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tobesolonely · 4 years

Text

kindergarten teachers

summary: teacher!harry and coworker y/n have a hard time coming to terms with their feelings for each other

a/n: ahhh she’s finally done! i’ve been working on this fic for sooo long and i hope u all like it! big thanks to @queencharry for helping me when i got stuck and beta reading, and @behindthatbabyface for beta reading as well and giving me feedback!! i appreciate u both <3 enjoy ~11.3k words of some mutual pining and teacher!h interacting with lil kindergarteners 🥺also i am sorry if theres any major grammar mistakes (as always) or crazy typos, i always miss some things when i go back and proofread that im sure i’ll catch later! thank u

warnings: smut, mentions of alcohol

talk to me about harry and y/n! let me know your thoughts!!

my ko-fi! thank you :)

From the time you were very young, you knew you wanted to be a teacher. One of your earliest childhood memories was going to school dressed up as one for career day. Your usually untamed hair was pulled back into a sleek bun (courtesy of your mother), and you donned a funky baby-pink sweater. For bottoms, you wore the closest thing to a pencil skirt you had in your five-year-old wardrobe. When you look back on the photographs your mother took of you that day, you did not resemble a teacher in any way. You were sure if you had not done your Career Day presentation in front of the whole class, no one would have even known who you were dressed up as.

Once you moved onto college and declared Education as a major, that was when people really started to let you hear their opinions on the career path you wanted to pursue. It seemed like whenever you went home for a holiday, relatives were always in your ear saying, “You know teachers don’t make a lot of money, right? Have you ever considered something in the sciences?”. You always responded, “I know, but what would the world do without teachers?”.

Eventually, you finished your undergraduate career, successfully completed student teaching with the highest praise from your superiors and colleagues, obtained your teaching credentials, and even went back to school to get your Master’s degree. So, it was much to everyone’s surprise when you settled on being a Kindergarten teacher. People assumed that because you completed so much schooling, you wanted to be a university professor. However, the thought never even crossed your mind. You always thought Kindergarten teachers were the most impressionable people out there and knew you wanted to be one.

To you, there was no greater responsibility than that of a Kindergarten teacher. It was your responsibility to teach your students reading, writing, art, and music at the most basic level. You showed them how to play with others, how to be kind, and give them the tools necessary to succeed once they leave your classroom. You were the first teacher your students ever had, so you needed to make them fall in love with school instead of hate it, considering they’d have to stick to it until they were at least eighteen.

You’ve been a credentialed Kindergarten teacher for the last three years, and you’ve loved every moment of it. You were one of the younger teachers at school, but you never felt left out. Your colleagues were amazing people who often shared tips and tricks they wish they knew when they first started teaching.

Now, you were groggily unlocking the door to your classroom, feeling those first-day-of-school jitters you always felt. You knew kindergarteners weren’t there to harshly critique you. Still, you wanted them to go home and tell their parents about how excited they were to have you as a teacher, not run home in tears. That never happened, of course, but you didn’t want to take any chances. You drop your keys and mutter a quiet, “Shit!” setting your travel mug filled with coffee on the ground and readjust the box of donuts you had for your kids on your hip. As you reach for your keys, you hear a deep voice ask if you need help. You quickly turn around, eyes wide from being startled.

“Oh! You scared me,” you place your free hand over your chest. “But yeah, actually, that’d be great. I’m struggling to get my door open.” The man nods, his own keys he wore around his neck jangling as he retrieves first your keys, then your coffee mug.

“I’m Harry– Mr. Styles, if you want,” he holds your keys out for you to take, your coffee mug still in his large hands. “Uh, I’m the new Kindergarten teacher.” You give him a confused look and trade the box of donuts in your arms for your keys, opening the door. “The last one, Mrs. Brown, I think it was, I guess she decided a few weeks back that she wanted to retire.” You get your door open and walk inside your classroom, turning on the lights. It was a little stuffy, considering you hadn’t been there to open any windows in about a month.

“Oh, that’s right! Welcome,” you give him a warm smile. “I’m Y/N– Miss Y/L/N if you want.” A slight blush appears on his cheeks. “We’re gonna be working together then, it seems. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Mrs. Brown, but it’ll be nice to collaborate with someone closer to my age, you know?” Harry nods, and you realize he still had your coffee mug and box of donuts in his hands. “You can just set that on my desk, thanks for helping out. Would you like a donut?”

“Um, I- it’s okay,” he stammers, setting the items down. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ll probably crash if I have a donut first thing in the mornin’.” You smile at him and move to open all your windows and the back door, wanting the stuffy classroom to air out a bit before the children got here.

“I totally get that,” you giggle, walking back over to your desk. “Are you excited about the first day? I always get a little nervous. I also talk a lot when I’m nervous, I’m sure you caught onto that.”

For the first time that morning, Harry laughs. “Yeah, I’m nervous, too. ’ve never taught in the States before, so this is a bit new to me.” He’s playing with the keys hanging from his lanyard.

“I noticed you had an accent, but I didn’t know if it was weird to ask about it. What brings you to California?” You open the box of donuts and take one out, wanting to eat it before it gets cold, and the glaze hardens.

“Uh, I went to University here, but when I graduated, I decided to go back home and teach for a couple of years. I really missed being here though and wanted to come back, so I got my credentials, and uh, here I am,” he tells you with a grin, and you notice he has deep dimples.

“Well, we’re glad you’re here,” you tell him earnestly. “The kids are just gonna love your accent, too!” you joke and Harry laughs for the second time that day.

“If all else fails, ’m hopin’ to charm everyone over with my accent,” he stares at you for a moment before speaking again. “Well, I better finish getting situated. It’s fifteen til, and I reckon the children will be arriving soon, yeah?” He asks. You nod.

“Best to be waiting at parent drop-off too, there are always a few parents that are just as nervous as their babies, if not more, and could use a quick pep talk.”

“Thanks for lettin’ me know. I was thinking about standing out there anyway, just to make a good first impression.” You take another bite of your donut, giving him a thumbs up.

“You’ve got this, Harry. I know you’re not completely clueless since you’ve taught before, but I know the first day can be a little intimidating. You know where I am if you need anything.” He gives you a grateful smile, quietly thanking you before turning to walk out the door. You’re left thinking about your new coworker, only being pulled from your thoughts of him when the first bell rings.

“Good morning everyone, my name is Miss Y/L/N. Are you all excited to get this school year started?” A chorus of high-pitched yeses fills the room, and you smile warmly at your class. “I’m so excited that you’re all here! I have a little surprise for each of you!” You grab the box of donuts and walk back to the rug in the center of the room that the children usually sat on for storytime. Little gasps fill your ears, and they all say, “Donuts!” and “Yummy!”. You smile at the kids again, already feeling overwhelmed with how adorable they were.

“We all get a donut?” one little girl asks, her eyes wide. You nod at her.

“Of course! Everyone will get a donut, sweetie.” You move to get the plastic food gloves you kept so you can safely hand out a donut to everyone. “Okay guys, I’m going to pass a stack of napkins around the room. Take one and pass the stack to the person sitting next to you. Does that make sense?” All the students nod their heads in confirmation, so you grab a stack and hand them to the child sitting closest to you. “Once the last person has their napkin, let me know, and then it’ll be donut time!” You say this over-enthusiastically, and the children squirm in their seats in excitement.

As you go around handing out donuts to each of your students, you learn their names and ask them to tell you one fun fact about them. Most children say things like, “I have a brother/sister!” or “I can run really fast!”, and you find it absolutely adorable. One thing you loved the most about teaching five-year-olds was their ability to think everything was cool. It was comforting to know that no matter what you did, they’d find you cool, and your first-day jitters quickly dissipated. As the children eat their donuts, you read them a story, putting on different voices for all the various characters. You show them how to raise their hand when they have something they’d like to share and remind them to use their “listening ears” when you or one of their classmates are speaking.

When it’s time for recess, you show them how to line up quietly at the door, and assign a line leader and a hall monitor. You remind the children that they will all get a turn at these tasks eventually because it’ll switch every week, and not to worry. As you’re walking down the hall backward (one of your teachers walks that you’d finally perfected), you hear Harry’s voice.

“Okay Room Ten, we’re gonna go out to the playground now, where you all will get to play every recess and lunch. That sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” He asks them, and you hear little voices chattering out to him in excitement. You can’t help but peek into his classroom as you walked by, as his door was open. He didn’t see you because he was busy organizing his class into a straight line, so you keep going. Your class, who, much to your surprise, was walking very quietly, got loud once they saw the Kindergarten play area had a slide and monkey bars.

“We get to play on this?” one of your students, Destiny, questions.

“Yup! This is a pretty cool play area, isn’t it?” They nod and stare at you, waiting for direction. “Oh, you can all go play and run around, get some of that energy out. When the bell rings, though, I want you to listen to the yard teachers because they’re gonna help get you all lined back up so we can go back inside. Deal?” The children give you nods and thumbs up, and you grin at them, telling them to have fun and be nice to one another. As you’re turning to go to the teacher’s lounge to refill your mug of coffee, you see Harry walking down the hallway with his class, and decide to wait for him. He gives his class the same spiel you gave yours and tells them to “Treat each other with kindness” before noticing you waiting for him.

“Hey,” he gives you a grin, looking far more relaxed than he did when you saw him earlier that morning. “How’s it going so far?”

“It’s great,” you reply, leading him in the direction of the teacher’s lounge. “They’re all adorable.”

“Yeah, don’t know what I was so nervous fo’. They’re great. Also, you’re right,” Harry has an amused look on his face. “The first thirty minutes of ’em bein’ there was just them askin’ me to say things because they think I sound funny.”

“I told you!” you exclaim, laughing at him. “A British accent is definitely not something we hear every day, not here at least.”

“I figured,” he replies, and silence falls between you. “Where are we going, by the way?”

You stop in front of a blue door and sift through the keys on your lanyard, finally finding the one you were looking for. “Teacher’s lounge. Have you had the chance to check it out yet?” He shakes his head, and you pull open the door after having unlocked it. “After you.” He shakes his head and steps back, signaling you go ahead of him. You quirk an eyebrow at him, and he gives you a defensive look.

“What? ‘M a gentleman. Ladies first,” he insists, holding the door open. You walk inside the room, trying to refrain from rolling your eyes. There aren’t many teachers in the lounge. You figure they all must be in their classrooms, trying to do some last-minute organization and lesson planning amidst the first day of school chaos. However, a few colleagues that you’re rather fond of are in the room, so you take it upon yourself to introduce them to Harry.

“Hello everyone, I hope you’re all having a relaxing morning!” They chuckle lightly at your sarcasm. “I’d like you all to meet Mr. Harry Styles. He’s the new Kindergarten teacher that took Mrs. Brown’s place.” A look of realization washes over all three teachers’ faces, and they warmly greet him. Harry goes around, shaking each of their hands, voice dripping with charm.

“Lovely to meet you all. Looking forward to collaborating,” he tells them quietly. They begin engaging in polite conversation, so you leave Harry’s side, walking over to the coffee station to get what you came for before recess was over. He joins you shortly after, grabbing a disposable cup. “They were a nice bunch.” He mutters, pouring the steaming coffee into his cup. You hum in agreement.

“Everyone here is nice. The lounge is usually much more crowded than this. Everyone else must be in their rooms,” you flick your wrist up to check the time. “We got some time to sit down and breathe for a bit if you’d like? Unless you wanted to get back to your room.”

“‘M in no rush, trust me,” he tells you, flashing you a small smile. “Let’s take a seat.” Harry walks over to an unoccupied couch and sits down slowly, taking care not to spill his coffee.

“You didn’t want a lid?” you question when you see him struggling. He shrugs.

“Not necessary. Jus’ some extra plastic,” you hum and look down at your lap. You were quickly learning that Harry was not a big talker, and he liked to get his point across in as few words as possible. Him being a Kindergarten teacher contradicted heavily with his rather bashful demeanor, but that just made him all the more endearing to you.

“Do you live nearby, or is your commute long?” you ask him after a few moments of silence. As soon as you ask the question, you internally cringe, feeling like it was too invasive. If Harry thought the question was weird, he doesn’t show it.

“I live in town. I actually walked here today, believe it or not,” he tells you with a chuckle. “Was such a beautiful morning that I figured I should.” Every time you think Harry can’t possibly get any more captivating, he does, and you find yourself biting back a smile.

“How long is your walk?” You cross your legs and then uncross them, a nervous habit that you had. Harry takes a sip of coffee, mulling your question over.

“I’d say it took me about twenty minutes. I was walkin’ at a pretty leisurely pace, though,” Harry shrugs. “How about you? Do you live nearby?”

“I also live in town, but I’m way too lazy to walk, so props to you,” you smile. “The best thing about living around here is seeing your kids out in public. It’s the cutest thing.” Harry smiles, not saying anything else. A silence falls over the two of you again but instead of feeling the need to fill it, you just sit beside him, drinking your coffee. Your mind wanders off to what you were going to do for the rest of the school day, if you had enough groceries in your apartment for dinner or if you should go grocery shopping after work, and if you remembered to pay your bills on time. The bell rings to signify the end of recess, and you jump slightly.

“Ready to go back?” Harry asks, standing up and walking back over to the coffee station. “Think’m gonna get a bit more.” You go to stand by the door, waiting for him to pour another cup of coffee. He quickly rejoins you, and the coffee sloshes a bit, some getting on his hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Hope those lil’ buggers got some of their energy out.”

“Right! Mine was even more hyper than they probably would’ve been ’cause I gave them those donuts this morning,” you laugh. “So, for my sake, I hope so too.” When you and Harry arrive back at the Kindergarten play area, your classes are already lined up quietly awaiting instruction, thanks to the yard teachers. You and Harry both thank them and move to stand in front of your kids.

“Miss Y/L/N,” one of your children calls out from the back of the line. “Can we get more donuts when we go back inside?” You see Harry smile out of the corner of your eye as he’s giving instruction to his class.

“There are no more donuts, you guys ate them all! I have something even cooler than donuts planned for us, though, okay? Now, remember what I told you all about walking quietly, right? Mr. Line Leader, how does your line look? Do you think we’re all set to go back inside?” The child you appointed line leader turns around to look at everyone, occasionally shushing some people. After a few moments, he turns back to you, giving you a thumbs up.

Harry moves to stand beside you, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Wanna eat lunch together and do some planning? I feel like it would be a good idea for us to be teachin’ the same things, more or less.” Your body feels warm all over, and you just look at him and nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Harry smiles and places a hand on your shoulder. At a normal volume, he says, “See you then, Miss Y/L/N.”

Upon entering Harry’s room, you’re immediately met with the scent of vanilla and the loud hum of the air conditioning. It was bright, adorably decorated, and surprisingly decluttered. It was the polar opposite of your room, and you found it very welcoming and comforting. “Nice set-up you’ve got going on in here,” you tell him. He jumps in his seat at his desk, not having heard you come in.

“Fucks sake,” he mumbles, face going red. “You scared me. Thanks, though. My sister helped me decorate, I don’t really have an eye for this type of stuff.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly.

“Well, if you ever need any help decorating for back to school and your sister isn’t around, I’d be more than happy to help.” Harry smiles and suddenly gets up from his chair, offering it to you.

“Please, take my seat. I’ll just sit in one of the kids’ chairs,” he rolls it towards you, and you shake your head, about to object, but he interrupts you. “It’s okay, Y/N. Their chairs aren’t that bad.” You take the seat Harry was just in, mumbling a quiet thank you. He hums and pulls a tiny chair up beside you, legs scraping loudly across the floor. When he sits down in it, you can’t but burst out laughing.

“Harry, that chair is so tiny! Are you sure you don’t want me to sit there instead? You look so uncomfortable,” you tell him in between laughs. “This is your classroom, after all, I’m just a guest.” Harry shakes his head, cheeks flushed.

“It’s okay, Y/N, really. ‘M perfectly comfortable in this lil’ miniature chair,” he looks at the lunch bag you sat on his desk. “What’s for lunch?” You reach for your sack and unzip it, pulling out a pre-packaged salad from Trader Joe’s.

“I’m very lazy when it comes to packing my lunches,” you admit sheepishly, pulling out a fork. “How about you? Did you eat already?”

“Oh yeah, I had a green smoothie. Not a big lunch guy,” he replies calmly. “Wanna get started with planning? I think we only have about thirty minutes left.” He looks down at his watch to confirm the time. Harry opens his planner, and you see pages filled with his neat, blocky scrawl. He jumps right into talking about the ideas he had in mind, excitement filling his voice that you haven’t yet heard.

The passion and enthusiasm he has for teaching are evident through the way he tells you about the activities he has planned, new materials and teaching methods he wants to try implementing, and things he’s tried before that didn’t work out the way he wanted them to. He asks you for your advice and listens intently when you speak, jotting down notes.

You find yourself having to mentally remind yourself not to stare at him. He was a handsome man– there was no denying that. He had curly brown hair, soft and wild-looking, the most beautiful green eyes you’d ever seen, and arms covered in tattoos. You also noticed he had the tiniest cross on his left hand. You wanted to ask him about it, but you figured that was a conversation for another time.

“Y/N? Did you hear what I just said,” Harry asks, giving you a concerned look. “Are you alright? I think you just zoned out for a couple minutes or somethin’.” You nod quickly, feeling your palms growing sweaty.

“Oh yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about something I have to do later. What did you just say?” You play off how you were just wholly drooling over your new coworker, feeling scrutinized under his piercing gaze.

“Jus’ got an email from the principal. Said we have a faculty meetin’ after school at three. Wanna go together?” He asks. You know Harry’s asking you to accompany him primarily because you’re the only person he really knows so far. However, it still makes you feel warm and special. “He said we’re gonna go over some planning for the Fall Festival. What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s just the back-to-school festival. It’s adorable,” you explain. “It’s like a mini carnival that we have right here on the playground. Every year they have teachers host booths. It’s a great way to get to meet your kids’ parents and bond with the other faculty.” Harry nods, standing up from the tiny chair right as the bell signifying the end of lunch rings.

“That sounds lovely,” he chirps, smiling down at you. “We’re gonna have the best booth out of everyone Y/N, trust me.” He jokes, the corner of his eyes crinkling. This was the most Harry had talked since you met him that morning and you were enjoying witnessing him open up to you more and more with each conversation shared.

“It is,” you stand up as well, gathering your trash and empty lunch pail. “Thanks for having me, Harry. Next time we can meet in my room. I wouldn’t mind making this a daily thing.” As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you physically wince, figuring Harry had to think you were obsessed with him at this point. He looks down, the corners of his mouth upturned when he makes eye contact with you again.

“I’d like that, Y/N. I’ll actually start bringin’ a proper lunch, so you’re not the only one eating,” you smile. “I’ll meet you in your room after school?” You nod in confirmation, walking out the door in front of him.

“See ya later.”

“Did everyone have a good day today?” You ask your class, walking backward to the dismissal gate. You’re met with a chorus of cheerful sounding ‘yeses,’ and you place your hand over your heart in a dramatic fashion. “That makes me so happy, everyone! You’re all incredible little people, and I think we’re gonna have a fantastic year. What do you guys think?” The children chatter excitedly, glad to have made it through their first day of school and see their parents on the other side of the gate eagerly awaiting them, cell phones snapping pictures.

Harry’s already at the gate, waiting for the bell to ring so he can dismiss his class. He’s walking down the line asking each of the children if they see who they’re supposed to go home with, crouching down to their height so they can point them out to him. Some children in his class look a little upset because they don’t see their parents yet. Harry quickly consoles them, telling them they can all play a fun game together while they wait for their ‘Mummies and Daddies.’

You do the same with your kids, and by the time the bell rings and you finish dismissing the ones who saw someone there to pick them up, there was one child from your class who was still waiting and two from Harry’s. He walks over to you, one of their tiny hands in each of his. The boy looks unbothered, but the girl was beginning to cry.

“Hey, Ava, should we ask Miss Y/L/N and her friend if they want to play iSpy with us? The more, the merrier, isn’t that right?” He looks down at her, and she nods, looking down. You figure she’s one of his more shy students he was telling you about earlier.

“Hi, sweetie! I’m Miss Y/L/N, are you waiting for your mom or dad?” She nods, biting her lip. You turn and gesture to your one student who was waiting as well. “Well, so is she! Don’t worry, they’ll be here.”

“I’m Matthew,” the little boy holding Harry’s other hand informs you, shifting from foot to foot. You give him a big smile.

“Hello, Matthew! I love your Spiderman shirt; he’s just the coolest. Jade, do you want to introduce yourself to Mr. Styles, Ava, and Matthew? Remember when we learned about introductions today in class? When you got to introduce yourself to all your classmates?”

Jade nods, a big, toothy grin on her face. “Hi! My name is Jade, and I am five-years-old but my birthday is September 19th, so I’m actually almost six-years-old,” she tells them matter-of-factly. “It’s very nice to meet you!” She adds, remembering the script you gave them earlier. Harry looks down at her, an impressed look on his face.

“Well, it is very lovely to meet you too, Jade! Do we all know how to play iSpy?” Jade and Matthew shout in excitement, but Ava just grips tighter onto Harry’s hand. He looks down at her again. “Do y’ want Miss Y/L/N and I to show you how to play, Ava?” His voice is very quiet, slow, and soothing. She nods, letting go of his hand.

“Well Ava,” you say, looking around for something to start the game out with. “I would say, “I spy with my little eye something green. Then you, Mr. Styles, Matthew, and Jade, would have to look around and name out everything that’s green. If you name something and it’s not it, then I will tell you nope, and you can try again, but if you figure it out, then you’re the winner! Does that make sense?”

She nods, and you see a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “Can I go first?” She asks quietly. You tell her, yes, and she looks around quickly, trying to find something to say. “I spy with my little eye something blue!” She has a triumphant smile on her face, and even though you immediately know she’s talking about the sky and you’re sure Harry does too, you both decide to take a step back and let the children take the game into their own hands.

“Y’know, that lil’ introduction Jade gave was really somethin’. I didn’t even think about teachin’ my kids that. Think I’ll try that out tomorrow,” Harry whispers, craning his neck slightly to be at your ear. You shiver at the feeling of his warm breath against your skin.

“Yeah, I feel like that’s always a good first day of school activity for them to do. A lot of them have never really been exposed to people outside of their immediate family, so they’re not too sure how to talk to others.” Harry hums, standing back up straight.

“Mr. Styles,” Matthew calls, running over to Harry. “My mommy is here. Can I go now?” Harry nods, telling Matthew to wait for him so he can say hi to his mother. You watch as he walks away, overhearing as he tells the boy’s mother what a great job he did today and how he’s so excited to go through this school year with him in his class. Ten minutes later, Jade and Ava are gone as well, and Harry locks the dismissal gate.

“I forgot how exhausting the first day could be,” he tells you, letting out a quiet sigh. “Ready to go to that meeting, though? It’s just about three.” You check your watch and see the time read at 2:57 PM.

“Yeah, just let me grab my bag, and we can head over there. I’m really hoping this won’t take too long; I was planning on going grocery shopping after this,” you walk down the hall towards your classroom and feel Harry’s gaze on you.

“Where do you like to go grocery shopping?” he asks after a few moments of silence. “I need to pick up some groceries this week, too. ’ve been eatin’ takeout for the past week, and I’m starting to feel like shit.” You laugh, unlocking your door. Harry stands outside, holding it open while you grab your purse and lunch bag.

“Honestly, I don’t have a preference. I switch it up a lot,” you shrug, making sure all the windows are closed before walking out. “Was there something, in particular, you were looking for?”

“Uh,” Harry scratches the back of his head. “No? Maybe you could text me a list of all your favorite stores, though. Jus’ so I won’t forget.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, ignoring how fast your heart was beating. “Are you asking for my number, Mr. Styles?”

“I guess I am,” he replies nonchalantly. “We’re gonna be workin’ together a lot. Might as well have your number– if that’s okay, I mean.” He looks down at you.

“Yeah, remind me after the meeting,” you tell him, trying your hardest to play it cool. “Don’t let me forget.”

“Trust me, I won’t.”

“So Y/N and Harry, you two will be in charge of the pumpkin decorating booth? Is that right?” The principal looks down at his notes and then shifts his gaze between the both of you. You both nod.

“Yeah, I’m excited! I think it’ll be a lot of fun,” you reply excitedly. “We can go to the craft store and get a bunch of paints, but where do you think the best place to get the pumpkins would be?” You pull out your planner, ready to jot down any suggestions.

“You two could try going to a pumpkin patch? They’re starting to pop-up around town,” one teacher suggests. “I’m sure if you purchased a bunch and told them it was for a school event, we could get some kind of deal.” The rest of the faculty buzzes in agreement.

“Y/N and Harry, could you get to a pumpkin patch sometimes this week and see if they can give us an estimate of how much it would cost? Then I could let the PTA know.” You and Harry confirm that it will be possible to do sometime this week, and the meeting continues on.

By the time you’re finally free to leave the meeting, it’s already growing dark outside. Harry’s hands are shoved in his pockets, and he’s looking down at his feet. “So–”

“Do you want–”

You both stop, laughing awkwardly. “You go first.” you tighten the grip on your purse.

“Uh, I was jus’ gonna ask if I could get your number now. Yanno, so we can plan when we’re gonna go get all the stuff for our booth? And you still gotta tell me what your favorite grocery stores are,” he has a playful look in his eyes. For the thousandth time that day, your hands become clammy. There was just something about every interaction you had with him that made you so nervous.

“Oh yeah,” you answer coolly, digging in your purse for your phone. “Just text your number, so I have it.” You hand him his phone, and he stops dead in his tracks, a look of concentration on his face.

“I can’t walk and be on the phone at the same time,” he mutters when he looks back up and realizes you were watching him the whole time. “I don’t know how people do it.” He hands you back your phone. “What were y’ gonna ask me?”

“I was just um, I was gonna ask if you wanted me to give you a ride home? I mean, since you walked to work today and it’ll be dark soon,” talking to Harry made you feel like a nervous school girl interacting with her first crush, and you hated that feeling.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that–”

“It’s no bother, really,” you cut him off, and you realize you sound a little eager, but at that point, you didn’t even care. “I’m sure we don’t live too far from each other.” Harry looks slightly unsure but nods, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“If you’re sure, Y/N. I appreciate it, I owe you one,” he’s following behind you to the teacher parking lot. You silently pray your car isn’t messy inside like it usually is as you approach it. You decide to pick up your pace and walk ahead of him, telling yourself if the passenger side was messy, you’d just quickly throw everything in the back. “Heyyyy, why’re you walkin’ so fast? Are you sure you’ve got the time to take me home?” He takes a few big strides and quickly catches up with your hurried, tiny ones.

“Yeah, of course, I have time,” you respond, unlocking your car as you approach it. “If it’s messy, then just ignore it.” you preface, honestly not remembering the state in which you left your car this morning when you walked into work.

“Don’t worry about it. You should see mine,” Harry jokes, and it immediately puts you at ease. As you’re about to open your door, Harry quickly rushes to your side, opening it himself. “Let me.”

His hand rests over yours, and you quickly pull it away, your body heating up. “Harry, I’m already right here. I can open my own car door.”

“I know you can. But I’m a gentle—“

“You’re a gentleman, I know,” you playfully roll your eyes and take a step back, allowing Harry to open your car door all the way. You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t flattered and honestly a little bit turned on. He flashes you a smile as you situate yourself behind the wheel of the car and makes sure you’re all the way in before slamming it shut. You see him lightly jog around to the passenger side, and soon enough, he’s beside you, your car immediately starting to smell like his cologne.

“What music do you like to listen to?” Harry asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“You ask me a lot of random questions, Harry,” you reply, looking behind you as you slowly back out.

“Is it a crime to wanna get to know my new coworker?” you can hear a smile in his voice. “C’mon. What’s your favorite music to listen to?”

You shrug, looking both ways before exiting the parking lot. “Where do you live?”

“I don’t know my address yet. Just take a left at this light coming up. Favorite music?” Out of the corner of his eye, you see him scrolling through his music library.

“You don’t know your address yet?”

“No. I’ll play something random,” he says, tapping his hand on his knee. “You can take a right at that stop sign up there.” You put on your blinker and glance over your shoulder before switching lanes. Harry quickly pairs his phone with your Bluetooth, and a song you’re unfamiliar with blares through your speakers. Neither one of you says anything else, only speaking to each other when he’s giving you directions to his house, and you’re confirming what he said.

After two more songs, Harry says, “S’right up here.” He’s led you to a beautiful apartment complex— one you were looking at when you were moving out of your parent’s home but just couldn’t afford as a new graduate. You expertly parallel park and then turn the car off, a silence falling between the two of you.

“This is a nice complex,” you tell him after a moment. “Really close to school. I see why you opted to walk to work today.”

“Mhm,” he hums. His seatbelt is still fastened. “I understand if you’re busy, but did you wanna come in?” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he quickly backtracks. “I mean— it’s just— remember the activity you taught your kids today? About introductions? Jus’ wanted to know if you could walk me through it, that’s all.”

“Oh. Well yeah, I can hang out for a bit.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and reach in the backseat for your purse that you threw haphazardly over your shoulder earlier.

“Will your boyfriend be okay with you coming in, though?” He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“What makes you think I have a boyfriend?” You’re slightly taken aback and oddly flattered that he thought you were in a relationship.

“I dunno,” his face grows red. “You got all weird when I opened doors for ya. Figured you had a boyfriend.”

“I don’t.”

“Cool.” More silence falls, this time an awkward one.

“Should we go inside now?” you unlock the doors, quickly getting out of the car. Harry follows behind you and waits for you to walk onto the sidewalk before going up the walkway.

“How close do you live to me?” Harry asks, punching in his gate code. He pulls the gate open and gestures for you to go ahead of him. You decide not to comment on it this time.

“A couple blocks away. I could probably walk over here if I was in the mood to,” Harry shuts the gate behind you and walks over to the first set of stairs, taking them two at a time. “I was interested in this complex when I was moving out of my parents’ but I settled on something else.” He hums, stopping in front of the first door at the top of the stairs. There’s a brown ‘Welcome!’ mat outside his door, along with a few potted plants.

“Here we are,” he looks over his shoulder as if he’s checking if you’re still there. “Excuse the boxes. ‘M not done unpacking yet.” He pushes open the door and steps in, quickly turning on the light. You’re met with the same sweet scent of vanilla that’s in his classroom. Considering he was in the process of unpacking, his apartment was reasonably tidy.

“It looks good in here,” your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. You were in your coworker’s house that you just met that day, and you could already feel yourself developing a crush on him. There was obviously no way you’d let this relationship progress past anything strictly professional, but that didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to admire his beauty.

“Thanks,” he gives you a smile, relief washing over his face. “You can set your bag down if you want. Take a seat, make yourself at home.” He leaves the room, and you hear him rattling around in the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink? Wine? Coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee sounds great,” you reply. You set your purse down on his coffee table and sit on the edge of his couch, inspecting his living room closer. There were two books on the table, both flipped upside down as a way to mark his page. There were a few more plants inside, similar to the ones in front of his door. There was a framed picture of him with two beautiful women you assumed to be his mother and sister. Harry comes back into the room a few minutes later, two steaming cups of black coffee in hand.

“Here you are, Miss Y/L/N,” he puts on an exaggerated posh accent, and you giggle.

“Why thank you, Mr. Styles,” you respond in the same voice. “Do you have cream and sugar?”

He wrinkles his nose. “I think I might have sugar. Is oat milk, okay? I don’t have cream.” He goes back to his kitchen to retrieve the items before you can tell him it’s okay, and you’ll just drink it black. You thank him, pouring the tiniest splash of oat milk into your coffee. You can feel his eyes on you as you add a bit of sugar, stir, taste, and then add some more.

“So,” you begin after your coffee is made to your liking. “What did you think about your first day? You can be honest since we’re not on campus anymore.” Harry laughs, looking down at his fingernails.

“Uh,” he starts. You notice he says, ‘uh’ a lot. “It was terrific. Not so sure I would’ve felt the same way if I didn’t have you to help me through it.”

“We’re partners in crime now, Harry. We’re the two Kindergarten teachers, and you’re the only other person there my age? We’ve definitely gotta stick together,” you give him a big smile. He doesn’t smile back but looks a bit troubled instead. You wait for him to speak, coming to accept that long pauses were just a thing when having a conversation with Harry.

“Y’know how I assumed you had a boyfriend earlier? I thought after I’d said that–– rather I hoped after I said that you’d be like,” he clears his throat. “‘Why, no! I don’t have a boyfriend. Do you have a girlfriend?’” He put on the worst American accent you’d ever heard to imitate your voice, causing you to laugh. “To which I would’ve replied with a simple ‘no.’”

Now it’s your turn to leave Harry wondering what you’re thinking for the first time all day. You can feel his eyes on you as you look at his couch cushions, noticing a bit of crumbs that you hadn’t seen before. “Are you flirting with me?”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“You don’t even know me. We just met today.”

“Does that mean I can’t think you’re beautiful?”

You bite your lip, feeling yourself starting to grow a bit turned on by his forwardness. There was a part of you that would risk it all for just one night in bed with Harry because you just found him that attractive. The rational, adult side of you was screaming, ‘Don’t mix business with pleasure!’. By now, you had both moved closer on the couch to one another, knees nearly touching. “I think you’re beautiful, too.” He grins, setting his coffee cup down. You do the same.

“Would it be crazy of me to tell you that I really wanna kiss you right now?” His face is mere inches from yours, so close that you could smell the coffee on his breath. You shake your head.

“No. I really wanna kiss you too.”

“C’ mere, then.”

Harry leans forward a bit more until his lips are ghosting over yours. You pull at the collar of his shirt, bringing his already close body even closer to yours. His lips are softer than they look, and he’s a better kisser than you thought he’d be, too. He brings his hands up to tangle them in your hair, and that’s when you abruptly pull away, not wanting things to go too far. “We shouldn’t…” He looks at you with sad eyes, but he nods, understanding what you mean.

“Probably not the best idea?” his response comes out as more of a question than a statement, but you nod in agreement anyway.

“Definitely not. I’m um–– I’m actually gonna go,” you stand up, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “Thanks for the coffee, Harry. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see––”

You’re out the door, rushing down the stairs before he can even finish his sentence.

The rest of the school week goes on without either one of you mentioning it. It’s a little awkward for a couple of days, but by the time Friday rolls around, both of you decide the best course of action to take regarding the kiss would be to act like it never happened.

You’re in your room at lunch hanging up your kids’ artwork they made during their ‘Free Time’ this morning, having declined Harry’s lunch invitation for the fourth time that week. You decided to pretend to be busy with work so you wouldn’t be too tempted to go into his room. To most people, you’re sure it looked like you were avoiding him–– and maybe you were. However, you were trying to get over this crush on him in the best way that you knew how.

“Need some help?”

You jump, nearly falling backward off the stepstool you were on. “Holy shit, Harry! You scared the hell out of me!” You feel your body getting warm, and you quickly look away, not wanting him to see how flustered you were.

“Sorry, you weren’t answering my texts, so I decided to come see what you were up to,” he walks over to where you were standing and hands you a piece of art, smiling at it before handing it to you. “You’ve got some artists in your class.”

“Mhm,” you hum, not looking him in the eyes. You hear him let out a quiet sigh.

“Still able to go see about getting those pumpkins ordered after work?”

You had completely forgotten that you and Harry decided today would be the day you’d go get the pumpkin situated figured out for your booth. For a second, you consider making an excuse to get out of it, but you decide against it. This was something that both of you were asked to do, not just him, and you didn’t want the fact that you let your attraction to him cloud your judgment getting in the way of your professional responsibilities.

“Yeah, that works.”

He doesn’t say anything, and even though you’re not looking at him, you can see the gears in his head turning. “Should we talk––”

You’re quite literally saved by the bell, the end of lunch interrupting where you knew he was about to lead the conversation. “I’ll see you after school? Did you walk here again? I can drive.” Harry nods slowly.

“Uh, yeah. he replies. “I walked. Uh, ’m gonna go get my kids. See you after school then?”

“Yup!” you respond, fake enthusiasm in your voice. Harry gives you one more look before walking out of your room. You wait until he’s all the way down the hall before following behind him to bring your class back inside. You knew you were the one making things awkward between you and Harry. However, the realistic part of you knew getting involved with your coworker was one of the worst ideas you’d ever had in your life. For now, you’d just tell yourself that you were probably more into Harry than he was into you and pray that would be enough to make you get over your crush.

“I haven’t been to a pumpkin patch since I was a kid.” Harry stuffs his hands farther into his pockets while yours are tightly hugging your chest. You hum, not saying anything. The car ride there was a little awkward, and you were glad it was so short. You could tell there was a lot Harry wanted to say, but you were glad he wasn’t saying it. You keep seeing him glance at you, but you pretend not to notice.

“What size pumpkins should we ask for? Small ones, huh?” Harry nods, looking around in childlike awe. There was a small petting zoo, booths selling warm drinks and kettle corn, and an obscene amount of children.

You walk around together for a moment before encountering a friendly-looking employee who looked like he could help you out. Harry takes over, explaining the situation, and why you need to order one hundred tiny pumpkins. While you’re waiting for the employee to ask the owner if that would even be possible, Harry turns to face you.

“Y/N? Can we talk about what happened on Monday?” you’re about to tell him that you’d rather not, but he continues. “I felt something during that kiss, Y/N. I’m not sure if you felt it too, but I don’t want things to be awkward between us. We have to get through an entire school year working side-by-side, and if you’re not interested, then I respect that one hundred percent, but I just want––”

“So the owner said that is possible!” The employee that was helping you out comes back with a form and clipboard in their hand. “Can you just fill out some information and let us know what time you need it tomorrow? The owner said he could get it delivered and give you guys a discount since you’re ordering so much.”

“That’s great!” you exclaim, taking the form from him. You were glad to have been saved from your conversation with Harry. You quickly go through and fill out everything you can, telling them they can bill your school’s PTA.

The walk back to your car is silent. You’re replaying what Harry was saying to you over in your head, thinking about what he was going to say before he was interrupted. He opens your car door like he’s been doing, but he doesn’t make eye contact with you or say a word as he slides into the passenger seat.

“Y’can just drop me off,” Harry says quietly. He leans your seat back and closes his eyes. You wait to see if he’ll connect his phone, but he doesn’t, so you turn on the radio at a volume so low it almost can’t be heard. It takes everything in you not to speed back to his place. You just wanted him out of your car. You had such strong feelings for him that it physically hurt, and restraining yourself from telling him how you really felt was growing harder and harder.

“We’re here.” your voice is a little hoarse from not saying anything. Harry slowly opens his eyes and unbuckles his seatbelt, opening the door.

“Right. Thanks for the ride. What time do we need to be at school to set up our booth by?”

“Four. I can pick you up if you want?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He closes the door and walks up to his gate without looking back at you once.

“Hi Miss Y/L/N! Hi Mr. Styles!”

Groups of your students had been coming up to you excitedly all evening. It made you happy to see that the Kindergarten classes were no longer divided. They were starting to hang out with one another. Their parents tell you how their children thought it was just the coolest thing to be on school grounds on a Saturday, and how even though it was only a week into the school year, they were having the best time. It was comments like this that made you fall in love with your job all over again.

Things between you and Harry were going well. It wasn’t awkward, but you think it was because you were both too busy helping children paint their pumpkins. You were glad that Harry didn’t take the bit of downtime the two of you had when no one was at your booth trying to talk about the kiss and instead talked about other random things instead. You find out he loves baking (specifically, bread), he has an obsession with old music, and has about fifty tattoos. He talks to his mom on the phone every day, and he is extremely close to his sister. You tell him about your parents’, your undergraduate experience, your hobbies, and you finally tell him what music you like to listen to.

The festival quickly comes to an end, and you find yourself sad once you and Harry are done cleaning up your booth, knowing that you were just going to drop him off at his apartment and go back to yours to spend another Saturday night alone. You get to his complex almost too quickly, and you almost want to keep going and pretend you accidentally missed it just to be with him a bit longer. Instead, you park.

“D’ya wanna come inside?” He blurts out. Even in the darkness of your car, you can tell his face is flushed. “I mean if you haven’t got plans. I know it’s a Saturday night, so I understand if––”

“Nope, I don’t have plans. I’d love to.” Your hands are shaky as you unbuckle your seatbelt. He quickly gets out of your car and runs around to your side, opening the door for you before you can do it yourself. You almost don’t even notice since it was becoming such a habit.

“I picked up this new bottle of wine a couple days ago that’ve been wanting to pop open. Think we deserve a glass or two after such a long week, hmm?” You wordlessly nod, wholly mesmerized with just how good Harry looked after such a long day of work. His curls fell perfectly across his forehead, his eyes were sparkling and full of excitement.

“A glass of wine sounds great,” you reply with a chuckle. “I’m ready to drink a whole bottle by the end of the week if I’m being honest.” Harry laughs, quickly punching in his gate code. You could see his hands shaking a little bit, but you decide not to comment on it. He takes the stairs up to his apartment two at a time like he did last time you were there, but this time there’s an urgency and clumsiness to his actions that you haven’t seen before. He jams the key in his lock, quickly shoving the door open.

His apartment is a little messier than it was when you were in it at the beginning of the week, but it’s nothing disgusting. He runs his fingers through his curls, moving aside papers that were scattered along the length of the couch. “Sorry, I was doin’ some planning. Make yourself comfortable.” He disappears to the kitchen, and moments later, you hear the pop of a wine cork and the smooth sound of him pouring the alcohol into glasses.

He emerges from his kitchen, handing you a generously poured glass of wine. “Thanks, Harry,” you tell him before taking a big sip. It was sweet, and while you usually preferred a more dry wine, it was still delicious.

“Cheers to the end of a successful first week,” he holds up his glass, and you smile, clinking yours with his. “Thanks for helpin’ me get through it, Y/N. Couldn’t have done it without you.” You give him a timid smile.

“Stop, Harry. You’re a great teacher. I can see your kids love you already,” you take another sip of wine. “I kinda do too. I mean–– that came out wrong. I don’t love you, but I do think I like you.” You didn’t know what came over you at that moment, but something told you now was the time to lay it all out on the table with Harry. He sets his glass of wine down, the biggest smile on his face.

“Really? I thought you weren’t interested. Was kinda startin’ to feel like you hate me,” he sounds a little sad. You shake your head.

“Quite the opposite, actually. I’m really into you,” you didn’t even realize how you’d inched your way towards Harry. “I’ve been trying not to think about how we kissed because we shouldn’t, you know? We’re coworkers. I’ve been trying not to think about it all week, though, and I just can’t get you out of my mind.” He stares intensely into your eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he usually does when he’s thinking.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N?” he finally asks. You’re in the same position as you were last time, being mere inches away from the other’s lips. Only this time, you smell the wine on his breath, not coffee. You nod quickly, and Harry cups your face in his hands, hungrily pressing his lips against yours.

“You can do more than kiss me, actually,” you tell him breathlessly. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, a shocked look on his face. “When you say anything…” he trails off.

“I want you to fuck me, Harry,” you tell him bluntly. “Please. Been wanting that all week.” He licks his lips, looking at you in a way he hasn’t yet before.

“I can definitely do that,” he replies, resting his hand on your thigh. His large hand is dangerously close to your pussy, and you can already feel yourself growing wet. “Let’s get all these clothes off you then, huh?”

You stand up and quickly start removing your clothes. First, your blouse comes off, and that’s quickly followed by your bra. Harry’s leaning back on the couch, arms resting behind his head. “Enjoying the show?” you ask, quickly pulling down your jeans and underwear. You’re completely naked in front of him in thirty seconds flat, and you reckon that’s the fastest you’ve ever undressed for anything.

“Very much so,” he mumbles, palming himself over his khakis. “C’ mere, Y/N.” he pats his lap, and you move to sit in it, now straddling him. He softly presses his lips against yours, the hunger that was there just a moment ago completely dissipated. This was a much more hesitant kiss, more gentle and tender. “You’re really beautiful, Y/N.”

You giggle. “I know. You’ve told me that before.”

“I want you to know how much I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

Harry nods. “Can I have a taste of ya now?” you notice that his accent sounds a bit thicker than usual, voice a tad gruffer. You nod, swallowing thickly. Climbing off Harry, you lay back on the couch, situating yourself, so it’s a little more comfortable. He looks into your eyes, placing his hands on your knees. “Is this okay, Y/N?” You nod again, and he removes his hands.

“What’s wrong?” your voice has a hint of desperation in it, but after a week of extreme sexual tension, you wanted nothing more than to cum by the hands of this man.

“Wanna hear you tell me it’s okay. I don’t wanna do anything you don’t want,” he’s looking down at his hands.

“Harry, I wouldn’t have given you a striptease and laid back on this couch for you if I didn’t want it. I wholeheartedly give you permission to do whatever you want with me––”

That’s enough for him. He roughly pries your legs open, immediately licking a long stripe up your heat. You cry out, not expecting him to get right into it. You look down at him and groan when you see he’s making eye contact with you, a smug look on his face. “How’s tha’, love?” You nod, tangling your hands in his curls.

“Yeah Harry, please,” you moan. Harry sucks harshly at your clit, pulling off loudly, the sound echoing throughout his minimally furnished apartment.

“Please what, pet?” He’s looking you dead in the eyes, a devilish grin on his face while his index finger rubs small circles on your clit. Your chest is heaving up and down quickly as you try to calm your breathing down.

“Please make me cum on your tongue, Harry,” you try pushing his head back down to your cunt, but he doesn’t budge.

“Think I rather like hearin’ you beg like this fo’ me. Enjoyin’ watching you squirm like tha’, love.” Just as your about to beg for him some more to feed his inflated ego, he attaches his lips to your clit once more, this time adding his ring finger into your tight pussy. “You’re tight. Sure you’ll be able to take my cock?” His voice is muffled, and you just barely make out what he says.

You clench around his finger, and he laughs, the vibrations sending a new sensation across your clit. “Y’like thinkin’ about my cock, hmm?”

“Yeah, want you in me,” you beg, lifting your hips up. He grips onto your hips tightly, keeping you in place.

“Can feel yeh gettin’ ready for me, darlin’. Think you can take another one?” You nod, and Harry gently places kitten licks on your swollen clit while he slowly pushes his middle finger into you. You feel full in a way you haven’t felt in such a long time, and he only had two fingers in you. Once he pumps his fingers in and out of you a few times, he goes back to harshly sucking on his clit, moaning every so often so you can feel the vibrations against your cunt.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning loudly, and you pray Harry’s neighbors don’t hear you, knowing how thin apartment walls were.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, doll,” he mutters, adding another finger inside you. The burn feels amazing, and you place your hand on his wrist, urging him to go faster. “Gonna cum in my mouth, hmm? Gonna let me feel ya around m’ fingers?”

“Yes, please, Harry,” you feel yourself nearly there, your orgasm threatening to overtake you at any moment.

“Give it to me then, Y/N. Cum for me,” he demands. As soon as he says those three words, you’re done for, your body going tense as waves of pleasure roll throughout your body. He doesn’t remove his digits from the your cunt until you’re coming down from your high, placing a kiss to your clit. He laughs as you shudder at the overstimulation. Harry places his three fingers that were just inside of you and his mouth and sucks on them, not once breaking eye contact with you.

“That was really good,” you tell him, crawling on your knees towards him to place a kiss on the underside of his jaw—Harry’s beaming, a triumphant look on his face.

“Not yet. Gotta make y’ cum one more time. I’m a gentleman, after all.” You know he’s messing with you but also serious, so you lean back on the couch, opening your legs once again.

“Are you gonna take off your clothes too? Why am I the only one that’s naked?” Harry laughs, and you hear the clanking of his belt as he undoes it.

“You’re impatient, aren’t ya?” you nod, and he pulls down his tenting khakis and tight boxers. His cock springs up, slightly touching his stomach, and he hisses at the feeling. “Hold on a sec.” He gets up quickly, and you hear him hurry to what you assume in the bathroom, rummaging around. He comes back a minute later with a box of condoms, making you laugh.

“Is that a new box of condoms? Have you been holding onto those all week, Mr. Styles?” Harry rolls his eyes and opens the box, ripping open a condom expertly with his teeth.

“Weren’t you just the one beggin’ for me, pet? I’d watch it if I were you,” he jokes, rolling the condom onto his hard length. He leans down to place wet, opened mouth kisses to your breasts. “So beautiful.”

“Are you gonna take off your shirt?” you ask quietly. “I kinda wanna see all your tattoos.” Harry raises an eyebrow at you but unbuttons his shirt nevertheless, throwing it into the mess of clothes scattered around the living room. You reach your hand up, shakily tracing the swallows on his chest, moving down to the butterfly across his stomach and finally to the ferns on his abdomen. Harry’s staring down at you, watching as you delicately touch his skin. “You have so many.” you finally say. He nods.

“Yeah. Some of them I just got for the hell of it. Felt like after I got that first tattoo, it was hard to stop.” He caresses the skin on your thighs, and you shudder again. “Gonna let me get inside that pretty lil’ cunt now?”

“Please.”

Harry aligns himself with your entrance and slowly pushes into you, sharply inhaling as you clench around his length. “Relax, Y/N.’ve got ya,” he tells you reassuringly. “Can’t get inside ya if you’re all tense like tha’.” You can tell Harry’s trying his hardest not to absolutely wreck you, the vein in his forehead very prominent from clenching his jaw so tightly. You grip tightly onto his bicep, biting your lip as you adjust to his size. You were so wet and indescribably turned on that you felt every vein his thick cock had to offer, and you knew you wouldn’t last long once he started moving. By the looks of it, Harry wouldn’t either.

“You can move,” you tell him, squeezing your eyes shut. Harry slowly pulls out of you and then ever so gently sinks back inside you, bottoming out. He lets out a breathy moan, moving one of his hands up to tweak your nipples. “Harder, Harry, fuck.”

He immediately pulls out of you and slams back inside, the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass echoing in the room. You scream in pleasure, no longer caring if his neighbors hear what you two were doing.

“Like tha’?” He asks cheekily, working up a steady rhythm. You nod, gripping your boobs to keep them from bouncing. Harry shakes his head, forcefully removing your hands. “Nope, none of that. Wanna see ’em.” He takes both of your hands in one of his, pinning them up over your head. His other hand reaches in between your bodies to rub at your clit, and before you have time to warn him, you’re cumming again, squirting all over his cock.

Harry throws his head back in pleasure, his thrusts getting sloppy and frantic, and you know he’s seconds away from his own orgasm. You spur him on, telling him how badly you wanted him to come inside of you (even though he was wearing a condom). He stills moments later, shaking above you as he holds himself up with an arm, not wanting to collapse on top of you.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N. Why did we wait a whole week to do this again?”

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic #teacher!h

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snowstark · 3 years

Note

Anon with the arts v stem bs for you, could you write a thing where Peter is in your position trying to write an essay when his brain Just Won't Work Right To Do The Words and he asks Tony for help and Tony's like *cracks knuckles* "get on your knees, baby boy, I'm writing this whole thing for you and you're gonna have your mouth stuffed with my cock until I'm done"

my god i saw this at like 7 am and went “shit, yes. i have to write this” before passing the fuck back out until 10. also sorry it’s late, i got carried away

we say thank you, we say please.

you can also read on ao3!

“Ugh!”

Tony glanced over at yet another one of Peter’s noises of complaint. They had grown in severity and loudness over the past few minutes, and the angry crinkle in Peter’s forehead told him just how frustrated the younger boy was.

“Fuck!”

Tony sniffed a smile, amused. “You doin’ okay, baby?”

“No,” Peter bit back, slamming his forehead onto the desk. “This stupid essay isn’t working out. Why am I even writing an essay? Isn’t the whole point of science to experiment?”

“And reflect on your findings,” Tony corrected with a roll of his eyes. He got up from his seat and came over, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder to peer at the laptop screen. “Lemme see what you have.”

“Be my guest.” Peter tried to get up, but stilled when Tony shoved him back down.

Humming, Tony read over the introduction Peter had managed to craft, then wordlessly reached out and highlighted the whole thing before deleting it.

“Hey!”

“Hm?” Tony smiled at him sweetly.

“Why’d you do that?” Peter seethed with a pout.

“Because it was trash,” Tony replied. “And I know you know that it was.” He held Peter’s gaze until the fire in it died down a bit, and waited until Peter dropped his gaze.

Miserably, the younger boy picked at his nails. “I’m gonna fail this course. I’m not smart enough.”

“Don’t say that.” Tony’s voice was sharp. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that again; you hear me?”

Silence, then a petulant look.

Something Tony clicked. He reached out, slid a hand through Peter’s soft curls, and tightened his hand into a fist, pulling hard enough for Peter to hiss through his teeth. “I said, you hear me?”

“Yes,” Peter muttered. “Ow! You’re gonna pull my hair out if you don’t—ow, yes! Yes, Daddy.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” Tony eyed Peter for a few more seconds, then let go. “You should start off with the basics. Think of a good hook, but don’t you dare try and make a statement about society or some shit like that. Profs hate it.”

“I can’tttt,” Peter whined. “It just doesn’t work.” He turned to look at Tony with his best puppy eyes. “Maybe you could write it for me.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, honey, hilarious. Now you want to commit an academic offense.”

Peter glared. “This entire essay is an offense! To me! And if you don’t help me, I’m going to fail, Tony. Okay? I’m gonna get a big, fat, ugly zero—”

“You sure you want me to help?” Tony interrupted, a wicked, filthy plan suddenly forming in his mind. He nudged Peter out of his seat and sat down, appraising him, mouth already watering in anticipation. “Because you know I don’t do things for free, sweetheart. You’ll need to pay me back somehow, show me how grateful you are.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that massage you’ve been asking for—”

Tony barked out a laugh that silenced him. He let his hands drop to the buttons on his jeans, enjoying the way Peter’s eyes immediately followed the movement. “Oh, no, no, no, baby. That’s not what I’m asking for.” He pressed the palm of his hand to his dick, and looked at Peter with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” Peter immediately said. Tony didn’t miss the way he sounded a little more strained now, eyes still fixed on the tent in Tony’s boxers. “I’ll pay you back.”

Tony smirked, then snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor. “Get on your knees, baby boy. I’m writing this whole thing for you and you’re gonna have your mouth stuffed with my cock until I’m done.”

Peter dropped to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and looked up at Tony expectantly, licking his lips.

“You know what I love about you, honey?” Tony drawled, sprawling his legs wide open, enjoying the way Peter immediately leaned closer. He pushed a hand through his hair again and leaned close so that they were nose-to-nose.

Peter tried to kiss him, almost instinctively, and Tony laughed before gently pushing him away. “You’re always so”—Tony yanked his head back harshly with the grip on his hair, eliciting a gasp—“fucking”—A sharp slap to his face, making Peter moan—“grateful.” A caress now, to counter the heat blooming in Peter’s cheek. “Isn’t that right?” He ran the pad of his thumb across Peter’s bottom lip.

Peter stared up at him adoringly in response, eyes wide.

The boy was already completely out of it, Tony noted with amusement. So responsive. Beautiful. He let his thumb brush against his flushed cheeks before sitting back and gesturing to the zipper on his pants.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, watching Peter’s eyes flash eagerly. “I undid the button for you, didn’t I? I think you can do the rest by yourself.” He stopped Peter with a hum when the boy reached out with his hands, and he shook his head. “No, baby. With your teeth.”

Peter swallowed, then obediently wriggled forwards and mouthed at the zipper, trying to get a good grip on it with his mouth.

Tony watched him for a few moments before reaching out to pet his hair as silent encouragement. It took Peter a few more seconds before he managed to pull it down, and Tony grinned when the boy immediately nuzzled closer, mouthing at his cock almost hungrily.

Tony pulled him back a bit before holding a hand out in front of Peter. “Spit.” Once Peter obeyed, he took himself in his hand and stroked in long, lazy motions, not taking his eyes off of the boy for a single moment. After a few minutes, Peter began to make impatient little noises at the back of his throat, just as Tony had expected him to.

“Needy thing,” Tony crooned, then smacked Peter’s face with his dick, making the sub jolt. Peter looked up, eyes glazed over, practically whacked into submission now. “Open up. I wanna see you gagging on it, you hear me? Don’t you dare try and slack off.”

Peter nodded in quick little jerks of his head, mouth falling open immediately at the order.

Tony fed his cock into Peter’s mouth inch by inch, wet and warm and ready for him, until Peter had taken him into his mouth nearly completely. He ran a hand through the sub’s curls, then shifted, feeling his cock hit the back of Peter’s throat, and pulled the laptop closer to him. He felt Peter’s cheeks hollow as he tried to swallow in vain around his cock, and Tony cursed quietly under his breath at the spasm of Peter’s throat.

Right. The essay.

He sucked the inside of his cheek, thinking, before beginning to type.

Biophysics is critical to our understanding of the mechanics of the molecules in our lives, and how complex systems and beings function, which, according to—

Tony stopped when Peter’s cheeks hollowed yet again and he looked down, raising an eyebrow. “You need something?”

Peter’s eyes widened and he shook his head as best as he could, then pulled back to wipe the drool on his chin with the back of his hand. “Just—was just tryin’ to swallow, Daddy.” God, he already sounded wrecked, voice rough and throaty.

“What, embarrassed that you were making a mess of yourself?” Tony chuckled, then shoved his hand into Peter’s hair before yanking him back onto his dick. “Stay. There. Your job is to be the filthy, needy thing you are while being grateful for what I’m giving you. Remember what I said about wanting your mouth to be stuffed with it until I’m done? You think I was joking about that?”

A small whine; Tony gave him the benefit of the doubt because he was feeling generous today and assumed it was a ‘no.’

He went back to work after that, and for the next half hour, the only sounds that filled up the room was his typing and the occasional little noise Peter made, whether it be a small exhale from his nose or an attempted swallow of his throat.

He took the time to finish, then ran through it three times to edit it. After the last run, he finally—finally—looked down at Peter, whose eyes were closed, eyelashes occasionally fluttering with each shallow inhale he took through his nose.

Tony rested his hand on Peter’s head, watching him, then murmured, “Good boy. Get me off now, sweetheart. Show Daddy how good you can be.”

Peter was more than eager to obey, and in less than five minutes, Tony was swearing under his breath, hips canting without his permission, and he could barely stutter out a warning before he came down Peter’s throat.

Peter took it like a champ, swallowing every drop and only pulling off when Tony made him. Panting, he looked up at Tony, eyes wide and teary.

Tony brushed a thumb over his cheek for a few moments, then murmured, “Good boy.”

When Peter reached for his leaking, red cock, Tony snapped sharply, “Ah-ah! What’re you doing? You think you deserve to get off by yourself? No, baby, you have to earn that.”

Peter looked up at him through wet eyelashes. “But I—” He gestured vaguely to Tony.

“What, made me come?” Tony rolled his eyes. “No, sweetheart. That was just you thanking me for writing your essay. All you had to do was drool all over my cock and show me how grateful you were for my generosity. Not exactly a hard feat like, say, writing an essay, is it? Not for a greedy little thing like you, at least.”

Peter stared at him, jaw slack and hanging open.

Tony grinned, and it was mean. “This, though...” He reached down and formed a loose ‘o’ with his hand, stroking Peter’s cock from the base to the head in one easy, smooth motion. “We’ll see about this. Get on the bed.”

Peter immediately scrambled to obey, and Tony’s grin grew.

Oh, he was going to make Peter beg, and enjoy every single moment of it.

__________

A few weeks later, Peter came marching up to Tony’s desk, then slapped down a package of paper.

Tony raised an eyebrow.

Peter jabbed his index finger at the 98%, written and circled in red, at the top of the first page. “My essay,” he said, proudly, making Tony bite back a laugh.

“A ninety-eight,” Tony mused, picking it up and leafing through it. “Not bad, huh?”

“It’s perfect.” Peter maneuvered himself onto his lap, straddling him and mouthing along his neck.

“Two percent away from perfect.” Tony tossed the paper back onto the desk and let his hands drift down to squeeze Peter’s ass, hard enough for his nails to dig in even through the sweatpants. “Should’ve been a hundred. Must’ve lost a mark or two ‘cause your mouth distracted me.”

“Not my fault I’m so good,” Peter chirped.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh, good at being a filthy slut.”

Peter ignored him. “Besides, maybe next time you’ll get that hundred for me.”

Grinning, Tony pulled back to look at Peter’s face, then kissed him, wet and hard and sloppy. Peter’s chest was heaving by the time they pulled apart, and he pushed his thumb through his lips and into his mouth, watching him suck languidly for a few moments before saying, “Yeah, baby boy. You’re right. There’s always next time.”

Because they both knew this wouldn’t be the last time.

#starker #tony/peter #tony x peter #ironspider #tonypeter #nff #dom!tony #sub!peter #my fics #sexually motivated academic dishonesty series

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some-dr-writings · 3 years

Text

Nagito x depressed, imaginative S/O

· You were a very introverted individual. Preferring to keep to yourself and having very few friends whom most others would consider family should they be in your position. You rarely spoke and avoided the spotlight. Being the center of attention or being with too many others was incredibly draining so you always tried to hide. You were certainly on the extreme side of introversion, in fact, it likely wasn’t even introversion that led you to the point of outright avoiding people at any cost. You found them so noisy and annoying…

· That was likely why you liked Nagito and agreed to date him. He was a walking disaster either summoning incredibly good or bad luck. Many avoided him because of that, so even if there was a brief stint of chaos things soon settled down… Nagito was also kind. He’d quietly watch as you worked on your latest rpg maker game. He’d cook and clean for you letting you hold yourself in your dorm just working away…

· As amazing as Nagito found you, at times he was worried. You always seemed to be somewhere else. Your eyes seemed unfocused, glazed over as if they were that of a porcelain doll’s. You’d never noticed when the school bells rang, and if it wasn’t for him texting you every morning you’d likely never get out of bed. But as the Super High School Level Storyteller you were likely just thinking about new plot lines or character arcs for your characters, maybe composing the perfect theme song or game mechanic. Yet… Something about you just kept nagging away at him. You’d get so frustrated with yourself at times, and he didn’t know why. There was something about you he just couldn’t quite place his finger on.

· It was the dead of winter. Nagito watched as the snow drifted down, swirling around. A rather lovely sight. Pulling his coat just a bit closer he trotted over to your dorm room.

· “The door’s unlocked?” It was open by only a crack… He simply stood there for a moment before hesitantly pushing the door open. Your room was just as cold as the outside so Nagito promptly closed the door upon entering, hoping to trap even his minuscule amount of body heat in the room. “Y/N?” It was absolutely silent, only his own heartbeat and his soft footfalls upon the carpet could he hear. Your room was an absolute mess. Trash, dirty dishes, reference sheets and notes scattered about, quilt and sheets seemingly tossed onto a pile of… something Nagito was too nervous to even take a peak at, clothes uniform and pajama alike in a corner and you, just laying atop the mattress, arms draped over your eyes, a few empty bags of snacks with you along with crumbs. “Y/N.” You didn’t respond… at all… were… were you even breath- Nagito immediately shook his head as if trying to shake away that thought and instead he looked at the floor, puzzling out a path to take that wouldn’t step on anything.

· This wasn’t the first time Nagito had seen your room like this, but… it seemed worse than usual. Nagito couldn’t help but begin to fret as to why he even had come here in the first place. It was common for you to go off the grid for a few days, so completely absorbed in your work, or lost in though planning out a new tale to tell, but… it’d been two weeks without a singe sign of our existence anywhere, you didn’t even send a text telling your friends to not bother you since you were in the creative zone. There was just nothing.

· “Y/N!” Placing his hands on your shoulders he rocked you. “Ugh, what do you want. I’m thinking right now.” Nagito shakily let go of the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “I’m sorry. I just thought I’d check in on you since it’s been a while.” “Okay.” Then you rolled over onto your side. “… Do you know how long it’s been?” “…” “It’s been two weeks si-” Finally it seemed he had garnered your attention. You looked over your shoulder to him. “two weeks?... that can’t be. I… yeah! I just texted you before getting to bed.” He opened his texts and presented the screen to you. You just stared at it before abruptly sitting up. “Two weeks!? But I… Damn it, not again!” You rubbed your temples, seemingly those two weeks hitting you all at once. You groaned, crumpling over yourself… Nagito simply sat beside you, holding you up, rubbing his hands up and down your upper arms to help get some blood moving and warm you up, you were freezing. “Again?” You flinched… then chuckled? “Yes, again. As always! I just can’t bother anymore! I’m tired, I want to sleep, but I can’t sleep. I sleep when I shouldn’t and am awake when I should be sleeping! I want to be passionate and do things but I just can’t! Isn’t that fantastic!? Being absolutely worthless and not being able to do anything!” “Y-Y/N!” “You say you’re garbage but look at me! I’m worse than garbage! At least trash can be made into art, and I… I’m just worthless! I can’t even take care of myself! I rely on you for everything! I can’t even work anymore! All I can do is just hate myself for not doing anything, try to do something, but give up because I’m too exhausted and hate myself again! Isn’t that just fun! An endless cycle of suffering! All I can do is daydream and pretend to be something better, but it’s funny torture, because I know I’ll never improve! Maybe I’d be better… better… fuck… I said too much…”

· You wanted to hide, but even that was too much of a bother. Your whole body just felt so heavy, impossible to move. Even trying to keep your swirling, racing mind steady sent shivers through your body. You…

· …

· Everything was very white and sterile. You were… in a hospital? You were going to look around, but found an IV stuck into your arm, Mikan dashing away, saying something about a doctor, and Nagito, who was asleep, laying his head on the mattress you were on, holding your hand. Soon after Mikan and a doctor showed up to speak with you, shooing Nagito out temporarily. Your body couldn’t take how much strain you were putting on it with eating and drinking so little so when you started having a panic attack, it was too much for your body to take on so suddenly and you had collapsed. It had been a few days since then and you were now in a more stable condition… they were also rather keen on finding out why this happened.

· You just wanted to talk to Nagito.

· When he entered your room he looked so relieved, yet the concern etched into his features was evident. You hated it. So gently he hugged you, nuzzling into your shoulder. “… just stop.” “Stop what?” You felt his grip loosen, and before he could let you hugged his arm, keeping him in place. “Stop caring about me, please.” “I… don’t think I could ever do that, even if I want too.” You held him tighter, feeling the tears percolating in the corners of your eyes. “Nagito… I just keep getting worse and worse. Now with this… it just shows I can’t even keep my head above water. Please just ignore me, I don’t want to be a burden to you. I don’t want to worry you like this, I… I just…” You quickly wiped away those tears that kept trickling out. “I’m sorry…”

· He hugged you tightly. “So warm.” “Huh?” For a moment he simply indulged in being able to hold you again, hear your voice even if it wavered. He was just so glad to see you awake. “It’s alright. You’re here, I’m here. You are amazing and can do anything. And I’ll do anything I can to help you. We can work together and try our best.” “No, I can’t, i… I’ve been dealing with this for so long. Nagito… I’m tired, I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. It’s just going to get worse and worse and… I’m sorry. I… I should have told you about this, I shouldn’t have dragged you into my mess, I shouldn’t be with you, I’m just going to hurt you. I…”

· Slowly he let go and instead sat beside you. “Do you not want me anymore?” “…” You couldn’t bare to look at him, instead glancing to the wall, clutching the bed sheets. “You said we could work through this, right?” “Yeah.” “… I… I can’t deal with this… how I have no control over my body… how I can’t do anything to satisfaction… how I just can’t be happy anymore… That’s why I daydream. I don’t even do it intentionally anymore, it just happens… Heh, e-even now it’s taking everything I have left to be ‘here’ to even have this conversation or to talk with the doctor before… I… I don’t know how much longer I can force myself to concentrate before I just give out again. but… I can’t work through this, i-if I do, I’ll lose what little I have left, my talent and you. You… y-you adore people who are talented s-so even if I’m magically normal like everyone else, I… I won’t have to day dream, I won’t daydream, then I can’t make games anymore, my daydreaming is where I write so if I change and stop that I won’t be a story teller, I won’t be ‘hopeful’ or an ‘Ultimate’, you won’t love me, but… I… I see now that… I’m toxic like this, I’ll just drag you down with me I-I, I…” You pulled up the sheets, tucking your head under them… You didn’t want him to see you like this, though… seeing how not hopeful you were, how you were just falling deeper and deeper in this despair that has always suffocated you. Maybe he’d finally leave you, that way you’d have one less thing to mess up. All you would have was yourself. You wouldn’t hurt him anymore and he’d leave of his own accord and be happy without you, so he wouldn’t have to worry about his bad luck hurting you like it had done with others… but… what if he blamed himself for this. What if he thought it was his bad luck. Were you hurting him even more than you thought!? Was he blaming himself this whole time!? Is that why he was with you when you woke up, to apologize for his luck!? Were you-

· …

· What was that pressure?

· Though your vision was still clouded you could see Nagito was still by your side, his hand placed atop your arm. He scooched over a little, getting closer to you before cupping your cheeks in his hands, stroking those tears from your puffy red eyes with his thumbs. “I’m a trash boyfriend. Y/N. I love you. Your talent is only a sign of how amazing you are. Look at Hinata, he’s amazing and he’s in the reserve course of all places! And you are like him, amazing. Even right now you’re fighting to be here with me despite how much it hurts. I will love you no matter what happens. If you want help, I’ll search for help with you. You can make it through this, I know you can. You were able to make it this far on your own, weren’t you? You did what you had too, and you’re still here, and… if you’ll still have me, if fearing your hurting me is not too much, I’ll still be here. So… do you want me to stay?”

· It… was a long process. Due to why you ended up in the hospital you were sent to therapy. Despite Nagito’s constant assurances you were still so scared and distanced yourself again, just getting lost in thought. Going to the sessions took all the energy and focus you could muster and you’d end up daydreaming immediately after so Nagito would keep a vigilant eye on you, getting you back home, and making you a healthy meal, even staying with you through the night hoping the presents of another person would lull you to sleep.

· It was difficult every step of the way, but everyday you both kept trying. It was all you could do, and… you had each other. On good days when your mind could be clear for a moment, when you were with Nagito and not in one of your many worlds… you’d make a vow to get better and better so that one day, you could support Nagito just as he had for you now. It was the least you could do for such an amazing person.

#nagito komaeda #nagito x reader #Mod Gundham #danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #danganronpa2 #Super Danganronpa 2 #danganronpa imagine #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa 2 imagine #danganronpa 2 imagines #dr imagine #dr imagines #dr 2 imagine #dr 2 imagines #danganronpa x reader

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justafewsmallsteps · 3 years

Photo

Late for Halloween, but hey, it’s Inuvember. So here’s my annual contribution to my Witch AU, Now You’re Mine. Read part 1, part 2, and part 3 to understand (or you can just like the art?) This time we have exposition and angst. I appreciate any responses in the tags or comments.🥺Or any questions about this AU! Maybe I’ll even want to write more...

Now You’re Mine Pt. 4 Words: 2208 Rating: T for violence mention and blood

It was a long, slow night for them. After Kikyou disappeared, Kagome barely uttered out his name and traced his cheekbone before falling unconscious once again. Though she stopped bleeding so profusely, he still thought it was best to get her away from the ritual sight. The full moon had his blood running hot in his veins, but the immediate danger was gone. He was on high alert that night, listening for her heartbeat and feeling her pulse to stay calm and keep his transformation at bay. It was a miracle he hadn’t turned with the events that happened, but he was on edge the whole time, red flickering in and out of his vision. His heightened senses also had him feeling extra paranoid.

By the time the sun rose and his mind felt clearer, he resolved to get them back to Kaede’s place. Inuyasha treated Kagome gingerly as they slowly made their way back. She was in and out of consciousness and her waking varied from groggy calls out to him and sudden gasps. He kept reassuring her that he was there, that she was okay now, and that he’d get them back safely.

It was annoying to walk, and that was exacerbated by the ball weight dragging his leg. He still didn’t get why it’d suddenly become so heavy overnight, but he figured it was because Kagome was in such a bad state. He doubted she would have had the strength to fly them back even if she had her broom.

When they finally walked through the entrance, it was already past nightfall. Kaede saw Kagome’s pale face and limp body and flew into action. She brewed up a strong potion to get her feeling better. It was a deep green color, full of dried ingredients to make it extra potent as they rehydrated. Normally the smell of it would send Inuyasha right out of there and far away, but he found himself uneasy being too distant. For a while he fidgeted and did his best to bear it, but eventually it proved too much for his still sensitive nose to handle. He stood outside where the scent wasn’t so concentrated, but paced under the starlight to keep guard. He doesn’t sleep. He can’t. His mind swirled along with the dried up leaves being swept up by wind.

In the early morning, Kaede joins him in the front.

“Kagome slept through the night and she’s still asleep. The medicinal potion causes drowsiness. The human body works best when it rests. She’ll probably be waking soon, but she’ll have to take it easy for some time. She was drained of a lot of blood.”

Inuyasha gives a shrug to acknowledge her. He’s not sure what to say, but he feels a little relieved. He didn’t get a wink of sleep the past few days and it was starting to take a toll on him.

“Dark witches are tricky and aren’t afraid to use any spell to serve their purposes, even if they defy the Laws. Kagome’s been through a serious blood ritual, that much was clear, but she hasn’t been able to recall a lot of what happened, so you’ll have to give me more details, Inuyasha.”

He’s quiet. What happened? A lot more than he was ready for. Between the capture, Kikyou’s resurrection, and Kagome’s near death, he’s having a hard time processing it all. Let alone how it’d been the night of the full moon, so he’d been in a near-transformation haze. Kikyou’s ghost haunted him, and Kaede had reacted so strongly when news of her came up before. Of course she had, they were of the same clan. He now knows for sure that Kikyou didn’t just disappear the night she sealed him. She died before she ever got a chance to kill him. Now she was out there somewhere.

Her words echo in his skull. “Inuyasha, I will be back for you. I refuse to die until I end you. Remember that your life is mine.”

Sensing his hesitation, Kaede adds, “The more I know about the events that transpired, the better I can treat Kagome.”

He shuffles and sighs. “Kagome was captured by some crazy old bat called Urasue. That’s the one who ambushed her at the well. When I found her she was already bleeding out on the ground. The blood ritual was… to bring back another witch.”

“A Soul Trade,” Kaede confirms. “It’s a particularly complex spell, and one that requires many key factors. A dark spell that’s difficult to control.”

“But why Kagome? The old witch was after her specifically! She went through the trouble of kidnapping her right when she came out of the well.”

Kaede lets out a steady breath and lets it mingle with the cold before answering, “For a seasoned witch, it’s easy for us to sense the power potential in others. If you’re saying this Urasue could be a century old, then she fine tuned that sense long ago. Kagome’s magic is especially strong. Haven’t you wondered why a retired teacher like me would take her in so easily? To help her control it. Kagome’s magical aura makes her stand out. You should know. Even barely trained, she's able to do things most can never hope to master.”

“Like make me into her familiar.”

Kaede gives a solemn nod.

“So she was captured because she’s powerful?”

“Partly. It makes her easy to find.”

“Then why else?”

“Who was she used to resurrect, Inuyasha? I can only believe that she’d be necessary to revive another witch. One who shares her immense magic, and one who shares her blood.”

Inuyasha looks away and clenches his fist in his sleeves. It’s like denial. “Her blood… so Kagome is Kikyou’s blood after all.”

“You’ve always known Inuyasha. You said she could be mistaken for her.”

He doesn’t like the thought. “That’s why she could free me then too, right? Kikyou put the spell on me, and Kagome could undo it because they share a bloodline.” His ears droop slightly, and his eyes seem to glaze over a little in thought.

Kaede studies him, her good eye fixes on the chain at his ankle. He’d been dragging it when he entered and exited earlier, the weight leaving heavier trails than before. “Perhaps, but ‘undo’ isn’t the right word. Replace.”

Inuyasha scoffs, but his demeanor turns serious. “When I dragged Kagome out of the spell circle it started to reverse the ritual. Kikyou started bleeding out instead, but then she escaped using Urasue’s broom. I don’t know where she went, but Kikyou’s out there somewhere. It’s why Kagome feels this bad still, I’m sure of it. ”

“So Kikyou is stuck in the middle now.”

“In the middle?”

“An undead. It’s a rare phenomenon, especially for a good witch. There are those who specialize in animating the dead—like puppeteers toying with creatures, but to resurrect life requires a much stronger power. Imagine the strength it takes for a witch to resist a ritual so insidious.” She pauses, “Or the strength it takes to survive it.”

“Is Kagome going to be alright?” His tail swishes anxiously behind him.

“I told you she’s stronger than most.”

“But… what about Kikyou? Does she need Kagome to live? Is she going to come after her to complete the ritual?”

“Kikyou is also stronger than most, maybe the strongest to have lived. She was The Keeper of the Grimoire for a long time. She must have absorbed some of its powers when she locked it away. It’s possible she will turn to it now. For better or worse, I believe she’ll find a way to survive like this.”

“That’s what the hag was after. The Grimoire, just like before.”

Kaede wonders to herself what he means by “before,” but chooses to hold her tongue about it. Whatever secrets Inuyasha has about his past are his own.

“It’s a legend to most witches. A beacon for those who seek power. It holds dark, ancient secrets. Powerful spells that bend Laws instead of breaking them. Kikyou was rumored as the last witch to know its location and be able to access it, so it makes sense that Urasue would attempt to use her to find it, but foolish to think she could control her.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with frustration, the image of Urasue’s head being sliced clean off flashes through his mind. He swallows. “She’s… definitely something.”

“I have a feeling Kagome has the same potential to reach similar heights.”

“But she wouldn’t hurt a fly!” His ears droop. “She’ll have to learn how to protect herself though…” They can’t afford for this to happen again.

It’s that kind of concern he takes for his witch that warms Kaede’s heart and makes her believe that their relationship is more than it seems. Much as Inuyasha complains, there’s a genuine softness with which he treats her. “If you stay by Kagome’s side I’m sure she’ll be well guarded as I continue on her training. You being near her will give her strength, you share it with one another. That’s part of the familiar bond.”

It’s a clear invitation for him to go inside and see her, but he doesn’t know what to do. Part of him wants to check in on her, but another part feels weird about it. He can’t shake the feeling that he has to stay alert. As if on cue, he hears a small muffle from inside the room and his ears stand on alert. He stands up immediately on instinct, his chain making a light noise at the movement.

Kaede looks up and motions to stop him before he can push aside the screen. “I should warn you about the repercussions of stopping the ritual, Inuyasha.” Her tone is hushed.

He raises his brow.

“A Soul Trade links the sacrifice and the resurrected for a short time. It’s like a transfer between the two. It’s possible that because of the ritual, Kagome and Kikyou shared certain things. Emotions. Knowledge.”

His eyes go wide for a second and he holds his breath.

“Memories.”

Inuyasha presses his lips together and stands there for a moment, mind suddenly filling with new thoughts. What had Kagome learned from Kikyou? Did she hate him now too? There was no way, but then again, she’d basically been passed out the whole time. What could she have seen? He suddenly feels like running away, but he’s frozen.

Then the muffled sound repeats, and he hears his name. Everything in his mind shouts at him, Go to her! The familiar bond is pulsing through his head. Ultimately it’s her though, fragile and searching that moves him into action.

He lets his lungs empty and sucks in another breath, the cold sting of it filling his chest and reminding him of the night she freed him. When he felt his heartbeat for the first time in decades. He pushes the door aside and enters quickly, careful not to let too much chill inside.

“Inuyasha?” Kagome calls as soon as he’s in the room.

The scent of her blood has faded, but it’s still there staining her clothes, and it bothers Inuyasha a lot. Still, he wants to know she’s okay.

“I’m here, Kagome,” he assures her as he did their walk home. “Are you alright?”

She smiles and weakly nods at him, and knots in his stomach unravel just a little. She had a way of untangling him from dark places. “Stay by me?” she requests, holding a shaky hand towards him. He flashbacks to her limp hand stuck in the pentagram, to her reaching out to protect him. Of course she didn’t hate him.

The relief swells in his chest, but he doesn’t want it to make a big deal out of nothing. Instead of saying anything, he huffs out a breath to sound bothered and sits by her, the ball annoyingly dragging against the ground on his way. Instead of taking her hand, he checks it for her pulse.

“You need something?”

Kagome blinks, her eyebrows knitting in what Inuyasha can assume is either dizziness or pain. She makes a move to study him, trying to focus on his face. She swore he looked different last night. Red eyes and jagged marks on his cheeks. She reaches out to touch him, but he pulls away and stands up.

He’s relieved she’s alright, but suddenly afraid of her questions. “You’ve been out all night since Kaede gave you that potion. I’ll get you water. You just rest up.” Kaede’s warning is stuck in his mind like tar. There are things Kagome could know now, and he doesn’t want to deal with it.

Behind him the ball drags on the floor, catching Kagome’s attention again. Visions from the other night flicker in her mind, but they’re vague and fleeting. Some of them seem familiar, and other thoughts feel like she’s someone else. Her head aches to think about them, but her heart reacts with a different kind of pain. She frowns and watches him leave, tucking her hand back to her chest. She’s suddenly overwhelmed with longing, feeling small and pathetic as he walks away.

Why couldn’t he just stay by her side?

#inuyasha #inukag #kagome higurashi #inuvember #inuvember 2020 #jelly art #witch au #justafewsmallsteps #jelly fic #now you’re mine

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charincharge · 4 years

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Cruel Summer, Part 17

cruel summer masterlist

AN: 17 is my lucky number, but it is not Rowan’s. Sorry this thing is still hurting some of you. I think it’s still going to end up about 25 chapters, so... we’re moving forward. I swear! Okay, byeee.

Thump.

Rowan wakes up, unsettled by a loud noise coming from the living room.

“Shhh…” A loud whisper hushes. “My roommate is sleeping,” Manon slurs, followed by excessive giggling.

He looks at the clock. Just past 3AM. Rowan frowns. This is not what the needs right now.

Another thump followed by an “Ow!” and more giggles wakes him up entirely.

Another too loud shush as he hears two bodies stumble towards Manon’s bedroom, laughter trailing after them the whole way.

Manon’s door slams shut, and Rowan tries to close his eyes and fall back asleep. But soon soft moaning begins. Rowan rubs his hand over his face and cringes. He is so not in the mood for this. He just wants to sleep and temporarily forget about all his troubles. Is that too much to ask for?

He usually sleeps through Manon’s exploits. But not tonight. The moans are interlaced with profanities and the sound of thumping against the wall. The moans reach a crescendo, and Rowan has never been so insanely grateful for people to orgasm and go to sleep. But, minutes later, the moaning starts again.

Rowan puts his pillow over his head, trying to block out the noise, but he’s too attuned to it. He hears every sigh and whisper and expletive, and his entire body is on alert, far too anxious to fall asleep. He stays awake until the wee hours of the morning when Manon and her paramour finally settle down.

Rowan’s alarm goes off far too soon, much to his dismay. His head throbs with the lack of sleep, and his hand itches beneath his bandage. He knows he’s in for a rough day – and not just because of the event that’s going to happen tonight that he definitely doesn’t want to think about yet.

As he gets ready, he’s shocked to hear movement out in the kitchen. He’s so tired, he can’t imagine anyone else being voluntarily awake right now. He peeks out of his bedroom to see Manon, in her robe, making coffee. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s humming lightly. She smiles like the cat who ate the canary, and Rowan shudders. Smiles look terrifying on her.

“You look like crap again,” Manon says, sipping from her large red mug, eyebrows raised. “Want to tell me what happened last night?” She points to his injured hand.

“Not really,” Rowan says, reaching for the coffee pot himself, but Manon slaps his hand away.

“I’m making that for my guest,” she hisses, narrowing her golden eyes at him.

Rowan ignores her and pours himself a mug. “You and your guest kept me up all night, so I’m going to need some caffeine to make it through today.”

Rowan is dreading today. He really wishes he’d at least been able to sleep.

“Sorry,” Manon apologizes, though she sounds anything but.

“Hey, babe,” a warm voice calls sleepily. “I thought I heard noise out here.”

The woman who exits Manon’s room is absolutely stunning – she wears one of Manon’s tank tops and a pair of underwear, showing off the expanse of her dark skin, swirling with intricate art. Long dark braids fade to pink and fall down her back, making her look just as effortlessly cool as Manon. Her rich brown eyes flick to Rowan in surprise and she waves timidly.

Manon simply pulls the woman into her side and kisses her cheek. “Nimi, this is Rowan, my roommate. Rowan, this is Nehemia. We met on the yacht last night. You know, after you weirdly bailed.”

Manon is clearly asking Rowan to explain himself, but he’s in far too grumpy to attempt that.

Nehemia holds out her hand, and Rowan shakes it. “You can call me Nimi,” she clarifies, her accent rounding out the sharp vowels of her name. “Like Mimi, but with an N.” She smiles at Rowan, and he’s again awestruck by how beautiful she is. He’s constantly impressed by the caliber of girls Manon brings home, but Nehemia is a step above and beyond. Despite being exhausted, Rowan returns her smile in earnest. He guesses Manon deserves a night of fun, too, despite his own drama.

“I’m going to be late for work,” Rowan grumbles, looking at the time.

“This is my surprised face,” Manon deadpans, making Nehemia giggle that same giggle that Rowan heard over and over last night.

Rowan wishes them goodbye, and as he closes the door he hears Manon laugh. “Thank gods. I want to hear you scream for me.”

Rowan flees the premises faster, not wanting to even imagine the volume they’re about to reach. Also, he has to desire to be around happily coupled people right now.

He’s never been so glad to go to work. At least at the park, he’ll be distracted all day and around other miserable people.

Except for some reason, everyone at the park is having their best day ever. Even Lorcan, who usually skulks around the ground with a permanent scowl is buoyant and grinning as he hands out tickets with Rowan at the front booth.

He finds out why during his lunch break when Lorcan tentatively approaches Elide and asks if the steak house is okay for dinner tonight, to which Elide readily nods, leaving the pair nervously smiling and blushing at each other.

Gods, does everyone have a date tonight, Rowan wonders to himself. What was in those cocktails last night? Some sort of aphrodisiac?

Rowan pulls out his phone, notably devoid of text notifications, and wonders if he should reach out to Aelin. He wants her to be thinking about him during her date. He knows that’s selfish and stupid and totally the opposite of what he asked for, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t trust Sam at all, and something plagues Rowan’s stomach; that Sam will be in Aelin’s life long after he leaves it. The thought makes him nauseous.

He sits, picking at his lunch, but unable to really eat. Elide takes the seat next to him and gives him a small smile.

“How’s the hand doing?” she asks, pointing to the bandage still wrapped around Rowan’s palm. He shrugs. “You were missed last night,” Elide says, her tone insinuating much more than her plain words.

Rowan chuckles softly and looks at Lorcan, who is staring at the back of Elide’s head. “Yeah, what the hell happened after I left? I got woken up by…uh…company.”

Elide laughs back. “Oh man, isn’t Nimi so cool? She’s a friend of Dorian’s.” Her eyes glaze over, as if she’s playing the night back across her memory. “Basically, we decided to get sloshed and be each other’s wingmen.”

“It seems like you were all successful,” Rowan says, stabbing a piece of his cold chicken. Elide smiles and looks over her shoulder at Lorcan, who immediately looks down at being caught staring. “So, how’d that happen?” Rowan asks, curious about his two managers. “When I left Lorcan was not at the party…”

“Manon told me to stop being a coward – except, she used a much crasser word that I don’t like saying out loud.” Elide scrunches her nose. “So, I showed up drunk on Lorcan’s doorstep.”

Rowan’s jaw drops. “You did what?”

“Shut up. I know.” Elide covers her face. “I’ve never done anything like that in my entire life.”

“So, what happened?” Rowan asks, leaning forward. This gossip is the best kind of distraction for his aching heart.

Elide looks through her fingers, embarrassed. “He put me to bed in his bed and slept on the couch.” She snorts. “And then this morning I got really mad at him for not making a move, and he said that he would never take advantage of a drunk woman.” She smiles softly. “And that he insisted on taking me out first.” Elide takes a large sip of her drink and frowns. “Gods, I’m sorry. You didn’t need all those details. I haven’t even told Aelin yet.”

Rowan clears his throat, unsure if he should ask what he’s going to, but he can’t stop himself. “And did Aelin meet anyone new?”

Elide furrows her brows and frowns. “No. I assumed she went to go meet you?” Elide says. “She left the party with her parents shortly after you did.”

“Oh.” Rowan isn’t sure what to make of that detail. He stabs another bite of chicken.

Elide starts to say something and then pauses, and then starts again. And then pauses. Rowan rolls his eyes in frustration. “Just spit it out.”

“You should just tell her,” Elide says. Rowan raises an eyebrow at the petite brunette. “That it’s not casual for you.” Rowan swallows thickly but shakes his head and scoffs. Elide continues. “I’m just saying it as a person who wishes someone had told me to stop being a…” she lowers her voice to the softest whisper, “pussy.” Rowan cracks a small smile. “…sooner.

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

Rowan nods as Elide heads off, left with his head spinning around.

He takes his phone back out and stares at it. He hates the way he left things with Aelin last night. But what is he supposed to text her? Best wishes on your date tonight? No. He can’t say anything. He has to just suffer through this hellish day and hope she wants to talk to him after. The longer he goes without hearing from her, the more he realizes that he doesn’t think he’ll recover if she doesn’t want to see him again. He’s an addict, in dire need of his next hit. He only hopes he didn’t fuck everything up. He’ll keep all his thoughts to himself for the rest of the summer, as long as it means he gets to continue seeing her.

Rowan’s mood worsens in the afternoon. With every minute it gets closer to 8pm, he pictures Aelin getting ready in a fancy dress and doing her hair and applying makeup. For someone else. He thinks of Sam’s disgusting comments from the boat and aggressively rips a ticket in two. His frown scares a little boy making his way onto the carousel, as he skitters quickly past an incredibly grumpy Rowan.

He wonders where Sam is taking her. Probably another fancy restaurant. Dimly lit and romantic. He can’t stand the thought.

By the time the day ends, everyone has learned to avoid Rowan. Even Fenrys, whose smile can always cheer him up, gives Rowan a wide berth in the employee breakroom after he practically growls at him. Fenrys had no idea what he was asking when he asked what Rowan was up to tonight, but he knows he’ll never unleash that beast again. Rowan has no idea how he’s going to distract himself tonight. He’s all out of whiskey.

On his way home, Rowan calls his mom. It’s been a while since he’s done more than text her, and he’s relieved when she answers the phone, despite the late hour.

She can tell Rowan is in a foul mood nearly immediately.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” she asks, and Rowan groans.

“I just got no sleep last night. I’m sorry,” he apologizes, wishing he could be more cheerful for his mom, who he loves so much. She seems unfazed by his crabbiness, though.

“I was going to keep it a surprise, but there’s a present in the mail for you,” Dora says.

“What?” Why?” he asks, shocked.

“Because I saw it, and I knew you needed it. Don’t argue with me.” Her tone is resolute. “Just say thank you.”

“Thank you, ma,” he says, his mood lifting slightly.

“You’re welcome, Ro,” she says with a yawn. “Get some sleep tonight.”

She kisses loudly into the receiver, and Rowan can’t help but smile. Maybe he can get through tonight after all.

When Rowan arrives home, he cracks opens his front door, unsure if Manon and Nimi are still going to be at it, but luckily Manon is alone, lounging on the couch, watching TV. He nods hello.

Manon gestures to his room. “Something came for you while you were at work. I put it in your room.”

Rowan finally smiles, excited to see what his mom sent him. But when he opens his bedroom door, he’s shocked to see not a package on his bed, but Aelin, curled up with her arms wrapped around herself, cheeks stained black with remnants of watery mascara, and turquoise eyes staring vacantly into the distance.

“Aelin?” Rowan rushes to her side, perching himself on the edge of the bed. “What are you doing here?” He pauses, but she still doesn’t answer. “Are you okay?” he asks, though the answer is incredibly obvious.

Tears spill from her eyes onto his pillow as she shakes her head and sniffles loudly. Rowan looks her over. She looks so small, knees tucked into her chest. He takes in her dress, now wrinkled and crumpled from laying on her side. He tentatively touches her bare shoulder, and she startles beneath his touch, jolting slightly, and Rowan narrows his eyes.

“Did…” He swallows nervously. “Did he… hurt you?”

Aelin shakes her head again, and Rowan releases a shaky breath. Thank gods for small favors.

“Aelin,” he pleads as he watches her helpelessly. “You have to tell me what happened. You’re scaring me.”

“I d-didn’t g-go,” she mumbles, so quietly that Rowan isn’t quite sure he heard her right.

She pushes herself upright, tears still dripping down her cheeks. “I g-got in-to a hug-ge f-fight with m-my mom,” she stutters between ragged breaths, clearly trying to keep her tears at bay.

Rowan wipes his thumb across her wet cheek, pushing the tears away, but they come in steady streams.

“Y-you were r-right,” she whispers through sniffs. She closes her eyes and takes a deep, centering breath. When she opens them again, blue gold eyes stare into his, and he’s nearly knocked out by the emotion he sees swirling in them. “No one can make me do anything I don’t want to. I’m done pretending.” She breathes heavily. “Sam s-sucks,” she says, her voice cracking slightly.

Rowan smiles softly at her. “I could have told you that,” he says, and she chuckles humorlessly.

“My mom did not feel the same way…” she trails off, and the flash of hurt in her eyes tells Rowan that there’s a lot more to her fight than she’s willing to admit to him. “It was the worst fight we’ve ever had.” She breathes deeply. “I can’t go back there tonight.”

“You can stay here as long as you want,” Rowan says, and he means it. It’s not entirely a selfless offer.

Rowan leans forward tentatively and kisses Aelin’s forehead. She exhales a shaky breath beneath his touch, and he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her onto his lap. Her tears return in full force as she cradles herself against him. Dark splotches mar his shirt with her running makeup. She leans back and swipes at her cheeks.

“Oh g-god, I’m getting your sh-shirt all d-dirty,” she cries, the small detail making her even more upset. “I’m s-sorry. A crying g-girl s-so isn’t wh-what you s-signed up-p for.”

“I don’t care,” Rowan says emphatically, drawing her closer, and Aelin settles against his chest again. He runs his fingers through her golden hair, starting at her scalp and running all the way down the middle of her back, repeating the movement over and over until it becomes meditative. She sniffles quietly against him, her tears running dry as she calms down.

When her breaths finally even out, Rowan kisses the top of her head and tries to lift her off his lap, but she clings to him harder.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, and she nods, unclasping her fingers and letting him go. He goes to his dresser and grabs a worn in band tee and some boxers and tosses them onto the bed. He tugs his work clothes off and grabs some sweatpants from his bottom drawer. As he stands, two delicate hands wrap around his bare torso and soft lips press between his shoulder blades.

Rowan twines his fingers with hers as he turns around to look at her. She looks exhausted. The hours of crying have taken their toll on her. Her shoulders slump forward, and her sparkling eyes lack their usual luster. But Rowan thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.

She turns around in his arms and lifts her hair. He takes the hint and unzips her dress. She steps out of it and he holds up the band tee for her. She snakes her head through, and Rowan can’t help the surge of delight he feels at seeing her in his clothes. Aelin steps forward and wraps her arms around his neck, holding him close. He returns the hug so tightly he can feel their hearts beating together.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and Rowan hugs her tighter in response. He’d hold her forever if she let him. “Can I wash my face?” she asks, and Rowan nods and points her in the direction of the bathroom. Rowan finishes dressing as she cleans her face, and gets comfortable on his bed. When Aelin comes back out, she frowns at him unhappily.

“What?” he asks, nervous that he’s done something to upset her.

“You put a shirt on,” she complains, and Rowan can’t help but smile widely at that.

“So thirsty,” he says with a laugh, and Aelin finally smiles for the first time all evening.

“I’m actually hungry,” she says, crawling onto the bed next to him. He’s about to call her out for her blatant innuendo when she continues. “With tonight’s upset… I didn’t get to eat dinner.”

Rowan lifts his arm, and Aelin snuggles underneath it. “What are you in the mood for?” he asks. He holds out his phone for her to scroll through the limited delivery options, and Rowan smiles again at the domestic scene.

Aelin decides on Chinese food, and as they wait for it to arrive, they turn on the TV to one of Rowan’s favorite cooking competition shows.

Cuddled together on his bed, Rowan’s heart feels full. He resumes running his fingers through her hair, and Aelin sighs happily. He thinks about Elide’s advice, wondering if he should just tell Aelin what he’s feeling when she breaks the silence herself.

“You’re a really great friend, Rowan,” she says, and Rowan nods, squashing his feelings down again. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” he croaks out, continuing his movements through her hair. She kisses his bandaged hand and holds it in hers. As they sit together, Rowan can’t help but think this doesn’t feel like friendship. In fact, he thinks it feels a lot like love.

~*~*~*~*~

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#aelin x rowan #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #elorcan #cruel summer au #amusement park au #charincharge writes #tog fanfic #throne of glass

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teamsarawatshusband · 3 years

Text

Word Of Honor - 1st watch insta thoughts - Episode 4

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

In case you haven't read my previous episode summaries, you should know that I now refer to alcoholic tanned tragic hero lord guy as Baby Xu (because he gave the name Zhou Xu), Wen Ke Xing is Smirky Xing, Ke Xing's female travelling companion is referred to as purple love of my life (because she rocks).

Alright let’s get started with Episode 4:

:O WHAT? Smirky Xing is qi-gong-balling nuts? Is he the red masked nut guy??? WTF? Is that why he said he's terrifying? Is that why he wasn't there at first during the fight in the dusty place? Waaaahhhh

Aww, he stilll wants Baby Xu and himself to be on first name basis. Giving horses as gifts. He's so determined.

Oooh the beggars caught up. And they openly state they're with 5 Lakes and want to bring the kid back to... some guy, I already forgot. Hmmm. The kid is instantly scared and hides behind Baby Xu. Baby Xu looks worried too. Nobody trusts 5 Lakes. Smirky Xing also doesn't trust them.

Wow, that's a lot of beggars.

Oh no, Smirky Xing insulted the talky beggar guy. And now they wanna fight.

Woahooooo, Baby Xu is pissy at Smirky Xing, but he trusts him to take care of the kid while he throws himself into the fight. Nice.

Less than 6 minutes in and we already have a million times more action than in the last episode. Thank you.

I see what smirky Xing meant when he called Baby Xu elegant. He is a VERY elegant fighter.

Offering nuts again, lol. Doesn't he know that the kid never wants to eat?

But jokes aside, the way Xing and the kid don't even go far but stay close enough to watch shows really well that smirky Xing is super confident in Baby Xu's fighting skills...

Oh no, they broke the alcohol jars, Baby Xu is gonna be so pissed.

And Smirky Xing is kind of an ass, teasing Baby Xu about his promise to keep an eye on the kid, while the beggar is chasing the kid around and Baby Xu is doing all the work.

Ahhh, it's cause he wants Baby Xu to admit that he needs him. Hehe, smart. Evil but clever.

:O The beggars got swords in their sticks! Cheaty little fuckers.

Baby Xu is fighting a bazillion beggars at once, no problem while the kid is almost caught.

Oh no, Baby Xu is mouthbleeding. That's never a good sign.

Oooooh, Smirky Xing notices and instantly steps in. No more teasing.

Oh how the turntables. Baby Xu and the kid flee, while Smirky Xing takes on the beggars. Nice. Sharing the workload. Like good husbands. Smirklord ftw!

Oh no, Baby Xu is worried about being a loser. And now he's doing the smelly meditation thing again. Awww :(

Meanwhile Smirky Xing has killed all the beggars, and it's not even shown on camera. Like... he probably did it with a determined look, some nut throwing and a snap of a finger or something. Impressive.

LOL, the purple love of my life comes on screen, looks around and has this, "Aww, dangit, he's on a killing spree again" look on her face. So this happens a lot, I gather.

She's concerned about the cleanup and the aesthetics, lol. My queen.

Whoa, what's that? Two tied up girls on a boat. And a jerk. I don't even know him but I know that much. Character introduction 101.

Oh wait, my purple love stops him. She knows him. He's one of the mountain ghost guys? And she knows him? There's a connection. That probably means that Smirky Xing really is nut guy. :O :O :O

She's striking a deal. And I didn't catch what she asked jerk guy to do in return for keeping him tying up girls a secret. But he leaves to do it.

Wow, Baby Xu knows how to cook. And offers the fish to the kid. And the kid ACTUALLY TAKES it. Impressive. I thought he hates food.

Ah, no, he spit it out. Okay. My worldview has been restored. And Baby Xu is not a good cook after all, lol.

My purple queen shows up and explains how to cook fish, lol. Yeah, they wish they had her cooking skills.

Oh, and baby Xu actually asks about Smirky Xing's whereabouts and looks longingly towards the boat where my queen points to.

Very lovely scenery, with Smirky Xing plaing the flute on the boat, and the two girls (who were previously tied up, I think, I still suck at recognizing faces) are enjoying his company, preparing drinks and listening.

Clearly Smirky Xing is playing just for Baby Xu. And then jumps off the boat with a flute twirl (clearly a Wei Wuxian fan, and who isn't?!) and then fly-jumps over the water to the beach and Baby Xu.

Heh, tempting Baby Xu with alcohol and good food, Smirky Xing is really trying everything.

LOL, you can't sit with the cool kids Smirky Xing.

But he never gives up and recites poetry again. Okay, now some story about historic white cloth. And a sword. Wait, is the "white cloth" the sword? Oh, and Smirky Xing is hinting that Baby Xu's sword is so bendy that it might be the legendary sword.

Always digging for info. Always noticing everything.

Oooh, Baby Xing compares their relationship to the fish he threw away, calls it "raw/unrequited". Nice pun. BUT, the fish wasn't raw, you literally discussed with the kid that is was cooked through, you little liar. I see what's going on there. Unrequited my ass. Smirklord setting sails.

Baby Xu explains that he doesn't know himself and couldn't care less about knowing Smirky Xing.

Smirky Xing is such a sweet talker. This whole "I hurt when you hurt" spiel... blergh.

He called him "My A-Xu" awww, cute. Also super invasive.

Some dark figure is playing headach inducing music. Huh? What is going on?

My purple queen and the kid are affected and Smirky Xing, stops them from running off by placing his hands on their backs. How? What?

Wait, Baby Xu plays the flute as well???

Everybody's a musician.

Oh, it's a music fight. The acoustic waves are hitting each other.

And the girls on the boats are jumping off, because they don't have Smirky Xing's hands holding them back.

Whooooooo, Baby Xu's flute sound lawnmowers the grass and the other musician down. Nice skills.

Oh, it's an assassination skill. The one that the dark figure used. :O A music assassin!!!

LOL, Baby Xu apologizes for getting Smirky Xing's flute dirty. Honey, he 100% won't mind your spit.

Why is the kid puking? He hasn't even eaten anything. Oh, he's lacking martial arts skills to defend against the attack, got it, got it.

Awwww, the one who dislikes you is the one who is really good to you. Of course you would live by that motto Smirky Xing, you lovesick boy.

Okay, the kid wants to learn martial arts now. Wants to be Baby Xu's disciple. And he's kind of agreeing, even though reluctantly, because he... doesn't wanna look good in front of Ke Xing?

Oh a camp of assassins. Pretty girl assassins. One of them is getting a leg massage. Nice. Being an assassin has perks, it seems. Ooh, and she gets touchy with some victim guy.

Did that guy just kill the several-times-stabbed victim by throwing a bone at his head? lol

Oh, the music assassin is one of this group, k, got it.

What? Smirky Ke Xing playing this special meditation song means he has a pure mind? I'm with Baby Xu, I would never have thought so. So, he's not nuts guy? WHAT IS GOING ON?

Dude, he does NOT look like of pure mind while playing that flute at all. It looks very... not pure. This looks like a mating ritual to me.

Wait, is he telling my purple queen to kill the two girls she saved? I'm so confused.

Aww, he LIKES Baby Xu. Not that it's a surprise. But he admitted it. Heh. And, once again, my purple queen gets it.

Aww, Smirky Xing plays for his boy all night long. And Baby Xu finally gets some rest. Nice.

And Smirky Xing finally gets to sit next to his crush after all.

But he doesn't get to hold his hand yet. I see how it is.

LOL, tough women can't resist clingy men, what? Is Smirky Xing ever talking about anybody other than himself and Baby Xu?

Ahaha, Smirky Xing is such a bad liar. But really good at making Baby Xu feel guilty. Yes, yes, you poor man driven off the boat, aching from all the flute playing, riiiight.

LOL, he ends up the coachman. Nice.

Oh no, the grandparents are fighting nice undies tree master guy and the mini Wangjis. Why can't they be friends?

Why are they all after that stupid glazed armor, this is so annoying.

Oh no, now pleated skirt soldier boss guy is joining in as well. Which side is he picking?

Okay he's fighting the grandparents, but is he on friendly terms with undies tree guy? Because I don't think so. But the mini Wangjis knew him and seemed to trust him. So confusing all of this...

Okay and there's another new guy. In green and gold with a tiny mustache. Is he the one they were supposed to bring the kid to? Ah yes, okay. Uncle Zhao.

Wait, the leader of the something something sect is chased. Who was that? Undies tree master? I need a name chart mind map or something. I should make one and add on to it as I go along.

Anyway, end of episode.

Okay this was interesting, what have I learned? Baby Xu can't get rid of Smirky Xing, no matter what. The kid wants to be his disciple. My purple queen is 100% a smirklord shipper. There's a bunch of assassins out there to hurt... I don't know, everybody, possibly. Everybody seems to want the glazed armor. Except for Baby Xu who just wants to be left alone, and Smirky Xing who just wants Baby Xu. I feel like I'm getting the hang of this. Except I STILL don't know how everybody is truly connected. And Smirky Xing might be nuts guy but also maybe not because he's pure, but I mean, who are you kidding?

Goals for future episodes: I should really actually make that character name chart mind map thing.

Also, we have officially reached the moment, where I wanna continue watching, even though I'm tired and have other stuff to do. I bet the point of no return strikes during the next episode. I can feel it coming.

#word of honor #1st watch insta thoughts #word of honor ep 04 #smirklord

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thoughtsofanexcitedspacechild · 3 years

Text

The question is inevitable. I stop wiping down the ice cream equipment and look up. For the past two years, that’s all anyone’s ever asked me. Now as I sit here, I realize that by this time next year, I’ll be preparing to move. By this time next year, the question “what do you want to study?” will be answered. The thought of growing up and going to college has always been in the back of my mind, but it always seemed far off. Now as my boss asks me the same question I’ve been asked a million times, the answer doesn’t just feel real; it feels tangible.

“I want to hopefully study something in the arts,” I reply. “I’m hoping to study to then get a job as a concept artist for movies and TV shows.”

"Well, you know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m three years old. I’m sitting at the kitchen table with white printer paper spread out all over the place. Half of the sheets are filled and the other half to go. My tongue sticks out in determined concentration as I finish what feels like my fiftieth self portrait today. I’m still not happy with how the hair looks, but I’m getting better with every one I make.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m eight years old. I wait nervously outside the classroom in the aquatic and community center for my first ever real drawing class. I wait until the door opens and file in behind the rest of my peers into the classroom. I find a spot a little further away from everyone else. Once the teacher begins instructing us on how to draw the basic construction of a horse, I immerse myself into the lecture. Soon enough my anxiety melts away as I immerse myself in the drawing. By the end, I’m not quite satisfied with how my horse looks, but I look forward to the next day. There’s still three more days of camp, and I’m ready to get even better tomorrow.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m twelve years old. I’m sitting with what feels like my entire body sunken into an overly plush floral print couch. I watch as Mrs. Scalabrino, a family friend, teaches me how to make a magic loop with the yarn and crochet hook. “I’ve been doing it all wrong! Now I finally understand!” Deb hands me the yarn and hook and urges me to try myself.

This time, instead of having the hook slip through and make a tiny slip stitch, I loop the yarn though and then pull through a final time to create a stitch.

“I did it! I was doing it wrong!”

“It looks very good! Keep going and you’ll be making full projects in no time!” I smile at her compliment and keep practicing.

By the end of the afternoon, I have a long rectangle of clumsily made single and double crochet stitches, but I don’t mind. I’m proud of my lumpy, uneven, handmade rectangle.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m thirteen years old. It’s my first time at Blue Lake Fine Arts camp, and I’m taking my first pottery class. I’m carefully carrying my freshly reglazed pot to the back room of the pottery studio after fixing it for a second time. The first time it got damaged I had dropped it after molding the structure and the second time someone else bumped into me, messing up the glaze and sgraffito pattern and glazing in multiple places. I stayed after class during my recreation time and painstakingly remolded and fixed the intricate glazing pattern.

At the end of the session art show, I’m called to the front of the crowd of visiting parents and my fellow campers. I’ve just won the Outstanding camper scholarship. My cheeks flush furiously with embarrassment, but inside I’m also elated. Even though the pot wasn’t perfect. I was still proud of it. I worked hard to save and fix the pot twice broken, and for once, that work pays off. I look out and see the faces of everyone who was with me on the journey to complete the piece, and I know that that pot will always be more than a keepsake planter.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m fifteen years old. I lay in bed before my first day of high school. I should be worried about my academic classes, and I am. I can’t stop thinking about the homework for my double paced math class and honors biology, and the more advanced reading we’ll do in honors english this year.

I console myself by thinking about the art class that I’m going to take. By chance there was a scheduling conflict with my social studies credit, and there wasn’t a spot to fit it in. I’d have to test out of the class over the summer, but that meant that I could take Art 1 instead. I stay up and wonder what it will be like. Will it be like my art classes in middle school? Will I finally be able to try oil painting? What about ceramics?

I drift off to sleep anxious, but ready to try all new mediums and make more; to be able to create amongst all the chaos that comes with advanced academic studies.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m sixteen years old. I’m almost finished with what was supposed to be my sophomore year, but because of the pandemic, quarantine has made the past month of march even more grey and dreary than normal. The trees outside droop with the heaviness of the recent freezing rain and the sky is a somber grey. I stare absentmindedly at my computer screen waiting for my last zoom meeting of the day to end.

I return to my painting once I log off of our AP Art zoom. I glare at the canvas in front of me. I hate this piece. Even the dull grey color palette outside seems more appetizing than the same oranges and blues that I’ve stared at for the past three months. It’s the feeling in the pit of the stomach when you don’t feel particularly welcome and you know something is off. The dynamic is all wrong and you infuriatingly search the faces of the people there for an answer but to no avail.

I sigh and start to reach for my paints to force myself to push through to a solution, but set them down. “There has to be another way to get through this,” I say to myself as I open my sketchbook against my better judgement. After a quick image reference search, My pencil migrates from the jar to the page. I don’t worry about making it perfect. This piece is just for me.

I sketch out the figures of the boy and girl and boy in the photo, their arms intertwined in an embrace and their lips in a gentle kiss. I make sure her thumb just skims the length of his forearm and that his hand is placed just so on her waist. I step back. We’re getting somewhere.

Long since abandoned for my previous acrylic piece, my colored pencils feel slippery and foreign in my hand. I reach for the tan and brown colored pencils to start, but the bright fuschia red catches my eye. I cautiously begin to apply it to the girl’s face and neck area. Perfect. I don’t stop until the shadows crossing the girl’s face are all shades of pink and red and the boys silhouette is coated in deep blues. What next?

My watercolor palette sits just inches from my paints. I open it and observe my options. I water down a bright pink, an ocean blue, and my untouched cake of deep purple watercolor. I haphazardly splash the pink on one side and the blue on the other, applying purple to blend the area where the two seas of paint mix. I remember an old painters trick of using salt to make cool backgrounds, and apply a generous amount. The scissors come out next, and I delicately cut the form of the girl and boy out. I paste it right on the background and let it sit under a book overnight to press.

In the morning, I observe my work. It’s not perfect. The proportions on the girl’s arm are off and I never quite managed to capture the folds on the boy’s shirt, but I smile. I love it. This is my piece. No one told me to make this. I just did. It’s for me.

My abandoned assignment sits waiting on the other side of the table. I look at it again. This time I do see what’s missing. Like I did while I was working with the pencil, I need to add more depth. That’s why I hate it. That’s why it felt flat and boring. I set my new opus aside and reach for the beaten up acrylic brushes and paint tubes.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

The computer screen finally loads. I'm exhausted and have just returned from a missions trip to the Dominican Republic, but in my blissful sleep back in my own bed, I'd remembered that AP scores had come out while I was away. The three numbers I've waited for loom in front of me:

AP Spanish Language: 5

AP Language and Composition: 4

AP Studio Art: 4

A four.

I stare in disbelief at the screen. I'd expected a three at best. I rush to tell my parents.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

"Yeah, I know," I respond. "But it's so much more than that to me."

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clumsyclifford · 3 years

Text

a future of stories, kiss you good mornings

here’s a cute little malum fic in honor of michael’s 25th birthday !! i am sadly not the editing or giffing type and my only real creative outlet is writing so i am forced to show my love for mr clifford by pretending he’s in love with his best friend because you know. that’s how we roll

big shoutout to @blackbutterfliescal and @devilatmydoor for rallying the troops so to speak lol and getting us all to celebrate michael’s birthday you guys are truly both wonderful and everyone in this lil community is so wonderful wow i love you all !!!!! yes i’ve been listening to a very cute love song on a loop for a little bit so maybe i’m being exceedingly sappy but that’s life. anyway enough from me

this is fluffy, fluffy fluff. it MIGHT be the fluffiest fluff i’ve ever written. no tws (i think) just fluff !!! something about malum just brings out all the fluff. if i say fluff one more time i might lose my mind so why don’t we all just dive into the fic okay cool

title from protocol by the vamps (don’t use the song as a guide for the tone of the fic adflkgjfhklmj)

read it here on ao3

Waking up alone threatens to make this birthday pretty bad.

Hopefully it means Calum is making breakfast. Michael would kill for waffles. He blindly sweeps an arm over Calum’s side of the bed, but it’s cold. Michael snuggles deeper into his pillows, keeping his eyes shut for another minute in case he falls back asleep. He’d actually bet anything Calum is making him breakfast right now, because that’s Calum’s go-to birthday move, so Calum will come get him when it’s ready.

Time melts into nothing, and Michael’s not sure if he does drift off again or just float on the edges of consciousness, but after some undetermined stretch a quiet voice whispers, “Mikey.”

“Hm,” Michael grunts.

Calum crawls into bed and presses a kiss to Michael’s cheek (the one not currently flattened against the pillow). “Happy birthday, babe.”

“Would be happier if I was asleep.”

Calum chuckles lightly and wraps Michael up in his arms. His embrace is warm and familiar, and much cozier than the pillows, so Michael burrows deeper into Calum’s chest. “Would it be happier if you had waffles and ice cream for breakfast?”

Michael perks up. “Ice cream?”

“It’s your birthday,” Calum says, a grin in his voice. “Of course we’re having ice cream for breakfast.”

“You’re a terrible influence,” Michael says, tempted by the notion of ice cream for breakfast. “It’s hot.”

Calum laughs outright. “Get up or the waffles will get cold.”

“How’d you know I wanted waffles?” Michael asks, brushing a kiss over Calum’s collarbone before pulling away to look at him. He’s smiling like he knows something Michael doesn’t, and he’s as charmingly adorable as he’s been every day since they met, but Michael feels a little extra in love today. Maybe it has to do with getting older. He’s officially closer to thirty than twenty now. His age can be rounded up. That’s a little bit insane.

“We’ve been together seven years, Michael,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. “You think I don’t know your favorite breakfast food?”

Michael smiles, melty and warm inside. “Love you,” he says.

Calum kisses him. “Love you too. Now get up. Waffles.”

—

Calum is suspiciously happy. Michael points this out through a mouthful of ice cream-soaked waffle, and Calum just cocks his head. The smile doesn’t waver. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re, like, dancing,” Michael says. He swallows his food. “There’s no music and you’re dancing.”

“So you’ve never danced without music?” Calum raises his eyebrows.

“I’m just saying, it’s suspicious,” Michael says, shrugging. He leans forward on his elbow, resting his face on his palm. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“So what do you want to do today?” Calum prompts, still swaying back and forth a bit. Michael wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it; it’s like there’s a song playing that only Calum can hear. Something’s making him light on his feet.

Michael wishes he knew what it was, so he could make it happen every day. Seeing Calum in such high spirits is doing wonders for Michael’s disposition. It’s fun to be in love, Michael muses, knowing that someone else’s mood can be just as instrumental in setting the tone of the day as Michael’s own. If Calum’s energy is anything to go by, today is shaping up to be incredible.

“Nothing,” Michael says honestly. He’s been gazing at Calum for a minute and answers a little late, but Calum has just been letting him. “Just want to relax.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Calum says, smiling airily. Michael makes a noise of protest, but he can’t fight the silly grin.

“If you knew, then why’d you even ask?”

“I had to make sure!”

“Yes, Calum, you know me better than anyone else on the planet,” Michael says wryly. “Are you satisfied?”

Calum’s smile grows. “I got you a birthday present.”

“I should hope you did.”

“It’s a bit non-traditional, though,” Calum continues. “As birthday presents go.”

Like there are traditional birthday presents? Michael wrinkles his nose in confusion. “Okay? Are you going to give it to me?”

Calum hesitates. “Do you want it now, or later?”

“Is this a weird euphemism? Are you just asking if I want to sleep with you?”

“No!” Calum snickers. “No, it’s not. It’s a real thing. I…I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Michael promises. “I mean, you knew what I wanted for breakfast and what I wanted to do for my birthday, so I can’t imagine you got me a birthday present I’d hate.”

“Yeah, this one’s a bit of a commitment, though,” Calum says. “Like, the thing is the present, but it’s also not.”

“What about instead of being really cryptic, you just give it to me?” Michael suggests. He has total confidence in Calum. If the present is something Michael doesn’t like, Michael will eat his shirt.

“So you want it now?” Calum says. “Don’t want to finish your waffles first?”

“Well, you’re kind of building the suspense here, love,” Michael says, grinning and shaking his head. “Just give it to me when you want to give it to me.”

“No, I mean. Okay. I have to go and get it.” Calum shifts, then says, “Finish your breakfast and I’ll go get your present and then I’ll give it to you, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael says, amused. Calum sidles past him, dropping a kiss to his temple as he goes, and leaves. Michael chuckles to himself and takes the last few bites of his waffles — which are delicious, of course, fluffy and warm and not too limp or too crunchy. Calum’s only mastered a few culinary arts, but one of them is breakfast. They work well like that; Calum knows how to make Michael’s favorite category of food.

While Calum is retrieving the enigmatic birthday gift, Michael turns his phone over on the tabletop and finally starts reading through the myriad messages previewed on the lock screen. Luke and Ashton had both texted at midnight exactly, so there’s nothing new from them this morning, but basically everyone else Michael has ever met is wishing him a happy birthday on every single social media platform he has. Just then he hears Calum’s footsteps behind him, and he flips his phone facedown on the table again.

He can get to the birthday messages later. He will. But they’re not going anywhere, and Michael wants to spend this time with his boyfriend, his best friend, his favorite person.

Also, he’s dying of curiosity about the birthday present.

“You done?” Calum asks, gliding back into the room with grace. Michael eyes him; he’s hiding something behind his back but it must be small, because Michael can’t see it. Obligingly, he lays his fork and knife across the plate and pushes it away from him.

“I’m done,” he confirms. “Present time?”

Calum rocks back and forth on his feet. “Okay. But you need to be standing for it or else the effect is ruined.”

“The effect of the birthday present?” Michael says drily, but he doesn’t argue, just gets to his feet, mirroring Calum’s stance by linking his hands together behind his back and giving Calum a cheeky smile. “How’s this?”

Calum shuffles backwards a bit until there’s just about one arm’s length between them. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”

He inhales deeply, exhales, and then falls to one knee, holding out in front of him what he’s been concealing behind his back: an engagement ring.

Michael’s hands fly to his mouth.

“Oh,” he breathes into his palms. “Calum.”

“Let me talk first,” Calum says, smiling up at Michael, and then he laughs a bit. “I don’t know if you can tell that I’m really fucking nervous. I’ve tried to be really cool about it, because I can’t see why you’d say no, but still — I’m scared as fuck. But I’m going to let you save your answer until I’m done talking so that even if you say no you still get an ego boost.” Michael laughs shakily. Tears glaze over his eyes, and as he blinks them away one slides down his face.

Calum pulls the ring towards him, still gazing up at Michael. “So…where do I start, Michael Clifford? My best friend of at least ten years, my boyfriend for the last seven, my favorite person to fall asleep next to, the only person I’d ever learn to cook for. I mean, I never really learned, but I would. I will.”

“You don’t have to,” Michael manages, somehow laughing even though he’s definitely also crying.

Calum giggles, and it’s obvious he’s also trying not to cry. “Let me finish, I’m trying to propose!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

“Anyway, I just…I just love you so much, Michael.” When Michael blinks again, a vain attempt to clear his blurring vision, their eyes meet, and Calum’s words have never been more obvious from the expression on his face. “I…before us, I thought that I got it. Like, I thought I knew what it meant to be in love. But —” He shakes his head. “I so, so didn’t. I thought that sometimes love hurt, but with you it never does. Seven years, Michael, and it’s never hurt to be in love with you. You are one of the — no, fuck it. You are the smartest, sweetest, sexiest,” — Michael breaks out with another laugh — “most driven and charismatic person I’ve ever met, and you shine even when you think you don’t, but especially when you do. I swear there’s nothing I love more than to see you onstage. It’s like watching a fireworks display. Fuck, that’s really cliché. Shit, I thought I’d get through this before I started crying.” He wipes his face with the back of his hand, cutting off a stray tear as it slips down his cheek. “That’s probably a good sign I should wrap it up, then. So, uh, Michael Gordon Clifford with the worst middle name in the history of ever, will you marry me?”

“Yes, of course I will,” Michael says breathlessly, holding out a hand to help Calum up. “Of course I’ll marry you, I fucking love you.”

Calum’s smile is so broad it almost makes his eyes disappear completely. “Thank God.” He takes Michael’s hand and staggers to his feet, and Michael throws his arms around Calum, too overwhelmed for words, though he knows he doesn’t need them; Calum’s said it all, and anything he hasn’t said he definitely already knows.

Calum kisses Michael’s neck. “Technically I haven’t even given you the present yet.”

“Calum,” Michael says, leaning away so he can see Calum’s face in its entirety, all the dips and curves and creases and the laugh lines and the deep brown of his eyes and every inch. “You’ve given me the present every day for the last seven years.”

Calum huffs, lips pulled upward, and he draws Michael into a kiss, one that’s doomed from the start for the way neither of them can stop smiling long enough to turn it into anything real.

“That was cheesy, but I just proposed, so I’ll let you have it,” Calum murmurs against Michael’s mouth. He laughs. “Oh, fuck, I love you. Can I give you the ring?”

“Yes, please do.”

Calum fumbles with the ring box until he extracts the ring, then takes Michael’s left hand and slides it on. “Beautiful.”

“It is,” Michael says reverently, gazing at the crystal and then holding it up so he can see Calum at the same time.

“So?” Calum says hopefully, tilting his head. “How would you rate this birthday present?”

Michael does a double-take. He’d completely forgotten his birthday in the excitement. “Ten thousand out of ten,” he says, and kisses Calum sweetly on the lips. “You’re going to have a lot of trouble topping this for my 26th, though.”

Calum just laughs, like he knows what Michael knows: that the promise of spending every birthday for the rest of his life with Calum is a gift Michael will keep receiving every year, and nothing could ever beat that.

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

The Brightest Star Pt.01

Lovable Polestar

05/07/2019

Pairing: Thor x Reader Word Count: 9,492

Masterpost Warnings: language, eventual smut maybe, violence probably, cozy Thor, Thor in his undies

A/N: So, this started because I was telling someone about my original fiction and they just didn’t care? I’ve had others try to read it too and they never do. It’s a little heartbreaking when you feel so excited and happy about something and no one cares even when all you want to do is just share your excitement. So, that feeling sparked this fic. I wasn’t sure where I was going with it but now I do. I hope you like it. This is also for all those lovelies of mine that wanted me to do some more Thor. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Thor can vividly remember the first time he saw you. He can remember it so clearly that his heart still aches when he thinks back to that moment when his whole world lit up with a poignant and fierce fire. It engulfed him. It overwhelmed him. His skin began to hum, and then half a minute passed, and his fire was bathed in ice water and the misery set in.

You were sitting at a table, looking like other women that he’d seen. You were one face among many with no particular quality that set you apart. You were just another girl.

Then someone, the guy to your left said something that Thor couldn’t hear. Then the girl to your right said something. Then your eyes shone with stunning excitement. They sparkled and lit up like stars, gleaming bright amongst the other eyes in the room.

You smiled, the brilliance of it nearly knocking his breathe from his lungs because it was more than you looking adorable, it was the pure joy that radiated out of every facet in those damn eyes.

Your cheeks were spread so wide and tight he was sure that they must be hurting. It was a smile for the ages.

You looked from the guy to your left to the girl on your right and opened your mouth once to say something, but the girl leaned forward, and she reached out to grab the guy’s left hand. You shut your mouth.

Then the guy responded, and you opened your mouth again, but the guy shook his head and laughed and spoke once more.

You closed your mouth and the sparkle in your eye dulled a little. Like the sun hid behind dark clouds, overwhelming him in gloom. Your shoulders hunched as the two beside you continued to talk, animatedly exchanging words and laughter. You smiled lightly when they looked at you but then you sat back, shoulders slumped as you pulled your drink closer and took a long sip through your straw.

Slowly, as the two continued to talk, your eyes glazed over. All life had drained from them and all Thor could think about was how he might find a way to put that light back into your eyes.

Which brings us to today.

Thor had come to that same shop several days in a row, eager to see you again and when you finally showed up, you were alone but not for long.

When you were joined by the same two people as before, they greeted you brightly. Then the three of you sit at the same table and once again your eyes glazed over, and you’d sat in silence while your friends talked.

Occasionally Thor would see that brightness return but it never lasted more than a few seconds.

Thor didn’t mean to become a stalker. He seriously, really, truly, honestly didn’t mean to follow you out of the café. He was just so curious.

He followed you and your friends to a nearby park and then a small antiques shop. Then the male left and the female with you listened only halfheartedly as you talked to her.

She would listen for a few seconds and then her eyes would wander, and she’d interrupt you and point at something across the street or in a shop window or just cut you off because she was bored. Every time she did, you relented.

Thor hated her. Even now, as the two of you wander around the Metropolitan Museum of Art looking at the watercolor exhibit, you stop in front of a lovely piece with greens, yellows, and pinks—Thor’s too busy watching you to see what the painting actually is—and point at it, your eyes bright and stunning again.

Thor swoons, his heart thudding loudly in his chest.

Until your friend walks away while you’re still talking.

Your eyes lose their sparkle again and you look at her as she calls out for you. “Y/N! Look at this one!”

Thor growls, annoyed and frustrated for you. You sigh very lightly, so lightly he’s sure no one but he notices, and then move over towards your friend. You smile at her, no sparkle in your eyes but your smile is genuine. It’s kind and polite and patient.

The painted smile on a porcelain doll.

Why are you so perfect? Not that he likes your submissive side. He hates it, in fact. No, that’s not right. He loves it…wait? Loves it? Fuck, he loves it. Shit. What is he getting himself into?

He loves it because it’s yours. It’s a small side of the person you are. What he loves about it is that even in the face of all the overlooking these so-called friends put you through, you still manage to find joy in their company. You smile kindly at them. You take joy in your time with them even though the joy is only surface deep.

Thor can relate. How many battles had he fought after he’d lost his people? His family? His self-worth and felt only the subtle secondhand joy of his comrades after the fight was won? Sometimes, you do things just to pass the time.

Thor keeps to the opposite side of the large room. He avoids looking at you for more than a few seconds at a time until you stop at yet another painting and turn your back on him.

Your eyes light up again and it's all he can do to stay put. He licks his lips, clenches his fists, crumpling the informational pamphlet he'd grabbed on the way in.

He'd already ruined it by rolling it up over and over, fidgeting with it every time your friend interrupted you or moved away when you were talking.

Impatiently, with an itch to move to you, he smacks his large thigh with the rolled up paper. The tap, tap, tap, isn’t loud enough to draw your attention but it does get him some ugly looks from the couple to his right.

He's not even facing the wall anymore. His body is turned fully, wearing a navy blazer with a pair of matching navy slacks, black and white Chucks, and underneath the blazer is a plain white t-shirt. It's a little sheer. The toasty peach of his skin is slightly visible through the stretched white fabric.

He looks at the annoyed couple to his right and gives them a toothless smile, chagrin across his face. “Sorry.”

They don’t seem to care that he's Thor. They move past him, still frowning.

With a furrowed brow, Thor turns back to you, eyes still shining bright. He tries to hear what you're saying and he can just make out your voice if he tries hard enough.

“-I think it's the mountain. It kinda looks like a stormy sky if you don’t notice the subtle strokes that shape the peak. What do you like about it?” You ask your friend but she's looking down at her phone.

“Hold on, Seth is calling.” She puts the phone to her ear and walks away. “Hey, Seth. Where are you?”

Thor's too busy watching you to look after your friend.

You're biting your lip, watching the girl walk away before you turn your previously shining eyes on the painting.

The audacity these people have to ignore your excitement, the genuine elation you feel on a daily basis, constantly stepped on?

The urge to join you is renewed and he takes several steps in your direction but your friend comes barreling back towards you, heels clicking and clacking against the waxed floor, just when he's made up his mind to introduce himself.

She catches herself on your arm and you turn an excited smile to her.

“Seth finally asked me out!”

He can see your face fall. You blink a few times but before your silence can register as too long, too awkward—Say something, little mouse. You'll give yourself away! Thor thinks desperately—you smile again.

“That's so great Nan. I'm-I'm glad he finally got his shit together.”

Thor smiles, genuinely surprised yet pleased with your vulgarity in such an austere place as the Met. His cheeks flush, the gentle way your mouth wrapped around the word was utter perfection.

“Me too!” The girl, Nan, curly brown hair, caramel skin, and wide hips gushes.

“He should have come with us.” You say but Nan is not listening. She's on that cellular phone again. Can the damn woman not carry on a conversation with you for more than ten seconds?

You watch her text and in stark contrast to this Nan's elation, your timid sadness stands out. How can no one but him see it? What's wrong with everyone in your life?

Thor can tell with that look alone that this Seth—the blonde man that has been meeting you at the café for two weeks—is someone you yourself desired.

It takes Nan a few more minutes, four and twenty-seven seconds actually—Thor counted—to focus back on her present company. She's still got her arm wrapped around your elbow.

She looks at the painting and stares for all of two seconds before, “Is that mountains? You'd think they'd have painted a clearer picture.”

You smile, amused for some reason. Thor would really rather tell her to silence her ridiculous comments.

“It's watercolor, Nan. It's not supposed to be super clear. It's the artist's impression. You see how clear the people are? But the entire background is blur-"

“Ugh! Y/N, this is boring. Let's go watch a movie or something. Yeah?”

Thor's hand crumples up the pamphlet into a tight compressed ball.

“Oh.” You mutter, disappointment saturating your beautiful tone. “Okay.”

“Yay!” Nan exclaims then begins to drag you away.

Thor watches you crane your neck to get another look at the painting before Nan completely pulls you from the room.

With slow steps, Thor moves to the painting and reads the small placard.

The Lake of Zug

Artist: Joseph Mallord William Turner (British, London

1775–1851 London)

Date: 1843

He stands there, staring at the painting for what might be hours. All the while he ponders the very possibility that what you might see in this painting is the very thing he saw in you when he saw your eyes light up and then extinguish.

He accepts, after a time, that it is not possible for this painting to make you feel the way he felt when he first saw you brighten then dull.

You are way more exquisite than this painting with its blurry watercolor mountain.

-----

Thor continues to stalk you. Okay, he doesn’t stalk you. Or he tells himself he doesn't. But…the consensus is…

“Thor's stalking a girl.” Nat says, amused and brimming with smugness.

“I am not…pfft…stalking a girl.” Thor waves her off, rolling his eyes, quirking a brow as he lifts his cup of coffee and takes a sip.

“Yeah, you are.” Nat assures him, leaning over the counter with her chin in her hand. Long delicate fingers rest against the curve of her jaw and rap the dark quartz countertop.

“Am not.” Thor says, a swift heavy swallow before his cup is laid aside.

“Yeah.” Nat chuckles because it's too good to be true. Too cute. Too weird that Thor, the God of Thunder, is obsessed with a girl and doesn’t have the courage to speak to her. “You are.”

“Look, I am not stalking her. I am merely going to the café that she goes to every day, to possibly see her. And if—if she happens to be there, I-"

“Follow her?” Nat offers.

“No! I walk in a similar direction until she reaches her destination then I go my own way. Unless she happens to go to a place where I might maintain a considerable distance while I-"

“Watch her?”

“While I-I-I-" Thor stumbles, not sure how to spin this one.

“Gotta tell ya pal, it kinda sounds like you're stalking this dame.” Bucky slides in beside Nat, her arms immediately wrapping around his bicep where she leans her head—in what she insists is a platonic expression of affection—and laughs as Thor huffs.

“Fine! Whatever. I’m stalking her. Are you happy?” Thor booms, arms raised in the air then childishly crossed across his broad chest, biceps large and beefy, sun-bathed skin stretched and bulging.

“What are they happy about?” Steve wonders, moving into the kitchen, mid-yawn.

“Thor finally admitted to stalking that girl he saw in the café down the block.” Bucky explains.

Steve stops, eyes shining, mouth open in mock surprise as he stares from Bucky to Nat and then to Thor. He shuts one eye, still sleepy. “Woah, hey. That's progress. Good for you, Thor.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Thor grumbles.

“Woah!” Nat chastises, lifting her head from Bucky's arm, amused but also surprised by Thor's defensiveness. “Hey, we're just trying to help.”

Steve doesn’t seem to care. He’s already rifling in the fridge for food.

“How? By making me feel worse? I know I shouldn’t be watching her. I’ve tried to stay away but I can't stop thinking about her.” Thor sighs, looking down at his cup and swirling the smooth brown liquid, still steaming.

“Guess he's got it bad.” Bucky whispers to Nat who nods. He turns back to Thor then takes Nat's cup of coffee to steal a sip. “What is it about this girl, Thor? I mean, you’ve been around for almost…what? Fifteen-hundred years? And you’ve seen thousands of girls here on Earth. What's so special about this one?”

Thor has wondered this very thing over and over since he first laid eyes on you.

It makes absolutely no sense. You are not exquisitely beautiful to anyone but him--or so it seems as you only every draw his gaze while out and about. Thor has come to see you as the only beauty in all the realms that could possibly match the need in his heart. A fitting piece. His ideal. Yet, you are nothing like the women that the people of Earth deem as particularly desirable. That is to say, there is nothing wrong with you either.

Had Thor not seen you in that exact moment when your exuberance had shot out from those dazzling eyes of yours, stunning him into immobility, changing his heart forever and then fallen dull and sad the very next moment, perhaps Thor would not feel the way he does?

“I don’t know.” He admits. “I think that is why I cannot get her out of my head. She’s just so…so…so…”

“Vulnerable?” Nat offers.

“Hot?” Bucky wonders, Nat smacks his arm. “Ow.”

“Right?” Steve suggests, sipping his cup of coffee with a knowing look in his storm blue eyes. Thor meets them and his own brighten considerably.

“Yes. Right. That she is. I don’t know what makes her right, but she is so very right. And she is indeed most vulnerable and strong at the same time though her strength is not in the way we would count it. She’s not a fighter. Not in that sense.”

“There’s more than one way to be strong.” Nat affirms, nodding at Thor with a proud smile on her lips, her fingers gently stroking the muscle of Bucky’s bicep as she takes another drink of her coffee.

Thor turns to Bucky who’s sitting now with his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, staring at the Thunder God.

“And she most definitely is hot. Perhaps not like those women on your magazines or in your picture boxes.”

“Dude, you know what they’re called.” Bucky gripes, amused.

“Televisions, yes. She is not that. She’s real.” Thor gushes slow and mystified.

His eyes are a mist of love cantered outpouring unrestrained and unbidden. He can feel it flow out from him in waves of gossamer heat, enveloping all of them and painting them in beautiful heaven light. Golden warm and saturated in allure.

Can they feel it? Can they feel how he loves you already?

Nat’s hand tightens around Bucky’s bicep and Bucky’s chin slips from his hand as he shifts in his seat, radiating towards Nat. His arm wraps around her shoulders and he pulls her closer.

Steve’s eyes glaze over briefly then with a lovestruck look across his usually calm expression, he smirks.

“Woah, there. Reel that in, buddy. We don’t want the whole tower to start finding closets to make whoopee in.” Steve’s smirk shifts to a grin as his eyes move over to Nat and Bucky who are sitting much closer to each other now, Nat’s leg draped over Bucky’s right knee.

“Oh, sorry.” Thor blushes, feeling woeful for his slip. “I forget sometimes the effect I have on the people of Earth. I don’t use that ability much. Have had no use for it. How strange. This is the first time it's slipped out.”

Slowly Nat and Bucky slap out of the daze as Thor reigns in his uncanny fertility booster. Nat blushes scarlet as she realizes she’s practically on Bucky’s lap and quickly scrambles off of it.

“Oh, I’m…sorry.” She whispers huskily at him.

“No, it’s my mistake.” Bucky hurries to appease her, cheeks burning along with hers.

They renew their distance and put an extra foot between them for good measure.

Thor eyes them cautiously. He knows what’s been budding between them, but they still haven’t-

“Anyway,” He begins. “You are right in your assumptions that she is nothing but a normal girl. And she is that, but she is so much more. To me. I don’t know why.”

“Hot doesn’t always have to mean physically attractive.” Bucky offers, still blushing but calmer. Though, he keeps stealing glances at Nat.

“But she is physically attractive. She’s attractive to me. Her body is perfection.” Thor argues.

“And that’s great.” Bucky tells him. “It’s good that you’re attracted to her physically. I just mean that a perfect body—the women you were talking about in our magazines and on T.V. and movies—it doesn’t always mean one thing. What I’m saying is that, even if she’s not perfect to me or Steve or any other guy on the planet, if she’s perfect to you, then that’s great, Thor. But—and I’ll kill you if you tell anyone I said this—you aren’t just after her for that are you? To…bury the old hammer?”

“How dare you accuse me of such misconduct!” Thor shoots to his feet, hand banging the table.

“I didn’t!” Bucky hurries to calm him. “I’m just saying that while being attracted to her from a distance is great, maybe you should finally try and talk to the girl?”

“He’s right.” Nat agrees. “We know you like what you’ve seen so far, but what if what she has to say doesn’t hold up? You aren’t planning on stalking her forever, are you?”

Thor calms down instantly, slowly sitting back down to wrap his hand around his cup once more. “Please don’t call it stalking.” He begs.

Nat smiles. “Fine, but you are going to talk to her, right?”

“Yes.”

“When?” Bucky asks.

“I-I don’t know.” Thor grieves, grabbing fistfuls of blonde hair, grown out in waving locks that just reach the tips of his ears. He needs to cut it again.

“Soon, Thor. You can’t keep following her. She’ll think it’s weird. God of Thunder or not. You follow a girl; it means you’re a creep.” Steve insists.

“But I’m not a creep.” He sobs, no actual tears, just the sentiment. “I swear I’m not.”

He looks desperately between Nat and Bucky then finally at Steve who is nodding.

“We know that, Bud. But…do yourself a favor and talk to her sooner rather than later. You don’t want to be that Avenger. The one people read about in the tabloids.”

“Oh, you mean me?” Bucky turns to look at Steve, a smirk in place.

“Yes.” Steve says and sips his coffee.

“Right.” Thor agrees, sitting up straighter, downing his drink then rising to his feet. He pulls the front of his hoodie down, adjusting the collar so that it looks neater. “Right. I can do this. I’ll talk to her. Yeah. I will. It can’t be that hard, right? I can do this.”

“Not wearing that you can’t.” Bucky frowns. “Trust me, you show up in a hoodie…”

“He’s still pretty hot, Buck.” Nat assures him.

“Still.” Bucky insists, nodding at Nat with an I know he’s hot, alright? expression. “Trust me. At least wear that thing you wore that time when you followed her to the Met. That navy blazer.”

“Again?” Thor wonders, worried. What if you’d seen him in it and he hadn’t noticed? It has been weeks though.

“Then we’ll get you something else, but definitely don’t go in a hoodie and jeans. Save that for when she’s known you for a while. For when you’re actually dating.”

“Dating? Courting?” Thor smiles, his heart aflutter, his stomach twirling. “Y/N and I? Courting?”

It fills him with a humming euphoria, the idea of you and him dating.

He pictures it. You cuddled in his arms on a sofa watching TV or reading a book while he watches you, that beautiful brilliance in your eyes stunning and agonizing all at once.

That euphoria rolls over his friends again and only when he looks at Bucky and Nat, Nat straddling Bucky’s hips with her hands in his long dark hair, does Thor realize he’s doing it again.

This time Steve is too amused to interrupt. He’s leaning his elbows on the counter, staring at Nat and Bucky with a smug smile.

“Oh, sorry.” Thor shuts it off, clearing his throat nervously.

It takes a second, but Nat suddenly straightens her hands, gasping lightly as she looks back at Bucky’s hands secured around the curve of her butt.

“Hands, Barnes, or I’ll cut them off.”

“Oops.” Bucky says, though he sounds anything but apologetic. “Thor’s fault.”

Nat rises and now the shade of a cherry tomato, she marches out of the kitchen.

Bucky turns a blushing soft smile to Thor and shakes his head once. “Thanks, man.”

“You’re welcome.”

It has been almost six months since Thor first saw you. Over time he has come to appreciate your quiet nature. Not because he would prefer to have you silent. He longs to speak with you and get your side of many things.

However, he can see the way you work now. Your mind. He can almost see you thinking. Doing it. The subtle art of listen, look, learn and then speak—if those horrible people you call friends ever allow you to do so, that is.

Today, Thor made sure to get up half an hour early. He poured through his closet and the meager pickings of fine clothes within. He can't use the navy blazer. You might have seen him in that though he has no reason to suspect you have.

There’s a black tie suit but…that's too formal, right? He's got several nice pants. Trousers? Slacks? He's not sure which ones they are exactly but he picks a nice black pair, stiff crease lines at the front and back.

He tosses his towel aside and begins to pull them on before he thinks better and carefully folds them on top of the drawer for his collection of fancy watches. A gift from Tony though he hardly ever wears them.

He rifles through the second drawer and produces a pair of red briefs then slips them on, adjusting himself in them with a frown. He's not much for underwear, truth be told but with you…he feels weird dangling about in his pants.

He smiles as he pictures the flush you might get from realizing he's not wearing underwear. Would you be embarrassed? You’re so sweet. So gentle. So perfect.

He places both hands on his now brief covered hips and can’t quite wipe the smile from his face. He looks up into his full length mirror and his cheeks are red. His eyes are brimming with excitement. His smile is goofy and wide and he hasn’t felt this eager in so long.

Not for a girl. Only for battle.

“Snap out of it, Thor. Get it together.” He chastises, clearing his throat as he realizes how stupid he must look, standing there in his underwear smiling like a dumbass.

He grabs his pants and slips them on. Muscles rippling, he pulls on a plain grey t-shirt then moves to look at his shirts. Most of his button ups look too stifling. Tight and hot. Choking.

Although, with the weather on the more brisk side, hot might not be a bad idea.

He slides over to the jackets and sweaters and finds a thick, soft, knit navy sweater. Too thick for both an undershirt and the sweater. He peels off his shirt and then slips the sweater on.

He pushes the sleeves up to just below his elbows and then moves back to his watches to select one that’ll match.

As he chooses his shoes, a pair of black boots, he feels his heart ache in nervousness. It quivers, afraid.

What if you don't like him? What if you get one look at him and simply get up and leave? What will he do with himself? He'll be heartbroken.

This is foolish. He should just keep watching you from afar. This is safer. This is better.

If he never tries to talk to you, then you can never reject him. He can continue to watch you from a distance and enjoy your dwindling smiles.

Dwindling. Less and less do you smile. Still as observant as always, but you almost rarely speak with your friends though you still sit with them and accompany them places.

No. He must show you that there are some who will hang on your every word. That you are worth listening to. You matter. So much. To him. Already.

You have yet to speak a word, but you are already so important.

Somehow Thor is able to find his courage and he heads out, dressed nicely enough to impress with the easy casualty of his outfit.

With Bucky’s approval—who then takes a quick exit when Nat wanders into the common room—Thor heads out to see you now feeling sure that he’s doing the right thing.

The café is not as busy as it usually is. Thor understands that you like this. For as long as he’s been following you—he refuses to see what he’s been doing as stalking, damn Natasha—he’s known that you come early on purpose. You show up an hour before your friends and he’s honored that by staying away and only coming at his regular time instead of the earlier hour you set aside for yourself.

He’d shown up by chance one day, to ask the barista what your favorite drink was as you bring your own reusable cup and he can never see what they put in it, only to find you sitting at your usual table. Alone. Enjoying the silence of the early morning with your phone screen shining up at you. What do you look at in that hour?

Thor really wants to know.

The little bell above the door dings and Thor moves in, searching for you the instant the rich caffeinated air fills his lungs. Hazelnut, vanilla, mocha, and caramel; cinnamon, sweet syrup, chocolate, and the smell of baking bread welcome him warmly.

He finds you as he had that one morning. Sitting at your usual table—reading, right in the middle of the shop, four chairs around a small square birch yellow table. The sheen of wood inviting and cool. Luckily for him, your table is near the register.

He adjusts his sweater. Nervously he strokes the small spiky hairs on the sides of his head where he had Steve buzz it short again leaving a long wide strip along the top of his head slightly longer. He fixes his watch, regretting his choice to wear it as he’s not used to it and it’s distracting as hell.

The closer he gets the more he can see what you’re wearing. Your blue coat is hung on the back of your chair. He’s seen it before. The rest he has not and he almost stumbles as he bumps into a chair, accidentally shoving a patron forward into his coffee.

“Oh, forgive me.” Thor begs. “Sorry. So sorry. I’ll buy you a new coffee.”

Thor leans down to whisper at the man who waves him off then seems to realize that it’s Thor having bumped into him.

“Oh my-Can I have an autograph?” He asks excitedly, beginning to rise but Thor quickly pushes him back down by the shoulders so that he remains glued to his seat.

“Shh, yes, of course.” Thor gives him a tight nervous smile and quickly signs his name on the first page of the book the man holds up for him.

“Thank you so much! My wife is such a fan!”

“Oh.” Thor smiles wider, flattered. “How kind of her. Please, keep your voice down.”

He has nothing to worry about though. You don’t look up. You’re wrapped up in your book.

Thor’s only temporarily distracted because he tears his eyes back to you in your gray long sleeved sweater, your soft orange suspender skirt—large buttons along the front and large round buckles at the shoulders—and a pair of worn brown leather boots on your feet.

Your hair so often left to its own devices is gathered high on your head into a messy bun leaving your neck exposed for his eyes to feast on.

He has to force his eyes away from you because you’re beautiful and he’s staring and as lovely as your eyes look all brilliant, devouring your book, he needs to stop staring!

He turns to the barista and gathers his thoughts to focus on his plan.

“Woah, you’re here again today Mr. God of Thunder?” The short barista asks, green eyes shining, excited smile on her face.

“Hello.” He peeks back over his shoulder at you but you’re still just staring at your book. “Just Thor is fine.”

“Right. Yeah, cool. What can I get for you Mr. Thor?”

“No. Just ‘Thor’.” Thor insists, slightly muttered under his breath in embarrassment.

“Oh. Okay. Th-Thor.” The barista giggles. “What can I get for you Mr. Thor? I mean, Thor! Just Thor!”

Why is she being so loud?! Thor sighs and he hears you shift behind him. He doesn’t dare look. “Um…I don’t know. Yesterday I had-”

“A regular coffee. Cream. Two sugars.” The barista laughs again and though she is sweet, Thor is beginning to worry about the amount of noise she’s making. “Would you like the same today?”

Behind he can hear the scrape of your chair and he turns to look for you. You’re getting up, gathering your things. No! You can’t be leaving. With your arms full as you hold your coat, book, and purse, you hesitate then move towards one of the alcoves along the far wall.

Damn barista! She was being too loud and probably drove you away. You like your silence in the morning.

You shove your coat into the booth, your purse thrown on top of it and your book deposited on the half table that protrudes from the wall. A small lamp lights the space, dim lights overhead. It’s in all reality a booth with only one side as if someone decided to rip it in half and then place the seats in alcoves one in front of the other.

The setup, minus the walls in the middle, remind Thor of the seats that he’d once seen in a yellow school bus when a group of kids had visited the tower.

You come back, grab your cup, and Thor knows that it’s now or never.

“Excuse me, Miss?” Thor’s voice is trembling, his hands are shaking with nerves and he hopes that you can’t tell and that no one from the team is spying on him because he has never felt himself so vulnerable before.

He feels exposed, like a vein, easily cut and raw.

You freeze, startled to be addressed by him it seems because your eyes are wide as saucers. Your lovely mouth pops open as you stare at him, perplexed and shocked.

“I’m sorry to bother you but, might you perhaps make a suggestion? I like coffee but have never had anything more than a plain coffee with cream and sugar.” Thor explains, hoping to bury the shake in his voice with his words and a fidgety smile.

He curls in on himself. Hoping to seem less intimidating with his shoulders hunched.

Your eyes wander to the barista and your brow narrows in more confusion.

Speak to me, my pearl. Thor thinks, pleading wildly with you silently.

“Wouldn’t the barista know more about what you should try than I would?” Your voice is surprisingly strong. Sure. Nothing like his quaking timber.

“Oh, but, your coffee al-” He stops himself and chooses his words carefully. “Your coffee smelled so tempting just now when I passed you. What are you having?”

Shit. He’d almost said always smells so tempting. He must be careful.

Your perplexed expression doesn’t waver. Instead you stand up straight and bring your cup up to your nose to smell but beyond the White Chocolate Mocha that he knows you are drinking, he can smell you and you smell more exquisite than he thought possible. Like coconut and strawberries and the slightest hint of nutmeg.

How is even your smell so tempting and perfect?

“It’s a White Chocolate Mocha.” Your hands are cupped around your mug, soft fingers curled gently. “Without the whip cream.”

Your lips are perfect. Kissable. He would love to taste the coffee on them.

“If you have a sweet tooth though, with the whip will be better.” You reach up and tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear and Thor wishes he were your hand so that he might caress the sides of your head as you just have.

“Sweeter.” You assure him and your face finally relaxes into a soft and stunning smile. It must be no larger than a slight curve to the corners of your lips and yet it transforms your face and you are alight again.

Thor can’t breathe.

“R-Right.” He wheezes, then clears his throat when your smile grows larger at the sound of his voice. “Right. Thank you. I will try that.”

Your eyes are shining so bright, life breathed into them by the discussion of coffee for some reason. Your lips part and you laugh. You actually laugh. Not an audible laugh. It’s just a sigh. A small puff of sweet air from your lips as your eyes shift down to his shoulders then back up to meet his eyes and Thor suddenly feels a swell of pride to know that he actually tried to look good for you.

Do you like what you see? Gods, let her like what she sees.

You nod and without another word you wander over to your selected alcove and slide into the booth. You steal one more glance at him and then shyly look away and bury your nose once more in your book.

Thor is floating. He feels as light as a feather. Like he could fly. Well, he can actually fly. But he feels as if gravity were nothing. He might float up to the ceiling and crash through to the floor above. He might rise higher and higher until he’s in the sky itself, floating amongst the birds and clouds.

He doesn’t remember placing the order for your suggestion but suddenly his name is being called by the barista. She’s pouting as she places his cup on the counter and slides it over to him, not releasing it until he has it held within his hands.

“Thank you.” He mumbles. Smiling stupidly at her.

As he turns to look back towards you, all he can see is your elbow, hidden in the booth as you are, but just your elbow shines in pristine light.

Thor thinks back to all the teasing he’s endured from the team over his crush on you, for that is what this must be. A crush. Honestly, all the teasing was worth it if it eventually led to such a small but treasured moment.

You. Smiling. At him.

Twitterpated. The word Sam had teased him with not two weeks ago pops into his head and he’s smiling like a sap. Too enthralled with you to care what he might look like to others.

With your tiny laugh playing over and over in his head, Thor is instilled with a sudden confidence and he marches forward, careful not to seem too eager but also unwilling to hide his enthusiasm for you. He crosses into view and he sees your eyes focused hard on your book.

He stops, sliding a little as he hesitates to interrupt you. You look so invested that he almost wishes he was that book. He’d give anything for you to gaze at him like that.

You flip the page and don’t see him, although you tilt your head a little so that you’re facing him as you read.

Suddenly your eyes burst into sunshine, twinkling like the starlit nights on Asgard, bewitching and majestic. How the hell is it possible that you can fit an entire galaxy into your eyes? That must be the only way that your eyes can sparkle like that. There is no other explanation.

Then you laugh. Thor’s heart shatters then mends and becomes whole once more only to erupt into a gallop at the small sound of your actual giggle. A real giggle. He suspects this is what his mother had meant when she’d told him that when she first heard him laugh as a baby, her world had suddenly centered and nothing else mattered than to make him happy. Then when Loki had come and he’d laughed, her world shifted again and now she had two suns shining in her sky.

This is what she probably meant because nothing will ever be the same after hearing that giggle. He must make you laugh. He’ll make you happy or die trying.

“Excuse me?” He says bravely, taking one large step to move up to the edge of the table you’re at. The alcove is smaller than him and he has to duck a little so that you might see all of him.

“Oh, hi.” You smile, kindly, sweetly.

Can he kiss you yet? Your eyes are still shining. Up. At him. He’s awash in their purity. He might just stand there forever. If only there was a way to freeze a moment.

“Hi.” He says, deep voice shaking in his chest.

You smile a little more, huff another one of those tiny laughs, and lay your book down. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He says stupidly. “I mean, I already said that. I was wondering if I might join you?”

“Oh.” Your smile falls away, replaced by genuine surprise. “S-sure.”

Why are you stuttering?! “I do not have to, if you would prefer to read and enjoy your coffee alone-”

“No!” You hurry to say, smiling that sweet smile again. “It’s not that, I just-Of course, you can join me. If you’d like?”

You almost seem unsure but you’re already shoving your coat over and making room for him. The booth isn’t small, but it isn’t large. For someone like Thor there are rarely large enough seats.

“I would like it very much.” And he smiles, unable to fight the heat in his chest and the way it drives him towards you. He slides in, realizing as you lean back that he’s sliding too close to you too fast, his arm already draped around the back of your seat.

He quickly makes it seem as if he were simply trying to get himself comfortable as he settles into the spot beside you and then brings his arm back forward and wraps his own hands—both of them, best not be tempted—around his hot cup of coffee.

You’re sitting facing him, slightly turned, your right knee touching his left and he can feel your skin’s heat through his pants.

No touching, Thor. He reminds himself. For even though he’s been watching you for such a long time, you have only just met him.

For almost five whole minutes, the two of you sit in utter silence, sipping your coffees and saying nothing. You look up at him with those shining eyes and you smile. Thor smiles back, unable to speak in case you do.

He doesn’t want to interrupt you! You’ve had six months of withdrawal. He’s watched you shrink and shrink until you became so overlooked that you were never asked your opinion by those you counted as friend. And it became natural that you never offered it freely.

Say something, my cherub. Anything. I will listen.

When he thinks he might go mad, you actually lower your hands into your lap and look down at them shyly as you bite your bottom lip. “H-How do you like the coffee? Too sweet?”

You look up and meet his eyes and he almost doesn’t realize that you’ve asked him a question because he’s so enamored with the sound of your voice, easy and tentative, uncertain in its strength all of a sudden.

“Er, no. It’s just right. Perfect. The whip cream is great.” He takes a sip as if to prove it to you.

“I-” You hesitate, and your confidence seems to be wavering. No. He wants you to be confident! Speak to me, my gem. Tell me everything. “I actually don’t like the whip cream. Sometimes they forget to take it off and I’ll drink it like that, but I prefer not to have it.”

“Do you not like the taste?” Thor’s more lurid self disappoints. Though the whipped cream back on Asgard had been a bit less saturated in sugar, they had used it very similarly. In the kitchen…and in the bedroom.

“Oh, no. It’s not that. It’s just messy. It makes the coffee all weird. I like whip cream. In moderation.” You explain, then reach up to touch your cheeks.

Was he too obvious? Shit.

“I see. Sugary foods are best in moderation. Or so the team keeps telling me. I never leave them any Pop Tarts and they get angry at me.”

You laugh. Amused by his story about being chastised by his team? Should he share more of them? No! He’ll let you dictate the flow of conversation.

“I’m sorry-” Thor suddenly realizes that he hasn’t introduced himself. “I seem to have lost my mind today. I am Thor, son of Odin. God of Thunder.”

You huff another irresistible laugh. “I know. I mean, it’s nice to meet you.”

Thor’s cheeks flush. Of course, you’d know him. He’s everywhere. Not on purpose but being an Avenger does that.

“Though honestly, dressed like that, I didn’t realize it was you at first. You look different than when you’re in your uniform?” Your eyes roam his form. Devouring his outfit.

“A bad different?” He worries.

“No! No. You look…” You stop yourself and touch your cheeks again.

You look so good bashful. Gods, he’d really like to hug you and kiss you. But no doubt he would scare you away if he tried.

Small steps, Thor. Take your time.

He blushes redder. “And what is, if you do not mind my asking, your name?”

“Wow, I’m an idiot.” You frown. “Sorry. My name is Y/N. Y/N y/l/n.”

Like he didn’t already know that. “It is my great honor to meet you, Y/N y/l/n.”

Though, to be fair, he didn’t know your last name until this moment.

“Y-Y/N…” He stutters over your name. Somehow saying it aloud finally, to you. To your face. Gods, that face.

This time he's very aware as that golden wave of euphoria washes over him. He sees it reflected in your eyes for a moment. A daze, and you scoot closer.

No! Thor shuts his eyes, shoving that impulse aside. He won't make you do anything with that.

When he opens his eyes however, he sees that you’re fussing with your jacket. Leaning towards him so that you can pull it out from under your butt.

Wait…had you not responded to his thing? His power?

He turns it on again, focusing on his intense desire to have you, to keep you, to love you.

You look at him once your jacket is out and you flatten it against the wall then turn to face him a little better. You lean back against it and give him an innocent smile.

And you wait, hands in your lap as you sit facing him. Legs carefully crossed. Thumbs twiddling. Patiently waiting for him to speak even though the push of attraction is emanating from deep in his belly.

He shuts it off again, clearing his throat. “Um…”

What does this mean? Do you not like him? Are you not at all attracted to him? If he takes it from what happened with Nat and Bucky, his thing only works when the two people are already emotionally involved or highly compatible.

Are you and he not compatible? That is unacceptable.

Thor reaches out, placing his right hand on the table, tapping his finger against the edge of your book as he tries to focus on just you again and not what your immunity to his pull might mean.

“Um…what is this book about? You looked very engrossed when I walked up.” Thor smiles softly.

You look to your book and your eyes brighten in that heartwarming way and Thor forgets his worries because all that matters is that look of excitement in your eyes.

“It's a novel. A er…a love story to be honest.” You seem embarrassed for a moment. “Do you read novels?”

“I must confess all the books I have read were mainly in my studies as a Prince of Asgard. While that did mean reading a few classics, they were of Asgard.”

“Ugh, I should probably be reading educational books. Non-fiction. But I-I'm a sucker for a good love story.” You chew on your lip and Thor wants nothing more than to reach over and trace that bottom lip with his thumb.

“What is this one about?” He asks again, eager to keep that excitement in your eyes.

And it's there, in your eyes, for all of two seconds before it fizzles.

“You wouldn't be interested.” You tell him. He can hear the defeat in your voice. You’ve given up. You’re not prepared to show your excitement to anyone. After what might be a lifetime of being overlooked, let alone the past six months.

How long before Thor found you had you been timidly stepping aside, letting others speak while you kept your words to yourself?

You deserve to be heard.

“If you are interested…I am interested. Please, tell me.” He begs gently, his voice low because he so wants you to be comfortable with him.

You look at him, eyes boring into his as if in search of a lie but Thor only smiles, turning a bit more to look at you, laying his left arm along the back of the booth.

It comes rushing back, the sparkle to your eyes, and after another tempting bite to your lower lip, you huff another quiet laugh and look down at his chest.

Thor is well aware that he must be giving you what Sam had also referred to as “heart eyes" but he doesn't care. He wants you to see it.

While before he had been patient to watch you from afar, now that he has you before him, smiling and laughing and biting that alluring lip, he must have you.

He'll take it slow. He knows you’re not forthcoming. He'll have to woo you. Carefully.

He makes sure to pepper in some questions as you speak but he keeps himself silent as much as possible. You drift from your book to other topics, movies with similar themes and other books with the opposite. You come back to the one you're reading eventually and Thor is determined to be completely silent now so that he might listen to the way your voice rises and falls with your enthusiasm.

How can your companions not see this brilliance and be mesmerized? Why do they see only their own need to express their thoughts and shut you out?

Fools. Blind fools.

You’ve been explaining the book for almost ten minutes, uninterrupted when you suddenly realize this. Your eyes widen with worry but Thor smiles broadly, pearly whites against the hay and chestnut scruff of his beard.

“That sounds quite dramatic.” He acknowledges. “And sad.”

“It is a little. Dark. Exploring the choices and viewpoints of two cheating spouses? It makes you realize that people sometimes have unique reasons for straying. Not that it's right. I’m not defending it. I don't really have much experience myself but I would never cheat.”

“Have you not dated?” Thor wonders, stupidly hoping you’ll say no. He's feeling greedy.

“Not for a long time. We broke up because he moved, not because we grew apart.” You confess.

“Oh?” Thor's heart gives a small ache. Someone else in this world had had the opportunity to love you.

“This was years ago.” You explain. “And you?”

Thor blinks, realizing what you're asking him. Eyebrows raised high, smile returned as he nervously looks at and fiddles with the corner of your book again.

“Well, I dated Jane, here on Earth. Most humans know that. It wasn’t exactly a secret. And I did have a lot of time to court others back on Asgard and on other various planets throughout the Universe.

“Now that I think about it, I’ve had lots of experience dating.” He admits, turning his eyes back on you only to find you looking down at your twiddling thumbs on the orange of your skirt.

You look worried. Sad?

No. That's not how he wants you to look. Where's the brightness? Did he make you sad? How? What did he say?!

“I should go.” You suddenly say.

“Go?” Thor asks, his voice slightly strangled around the word. But he barely got to spend any time with you!

“Yeah. I’m meeting my friends in the park? They wanted to go see this new store opening downtown and then I have to go into the office for a few meetings.” You sit facing forward and begin to gather your things. “I’m actually late. I should have left half an hour ago.”

Thor looks down at his watch and realizes the two of you have been sitting in the booth talking for nearly three hours.

The morning is now aged and the sky outside bright and sunny despite the constant fall chill in the air.

“Forgive me. I didn’t realize we'd talked for so long.” Thor slides out, rises to his feet and grabs his now empty cup of coffee.

He waits for you to slide out and watches you pull your coat on before shoving your book into your purse and hoisting the bag onto your shoulders, your reusable cup held in your left.

You smile up at him, nervous and still a little sad.

“Um…thanks for keeping me company.” You tell him sweetly as he follows you to the door. “I had fun.”

Thor is unashamed to stare at your beautiful face. He sees the sparkle of excitement return to your eyes and knows that you mean what you say. You enjoyed the time you spent with him and he would gladly do it again.

He must see you again.

He leans over your left to throw his cup away but your right hand shoots out to grip his wrist.

Your hand is small around him. Your skin warm and soft. No, not warm. Hot. There is a burning heat beneath your skin and it steals him of his sanity for a moment.

She's touching me! Thor celebrates.

“Aren't you going to save it?” You ask him and Thor's brow knits in confusion.

“Save it? My cup?” He wonders.

“No…” You shove your own cup under your arm and take hold of the heel of his hand with your left to hold it still then slowly turn the his cup with your right until the cardboard sleeve is facing him.

On the sleeve is a number that Thor realizes must be a phone number. Had you given him your phone number?!

Glee explodes from his eyes at the sight.

“The barista went out of her way to get you her number.” You explain and Thor's fire of elation is quickly snuffed out. “Aren't you going to keep it?”

“Oh.” He says lamely and hates it as your hands fall away from his to grip the strap of your purse. “No.”

He throws the cup.

Reaching over, he shoves the door open wide and flattens himself against it so that you might go first.

You’re still staring at the trashcan where he threw the cup but when you realize he's waiting, you hurry through. Thor is glad when you stop just outside to turn back towards him as he joins you.

“Y/N?” He probes shyly. Nervous out of his mind for what he's about to ask you.

“Yeah?”

“Might I not have your number?” His heart is a hammering of eagle wings in his chest. He nearly faints as you bite your lip again and shake your head.

He's full of desire and disappointment all at once at the sight of your nervous habit and the shake of your head? Are you denying him your number?

You reach into your purse and pull out your book and a felt tip pen. Thor stares with quiet ecstasy as you open the book and on the inside of the cover you write down your number then underline your name just above it.

You shove your pen back into your bag then hold out the book for him.

“If you weren’t you, I wouldn’t be giving you that.” You admit, voice trembling. “I don't give out my number to strangers but you’re not exactly a stranger, are you?”

Thor has never particularly hated being known as Thor, the God of Thunder. Avenger. However, he has never loved it quite like this before either.

“Er…I…um…well, thank you.” He blathers stupidly.

“I really do need to go.” You tell him.

“Of course.” He nods. “Have a—good day?”

He hesitates, feeling as if the sentiment is not good enough. His stutter makes you smile and you turn and walk away.

He watches you for a moment, staring at the shape of your body, the length of your legs, the worn leather of your boots before opening your book to look down at your number.

“Thor?”

His body is humming. Never has his name sounded so sweet on a pair of lips. Never has his heart nearly shattered and exploded all at once. Never has he needed something without knowing he needed it like the way he suddenly needs to hear you utter his name again.

He looks up at you, your star shine eyes deep pools of galaxy, enrapturing him. Holding him hostage in their purity.

“Make sure you call me, okay?” Despite the quiet confidence or that blatant enthusiasm shining at him, your timidity flows through in the shake of your voice. “I really want to finish that book.”

“Of course.” Thor assures you and holds it up for you.

Oh, please, say my name again.

“Bye, Thor.” You give him a little wave and he returns it as his body melts at the sound of your sweet tone wrapped around his name.

He watches you until the blue of your coat is out of sight.

Is it too soon to call you right now? He wants to hear your voice.

Twenty minutes later, Thor storms into the tower, the common room empty save for the stoic redhead sharpening her knives on the coffee table in the living room portion of the large room.

“Natasha, my friend, I need your help.” Thor exclaims, stopping a few feet from her.

“Hey, man.” Bucky says, moving around from behind Thor and towards Nat where he drops off his own set of knives before sitting on the floor across from his crush. “How'd it go? Did you get to talk to your mark?”

“She's not a mark.” Thor grumbles. “And yes. I did.”

Bucky beams up at him, his brown tresses hooked behind his ears. “Woah, good for you. Was she everything you hoped she'd be?”

“She was more but stop distracting me. I came with a mission for Natasha.”

The two of them freeze and turn to stare at Thor.

“What mission?” Nat asks, intrigued.

“I need…a cellular phone.” Thor then holds up the book beside his head proudly, big goofy smile in place. “She gave me her number.”

Forever Tag List - CLOSED!!!!!!! Until I can make more room. @until-theend-oftheline @jessieray98 @dsakita @coldfacedwarf @just-trying-to-survive-marvel @fairislesheets @jewelofwinter @mannls @moonlessnight14 @sovereignoblivious @pandazlazykid @lilulo-12 @moli1497 @shifutheshihtzu @the-real-mary-jane @pastelxvirgo @just4muggles @vulpecula-minor @wildefire @mdgrdians @tiffanynguyen03 @shield-agent78 @i-cant-shine-without-darkness @the-wayward-robot @babytrollgirl @alagalaska @sincerelytlh @theonelittleone @sea040561 @xrosegoldwolfx @peppermintvanillaa @awkwardfangirl2014 @crist1216 @xxloki81xx @idk-random-fan-girl @romimiux @badassbaker @this-side-of-midnight5 @booklover2929 @natura1phenomenon @xlittlestarling @whosmarisaaarw @hiddles-rose @supernaturaldean67 @literallymoonshine @sebbystanlover-vk @pineapplebooboo @quokkatrash @marvelpott @spaghettirogers @rainbowkisses31 @basementcafe @death-unbecomes-you @kind-sober-fullydressed

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blurglesmurfklaine · 4 years

Text

Cornelia Street (3/?)

A/N: oh my god they were quarantined

yes. It’s one of those fics.

AU, obvs

I’m posting as I go and idk how many parts this is going to be, likely won’t be very long but I literally don’t know what I’m doing and should i be starting yet another WIP? definitely not but fuck it lets fucking go

Title is from T-swizzles Lover album, I’m OBSESSED

Summary: Three years ago, Kurt and Blaine went on a disaster of a date and never quite got off on the right foot. Now, just before they graduate from NYADA, there’s a national outbreak and they’re both self-quarantined in a mutual friend’s apartment.

Read On AO3

On Tumblr: Part 1, Part 2

Part 3

Kurt has the art of avoiding someone he’s sharing a confined space with down to an art. Blaine stays in the bedroom most of the time and the morning stiffness in Kurt’s joints from sleeping on the couch is well worth not having to interact with his roomie. He spends the first few days decompressing from the stressload of his schoolwork, social media, extra pampering, the usual.

This is enough to keep him entertained for a few days, but the first few hours of day four drag on like molasses.

Kurt lies on the couch, flippantly scrolling and cycling through the same social media apps over and over again until he’s seen every tweet, every snapchat story, and every. Single. Facebook. Post.

This routine is fine when he has a full and busy life, but it can’t be all he does. He’s going stir crazy.

It’s this boredom, he tells himself, that motivates him to knock on the bedroom door. Because he’s a generally social person, and he’s certain that even the likes of Blaine Anderson could offer him some temporary entertainment.

“The living room TV doesn’t come with Netflix,” he explains when a confused Blaine opens the door. “And my social media feed is dry, so you can either let me in on whatever you’re watching, or you can deal with the consequences of not doing that. I should let you know, I have a brother, and I can be very annoying.”

Blaine hums, looking Kurt up and down. “I also have a brother who can be ridiculously annoying, so I suppose I can’t risk it.” He speaks carefully, but Kurt has a sneaking suspicion that Blaine’s just as out of his mind bored as he is and would appreciate the company.

He opens the door wider to allow Kurt passage in the room.

Blaine moves towards the bed, where he’s clearly made some sort of quarantine nest for himself—the blanket is puddled near the head of the bed where Blaine was lying, a few books scattered by where his feet would have been, a bowl of half eaten ramen abandoned on the nightstand.

Kurt… doesn’t quite know what to do. He starts for the computer chair by the desk, but Blaine waves him away. “You can just sit next to me,” he says dismissively. “That’s Sam’s gaming chair, and it is just absolutely hell on your lower back. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

He raises an eyebrow, crosses his arms. “Is that what I am to you?”

Blaine looks at him like he’s genuinely surprised by the remark. “What? I… No. Not at all.”

“Really?”

“Look, Kurt, I know we have a weird history and we don’t particularly get along, but I don’t hate you.”

Kurt eyes Blaine up and down for a second, assessing him for any signs of deceit. He finds none, pulls the cover back and slides underneath it. “What are you watching?”

“Let It Snow. It’s a Netflix Original. It just started, do you want me to rewind it?”

Kurt waves a hand. “No, that’s fine.”

On screen, two teens are trudging through the snow towards a building with AFFLE TOWN on top of it.

“If the train made you feel real, Waffle Town is gonna blow your mind.”

In the movie, the cheerleader character kisses the other main red-headed girl in the bathroom, but acts like nothing happened when the rest of the squad comes in.

“Oh, she’s totally not out of the closet yet.” Blaine murmurs.

“What? But she said she was, at the beginning.”

“I mean, yeah, but there has to be some sort of twist.”

“Hm. Seems like you have this movie all figured out.”

“I mean, movies like this are supposed to be predictable on some level. Let’s be real, we watch these movies because no matter what happens, no matter what misunderstanding there is, you know everything’s going to be okay.” He looks at Kurt, and Kurt’s heart does not skip a beat. But objectively speaking, Blaine is ridiculously adorable, and maybe he has a teeny tiny reaction when Blaine says, “You know that the right people will end up with each other.”

About twenty more minutes in, all the different storylines have been introduced and Kurt realizes why this movie seems so familiar. “Oh my god,” he says. “This is totally just a teen version of Love, Actually.”

Blaine chuckles. “Oh my gosh, you’re right!”

They both laugh out loud at the end, when the crappy best friend realizes she’s been crappy and gives the red-head a little speech.

“If you and Beyonce were trapped in a house that was on fire and I could only save one of you... I would let Beyonce die.”

The movie draws to a close and Blaine leans back against the pillows, obviously satisfied with the ending. “See? Happy endings rule. They’re a little cheesy, a little predictable, but that’s what I like about them.”

Kurt smiles and looks over at Blaine. “Yeah, me, too.”

When the movie ends, Blaine excuses himself for a moment to go grab a drink from the kitchen.

When he finishes his glass of water, Blaine heads to the hall closet, clamoring around for that stash of board games Sam keeps for game nights. He finally finds it and grins a bit, pulling out Battleship. This should keep them entertained for a while.

He stops dead in his tracks, just outside the room, when he hears Kurt in a heated conversation on the phone. “No, Adam. I meant it, this time. We’re over… I know there’s a national crisis right now, that’s why I’m at—don’t… stop… will you let me—! You always do this! Stop talking over me! Oh my god, if you’re not going to listen, then this conversation is over.”

Blaine silently backtracks a few steps when he hears Kurt sniff, then after a minute or two, starts walking again, making sure to slap his bare feet against the hardwood floor so that Kurt hears him coming and can take a second to compose himself. He rattles the battleship game for extra measure and says loudly down the hallway, “So I found this battleship game in the closet, thought it might be a good way to pass the time.”

Kurt still looks a little lost in thought by the time Blaine is back in the bedroom. “Uh, sure, yeah. Why not,” he mindlessly agrees.

It takes them a few minutes to set everything up and figure out logistics. As a gesture of goodwill, Blaine insists that they both sit on the bed for this activity. He still feels a little bad for… whatever Kurt is going through right now.

They’re well into the game when Blaine decides to tug a little more on the thread that will unravel Kurt Hummel.

“J1,” Kurt grumbles.

“Miss,” Blaine responds. “So… I thought I might’ve heard you on the phone earlier,” he says, and Kurt’s hard gaze pierces through him. “Everything okay?”

“Why do you care?” Kurt snaps.

Blaine felt his own defenses rising up. “We are going to be stuck with each other for days on end, so excuse me for trying to be a decent person.”

Kurt de-bristles himself. “Sorry,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Sorry… I um… my ex is trying to get me to go stay with him. But I know he’s just going to rope me into getting back together again and I just… I’m done. Sorry,” he repeats, lifting his knees and wrapping his arms around them. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.”

“It’s okay,” Blaine says, mouth twitching. “We’ll chalk it up to social distancing. Speaking of, I know why I’m self-quarantined, why are you? If you don’t mind me asking. Why not go home like everyone else? B4.”

Kurt sighs. “Hit. My dad had a heart attack back in high school. Left him in a coma for a while. Then he had a cancer scare last year, so his immune system isn’t the strongest. I can’t risk taking anything back to him. J2.”

“I’m sorry to hear that… Hit.”

“Thanks. What about you?”

“C4. Kind of the same thing. My aunt has lived with us pretty much my entire life. She's pretty much my second mom. She’s diabetic, and a year ago she needed a kidney transplant. If she even gets so much as a cold, it could mess with her anti-rejection meds.”

He doesn’t get a response for a while and Blaine looks up to find Kurt staring at him. The other boy blinks, like he himself has just noticed his fixed gaze.

“Um, hit…” he says, looking back down at his board. Blaine thinks he might see a hint of a blush crawling up Kurt’s neck. “J3.”

“Miss.”

“Miss? That’s impossible. J1 and I2 were misses.” Kurt snaps his head up, narrowing his eyes at Blaine, but there’s a playful light that wasn’t there earlier. “Are you cheating?”

“Maybe,” he teases, evading the question because it actually is a hit. In fact, it’s the winning move. “Maybe I just don’t want this game to be over so soon.”

For a moment, Blaine wonders if his comment was too close to flirtatious territory. But then he thinks, so what if it is? There was a reason he agreed to be set up with Kurt freshman year, and after half a conversation with him, Blaine is definitely intrigued, to say the least.

Kurt’s lips curl up into a smile. “Alright… I don’t want to go back to being bored either, so how about this? We each move one of the small pieces and the first one to get a hit wins.”

Blaine agrees, taking one of his small pieces off and moving it.

“I’ll start us off,” Kurt says. “You mentioned you had a brother. What about the rest of your family? A6.”

“Miss. I’ve only got the one, thank god, because he is a handful. My mom is a total goofball, gives the best advice. I love her to death. My dad is the essence of I hate everything except my family. He can be a total grump sometimes, but I know he’d do anything for us. G7. You?”

“Miss. I mentioned my dad. My mom passed away when I was eight.” Blaine’s eyes glaze over with sympathy. “She was… she was really something. I miss her everyday, but I’m also really grateful that my dad found someone as wonderful as my step-mom. They got married my Junior year of high school, and I got a brother out of it. He drives me up the wall sometimes, but I love the big lug.”

Kurt tells Blaine all about the ridiculousness of his high school show choir, his relationship with his dad, and the bullying he endured in high school. In turn, Blaine confesses some insecurities he has about being a musical theatre major, about how he absolutely adores his kooky aunt, and his love for harry potter.

The game takes longer to finish than it should since occasionally they get so deep into conversation that they forget about playing the game. Eventually, it’s nearly two am, and Kurt decides to call it quits.

“Alright,” he says. “I’m calling it. I’m never gonna fund that darn ship of yours.”

“You’re right about that,” Blaine agrees. Kurt had actually hit his piece about three turns in, but again… Blaine wasn’t ready to say goodnight yet.

Kurt snorts out a laugh and rises from the he’d, stretching his arms high over his head. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he groans.

Blaine has no idea what compels him to say this, but he does. “You don’t have to sleep in the living room.”

Kurt freezes and gives Blaine a look.

“I just mean…” he swallows. “I’ve had the bed enough nights. Time to pay my dues. I can take the couch tonight.”

He hops off the bed before Kurt even has the chance to protest.

“I… um, thanks,” he gives Blaine a shy smile.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Kurt.” He returns the smile—more than just a nicety at this point—and turns around to head to the living room.

He can’t keep the dazed grin off his face when he pulls out his phone to text Sam.

Part 4

#klaine #glee #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #wow look at me im writing!#i honestly hate the format of tumblr but its too late at this point lmaoooo

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ohnohetaliasues · 4 years

Text

Stones to Abbigale {Ch. 3+4}

(Kat)

I’m doing chapter four also since chapter three is so short.

I hate this book thoroughly.

But here we go.

Briefly after I fell asleep that night I had a dream about Abbi,

Please don’t go the way I think this is going.

it was the first dream I had experienced in some time. I'm not normally the type of person to be deeply impacted by dreams as more often than not I can control them. I can recognize the fact that I'm in a dream and twist things around so that whatever is making me afraid becomes afraid of me. This tactic however could not possibly work in this soon-to-be nightmare, as there was no living monster waiting around the corner. There was no emotion in this machine that was about to reveal itself to me. I could only watch without a physical form. I was just a helpless spectator in my own mind.

Okay so that was actual word salad.

The dream began without any sound; only a deep hum accompanying what appeared to be Abbi laughing in a field of what looked like gray grass from a far. As my view of her revealed more detail I began to realize that what I thought was grass was actually long slender claws.

So this girl is just...

In a field of claws?

Experiencing a more alarmed spectrum of emotion, the audible hum cut out and was replaced by Abbi's screams. The sounds echoed bouncing off the walls of my mind splitting me in two and engulfing the core my being.

I’m so fucking confused.

She was not forming any words in her screams and I began to understand why the more I analyzed every detail. I shifted my perspective to a new angle. I was now above her looking down and could see the claws were pulling her into the ground. She showed no resistance to being dragged into the ground, she didn't even cry for help, she would only scream in pain as she slowly sank beneath the surface. I began to distinctly hear blades and gears violently turning just beneath her.

I cannot fucking picture this happening for the life of me.

It's difficult to explain, but in her eyes I could see she didn't want to be saved as she genuinely felt she had earned the suffering she was enduring.

Edgy as fuck, okay.

She believed she deserved to be ground up until there was nothing left. Once she was pulled completely under I was finally given a physical form in the dream. Dropping from above I landed on the soil she disappeared in. I immediately dropped to my knees and began digging with my bare hands to get to Abbi. I was only inches deep before the ground ripped open forcing me to jump back.

Okay uh.

I have no valid words that could express how I feel right now.

A deep canyon began to form central to where I had begun digging. The splitting and groaning quickly gained momentum. Ripping and screeching sounds erupted all around me as the earth divided before me at a now crippling rate. A hellish sight consumed my eyes as I looked down on the collapsing landmass below. Powerful machines wielding massive blades swung violently scraping dirt and rock with a sound so tremendous I could only faintly hear the screams of countless desperate humans below.

This is just.

Not okay.

I quickly realized the terrified voices beyond the ripping blades were no illusion.

But this is a dream.

Which means it’s an illusion.

Thousands of lives were being devoured in piles, no person among them begging for life rather, like Abbi, they screamed only from pain delivered not just by the roaring blades and gears, but their very existence itself. Suffering & consciousness had become one in the same.

You are not poetic.

Shut the literal fuck up.

I then woke up to my room filled with sunlight, but it could not change the darkness my dream left me with. I felt something inside me change, almost as if I had seen something I was never meant to and now had to find a way to lose the thick cloud freshly looming over my head.

I hate you.

It is as I said briefly before, I feel like a visitor here, like I'm in this world but not a part of it like everyone else.

Shut up, you pretentious asshole.

I study people and situations to find out how they work and sometimes my dreams fill in the emotions and thoughts I missed while I was awake.

Yes, so you’ve said, in a very creepy non-human way.

Not having to go to school that day due to my suspension I decided to write a letter to Abbi.

Cool. Awesome. This won’t be cringey at all.

It read:"When I look in your eyes... I at times feel a level of sadness I have never felt, as if we, despite barely knowing each other, have been apart for far too long.

Excuse me, that’s incredibly creepy.

When I talk to you it is like I am listening to a voice I've ached for yet haven't heard in a lifetime. Every other experience I have with you seems familiar but at the same time, it hurts, like you would feel if you begged for something and only received it when you had already given up hope.

More word salad.

These feelings are all so strange and evolving at a rate that scares me as they are for someone I am only just now truly getting to know.

Even with my brief presence in your life I've picked up on so much suffering and almost feel powerless to create any change.

This is so alarming and creepy and you need to stop.

There are so many wounds, so many scars, so much I only know enough about to fear. I'm trying to understand. Abbi, you have more pain in your life than I can imagine. I hear it in your voice, I see it in your eyes and in the way you move. I just want to see you smile without there being an ocean wall of tears behind your eyes. I want to hear everything you have to say. I want to find a way to heal the damage done until you can forget it ever existed.

THE ONLY FUCKING PROPER REACTION TO THIS LETTER IS TO MOVE TO ANOTHER CONTINENT.

I sent the letter to her email address, moments later the phone rang. Answering the phone I heard Abbi's voice on the other end.

"Hey, can you meet me at the Quick Shop?" she asked.

I responded, "Did you see my email?"

She replied "Nope, why didn't you just call?"

I said, "It would've been really hard to say over the phone, I had to find the words."

She replied, "Ok, I'll look and then I'll head over."

I then confirmed "Sure, see you there".

Yikes.

Shortly after, I got dressed and skated over to meet her. I arrived quickly, thanks to what seemed to be a record speed for me. However once I arrived I found myself waiting for someone who now had no intention of meeting me. I could only assume I had just made myself look like a huge jerk to her. I attempted to call her from the nearby payphone and she didn't answer.

What did you expect? That she wouldn’t find that fucking creepy?

As I skated home, in my mind, I went through the letter I wrote over and over. I began to blame myself, concluding based on her absence that I must have dug too deep too fast.

I scared her away because I reacted on the emotions I experienced in that dream before actually considering the human being on the other side of the letter.

Yeah, at least you’re fucking self aware for once.

I felt like I was just about finally connect with someone only to ruin everything at the last minute.

That’s your own fault. Don’t bitch about it.

Okay, chapter 4.

My suspension had been lifted and I had just arrived back at Lakewood High. Approaching my history class I could hear people snickering as they watched me walk by.

Someone screamed "Wuss! Learn how to fight!" behind me but I just kept walking.

I feel like I’ve read shit like this before.

Oh.

Yeah, it reads like any angsty Wattpad story ever.

As I sat down in class Mr. Hanson walked up to me, he placed his hand on my shoulder and spoke under his breath so others would not hear "Don't worry about the work you missed, ok James?"

It would be preferable that you didn’t use ‘ok’ instead of the word ‘okay.’

But this is terrible, so I don’t have high expectations. I don’t know what I expected.

I looked up at him and he gave me a slight smile. I suppose it's because he felt bad that I was beaten up shortly after trying to get Jason to leave the class alone. It was a lucky break too considering Mr. Hanson's class was one of the few I didn't stop by to see what work I would miss before beginning my suspension.

No. No. That isn’t this teacher’s job. He needs to grade something, and if James didn’t do the work, it would be immoral to put good grades in the grade book when this is the case.

I approached the art trailer feeling panicked over what to expect. I hated that I said anything to Abbi, that I overstepped my bounds and acted like I knew her when I was only going off my own dream-influenced emotional intuition.

Intuition my ass. That dream means nothing at all. Shut your pretentious mouth.

I felt a conflicted hatred towards myself for jeopardizing a relationship with someone that was so important to me.

MY FUCKING GOD YOU’VE HAD THREE CONVERSATIONS WITH HER.

If she did give up on me, I could only blame myself.

Yes. You can.

Opening the door I could see Abbi wasn't inside, instead there were just pieces of my bear sewn to pieces of her bear sitting on her desk. Maybe I was reading too far into what it meant, I could really only hope that there was something left to us that I could sew back together.

If I have to read another bullshit waxing poetic thing, I’m gonna scream. My eyes are already glazing over.

Walking closer I could see something sticking out just beneath the bear.

It was a note that read: "James, meet me behind the church when you get this."

Immediately, I thought of the church neighboring Lakewood High.

I find it bullshit that James was immediately able to figure out what church Abbi meant when she didn’t even specify which church she was talking about.

I stuffed my backpack inside the desk

Your backpack fits in a desk? Either the desk has a large compartment, your bag is nearly empty, or your bag is very small.

I’m going with the last option because it’s the funniest.

and quickly made my way off campus to meet Abbi.

You left your bag in class and just left?

What is wrong with you?

As I approached the church there was a strong forceful wind blowing behind me that made it feel as if I was being pushed to her by nature itself.

I really hate you pretending to be deep, Onion.

I felt like a fool for thinking that, I'm far too unimportant for any significant force to consciously influence my life. I walked around the church only to hear Abbi say loudly "James!" I turned to see her standing under an overhang that reached out from the church.

That is called an awning.

I walked over to her and began to apologize for the letter, but she cut me off saying "Why did you write that to me?"

A valid question.

I responded "I wanted to separate myself from everyone else in your eyes. I wanted you to know I was trying to understand you, all of..."

She interrupted "How messed up do you think I am James? How screwed do you think my life is exactly? Because if you had any social skills, you might know that saying to someone what you did, is... I'm not damaged goods... I'm not broken!"

Her voice was giving out as she began tearing up. "I'm sorry... I was..." I said, helplessly watching tears fall down her face.

This is a confusing and mechanical interaction.

"I was wrong... but I'm here, and I will be as long as you let me." I said.

She wiped her tears and struggled to speak. "The reason you saw what you did, in my eyes, my voice..." she continued to struggle as she cried "You saw the bruises from my ex, but you wanted to know everything."

You two have known each other for two fucking days. Like, you’ve only spoke four times now.

She paused to wipe her tears again. I listened carefully as she continued to speak "James... I haven't been beaten just one or two times..."

I would care more if there was any buildup to this moment or any character development that would make me like this girl.

But there isn’t.

So I feel nothing while reading this, and that is both incredibly boring and unfulfilling, as well as genuinely kind of creepy.

The fact that this does not evoke emotion in me when I should be feeling some form of empathy instead of the apathy I feel disturbs me.

Abbi said as she looked at me as if every word was agonizing for her to say.

I would like to know why she’s telling this to a guy she barely knows.

With tear soaked eyes she continued, "I've been violated beyond that James... by people who called me their friend, people I trusted took advantage of me and that killed so much of who I am... who I was."

I am so concerned that I don’t feel anything here. Are you guys feeling anything?

Her face was consumed with stress, her body shook but she managed to continue, "My mother abandoned me and left me with my father who doesn't even care if I live..." before she could finish I wrapped my arms around her.

She dug her fingers into my back as she pulled me closer and cried into my chest.

As we held each other I said, "You were never damaged, only changed. Any part of you that you think died is just hidden, waiting to come out when it's safe..."

I want to actually die.

Abbi squeezed me even tighter.

I continued, "Every time I see you, you become more beautiful to me than before."

She gripped me more tightly than anyone ever had. She was finally hearing everything she wanted someone to say to her and I was saying everything I wanted Abbi to hear, that is, most everything.

Okay, cool.

I just... This is such a gross fetishization of abuse? It makes my stomach twist. I also feel strange that I can’t feel any form of emotion for these characters beyond annoyance.

It actually bothers me deeply.

This is the opposite effect you want to have on your readers, Onion. you want your characters to be relatable and real so your readers can connect with them and feel something for them. Well written characters are ones you can get attached to.

These characters are poorly written, which is why I cannot relate to them or get attached to them. I’m not saying I’m any kind of master at writing characters, but Abbi has no personality of her own other than the fact that she’s an abuse victim, and the fact that that is all is concerning. I don’t even know what she looks like.

James is the most pretentious, condescending narrator in the world and it makes me physically recoil while I read from his point of view. He is nihilistic, bleak, creepy, and very flavorless. He’s boring as all hell, and again, I don’t even know what he looks like.

Does Onion just forget to describe his characters? It makes it very hard to visualize anything with them.

Okay. I’ll see you guys in chapter five.

This book is actually repulsive.

~Kat

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drabbles-drabbles-everywhere · 4 years

Text

The Scars That Have Been Left Behind

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Words: 3953

Chapter Three

The following days were chaotic to say the least. Both men were constantly running around, having interviews with social workers, going shopping to make sure they had at least the basics a child needed, cleaning out their spare room, redecorating it, putting together furniture and setting up home visits, as well as visiting Shinsou’s school to collect the homework he missed and for the next few weeks. They’d be back there soon enough to make sure they’d be able to care for Shinsou when he did return. But for now everything was ready. The spare room had been repainted, a light blue with purple polka dots, similar to Shinsou’s favorite monster from Monsters Inc. A few hero posters decorating the walls, and a cat plush sitting in the middle of his bed. It was sparsely decorated, wanted to let the boy do that himself and pick out his own toys. Though they did get him tons of art supplies as they quickly found out that he loved to draw. Now all that was missing was the boy himself.

“Hey kiddo, you almost ready to go?” Hizashi asked, picking up Shinsou’s bag and the duffle he had brought a few days ago. Shinsou nodded, absently picking at the cuts on his cheeks. They had finally been able to take the muzzle off, only to find more cuts and scars, his muzzle made differently, made specifically to hurt the little boy. Hizashi had had to leave the room after seeing what laid underneath. Shouta had kept his face neutral, but he held the muzzle in a white knuckle grip the muzzle creaking under the pressure.

Hizashi smiled, holding his hand out to him. Shinsou hesitated, but instead held his unbroken arm up to be picked up. Hizashi’s smile grew wider as he bent down to pick him up. He knew Shinsou wasn’t quite used to him yet, which was understandable, Hizashi was loud and moved too quickly sometimes, but he was doing better at keeping his voice soft and his movements slower and Shinsou had gotten comfortable enough to let the blond hold him and pick him up.

“Alright, let’s go find Shouta. He should be waiting for us downstairs,” Hizashi shifted Shinsou so he could wrap his arm around Hizashi’s neck, hiding from the eyes of the people they walked past. Hizashi smiled to himself, one hand resting on Shinsou’s back and the other holding him up as the pair of them made their way towards the elevator, though Hizashi hesitated before stepping in. He remembered Makkiko mentioning that Shinsou hated small spaces, including elevators, but they were on one of the higher floors and Hizashi really didn’t want to climb down multiple flights of stairs with their bags and a 5 year old.

He felt Shinsou tense as the doors closed and Hizashi just held him tighter, rocking from side to side and humming softly. That had been another thing they’d notice about him. Even if he wasn’t quite comfortable with Hizashi, hearing the man hum or sing always seemed to help calm him down. Now was no exception, Shinsou’s grip loosening slightly as he turned a little to look around the small space.

“Don’t worry kiddo, it’s not a long ride,” Hizashi muttered, pushing Shinou’s hair out of his eyes. Shinsou nodded slightly, jumping slightly when the elevator jerked to a halt, the doors sliding open soon after. Shinsou immediately buried his head back into Hizashi’s neck, hiding from the many people milling around the lobby. “Do you have a preference for lunch? I’m sure I could talk Shouta into letting us get takeout,” Hizshi said, filling the silence, but keeping his voice low and soft.

‘Curry?’ HIzashi smiled at the sign pressed into his chest.

“Of course little listener!” Hizashi hadn’t really expected an answer, well not a direct one, he had expected the boy to just say whatever they wanted. Shinsou was afraid to ask for what he wanted, after years of being told now, being hit for even asking a question or asking for something he wanted. So it made him happy that he at least seemed to be comfortable enough with them to actually give them an answer.

Hizashi stopped near the doors, it was quite dreary out for such a happy day but he wouldn’t let that kill his mood. As it was it was currently pouring outside, not quite storming. So Hizashi waited just inside the doors, waiting for Shouta to bring the car around, humming softly and swaying, trying his best to keep Shinsou calm. Shinsou turned his head away from Hizashi’s neck, violet eyes trained on the rain outside.

“I like the rain. Even if it seems kind of dreary. I think it’s peaceful, like the world knows everyone just needs to slow down and watch the rain fall,” Shinsou blinked up at him, nodding in agreement as the two stood and watched the rain.

Hizashi jumped, feeling someone tap his arm. He blinked a few times before his eyes landed on his husband, a concerned frown on his face. ‘Are you okay? You were kinda zoned out,’

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just watching the rain,” Hizashi smiled, Shouta chuckled, shaking his head.

‘If you say so. Do you want me to take him so you can put the bags in the trunk?’ Shouta asked, pointing to Shinsou, who was half asleep, still staring out the window, though his eyes were drooping closed. Hizashi nodded, shifting Shinsou before handing him to Shouta before the two of them walked outside, quickly putting the bags in the car and buckling Shinsou into his carseat.

“Oh, also, we need to pick up some curry for lunch,” Hizashi said, slipping into the passenger seat, glancing at Shinsou, who was barely paying attention, watching the rain run down with windows. Shouta nodded, before pulling out of the hospital parking lot.

By the time they got home, the rain had all but stopped, now nothing more than a light sprinkle and Shinsou was wide awake again, Having jerked awake from what they had assumed was a nightmare, but the boy had just stared off in the distance, his breath coming out a little faster than normal, but he said nothing and his eyes stayed dry. They figured he’d talk about it when he wanted to and didn’t push it, though both gave each other a concerned look.

“Welcome home!” Hizashi said, throwing their apartment door open, walking in behind Shouta and Shinsou, the boy walking on his own, a tight grip on Shouta’s hand, eyes wide as he looked around the apartment.

The only thing that came to the little boys mind was that this place was exactly what he thought a home would be. There were small knick-knacks and photos spread around the room, a bookshelf sat on one wall, full of pictures and books, a few plants sat on the very top. There was a blanket thrown over the back of the couch, a small black cat sat on top of it, blinking blearily at them. It was clean, but still lived in, a few jackets strewn around the room, a few different pairs of shoes by the door and dishes in the sink, an old takeout container sitting on the counter. He felt safe here, only because he could see how nice the couple was shown by all the pictures on the walls. Most with just the two of them, but others with friends, each one with smiles and laughter, even if Shouta looked unimpressed in all of them, there was always a fondness in his eyes.

This was nothing like the Agaki’s. Their house had very few pictures and they even looked angry in the photos they did have. The house was usually a mess, clothes strewn everywhere, dirty dishes piling up and the garbage sometimes overflowing. The only time the house was ever cleaned was when company was over, which was rare and far between. He never felt safe in their house, even before they started beating him.

If Shinsou was being honest, which most little kids were, he was a little overwhelmed by everything, It was all so new and strange, but good at the same time. It gave him hope, hope that maybe life would be better, but at the same time he was terrified. Scared that he’d find a way to mess everything up like he had before.

“Shinsou?” Shinsou jumped, accidentally activating his quirk as he stared at Hizashi, fear gripping him as he watched Hizashi’s eyes glaze over, freezing where he stood, his outstretched hand falling limply to his side. Shinsou stood frozen eyes wide as realization set in, fear pooling in his stomach, turning his limbs to lead.

Shouta frowned, watching as fear spread across the little boys face, concerned for the boy and the way his husband had frozen in his place, his eyes glazed, the green gone from his iris, left white and blank. Shouta reached out to his husband, nudging his shoulder, his eyes flicking to Shinsou.

Hizashi jerked, blinking a few times, the color coming back into his eyes, confusion written across his face as he looked around, eyes stopping at the little boy in front of him, realization flooding his eyes. Shinsou had brainwashed him, not on purpose by the look on his face.

“Shinsou,” Hizashi reached out, keeping his voice soft, but it was enough to break Shinsou’s frozen state. The boy recoiling, tripping over his own feet as he fell backwards, tears flowing down his face.

“I-I’m sorry!” Shinsou shouted, curling in on himself, waiting for the beating that came every time he accidentally used his quirk. What he didn’t expect where the arms that wrapped around him, pulling him against someone’s chest, holding him tightly as he sobbed, gasping out ‘sorrys’ between each gasping breath he took.

Hizashi’s heart was breaking at the pure panic in the boys voice, fear following close behind it. It made his blood boil and his body ready to run out of the house and hurt the Agaki’s, but he pushed it down, focusing on the shaking boy in his arms.

“It’s okay. You’re not in trouble. Accidents happen,” Hizashi murmured, running a hand through Shinsou’s hair, rocking him softly. “I’m not mad. You’re young, you don’t know how to control it and that’s fine. Everyone had the same issue when they were your age. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“B-But that was bad. I’m no-not supposed to use m-my quirk on any-anyone. It’s e-evil and villainous,” Shinsou gasped, burying his head in Hizashi’s shirt.

“It’s not villainous nor is it evil. It’s an amazing quirk, one that could help the heroes a lot if that’s what you want to be,” Hizashi replied, pulling Shinsou back so he could look the little boy in the eyes. “I- We will never be mad when you accidentally use your quirk. Accidents happen and that’s okay,” Shinsou looked at him with ready puff eyes, sniffling a little, though his tears slowly stopped. “Are you okay?” Shinsou shook his head, still feeling panicky overwhelmed. “That’s okay. How about we watch a movie while we eat?” Shinsou nodded, but refused to let go of HIzashi, still feeling bad for brainwashing him. Hizashi just smiled down at him, lifting him into his arms as he stood.

Shouta was already in the kitchen, dishing out food, worry still etched into his face, but now understanding what had happened. His hands shook with rage, wondering why anyone would punish a child for something he couldn’t control. It’s not like Shinsou was very capable of doing it on purpose. Kids his age had very little control over their quirks, especially since they can’t really get training to help them control it. Shouta hate the Agaki’s even more now, wishing nothing but the worst onto the couple.

“Have you ever seen Ponyo?” Hizashi asked, moving to the couch after grabbing a bowl for Shinsou, Shouta bring the other bowl with him as he sat next to his husband. Shinsou shook his head, carefully taking the bowl from Hizashi, sitting comfortably in the other mans lap as he quede up the movie.

“What? No way!” Hizashi gasped, chuckling to himself. “Well we’ll just have to change that then. This was my favorite movie when I was your age. I was constantly watching it after everyone else went to bed,” the three fell into silence as they ate and watched the tv. Shinsou giggling at some points, a soft smile on his face.

~~~

Shinsou had been living with them for a week now and he’d settled in rather quickly, getting more comfortable with them with each passing day. Shouta and Hizashi spend everyday with him, doing small things like drawing with him, Hizashi was even able to convince the boy to dance around the living room with him on Shinsou’s better days. On the bad days Shinsou would usually stay in his room, his door wide open, not that it was ever shut, but sometimes he would sit with Hizashi and Shouta, curled up on one of their laps as they graded tests and st up lesson plans for when they went back to work. On those days the apartment was relatively quiet, the radio playing softly in the background and Hizashi hummed along.

Except for the first day there, Shinsou hadn’t had any other slip ups with his quirk, which they weren’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. They guessed only time would tell.

Currently the small family was sitting in the living room, Hizashi resting his head in Shouta’s lap as the erasure hero played with his hair, reading quietly as Shinsou sat on the floor, drawing in his sketchbook, his tongue poking out just slightly as he concentrated. It was Sunday, and the two dreaded going back to work tomorrow, worried about taking Shinsou with them. It wasn’t that their students weren’t well behaved, but they could be pushy and over step their boundaries and they worried about them making the boy uncomfortable, or sending him into a panic. They had already explained to Shinsou what would happen tomorrow, that he’d go to school with them and sit in with Shouta, as Hizashi’s classes tended to be a little louder, but that he was more than welcome to stay with Hizashi if he wanted to. He was also told that if at any time he was uncomfortable all he had to do was tell Shouta or Hizashi, depending on who he was with, and they’d take him to Nezu, who the boy had meant a few times. He had liked the principal, he was always calm and quiet and usually left Shinsou to his own devices, offering him tea every once and awhile, but usually just kept quiet. So everything was set and ready for them when they went back tomorrow, but that didn’t mean they weren’t on edge about it.

“What are you thinking about?” Hizashi asked, poking Shouta’s cheek.

‘Nothing,’

“Liar, you’ve been staring at that same page for 10 minutes now,” Hizashi replied, smiling as Shouta rolled his eyes. “It’ll be okay you know,” Hizashi muttered, tapping Shouta’s hand three times, their little sign for ‘I love you’ when the words didn’t necessarily need to be said.

‘I know. I’m just apprehensive. What if we aren’t prepared?’

“We’re as prepared as we can be, without quite knowing what could happen. We’ll figure it out,” Hizashi reassured, smiling as Shouta, hummed tapping his nose three times before going back to his book. “Dork,” Hizashi muttered, closing his eyes as the room lapsed back into silence, the only sound is Shinsou’s crayon moving along with paper and the occasional flipping of a page. That was how the family sat for an hour, time slipping from their minds as they just enjoyed being near each other. Shinsou eventually falling asleep on his sketchbook, a violet crayon still held in his tiny fist. The other two almost asleep when the door flew open, scaring everyone awake and sending Shouta jumping to his feet, immediately in a defensive position, his husband barely awake now laying on the floor and Shinsou, nowhere to be seen.

“Jesus Nemuri! Can’t you knock!” Shouta shouted, glaring at the woman standing in their doorway.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for 20 minutes, but nobody knows how to answer their phones,” Nemuri replied, setting the abgs she was carrying on the counter. She paused, looking at a very angry Shouta and a still half asleep Hizashi. “You forgot,” she deadpanned, frowning at her two friends.

“Forgot what?” Hizashi asked, pushing himself up from the floor, groaning at the dull pain in his side.

“Ugh, it’s Sunday you idiots. It’s family dinner. Tensei should be here soon,” she replied, folding her arms over her chest, leaning against the counter.

“Shit, we did. Sorry Nemuri, we’ve been a little, distracted,” Hizashi muttered, eyes scanning the area, not catch a single glimpse of their son. Who they had forgotten to tell their friends about. They’d just been too distracted trying to get everything ready for when the boy came to live with them and getting everything set up with Nezu. “Shou, where’s Hitoshi?” Hizashi asked, spinning on the spot, as if he was just hiding behind him.

‘He’s probably hiding, Nemuri busting through the door probably scared the poor boy,’ Shouta responded, his eyes glancing around the room, as he moved to look in the kitchen.

“Who the fuck is Hitoshi?” Nemuri asked as she watched her two friends search their apartment.

“We’ll explain in a second,” Hizashi muttered, waving her off as he walked to where their rooms were. “Toshi, it’s alright. You can come out,” Hizashi called, noticing their bedroom door was open. “It just a friend of ours sweetheart, they’re not going to hurt you. She’s a pro hero, just like us. She works at Yuuei with us and Nezu,” Hizashi called, looking under their bed, smiling softly at the boy who hid underneath it. For not caring for small spaces, he did climb under the bed a lot. “Come here sweetheart. It’s alright,” Hizashi cooed softly, reaching a hand towards the shaking boy. Shinsou hesitated, but eventually grabbed Hizashi’s hand, letting him pull him out from under the bed. Shinsou clung to him, shaking slightly. “You’re okay baby. I’ve got you,” Hizashi mumbled, swaying slightly, waiting for him to stop shaking before they left the room,

‘Is he okay?’ Shouta aksed, walking over to them, running his hand through the boy’s hair, a barely their smile as he leaned into the touch, turning his head enough to look his other caregiver, reaching out to the other man, a silent ask to be held by the silent man. Shouta didn’t even hesitate before shifting Shinsou into his arms, letting the boy bury his face in his chest contendely.

“You have a child?!” Nemuri screeched, eyes wide as they landed on the little boy, who jumped at the sound, clinging tighter to Shouta.

“Nemuri, chill,” Hizashi sighed, motioning for her to sit in the arm chair, plopping on the couch across from the chair, Shouta joining him shortly after, muttering softly to Shinsou. “We’ll explain once Tensei gets her but please, keep your voice down. 1. Because Hitoshi doesn’t like loud noises and 2. The whole city doesn’t need to know we have a child,” Nemuri pouted, but nodded anyways, glancing back at the boy, who was sitting in Shouta’s lap, no longer buried in the man's chest as they talked to each other, Shinsou laughing softly at whatever joke Sgouta had just told him. Tensei arrived a few minutes later, quieter than Nemuri had been, Tenya following after his older brother.

“Hey guys, sorry for not telling you Tenya would be here, but mom and dad had a last minute mission,” Tensei apologized, toeing his shoes off, before helping Tenya take his shoes off.

“No worries Tensei, you know we never mind when you bring Tenya with you,” Hizashi replied, waving at the little boy, who waved back, before spotting Shinsou looking at them skeptically.

“Hello, I’m Tenya Iida,” Iida greeted, sticking his hand out for the other boy. Shinsou flinched slightly, but still shook the others hand.

‘Hi, I’m Shinsou Hitoshi,’ Shinsou signed shyly, wearily smiling at the other boy.

“It’s nice to meet you Shinsou,” Iida smiled, moving to sit next to his brother, who was watching the exchange, confusion spreading across his face.

“So,” Hizashi started, glancing at Shinsou who was playing with the strings on Shouta’s hoodie. “This is Hitoshi, we adopted him about a week ago. He’s 4, going on 5 in a few months. He’s a little shy and doesn’t do well with large crowds or loud noises, but we’re working on it,” Hizashi smiled, running his hand through Shinou’s hair, the little boy glancing at him. “Though he seems to agree that I look like a cockatiel,” Hizashi grumbled playfully, sticking his tongue out at the little boy. Shinsou blinked, his face blank as he stuck his tongue out at Hizashi.

“My god, that is such a Shouta face,” Nemuri chuckled, smiling at the three boys in front of her.

“Yeah, he’s picked up a few things already,” Hizashi chuckled. “Hitoshi, why don’t you and Tenya go wash up for dinner?” Shinsou nodded, slipping of Shouta’s lap and moving to the bathroom, Iida following behind him.

“So what made you guys finally adopt a kid?” Tensei asked.

“Long story. Basically his foster parents were literal human garbage, treated him like shit and he ended up in the hospital, half dead. Shouta knew him before this, he was the kid he saw on patrol a lot, so the kid trusted him and asked for him after arriving,” Hizashi, paused, listening for Shinsou and Iida, but he could still hear the water running and Iida talking softly. “We couldn’t let him be put back in foster care. So we adopted him and cut back our hours for hero work and I cut back on how many radio shows I’d be doing.” Hizashi finished, standing to make his way to the kitchen and start dishing out food.

“Have you looked into schools?” Nemuri asked, following behind him.

“He’ll continue at his old school, but not for awhile. He needs time to fully adjust. Especially since he has a bit of separation anxiety,” Hizashi muttered, smiling as he watched the two boys come back in. Shinsou was telling Iida about his favorite hero, even though it was obvious the other boy had no idea who Eraserhead was. Which made Hizashi chuckle, and glare at Tensei, who just smiled sheepishly.

“It’s never come up!” Tensei explained, laughing as Hizashi rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, whatever you say, idiot.”

“Dinner was a subdued affair, nothing like their normal dinners, full of yelling, sometimes wrestling when Nemuri would take a joke too far, and lots of drinking. Not that any of them minded the quiet night. They didn’t get nights like this often and it was just nice to talk and catch up, letting the kids get to know each other, even though Shinsou still sat pressed against Shouta’s side, even though he was turned away from him so he could easily talk to Iida. The other boy talking excitedly about something he had learned in school. All in all it was a successful family dinner. Tensei, Tenya, and Nemuri saying their good-byes shortly after Shinsou had fallen asleep pressed against Shouta’s side, snoring softly in his sleep. They just hoped tomorrow would be just as good.

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