As Bear drools like he’s imagining the best sort of pie to eat, Harry blurts it out without thinking.
“You know,” He starts conversationally, as if he’s not just about to drop something on Liam he won’t be able to forget, likely, “Zayn and I slept together.”
Even Bear gurgles in response, which is much better than Liam’s dead silence. Harry reluctantly drags his eyes away from the baby to see Liam frozen, mouth slightly agape. It’d be comical if Harry could somehow get his lungs to work.
“Haz…” Liam trails off, eyes wide, still staring at Harry as he sits there on the floor, knees up to his elbows and arms holding them in, “Wow, that’s…”
Harry chuckles sparingly, something dark and void of amusement. He feels his chest constrict, his hands shake the tiniest bit. He hopes Liam doesn’t notice – he’s not sure he can explain the very intricacies of exactly how many times he and Zayn slept together, and sometimes not even with the exchange of orgasms. That’d be too much, Harry thinks, to unload on Liam right now. It’s too much for Harry to bear thinking about, anyway.
Heh, he thinks, Bear. The baby drools some more, his bib looking filthy.
“When did you see him?” Liam asks, and he sounds hesitant.
Harry frowns, snapping his eyes to his friend. Liam’s got his brows furrowed, a hand scratching at his stubble. “What do you mean? We were in a band together.”
Liam’s face clears suddenly, and he nods. “Right, right. So this was… it wasn’t recently?”
“No,” Harry scowls, “Jesus, Liam, what did you think?”
“I don’t know!” Liam exclaims, throwing his hands out in exasperation, “You just sort of hit me with this, Haz. No context at all. What was I meant to think? Reasonably, one would assume you meant the other week if you’re bringing it up now.”
Harry’s face must still be shadowed, because Liam softens his tone, his eyes turning from frustrated to resigned in a flash. He sighs, long and low, looking down at the crown of his son’s head as he waves his arms, content to sit in his father’s lap.
“Why did you bring it up now?” He asks quietly, catching Harry’s eyes as he lifts his head. Harry looks away and down, fiddling with the rings on his fingers like they don’t remind him of Zayn at all – he tries to tell himself there are parts of him that don’t belong to Zayn in some way, but it’s getting harder and harder to convince himself of that. Now that he’s thinking about him again – now that Harry is remembering what happened with new eyes.
“I can’t stop thinking about it, Liam,” he admits, bringing a hand up to pull at his bottom lip, brows furrowed, “Ever since the segment. Hearing his voice again…” He drops his hand, scratching at his jaw in agitation, “I dunno. It was like the floodgates opened or somethin’.”
Liam hums thoughtfully, playing around with Bear’s limbs like he’s a puppet, looking at Harry evenly.
“Years back,” Liam starts, and Harry raises an eyebrow, “Zayn might have mentioned something. He was vague – I mean, you know Zayn,” Harry swallows thickly, “But he mentioned something might have gone on. I just told him to not let it affect the band. I…” Liam’s eyes get apologetic, and he drops his son’s arms gently to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing, “I’m sorry, H. I didn’t think… well, I didn’t imagine it was anything more than, well, helping each other out, maybe.”
“It wasn’t,” Harry rushes to say, “It really wasn’t. I just… I fucked things up when I stopped speaking to him. And–” He inhales sharply, blinking away any wetness in his eyes, “Well, it might’ve been more on my end, but Zayn never said, and I guess it made–” He sounds jerky, stilted, and the tone doesn’t leave his voice. Like it’s attached itself to all memories of Zayn, just like Harry can’t get that blank expression out of his mind; the way Zayn left him there. “–sense when he left.”
“Haz…” Liam says again, and this time the pity makes Harry feel fidgety, unwelcome. He frees his legs, spreads them out on the floor and smiles the best he can.
So… I’ve been having a bit of a crisis with my writing… Especially in regards to Final Fantasy XV, since it hasn’t come out yet…. the question of to spoil or not to spoil… And I’ve decided… to spoil with warning. Beware, I use spoilers in my writing.
A/N: While Underfell Sans is certainly a popular character who I can see the appeal in, he wouldn’t be one of my personal picks for Best Skeleboyfriend. Still can’t help but wonder how on Earth I’d date him. And thus comes this comedic answer.
Ah, there he is. Sleeping Beauty. Resting without a care in the world on his mattress of trash and crumpled sheets that you wouldn’t dare touch. Snoring louder than a bear and drooling all over his pillow, he certainly seems to be doing better in his dreams than in the land of the living. But no matter. This skeleton severely owes you one.
You would of gone for dumping a bucket of water on him, but for the sake of his carpet and your arms, you went for using the spray bottle. He twitched and grumbled, which then had you lean close to his nonexistent ears and speak softly to him.
“WAKEY WAKEY EGGS AND BAKEY~!”
Oh, sorry, looks like you’re too tired to notice your volume levels. Or care to control.
Sometimes babies cry for no reason, just to get attention or to test out their new voice.
‘Helpful.’ Patryk thought, throwing the book in the bin as he held Tord against his chest while the baby cried, who, until up to this point, he had been the quietest baby he’d ever seen.
He was a strange baby who ate food without argument and didn’t really play with his toys, so for him to suddenly begin crying made Patryk worry.
He’d been trying every single thing to get the boy to stop, short of Paul’s suggestion of whiskey on his dummy, and they’d been up since 6am, it was now 3pm and the baby was still crying.
“Oh baby, what’s wrong?” He let out a heaving sigh as he switched shoulders and began to bounce the baby against his chest.
He was running out of ideas, and at this point even Paul’s stupid suggestion was beginning to sound logical, if not for Tord, then for him, he shook the thought away quickly, he’d been sober for years now, and no six month old was going to end it!
He began to hum as he bounced him, at first quietly, until suddenly he was singing very softly, it wasn’t a special song, and Patryk was no Cher, but he noticed that Tord’s ear shattering cries had died down just the slightest, so he kept it up.
“Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are.” He kissed his baby’s forehead and noticed the infant’s face was almost dripping with snot, tears and drool.
“Oh, Tordy bear, you’re such a mucky pup.” He chuckled to himself and moved his index finger to wipe away his tears, the baby took his finger into his chubby hand and examined it at first, before opening his mouth and shoving the digit inside.
‘No problem.’ Thought Patryk, until he felt the baby bite down and he almost yelled.
'He’s teething .’ He sighed.
“My poor little man, do your teeth hurt, hm?” He’d actually stopped crying and Patryk could finally hear the real world again, including the click of the door opening.
“Fuck, it’s quiet.” Paul stepped into the living room and watched as Patryk bounced Tord for a second before stepping over to them and stroking Tord’s thin, blonde hair until it stood up like a mohican.
“Hey, little trooper, did you have a good five year cry?” He cooed and Tord gurgled around Patryk’s finger.
“He’s teething.” Paul rubbed the back of his neck.
“I had a hunch, but I wasn’t too sure. Either way I got him one of those rings.” Patryk bent at the hip to kiss him on the lips.
“You’re a blessing.”
He then watched as Paul took out the small teething ring, which was yellow with Winnie the Pooh smiling on top, and then a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
“Aaand, I got this too.” Patryk laughed.
“Scratch that, you’re a curse.”
Imagine the first time you sleep in the same bed with Loki you discover that he drools like a St. Bernard and snores like a bear when he sleeps. The next morning he wakes refreshed from a full night’s sleep while you’re cranky from sleeplessness. He asks you why you’re so prickly and you tell him. He vehemently denies what you say….at least until you start playing the hours of video and audio of him you captured on your phone.
imagine sam and nat and steve and bucky watching movies together though it’d be a disasater
nat squeezes herself in between sam and steve and curls up when they obligingly put their arms on top of the couch’s backrest and bucky just sort of sinks into the couch on steve’s other side and mindlessly eats whatever the hell kind of trail mix is in the bowl on the side table (it’s the wasabi kind) (he gets a little too hooked) (so maybe that was a bag and a half he has a fast metabolism okay)
sam just keeps slipping further and further down until he’s sprawled half across nat, half across steve’s leg, and then bucky slumps down against steve, and by the end steve is just sitting up happily with three almost-snoring doofuses crowded up against him like little chicks
Hello guys!! Just so you know, the chapter after this one is going to be the last one I post in a while, (I’m going to New York to see Hamilton - be jealous) so savor it. Don’t worry tho, Chapter 8 is going to be more than enough to tide you over. I hope you like this one!!
“It’s just, when you’re young, you have this idea about how your life is going to play out. Maybe it’s something your parents told you, or that the media taught you, or that society dictated. Even as you get older, you still have all these… expectations. But then, inevitably, reality gets in the way, and nothing goes how you had planned. And you’re just stuck there, wondering what you did wrong, or what the hell you’re going to do now.”
It was four in the morning, and Penny was learning that, when Baz was drunk and tired, he tended to get very philosophical.
She had learned a lot about Baz in the past several hours. At the beginning, it had been like a mix between a police interrogation and a job interview. She had gruffly asked deeply personal questions, and then stared Baz down until he answered them.
Simon had put a stop to that fairly quickly. He was protective of Baz, it seemed, which told her just as much as the interrogation would’ve. She then moved on to more… subversive methods. She approached it more like a friendly conversation, talking about favorite colors and movies and other seemingly inane topics. Then, she introduced vodka (whipped cream flavored – who’d have thought?) into the equation, and it was all over.
Simon had conked out around 2 AM, and was still asleep on the couch. His messy hair was splayed out on the cushion, his body contorted into a loose knot. Bits of moonlight filtered through the windows, illuminating his skin. Even in sleep, he seemed to radiate soft, golden energy. Or maybe Baz was just really drunk.
“I feel that.” Penny responded, “I sure as hell never thought my life would involve sitting on the floor at an ungodly hour with your drunk ass”
He shoved her
“Come on, you know you love me”
Penny looked over to Baz, her expression shifting from sarcasm to sincerity.
“I really, honestly want to thank you for helping Simon out like this. He needed someone to confide in, and- even though I’m still super pissed he didn’t come to me first- I’m glad it was you.”
Baz nodded his head, sensing the truth behind her words.
“You know, with all that shit with hid dad, and breaking up with Agatha, I really worry about his well being.”
Baz perked up.
Penny sighed. Simon had really gotten himself into a mess with this one.
“She is- was Simon’s girlfriend. They broke up a few days ago. He was pretty torn up about it.”
Baz’s heart dropped to the floor. The room began to spin, and it (probably) wasn’t because of the vodka. He didn’t have time to process this new information, however, because Penny was standing up.
“I told you at the beginning of the night that my purpose here was to decide if I trusted you. Well, I’ve made my decision. I do. I trust you Baz… with Simon. You’re a good man. So, I’m going to head out.”
She grabbed her coat and walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
She kept walking.
“Home. Paris. Wherever I want.”
Baz supposed she could, but…
“You’d better not be driving!”
“Why not? I never touched a drop of alcohol.”
He remembered the events of the night, and, now that he thought about it, she never had. Damn, she was good.
She took one last look at the boy sleeping on the couch. She sighed again. She had done her bit, and he would have to sort the rest out himself. Then, she was gone.
Baz sat there for a moment, marveling at the sheer, biblical awesomeness of Penelope Bunce, before he remembered what she had told him. Simon had a girlfriend. Well, not currently, but that was beside the point.
He was foolish to have thought that he and Simon could be anything more than… well, whatever they were. Not strangers anymore, to be sure: they knew too many of each other’s secrets for that. Baz wasn’t sure he could call them friends either. It sounded terribly emo, but Baz had never really had friends. There were people he had hung out with at school, but they were family acquaintances, more allies than anything else.
He looked over at Simon. He had shifted his position, and was now holding a throw pillow like a teddy bear, drooling slightly.
Baz knew one thing: be it friends or something more, he just needed to be something with Simon Snow.