep her eyes off of Beca. Not when she’s wearing dark jeans and her black heeled boots and her hair is curled and her eyeliner is dark and smoky and her lips are blood-red and her eyes glint hungrily back at

Chloe from across the dim restaurant.

She can’t help it.

And tonight is no exception.

Usually, on nights like this, Beca likes to sit across from her. Chloe thinks it’s something about the watching, something about the way her eyes hold Chloe’s gaze and can’t let them go, something about the way she likes to make Chloe fidget in her seat, flushed and aching and uncomfortably aroused in a public setting.

Beca likes to make her squirm, likes to make her beg, likes to rile her up and keep her waiting and desperate.

Usually, Chloe doesn’t mind. (Usually she really really likes it.)

But there’s something about being here, with the Bellas, surrounded by their loudly talking friends in a group setting in a very public place that feels… darker, almost. Dangerous.

Usually, Beca likes to sit across from her. But today she follows closely behind Chloe as they enter the restaurant and keeps hot on her heels as Chloe slips into the corner booth. The rest of the girls fill in around them while Beca slides into the seat right next to Chloe, her mouth spread wide in a grin but her eyes flashing with something that looks like danger and mischief and anticipation.

Chloe swallows thickly and tries to ignore the shiver that works its way down her spine when she feels Beca’s fingers brush the back of her hand as they reach for their menus.

It takes about ten minutes before Chloe starts to relax. Beca is animated next to her, talking easily with the other girls, her hands moving excitedly as she recounts a story from her childhood that Chloe thinks involves a cranky skunk and a neighborhood bully, but she can’t be totally sure. She’s having trouble focusing on anything with Beca sitting so close to her, pressed flush against her side, cramped and crowded into a small booth built for a party about 3 people smaller than theirs.

It takes about ten minutes for Chloe to relax, the worry and apprehension about what Beca might be thinking or planning by switching up their seating arrangements finally slipping out of her mind. Clearly she was just being paranoid. Seeing what she expected to see in the glint of Beca’s eyes, not what was actually there. Projecting some sort of fantasy onto a completely innocent situation.

So, ten minutes into their outing, Chloe finally starts to relax.

But it’s almost like Beca can read her mind, because almost the exact minute she starts to unwind, right after the waitress arrives with all of their drinks, Beca makes her move.

A hand falls onto her leg, right above her knee, and Chloe chokes on her drink.

Stacie and Cynthia laugh at her. “Too strong for you, Chlo?” Stacie asks with a grin as Chloe splutters and coughs, trying to regain her voice. She shakes her head, eyes watering, and the girls laugh again.

“Don’t go crazy tonight, Chloe,” Cynthia Rose teases, “I’m not carrying your drunk ass home at nine o’clock.”

More laughter, and Beca starts moving her thumb in slow circles on the bare skin of Chloe’s thigh.

Chloe drops a hand on top of hers, stilling Beca’s fingers. “What are you doing?” She hisses, voice almost imperceptible over the Best of the 80’s playlist that filters through the speakers around the restaurant. She keeps her eyes forward, not willing to risk looking at Beca, not willing to risk drawing attention to them or to Beca’s hand that is so obviously in her lap.

“Put your napkin on your lap,” Beca says just as quietly, her voice a whisper in Chloe’s ear.

Chloe’s heart rate picks up. “Beca…”

“Napkin.”

She’s breathing heavily now but she tries to hide it.

Shivers.

Does what she’s told.

Beca’s fingers are still tracing a slow and easy pattern on Chloe’s thigh, lingering just at the edge of the hem of her skirt. Just on the safe side of appropriate. Chloe finds herself drifting in the feel of it, her eyes glazing over as she tries to steady her breathing and her heart rate, her mouth open and eyes unfocused on the table in front of her as the Bellas start throwing around song suggestions for their next group karaoke night.

Beca pinches her thigh and Chloe inhales sharply. It snaps her back to reality.

She blinks quickly a few times, her eyes flicking up to catch the gaze of the waitress who’s staring at her politely, pen poised above pad of paper.

Chloe flushes, clears her throat, and orders the first pasta dish she sees on the menu, not even bothering to check what’s in it.

The waitress smiles as she takes Chloe’s menu from her and the conversation resumes at the table, the noise a wash of indiscernible sounds over Chloe’s ears.

Beca hasn’t stopped running her fingers over her skin.

In fact, her hand is drawing higher on Chloe’s thigh with every passing minute.

Chloe shifts in her seat. She can feel herself getting wetter by the second. Her nipples are drawn and tight, her body fighting against shudders that threaten to overtake her.

She really hopes that if anyone notices they’ll just think she’s cold.

Beca is still engaging in calm conversation with the rest of the Bellas, laughing at all the right parts of their stories and lamenting with them about homework and papers and deadlines and terrible professors.

Chloe shakes her head and tries to focus in on what they’re saying, but it’s impossible.

Beca’s hand reaches the juncture of her thighs.

Her knuckle brushes against the front of Chloe’s underwear and Chloe has to tense every muscle in her legs to stop from arching into the touch. She puts her elbows on the table, fingers laced, hands up near her chin like she’s about to start praying. She clenches her fingers tightly, hoping that no one can tell what she’s doing.

Beca’s long, sure fingers shift the fabric beneath them to the side. When she feels how wet Chloe already is, she smirks.

From behind the shelter of her hands, Chloe takes in a deep, shuddering breath. Bites her knuckle to stop from whimpering.

Beca’s fingers trail slowly over her sex, applying next to no pressure. Light. Teasing. Ghosting.

She shifts her hand. Makes like she’s about to press inside, and Chloe’s hips shift forward, only slightly, trying to urge her in.

She’s aching. Desperate. Her leg shakes under the table and she’s hardly touched the plate of food in front of her. (She hadn’t even noticed it get dropped off.)

“You okay, Chloe?” Chloe’s eyes shoot up to meet Amy’s worried gaze and the flush on her cheeks rises. Her heart hammers in her chest and she thinks Oh God they know they caught you as Beca’s hand slowly withdraws from her, retracting to her own lap. “You look sick, and you’ve barely touched your pasta.” Amy eyes her plate of food, curiously. “Are you going to eat that, by the way? Or is it up for grabs?”

Chloe smiles, her eyes pinched tightly around the edges. “All yours, Amy.” Amy fist-pumps as she slides Chloe’s mostly-untouched plate of food towards herself.

Almost the entire rest of the table is now watching her. “Actually,” she says, clearing her throat and faking a cough, “I think I might be coming down with something.”

“Oh no,” Jessica looks understandingly worried. “You know there’s a flu going around? Like four people were gone from my Psych class today because of it.”

Chloe nods and hopes the flush on her skin and the glassy look in her eyes can be easily attributed to fever. “Yeah, that sounds right. I’ve been feeling pretty sick, recently.” She tries not to glance at Beca out of the corner of her eye. “So I think I’m going to head back to the house.”

“We’ll come with you!�� Stacie says, moving to collect her things. “You shouldn’t walk all the way back by yourself. Not when you’re sick.”

“No, no,” Chloe insists, grabbing her wallet off the table. “I don’t want to ruin your night out.”

“Yeah,” Beca agrees, head turned to Chloe, “you guys stay here. I’ll walk her back.”

“You sure?” Amy asks around a mouthful of pasta, looking very much like she’s in no hurry to leave.

Chloe and Beca both nod. “Yeah,” Chloe says, “I don’t need more than one person to come with me. I’ll just make some soup and call it an early night.”

The girls look sympathetic but they all easily agree to the plan.

Chloe grabs her coat and presses a $10 bill into Stacie’s hand as she passes by her on the way out the door. The Bellas call out their well-wishes, their ‘Feel better, Chloe’s and ‘Get well soon’s.

Chloe smiles and waves and leads Beca out of the restaurant with a firm grip on her wrist.

They make it a block and a half before Chloe whips around and shoves Beca back against the brick wall of some small boutique or another. Her kiss is hungry, and Beca doesn’t even hesitate. She pushes back, her lips eager and insistent and there’s desperation on Chloe’s tongue as Beca swallows the gasp that works its way out of her lips. There’s a hand in her hair and nails digging into the exposed skin on her back and Chloe’s head falls back as Beca migrates down to her neck, her teeth sucking on Chloe’s collarbone.

“You drive me crazy,” Chloe whispers into the night. Beca hums into her skin, her mouth busy with its ministrations. Chloe closes her eyes and bites her lip to stop from moaning. “I can’t believe you, sometimes.”

Beca pulls away and grins. “You love it.”

And, well, she might be right, but Chloe’s never going to admit that to her.

Instead of answering she threads her fingers through Beca’s and drags her back in the direction of their house.

#anonymous #asks #perdition #prompts #prompt fill #bechloe #beca x chloe

49 notes · View notes

reverseblackholeofwords · 7 years

Text

A Date with Darkiplier (pt. 5)

(Things are about to start heating up...)

Amy takes a deep breath and smooths her hands over the silky fabric of her outfit. Wilford, bless him, knows the power that a little black dress has against anyone, even Darkiplier.

Amy and Red stand at the end of a long hallway just outside the elevators. It’s like something out of a horror movie—a long, dark hallway with a flickering light just to add extra creepiness, and Amy rolls her eyes because Dark definitely made it this way on purpose.

They pass several black doors on their way down the hall, but Amy knows that she’s destined for Dark’s office, the door at the very end. Red steps ahead of her, knocks on the door in question, and opens it for her, ever the gentleman. Amy steps inside and instantly feels the temperature drop several degrees.

Goosebumps rise on her skin as she surveys the minimalist decor of Dark’s office. Everything inside is a variation of black or gray, sleek and modern, leather and metal. A gleaming grand piano sits in one corner, and in the middle, a table is set up with two chairs, two place settings, and a vase with a single white rose. Red pulls out the chair closest to the door and motions for Amy to take a seat.

“Darkiplier will be joining you shortly,” he mutters and goes to stand guard at the door behind Amy. As she waits, her knee bobs beneath the table uncontrollably. A plan, she needs a plan, but what plan will work against such a skilled manipulator?

The door opens behind her, and Amy doesn’t even turn to look as Dark strides inside and takes his seat across from her. A moment of silence passes as the two of them stare each other down before Dark sets his hands palms-down on the table, and Amy nearly wretches because there’s blood on them. Stay in control, Amy, she tells herself. He’s trying to break you.

Amy cracks a shaky smile. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

Dark’s eyes glitter in a way that somehow makes them seem even darker than usual. Those same eyes wander from the top of her head all the way down to where she disappears behind the table, and he smirks. “You’re actually somewhat aesthetically appealing when you’re scared.” He delivers it like a compliment, but Amy has to stop herself from running for the door.

Dark motions to someone behind Amy, and Google, dressed in a waiter’s suit, steps over with a covered silver platter in each hand. Amy tries to catch Google’s eyes to gauge what the droid is thinking, but Google effectively avoids her gaze as he sets the dishes before them.

Dark reaches up and traces a finger down one of Google’s arms. “Thank you, Google. Amy, don’t you think he looks nice as a waiter?” Amy bites the inside of her cheek and nods slowly.

Google backs away from the table stiffly and bows at the hip. “Dinner is served.”

“You’re excused, Google,” Dark sighs, waving the droid away. He turns back to his “date” and gestures to the food—sushi, Amy’s favorite. “Before you arrived, I had a little talk with the Host. He told me many, many things about you, and he eventually informed me that this is your preferred meal.” Dark smiles and picks up his pair of black chopsticks before pausing for Amy’s reaction.

Amy looks down at the table, takes a deep breath, and picks up a piece of sushi between her own chopsticks with smile. “Yes, thank you.”

Something in Dark’s face twitches. This isn’t the reaction he wants. He wants her to cry, and scream, and demand for him to release her and Mark. It only makes Amy’s smile grow. You want a date, she thinks, I’ll give you a date. Amy eats the sushi, and—it really is good—gives a satisfied sigh. “This is amazing!”

Dark’s shell jitters and cracks, but he holds himself together, joining her in trying the sushi. Amy watches as his face shifts, and he switches gears. Dark reaches across the table and takes Amy’s free hand. The blood smudges onto her fingers, and Amy’s smile falls. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself, Amy. All I wanted was to show you that I can provide for you, so much better than he ever could.”

Amy wants to pull back, wants to reach in her purse, and sink the knife into his hand, but she steadies herself. Dark traces circles on her hand with his thumb, taking another bite of sushi and holding it out for her. “Here, allow me.”

A breath catches in Amy’s throat, and every fiber of her being is screaming for her to run. She forces herself to lean forward and…

The door bursts open behind her, and Amy jumps back, pulling her hand away from Dark. Dr. Iplier stands in the door, breathing heavily and looking disheveled. His blazing brown eyes flick from Dark to Amy and back again. “H-he’s alive. Just like you wanted, b-but we’re having trouble restraining him, sir.”

Mark, Amy thinks, he’s talking about Mark!

Dark smiles and adjusts his jaw. “Thank you, Dr. Iplier. You may go now.” Amy watches as the gray aura swarms around the Doctor like a cloud of wasps, but his eyes shift to her once more.

He snaps, “I’m sorry, Amy. I didn’t want to do it! But I couldn’t control myself!” Red moves to force Dr. Iplier from the room, but the Doctor isn’t leaving without a fight. “I’ll keep him alive for you, Amy! I swear! I swear that I won’t let him die!”

Red finally forces the Doctor out and follows after him, slamming the door as he goes. Amy, her entire body shaking in shock, turns slowly back to a triumphant-looking Darkiplier. He licks his lips and leans forward across the table. “Now, where were we?”

To be continued…

#a date with darkiplier #markiplier egos #markiplier #darkiplier #amynelson #dr. iplier #googleplier #a date with darkiplier part five

235 notes · View notes