#My whole routine and life have been upended | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heyidkyay · 1 year ago

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And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Four

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: IT'S TAKEN A WHILE BUT IT'S HAPPENING, MATTY AND MOUSE ARE SO CLOSE. Hi:) Hope you enjoy this part, finally throwing them into the same building!! Lot's happening in this one!

Warnings: Mentions of rehab, struggles around body image

Masterlist

🐭 @/petitesouris 13m Early start, hoping it's a good session today!

The next week rolled around slowly and it had been one of the most agonising waits of my life.

I’d constantly been emailing with the Primary Talent Team for the last few days, back and forth, just trying to work out which date and time would best fit both our schedules. It’d been gruelling. And the entire exchange would have gone a whole lot easier if it hadn't been for the fact that it had all been centred around them and based on their terms and conditions. Not forgetting the mile long list of Do’s and Don'ts they had also attached to their most recent email, which had been oh so fucking thrilling.

To be honest, I might not have minded it if my whole life had only revolved around the radio show. But as proud of it as I was, and as incredibly hard as both Adi and I constantly worked, I had other priorities that took precedence. I loved the show with all my heart but it could never be my entire life. Not with Teddy waiting for me back home at the end of each day, relying on me alone to raise and feed and clothe him.

Not that Healy’s management could comprehend that, or the fact that I had a schedule and a set routine. They didn't know when to stop and pushed and pushed to get what they wanted. And I could only fight back so much. Which meant that I’d ended up dropping Teddy off at Finn’s place a whole two hours earlier than usual just so that Adi and I could prep for the dated interview.

So, with that in mind, it was safe to say that I wasn't in the perkiest of moods when Adi bounded breathlessly into the studio that morning, a lot later than expected.

"I know, I know, I'm late!" Adi immediately squawked as she hurried on over, the door behind her slamming shut in her wake. "But I have good reason! I hardly slept last night, too excited for all of this!" She added as she threw her knitted tote bag down in its customary corner, the one I’d brought her the birthday last, and tossed her phone and throng of keys down with a clatter onto her paper-filled desk.

I rolled my eyes, but was unable to negotiate with the amused smile that pulled at the corners of my mouth. “Still had time to post a quick photo though. Don't think I didn't see it, Adeline- you tagged the show."

Adi’s smile was blinding when she spun around to meet me, brown eyes wild and full of mirth.

“Figured since you still haven't a clue about how Instagram works that you just wouldn't see it, my love!" She retorted whilst throwing herself down into my desk chair and kicking her Doc clad feet up onto the table. She shot me a smug smirk.

“Cow. And oi, I’ll have you know I’ve caught on since Circa ‘18!” I defended, but relented upon seeing Adi’s arched brow. “Fine, I had Finn explain it all to me one night after a bottle of wine. But the point still stands.”

Adi’s raucous laughter bounced around the loft and I could only roll my eyes once more before huffing. 2018 had been a rough year for many, but mostly me, seeing as I’d accidentally posted a quick shot of me in the tub for the group chat to my story, exposing a little more than I’d like to our show’s following.

Adi stared back at me in disbelief, loosening the bun of unruly curls that had been strung together by a silk bandana, which also seemed to match the colour of the very short shorts she was wearing.

"He'd had to have been a saint in another life to have dealt with an indisposed you for that long."

I scoffed at that, but couldn't help my own trickle of laughter. “I sent Teddy round to his the next day with a box of chocolates- you know, those fancy ones he’s always banging on about?” Adi hummed her assent. “Felt proper bad about it all. Took him ages to teach me how to stop going Live.”

We both laughed.

“Waste of time that was, should’ve just brought the chocolates here! Knowing Finn, he only helped ‘cause he found the entire sodding thing hilarious.” Adi supplied, pulling a pack of chewing gum free from her jacket pocket.

Snorting faintly, I denied her offering of a piece with a wave of my hand, and went back to fidgeting with my phone, distracting myself again from my plume of thoughts. I spun the device round and round, slowly enough so that each edge made contact with the wooden desktop.

“You alright there, babe?” Adi queried after a while, and I glanced over to see her eyes now trailing the movement. “Ted doing alright?”

I stilled and then hummed, watching as she turned and went about fumbling her way through an array of wires that sat on my desk, most of which were already hooked up to the monitors. It was a task Adi did most mornings, even when I’d already ticked it off the list, ever the perfectionist, wanting to double check that nothing would go wrong with the day's show.

“Oh yeah, all’s fine. Teds is already obsessing over Halloween, ranting about what costume he wants to get this year. But August has only just passed, Ads.” I groaned, thinking back to the previous evening when Teddy had spent a good portion of his bath time rambling on about what every other kid in his class was going to be.

Adi peered back at me, the extremity of the grin she wore wrinkling the corners of her eyes. “Just kids, ain't it? We were the same, you'll miss it in a couple of years.”

I supposed she was right, but only because I didn’t have much of an experience to look back on. Halloween had just been me and mum in the woods up by the creek, collecting flowers and eucalyptus for the wreaths we’d make, then reading old stories by the fire.

“Don't remind me, please. I don't want him getting any bigger!” I sighed all too dramatically before standing to head on over towards the printer, picking up everything I’d sent off earlier from out the tray.

“It's the way of life, babe. So, when do you reckon Teds will end up towering over you?”

Adi simply chuckled when I stuck a finger up at her from over my shoulder, not even wanting to pay that idea any thought at all. Teddy was my baby, I couldn’t picture him all grown up.

“I should mention that I saw your tweet, by the way. Guessing you're nervous for today?” Adi added after, her tone a little softer than normal, catching me off guard enough that I actually stilled in place before I turned to face her.

“And you’re not?"

Adi’s mouth quirked upwards when she shook her head, dark ringlets moving with it.

“Why would I be? This is fucking huge for us, M! The exposure that we'll receive alone could really give us the big break we've been searching for- I honestly can't even begin to believe it.”

I gnawed on my bottom lip as I lingered over her words, then pushed back the thought of me having been the one to deal with the stress that was Healy’s management team to the back of my mind. Adi didn’t deserve that, I’d always been the one to deal with all the crap happening behind the scenes, and besides, Adi had a right to be excited. I only wished that I had the ability to join in on it.

“I just don't want to start up any more unnecessary drama, Ads.”

Drama was the very last thing I wanted, knowing that this whole thing with Healy could easily blow up in our faces if we didn’t go about it the right way. And if shit actually does end up hitting the metaphorical fan, then… I wasn't sure I'd be fit enough to handle it. Handle the backlash that would surely follow and affect the show, the only source of income I had. And without it, both Teddy and I would be royally fucked.

Apparently my lack of response had Adi rolling her eyes, adding an extra flare of dramatics to it by flicking my ear as she passed me by. “Don’t be such a worrier, babe. It’ll all work out, always does with us, don’t it? Besides, how can it not when I have a face as gorgeous as this?”

She winked, flashing me her famous grin.

“Tart.”

“Slag.” Adi easily countered.

A breathy chuckle escaped me and I shook my head before returning to the wad of papers I’d been rifling through. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s the radio, babe. No one will be seeing that gorgeous face of yours, or the way your arse is currently hanging out of those shorts.”

Adi cut her eyes at me from across the room, but they gleamed under the studio’s lights. “Don’t be jealous. We both know you love it.”

“Jealous? I’m a mum!”

“A fit one.”

A laugh bubbled up out of my throat at that and I couldn't find the energy to deny it, so I just shook my head.

“Anyway, you’re wrong.” And at my confused look, Adi continued on, grinning wickedly as she waved around one of the large devices she’d since picked up and cradled in her hand. “We are working with the camera’s today. Sort of why I'm here setting them all up. See?”

“Wait, we’re filming?” I gawked, and my eyes felt like they were just about ready to bulge out of my head as I sat up further to shake my head at her. Mouth already dry. “Non. No, Adi. No one ever mentioned that! I can’t.”

“They called yesterday demanding it. Just as you left to pick up Teds- it must've slipped my mind. I'm so sorry, hun.” Adi revealed sheepishly, her face scrunched up in an apologetic wince as the camera rig dropped to her hip. “But don't worry, yeah? I promise it'll all be sound and then we'll be well on our way to becoming the UK's biggest radio show!”

I reverted back to worrying at my bottom lip, chewing on it as though I hadn't eaten for days whilst I tapped an anxious rhythm into the arm of my chair. I couldn’t do the cameras, not today at least.

“Trust me, Mouse. It’ll be alright. You’ve done it before and you can do it again. No one will say a thing.”

I wished I could fucking believe her.

***

The Sun @/Thesun 16m Matty Healy spotted out in London today! The singer has been relatively quiet for the past few days- somewhat strange for the wayward frontman- but will this all change now that he's been seen? (Link) H @/user1 18m um, what? he’s where?? Adi @/AdelineWells_ 19m Long day ahead but we're very excited for today's show! Big surprises in store for you lot, so who's looking forward to it?? @/petitesouris @/Mouseonamic Indie @/user2 21m @/AdelineWells_ AHHH hope it's another Adi's All-Knowing segment!! Urmymedicine @/user3 23m Did anyone else see Jamie’s ig post?? He says to keep an eye out- AN EYE OUT FOR WHAT?? Talk! @/user4 11m I feel like I've been hit by an unnecessary amount of information

***

Matty’s bleary stare made an attempt to focus on the blurring buildings that passed them by as the car cut through the paved streets of London. Grey just melting into another varied shade of grey.

It was still far too bright for the beginning of September, the remaining weeks of summer only just tittering away now, and Matty couldn't help the scowl that had long since settled into his hollow features.

One of the very few things he liked about the city was the fact that it was almost sure to be gloomy during the colder months. But it seemed as though the sun was shining a little brighter today, much to his chagrin.

A dull pain throbbed at either side of his temples, it’d been there since he’d been forced awake, and so he'd had to wind the window all the way down as soon as they'd set off to keep the nausea at bay. He silently regretted not turning in early last night, but it couldn't have been helped. It was hard to stay asleep without his usual nightcap, and even then, it was harder to dismiss the memories that plagued his mind without downing half a bottle of something or other.

A frigid wash of air wound its way down his throat as he took a long breath, his mind slowing a tad as the afternoon breeze trickled across his skin. But soon enough Matty’s calm was broken and his attention was then caught by Jamie, who sounded just as thwart as he felt.

“You even listening to me, mate?”

Jamie’s undeterred voice filtered through the back of the car, a short lived sigh following in its wake.

Matty merely rolled his eyes from behind his darkened sunglasses and proceeded to slump further in his seat, lolling his head to the side so that his focus was now within the car instead of on the distractions of the outside world.

His gaze trailed its way across the dark leather seats and blacked out windows before it finally ended up landing on his manager, who was kitted up in one of his many sharp shirts and a pair of formal fitting trousers. A right snazzy twat.

Matty could appreciate their pattern though, Jamie hardly ever ventured too far into the world of fashion, so the burgundy tartan was a sight to behold.

He soon fixed Jamie with an apathetic stare from across the backseat, fingers already itching for a fag, or maybe something stronger. He couldn’t be arsed with the mindless bother he’d been sent to complete today, really didn’t want to be dealing with a roomful of people that were there to assault him with an extensive range of hard-hitting questions, or have any more unwanted cameras shoved in his face in truth.

But here he was, doing it.

Following orders because that was what it took to be a puppet. He was too tired to be tugging on any strings today though, simply wanted to get the afternoon over and done with, hopefully without any repercussions, so that he could fall back into bed.

“Matty, mate.” Jamie huffed, his face having fallen into a pitiful expression that Matty didn’t quite like looking at, but couldn’t seem to look away from.

For a while, he'd been fearful that he'd pushed his luck all too far with Jamie, as well as the rest of the band too he supposed. But it seemed as though the guy had a thing for redemption, because he was trying his fucking hardest to annoy Matty into growing the fuck up.

“Look. I know you don't like this anymore than I do, but it's your job, mate. You ain’t got much of a choice here. But think of it this way, right. It's better you being here, doing this, than drowning away in your own fucking sorrows- thought you'd given up drinking since rehab, anyway.”

Matty’s jaw clenched involuntarily at the reminder. Rehab. What was it with everyone and always bringing it up? He’d been too fucking gone on painkillers to have given a second thought to the little amount of alcohol that particular shit show had provided. Could hardly call it a rehabilitation centre either, not when you were constantly surrounded by other abusers who were practically there on a getaway, just finding other means to entertain themselves with.

Jamie broke the silence just as Matty’s mind began to spiral, and Matty couldn’t help but be rather thankful for it.

“You just gonna sit there then?” Jamie snorted, obviously trying to fill the tense quiet now, “Normally you’d have told me to piss off by now.”

“Piss off.” Matty murmured, turning his focus back to the window.

The car seemed to be slowing down now and Matty furrowed his brow when they came to a gentle halt outside a block of buildings.

“Where are we?”

“Outskirts of Islington, I think. Not too far from the studio.”

Matty didn't get much of a chance to reply- not that he'd had one, Islington never did manage to bring up the most fondest of memories with him- because Jamie had all but jumped at the chance to exit the vehicle, opening up the sliding backdoor to escape into the stream of daylight.

With a tired sigh, Matty ran a hand through his mussed hair before he made a move to join his manager, clicking his neck slightly as the bottoms of his leather, heeled boots clacked against the cobbled pavement.

There was the usual musty scent that lingered throughout the city as he took a breath, but the smell of petrol was somewhat stronger here. Hardly anyone was wandering down the backstreet they had pulled into though, and those that did didn't linger too long on either him or the extravagant hired car that he'd been sanctioned with since having been struck with yet another driving ban.

Craning his head up, Matty could tell that there wasn't much to the building they were standing outside of. A commercial unit, three stories or so. Its brick exterior worn and dotted with timber sash windows. It was quaint enough, but not what he was used to when it came to things like this.

"Alright. A quick debrief before we go in." Jamie started, already fixing the faint creases in his otherwise pristine shirt, caused from where he’d been sat working in the backseat. “This is the same show that you had a bit of a spat with earlier this week, alright? So you'll be meeting the same girl that spoke out about your, um… Well, your image and publicity, and all that crap, generally speaking."

Jamie’s eyes flitted around them before he was back to typing away on his phone again. Fucking thing was practically attached to his hand, made Matty wonder how the hell he managed a wank.

But then he caught onto that last bit of his sentence and furrowed his brows, throwing Jamie another quick glance, not quite comprehending.

“Why we even here then? Thought your lot had a right mare dealing with all that.”

Jamie had the decency to look a tad bit sheepish as he started to lead them over towards one of the heavy-duty doors that adorned each of the surrounding units.

“They think that by doing this, it will clear up any allegations. They just want you to right your wrongs, I ‘spose. Make it known that what went down was just a 'misunderstanding' of sorts.”

“Right my? For fucks sake, Jamie! I was shitfaced! And if I remember fucking rightly, this supposed presenter spoke some actual truth. How the fuck am I meant to deny that and clear this whole fucking mess up?"

Matty was quite close to fuming now. It was always the same thing, again and again. The lies were never ending. So much so that he could hardly even recognise them from the truth anymore, everything had seemed to mould into one.

Jamie had since paused, his hand resting on the door's brass handle whilst he gave Matty the best smile he could possibly muster up. "Matty, mate, I'm sorry. Listen, I thought I could-"

Matty cut him off with a throaty scoff.

"Don't make out you're sorry. Not when you're just here ‘to do your job’. The only thing you're sorry for is the fact that you've got to be here at all, to suffer through all this shit with me and put up with the added drama. Just do me a fucking favour and keep your half-arsed apologies to yourself, mate."

Jamie looked genuinely taken back by his vicious rant for once, and somewhat hurt too, but Matty paid it no mind. He knew where to hit where it hurt, and he often didn’t stop until he tasted blood. The band knew that better than most.

"You act like you're here for me, when all you really care about is goin’ by the book and following the rules. Fucking grow a pair and apologise to me when there's an actual ounce of sympathy behind it." He spat back, teeth grinding as he clenched his jaw, glowering at the man standing before him.

Matty shoved past his startled manager before he could linger on his words and pushed his way through the door. Fisted hands already making their way into his pockets as his nails dug crescent shaped moons into his palms in a desperate attempt to take the edge off of his vibrating anger.

"Ah, good, you're already here then! Thought we'd heard voices!" A cheerful lilt called out just as Matty rounded the short hallway, Jamie hot on his tail, and came face to face with a girl, who was leaning heavily against the metal rail lining the steep stairwell.

Matty winced at the brashness of her greeting, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses at the very force of her presence. She had a mane of thick curls bundled atop her head, lips lined red and lashes winged with a heavy liner. She was definitely younger than him, but not by much, and he could only guess as he approached her, that she stood at a similar height to him too when she wasn't prancing about on metal staircases.

His fingertips trailed across the paperboard carton he had stowed away in his jacket pocket as Jamie hurried on over to meet the woman- a beaming smile now replacing his previously dejected look. Matty bit into his cheek at the sight of it.

"Yeah, sorry if we're late! Hey, it's great to meet you, I'm Jamie and this is obviously Matty." Jamie greeted with an incessant smile Matty couldn't bring himself to look at, before his manager was gesturing towards him- the disgruntled singer he was always stuck babysitting- and then reaching out a hand.

"Adeline, but my mates call me Adi." The girl, Adi, chirped as she took Jamie’s palm in her own, her eyes flitting towards Matty long enough to get a good once over. A gesture Matty returned. "It's great to have you both here."

She wore a grin so large it practically surpassed the honey brown eyes that brightened her face. Her teeth were white, if not a little crooked, and the force of her smile showed off the metal piercing that sat against her front teeth.

"We're honestly really excited to have you on the show! We'll have a proper laugh and just chill, so there's no pressure or anything. Mouse is upstairs, by the way. Still have to set up the final bits and bobs." Adi added, her enthusiasm somehow never faltering. "You'll love her! She's the main man round here, the one who started up the show and all that. You'll be speaking to her once we begin, but depending on how everything goes I'm hoping to join the two of you at some point."

Matty merely hummed in reply, which earned him a slight jab to the ribs from Jamie, one he tried not to lash out at. And Adi’s eyes slitted a tad as she followed the gesture, though Matty noted she gathered herself rather quickly.

"So, is that all of you then? No one else to meet?" Jamie wondered politely and Adi chuckled in retort as she began to lead them up the shifting staircase, giving them both an eyeful of her long legs.

"Nah, you're in the clear. It's just the two of us running things around here."

Matty worked his jaw at her response, whilst the sound of his boots hitting each metal stair reverberated around them.

"And that works?" He couldn't stop himself from asking.

Adi's head snapped back to find him, eyes peering over her shoulder as she rounded the first small landing and started on the next set of stairs.

"Mouse was on her own for a long while before I came along. We cope fine on our own though. We might not be as big as some other radio shows at the moment, but we've got a good relationship that works well within this industry. She can be stubborn, whilst I can be pushy, and even when we butt heads over things, we're able to make up in the end for the sake of the show. I don't know how it would work, throwing someone else into the mix."

Matty gave her a curt nod.

"So, Mouse?" Jamie questioned just as they bypassed the second floor, continuing up the staircase. Matty could hear the curiosity that lined his voice.

Adi flashed them another grin. "Mouse. It's what she goes by."

"Oh?" Jamie prodded, prompting her even further. He had a right thing for nicknames, loved hearing the stories behind them or something.

"Don't know how it came about, in all honesty. You'll have to ask. But it's been her pseudonym ever since she started as a kid."

Matty’s ears perked up upon hearing that, but it was Jamie who quizzed her.

"She's been doing this since she was a kid?"

"Technically. But no, it started out as a Twitter account, just her venting her thoughts and opinions on the music she loved. And trust me, teenage Mouse was just as cut throat and sarcastic as she is now- maybe even more so- but people loved it, still do. The idea for the radio show came about a couple years later, and that was that."

Adi stopped talking just as they reached the very top. The staircase had led them straight into an open plan room, where a large leather sofa separated the sitting area from the tiny kitchenette in the far back corner, and where half of the living space had been overtaken by a recording booth.

Matty blinked. It wasn't at all what he had been expecting.

"God, this is insane." Jamie suddenly crowed from beside him and Matty followed his manager’s wide eyed gaze to where a skylight had been fitted overhead, giving them a clear view of the bright blue skies they'd just escaped from.

"I know." Adi spoke through a breathy exhale, her eyes twinkling as she grinned up at the oversized window. "It was what sold us on the place, honestly. That, and the access we have to the roof."

She gestured over towards the closest window to the stairs then and Matty found a fire exit hatch sat just on the outside of it.

"Don't think the other tenants renting out the spaces below even know about it. Well that, or we've just been lucky enough to never to catch one another up there." She chuckled and Jamie joined her.

Matty’s hand tightened around his pack of cigarettes, eyes lingering on the hatch. But before he could ask if he could get a quick look at it, Adi was waltzing her way across the room and over towards the kitchen.

She waved them closer and gestured towards two sofas and a vintage looking armchair that should have looked somewhat out of place, if it hadn't been for the rest of the mismatched furniture that littered the space. From the mint green fridge shelving a chaotic range of mugs, to the wearing Victorian coffee table, which was hilariously similar to the one Matty’s grandmother had preened over whenever guests had gone to visit.

"Tea, coffee?" Adi asked and Matty dipped his head as he took a perch on the edge of an armchair facing the tele box. It looked well over two decades old and he questioned the last time he'd seen one that'd had a DVD player built into it.

"Coffee. Black."

Adi raised an amused brow but didn't comment, looking towards Jamie. "And you, Glasses?"

Jamie only chuckled at the name referring to the thick rimmed frames he often wore. "Tea, please. Milk, two sugars."

"Be with you in just a sec!" Adi winked in reply and pulled four mugs down from the fridge.

"Cheers." Jamie thanked her, smiling all the while, before a look of remembrance crossed his face. "So where's this famous Mouse of yours then?"

And as though someone had answered him, Matty looked up to find the door to the recording booth opening and watched as someone stepped out to join them.

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lumosandnoxwriting · 1 year ago

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say my name and everything just stops || George Weasley

Title: say my name and everything just stops Pairing: George x Reader Summary: George didn’t expect being fake engaged to the love of his life whose heart he broke would be this easy. But as they put their plan into action, he’s surprised at how seamlessly she fits into his life. It feels as if no time has passed as they settle into a routine, and it feels like she was always meant to be there by his side. It’s hard to keep a grasp on the original goal, when all he can think about is how much he’s already dreading having to say goodbye. But as a new scheme starts to come together in his head, there may be a way for George to get everything that he wants. Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, a scene takes place at a bar and one mention of a hangover! A/N: part 2 of hockey!george is here! I did a bit of restructuring to this part and the next, but I’m very happy with the way the story is coming together! As always feedback is welcome! <3

“Thank you again for doing this,” George says for what feels like the millionth time today. But it still doesn’t feel like enough. Y/N has upended her entire life for him, and he still has no idea why she agreed to this whole charade.

After spending a few days in Washington to figure out some of the logistics of Y/N moving, which included George getting on his knees to beg Fred to take over her lessons at the rink, they’re finally back in Chicago. Thankfully Y/N’s actual job in marketing is remote, and George already arranged to have a desk and whatever else she may need delivered sometime this week.

He had his assistant stock the apartment with all of the things Y/N used to love, including her favorite snacks and several fuzzy blankets, and he signed the contract for Y/N’s car service this morning before they got on the plane. George has even already added her to his Amex account, and the black card with her name on it should be here any day now.

George has money to spend, and there’s no one else he’d rather spoil than Y/N.

”You really can stop saying that,” Y/N reminds him as she follows him through the front door. “It was cute at first, but now it’s just kind of annoying.”

”Sorry, I know. You’ve had to sacrifice way more than me for this stupid arrangement and I feel bad that I’ve basically uprooted your life. I don’t deserve any of the shit you’re doing for me and I just wanna make sure you know how much I appreciate it.”

”George, it’s really okay. I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to be here.”

In all honesty, Y/N feels a little guilty over how accommodating George has been. She’s not really here to help him out, but to figure out whether her life has become the plot of a book and she’s about to get her second chance at love or if she’s about to break her own heart. Either way, she’s not here out of the goodness of her heart, and George’s kindness is undeserved.

“Right, okay,” George gives Y/N a grin, before motioning for her to follow him. “I had my assistant clear some of my stuff out of the dresser and closet so there should be plenty of room for your things,” he explains as he leads Y/N down the hall towards his bedroom. “This space is ours now, and I want you to feel like it is too.”

As soon as they step through the door Y/N is hit with the scent of him and it nearly knocks her on her ass. Because George still uses the same cologne he did in high school, and it reminds her of home. She used to steal the bottle when he went away for games, covering her bed in it so it would feel like he was there with her at night. Now she’ll be surrounded by that scent 24/7 and she’s not sure her heart is ready for that.

George drags the suitcase he’d been rolling into his closet disappearing for a second before he pops back out. “I only have a one bedroom, I uh, never really thought about having to share my space with someone,” he admits sheepishly. “But you can take the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, George, I’m not taking your bed. The season’s about to start, you need to be well rested and there’s no way sleeping on a couch for weeks will be sufficient.” She gives him an appraising look, taking in his broad frame. George has always been big, but time has done him well and his build has really filled out.

“Besides, I don’t think there’s a couch in this world big enough to fit all of you,” she continues, and Y/N can feel the blush creeping up on her cheeks. “You stay in your bed, I can sleep on the couch.”

”Absolutely not,” George insists, taking a step closer to her. “You’re my guest, and I’m not going to have you sleeping on the couch.”

Y/N bites her lip, already regretting what she’s about to suggest. “Well then if you’re not going to let me sleep on the couch and I’m not going to let you sleep on the couch, we’ll just have to share the bed.”

Her suggestion takes George by surprise, and his jaw clenches to keep it from dropping. He was already questioning whether he’d be able to survive sharing space with Y/N, but sharing a bed? His cock is rock hard at just the thought of smelling her shampoo on his pillow.

“Are you sure?” He manages to stutter out, running a hand through his hair.

“I mean it’s big enough,” she responds, gesturing towards the bed. It’s got to be King sized, with a thick black comforter that’s sure to reek of George that Y/N wants to wrap herself up in. “We’ll probably barely even touch.”

“As long as you’re fine with it, I am too,” George agrees. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

”It’ll be fine George,” Y/N lies, giving him a grin that she hopes is genuine.

Fake engaged to and sharing a bed with the man she loves that broke her heart? Yeah everything is definitely not fine.

After a torturous first night together, Y/N thanks the heavens that George is up and out early for the first day of training camp the next morning. Because despite all of her reassurances yesterday, sharing a bed with George Weasley is the worst idea she ever had.

Despite the size of the bed, George is massive, and as soon as he laid down next to her she could feel the heat radiating off of his body. It doesn’t help that she was completely enveloped in his scent, and her pussy was throbbing with need from the moment she crawled under the blanket. It took her hours to fall asleep, her body rigid as George tossed and turned as well. It wasn’t until his breathing evened out that Y/N finally managed to close her eyes and relax.

Only for her to wake up a few hours later to George’s arm wrapping around her waist before he pulled her into his chest. Turns out all these years later he’s still a cuddler. Being back in his embrace was too intoxicating to deny, and Y/N laid awake for over an hour, just letting George hold her as his breath ghosted across her neck. It felt achingly familiar, and she didn’t want to give it up.

But she knew things would be awkward if George woke up to find her in his arms, so after getting her fill Y/N wiggled her way out of his hold. She stuffed a pillow into his chest for good measure, needing to keep his arms occupied so she didn’t find herself caught in his embrace again. Y/N doubts she would have had the willpower to pull away a second time.

Y/N is up and out of bed the second her alarm goes off, electing not to stay buried under the covers while she scrolls social media like she usually does. Just the smell of George has her wet and if she lays there for another moment Y/N knows she’ll have her hand down her pants, touching herself as she buries her nose in George’s pillow like a weirdo.

She wanders out to the kitchen, taking advantage of being alone so she can snoop around. Last night George had assured her that this is her space now too and she’s welcome to anything, but it felt weird going through his things with him around. Apart from finding where he keeps his dishes and a cursory look in the fridge for a drink Y/N didn’t do too much exploring.

So when she opens George’s pantry, she’s surprised to find it filled with all of the things she loves. A brand new box of her favorite cereal sits right next to the granola George puts in his yogurt in the morning, and her favorite chips and cookies are mixed in with the kinds that George prefers. It all feels so natural, and Y/N slams the door shut as she struggles to catch her breath.

Because fuck, this is the life she always imagined having with George, and none of it is real. This is the life Y/N has always wanted, and yet it’s still not really hers - something she has to remember. There’s a very real possibility that once George makes Captain they will go their separate ways for the last time, and she has to be prepared for that.

Deciding to avoid the pantry for now, Y/N wanders to the fridge and pulls out the things to make an omelet. She’s just starting to whisk the eggs and deciding whether she should work from the kitchen island or the couch when the doorbell rings. George hadn’t mentioned anyone stopping by, and Y/N remains cautious as she goes to open the door. Some part of her fears that some crazed fan or ex-lover of George’s will be waiting on the other side, but a sigh of relief leaves her body when she checks the peephole and it’s just a few delivery people.

No more Criminal Minds for her.

“Hi Mrs. Weasley,” one of the men greets when Y/N opens the door, and she’s too shocked to correct him. Her knees shake as she steps aside to let them in, her mind still focused on how good it felt to be called by George’s last name. “We’ve got the things your husband ordered, it shouldn’t take too long for us to set it all up.”

“Okay,” Y/N says hesitantly as the men start to bring a few boxes into the apartment. She’s a little unsure about letting these people in since George didn’t say anything about a delivery, but Y/N knows the security here is intense and they wouldn’t have been let into the building if there was something weird going on. “You know where everything is going?”

The first man nods, giving her a smile. “Yes, your husband was very clear when he placed the order a few days ago. We’ll be in and out so quickly you’ll barely even know we were here.”

Y/N nods, gesturing towards the kitchen as the men head towards the dining room. “Alright, well, if you need anything I’ll be in there.”

She shoots off a quick text to George as she walks, knowing she’s unlikely to get a response. But it makes her feel better that at least someone will know other people came into the apartment in the event that this really is an elaborate ruse to kidnap her.

Y/N: hey! Hope hockey stuff is good - just wanna let you know the delivery people are here setting up whatever you ordered

When a response doesn’t come through Y/N tucks her phone back into her pocket and refocuses her attention on breakfast. She’s just plating up her omelet and toast when the man from before appears in the kitchen.

“We’re all done here if you just want to take a look to make sure everything looks good before you confirm delivery.”

“Uh, sure,” Y/N agrees, following him into the other room.

When George gave her a tour last night the dining room had virtually nothing in it. There was some artwork on the walls, a small table with a few chairs with a fake plant tucked in the corner and a lamp in the other. Which made total sense to Y/N, since George lives alone and has an island with barstools for him to eat at, he hasn’t really needed a fully functioning dining space.

Which is why her jaw practically drops when the man leads her into the dining room. The small table is gone, and in its place is a gorgeous wooden desk with the softest looking chair Y/N has ever seen behind it. There’s two large bookcases against the back wall, and there’s a plush carpet covering the floor. Tears prick the corner of her eyes, and Y/N runs a hand along the glossy desk just to make sure it’s real.

“Does everything look okay?”

Y/N spins around to face the man who she forgot was even there. Swallowing the emotion crawling up her throat, she gives a curt nod. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

The man gives her a smile and thrusts out a clipboard. “I just need a signature and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

She signs without even looking, her attention back on the office George created for her. After their breakup Y/N couldn’t fathom when her sweet, loving boyfriend turned into the heartless person that dumped her so carelessly. It’s just starting to hit her that maybe the George she knew wasn’t really gone after all, just hidden behind a facade.

Once the door shuts behind the delivery crew Y/N makes her way behind the desk, sinking back into the plush chair. Her apartment back home isn’t big enough for her to have a dedicated office space and she often works from her kitchen table or couch, and Y/N had been totally fine with doing the same at George’s. So the fact that he’s gone and made Y/N her own space in his apartment has her heart pounding in her chest.

She fires off another text to George.

Y/N: the delivery people just left and holy shit, George. You really didn’t need to do this for me. I love it, thank you.

They must be on a break, because a few minutes later as Y/N is opening her laptop to start working George responds.

George: ah shit, sorry, i totally forgot to mention the delivery last night.

George: we can go out and get different artwork or decorations or whatever. I meant what i said last night, this is our space now and i want you to feel at home

George: and i know i didnt need to, i wanted to :)

She’s already starting to fall back in love with George Weasley, and Y/N is not sure she’ll be able to stop.

Things get easier to navigate as the week goes on.

That first night when George got home from training camp it had been awkward, neither of them really sure how to navigate this interesting relationship. On one hand, they’re technically engaged and it should be expected for them to act somewhat like a couple while at home. But on the other hand, they haven’t been around each other in years and it kind of felt like two strangers living under the same roof.

But they slowly started to get into a routine. George is always up first, and before he leaves for camp he puts on a fresh pot of coffee so it’s still warm and fresh by the time Y/N gets up too. They usually text throughout the day whenever George has the chance, discussing what to do for dinner or to just share something about their day. George gets home at 4 everyday, and Y/N has a protein shake waiting for him on the counter while she finishes up with work. Then they cook dinner together, moving around the kitchen effortlessly while they talk about their days.

Dinner is always eaten in the living room while they watch something on TV. George cleans up the kitchen while Y/N empties his hockey bag, throwing his sweaty gear into the washing machine before repacking his bag with fresh athletic gear and a clean practice jersey. They get ready for bed together, standing at the his and hers sinks in the bathroom as they brush their teeth. George is usually the first to fall asleep, and Y/N will read or scroll on her phone until she too goes to bed, and then they wake up in the morning to do it all over again.

George didn’t think they’d fall into a routine so easily, but he’s been pleasantly surprised so far. He finds that every night after a long day of camp he’s looking forward to seeing Y/N at home, and the little texts they exchange during his breaks have become his favorite part of the day. Even falling asleep next to her has become second nature, and George will never get tired of the fact that his bed has started to smell like the both of them.

He figured it would be an adjustment, having someone else and their stuff in a space that has always been just his. But George loves seeing the touches of herself that Y/N has started to leave around the apartment. It’s always a thrill when he enters the closet and her clothes are hanging up next to his. He loves the rumpled blanket she always leaves on the couch, and the sight of her coffee mug in the sink next to his in the afternoon always makes him happy.

They’re living the life George always wanted, and he’s already dreading the day it comes to an end. But the inevitable heartbreak is worth it to see the way Y/N lights up when he gets home in the afternoon.

“What’s got you in such a good mood, Weasel,” Thomas, the Rebel’s goalie, states as he slides into the seat across from George.

They’re on break for lunch, and George was taking advantage of the opportunity to text Y/N back.

“Yeah, you’ve been a lot more smiley, Weasel,” Adam, a defenseman, adds as he sits next to George.

“What? Is it a fucking crime to be happy?” George asks with an eyeroll.

Before he has a chance to even react Thomas is reaching over and snatching George’s phone out of his hand. “No it’s not a crime,” he starts, scrolling through the texts on George’s phone. “But I’m sure it has something to do with Y/N and why she’s asking you what you want for dinner tonight.”

“Fuck you,” George grumbles as he grabs his phone back, and he can feel the flush on his cheeks. He knows that the whole point of Y/N being his fake fiance is so he can show everyone how responsible he is, and in order to do that people have to know about her. But a part of George was hoping to keep Y/N to himself for just a little bit longer.

“Weasel’s got a girlfriend!” Adam exclaims, ruffling George’s hair. “You’ve been holding out on us George, when the fuck did that happen? Who is she? Where’d you meet?”

“Yeah, give us all the details George, you owe it to us,” Thomas adds.

“You two are worse than a couple of school girls for christ sake.” George takes a sip of his water, needing a second to compose himself. “It happened during the off season. I went back home for a bit, you know, to see the family and everything. Y/N and I dated before I was in the league and we reconnected. We didn’t want to be apart when I had to come back for the season so she moved in with me.”

“Holy fuck, look how red his cheeks are,” Thomas teases. “Our little Weasel’s in love.”

“Little lover boy,” Adam joins in, ruffling George’s hair again. “Fucking finally, Jenny has been dying for you to get a girlfriend, she said her and Olivia need a new drinking buddy.”

“Hell yeah, bring Y/N to team drinks tonight,” Thomas suggests with a grin. “You can’t keep her from us forever, and Olivia will castrate me if she finds out you have a girlfriend and I didn’t try to get you to bring her out.”

George huffs, thinking it over. They have a day off tomorrow, and he was kind of looking forward to doing nothing but hanging out on the couch with Y/N. But introducing her to the team and their partners is probably the most natural way for him being in a relationship to get back to Coach, and that’s the whole reason Y/N is here in the first place.

“Alright fine,” he relents, causing the other men to cheer. “But you fuckers are on a short leash, you hear me? Say any weird shit and we’re gone.”

“We’ll be on our best behavior,” Adam promises, placing a hand on his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Are you sure I look okay?” Y/N asks again, pausing just outside the entrance to the bar.

It physically pains George to look her over, because the pair of jeans clinging to Y/N are so tight they look like they’ve been painted on and it’s taking all of his willpower and thoughts of his grandmother naked to keep him from popping a boner. The fabric showcases every single curve on her, and all he wants to do is plant one hand on her ass while the other grips the back of her neck as he kisses her senseless.

But he can’t do that, so he settles for grabbing her hands to stop the way she tugs at the hem of her shirt. It’s just barely too short, letting a sliver of skin peek between the top of her jeans and the bottom of the shirt, and Y/N has been tugging on it constantly. As if another few inches of fabric will suddenly unravel and cover her completely.

“For the millionth time, you look incredible, baby,” George reassures her, taking too much pride in the way her cheeks flush. “You have nothing to be nervous about, Y/N. This is just a casual hang out with my friends.”

“I know, I know. You’re right,” Y/N agrees. George intertwines their fingers, squeezing her hands and it sends butterflies fluttering through her tummy. “I just want your friends to like me, and I don’t want to fuck up this whole fake fiancé thing.”

George can feel the cool band of Y/N’s engagement ring pressing into his skin, and he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t send a thrill through his body. He thought it would be strange, seeing the ring on her finger knowing that he’s the one who put it there. But every time he gets a glimpse of the diamond it feels like it has always been there, a feeling which George has carefully boxed up and stuffed to the back of his mind.

“You have nothing to worry about,” George soothes, releasing one of Y/N’s hands so he can pull her behind as he pushes through the door to the bar. “All I told the guy’s is that you and I dated when we were younger and reconnected when I went home during the off season. Technically none of that is a lie.”

Y/N nods in agreement as George drags her into Maynards. Except for the rowdy crowd in the corner that is very clearly George’s teammates, it’s practically empty and she feels some of her nerves drift away. Pretending in front of people George knows is one thing, but having to put that facade up in front of fans with phones is a whole nother story. On the drive over George had explained that Maynards was the team’s go to spot because it’s close to the arena, but is so dingy and outdated that not too many people come in. The boy’s like the anonymity that Maynards provides, and it’s often the place they go when they just want to hang out for the night and spend some time together.

Y/N feels honored to be let into that special club.

It’s one of the guy’s girlfriends that notices them first, and the rest of Y/N’s nerves float away at the look of pure joy that crosses the stranger’s face.

“Holy fuck, Thomas wasn’t lying!” The girl shouts excitedly, causing the few people standing with them to turn and look their way. She abandons her boyfriend, bounding over with her arms stretched out for a hug.

Except much to Y/N’s surprise she walks right past George, wrapping her arms around Y/N instead. “I’m Olivia, it’s so nice to meet you.”

Y/N returns Olivia’s hug with the arm that isn’t attached to the hand George is still holding on to, returning the tight squeeze. “It’s nice to finally meet you, George has told me so much about you.”

Which isn’t a total lie, from the time George got home until they reached the bar he’d given her a brief run down on everyone she’d be meeting tonight. He’d spent the most time talking about Thomas, Adam and their girlfriends, since they are who he’s closest with on the team and who he spends the most time with off the ice.

“Well he’s told us absolutely nothing about you, so we’ve got a ton of catching up to do.” Olivia releases Y/N from her embrace, grabbing her hand instead. Except as she starts to drag her away, George keeps his own grip on Y/N tight, catching her in the middle.

“Y/N is my date, Olivia, you just can’t steal her,” George huffs, pouting at them.

Olivia rolls her eyes, clearly used to George’s antics. “Sharing is caring, Georgie,” she mocks, tugging on Y/N so George has no choice but to release her hand. “You’ll get her back, I promise.”

Before she disappears into the crowd with Olivia, Y/N shoots George a reassuring smile over her shoulder, a silent signal not to worry about her.

If only she knew that George’s reluctance to let her go has nothing to do with worry, but his overwhelming need to feel her hand in his.

“So what was Weasel like back in high school? Was he always such a little shit?” Thomas asks with a grin.

They’ve been at the bar for a few hours, and despite her initial nerves, Y/N is actually having fun. Olivia had dragged her over to where Jenny, Adam’s girlfriend, and some of the other player’s partners were huddled together and it was as if they were old friends. After a few margaritas and getting to know each other the guys had wandered over. George had immediately wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing Y/N in close so her back was pressed to his front. That’s where she stayed as his friends asked her what felt like a million questions about George.

“Weasel?” she responds, wrinkling her nose. Y/N tilts her head back so she can look up at George. “That’s what they call you? I’m ashamed, it’s not very creative. Woody was way better.”

George’s cheeks immediately flush at the reminder of his old nickname, causing Thomas and Adam to whoop in laughter. “You’re a little menace, you know that?” he murmurs in her ear, squeezing her waist.

“Woody? Now that’s a story I want to hear,” Adam says, his eyes lit with excitement.

Y/N goes to tell the story, but before she can even utter a word George claps his free hand over her mouth, muffling her words. “No, nope. I will not let you hooligans rope my fiancé into your shenanigans.”

Everyone around them goes silent. When Olivia had referred to Y/N as George’s girlfriend earlier she didn’t correct her, figuring there was a reason why he hadn’t told his friends about the engagement. So she went right along with it, keeping her left hand tucked into her pocket as much as possible.

“I’m sorry, did you say fiancé?” Jenny asks, her voice loud enough to draw looks from those around them.

“Um. Surprise?” George responds sheepishly, dropping the hand he has over Y/N’s mouth to grab her left hand instead. He lifts it up to show everyone the ring, and even in the dim light of the bar the diamond shines.

“Oh my god! Congratulations!” Olivia shouts as Jenny giggles, and the girls take Y/N’s hand from George so they can examine the ring more closely.

“Damn, Weasel. You’ve broken the hearts of female hockey fans all over the country,” Adam teases, clapping George on the shoulder. “No wonder you’ve been in such a fantastic mood lately. Congrats.”

Thomas winks at George. “Yeah, congratulations or whatever, but let’s get back to the conversation.” His eyes sheen with mischief and George lets out a groan. “Why the fuck did they call you Woody?”

The girls dissolve into a fit of giggles as Y/N looks up at George for approval. But when he gives her a pleading look all Y/N does is wink before she refocuses her attention back on the group and launches into the story.

“Well you see, it all started back when we were in high school, and George was away with the junior team for the first time.”

George tunes out the rest of the story, not needing to listen as Y/N recounts the story of how he got caught jerking off in his hotel room the night before his first game in the junior league. Instead he focuses on the bright smile on her face, and how the people he cares about most react to her. He can already tell that Jenny and Olivia have accepted Y/N as one of their own, and he knows she has Adam and Thomas’ stamp of approval too.

Y/N fits into their group flawlessly and it makes his chest feel warm. George tightens his grip on her waist, and he never wants to let her go.

They spend a large part of the next day on the couch. Y/N is too hungover to move and George wants to be wherever she is. With each of their heads at one end of the couch their legs are intertwined in the middle, both of them content to just watch movies and eat snacks all day. It isn’t until the sun is starting to get lower in the sky that George finally speaks.

“We should go out somewhere for dinner tonight.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow as she raises her eyes to meet his. “You suddenly get bit by the going out bug?” she teases.

George chuckles. “No, I’d much rather lay around all day with you. But if we want people to believe we’re engaged we should probably be seen out and about together.”

At least that’s the excuse he’s come up with. In reality last night he started to come to the realization that he doesn’t want this engagement to be fake. Y/N had fallen asleep as soon as they crawled in bed but George had laid awake watching her closely as he reflected on the night and the last several years.

Because being at that bar with Y/N is the happiest he’d been in a long time, and when he really thought about it, the last time he remembers being truly happy was before he ended things with Y/N. Even the day he was drafted and his first game in the NHL didn’t come close to being his happiest memory, because she wasn’t there with him.

So George made a decision last night. Fuck being named Captain, his one and only goal is to make Y/N fall in love with him again. That way he can marry her for real, and he never has to think about what life will be like without her by his side. He’d stayed awake for hours formulating a plan, and this is just step one.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Y/N agrees. “But nowhere fancy, okay? I still feel like shit. You weren’t kidding, Olivia and Jenny go hard.”

George agrees to her stipulation, and he finds himself returning the grin on Y/N’s face. Operation Get Y/N to fall in love is officially a go.

“Remember that time at Rosie’s when Fred made you laugh so hard milkshake came out of your nose?”

George attempts to laugh at the memory, choking on the sip of milkshake he’s just taken. “Oh god, don’t remind me,” he spits out once his coughing calms down. “I smelled vanilla for weeks after that.”

Y/N giggles at the grimace on George’s face as she settles back into the booth. To comply with her request not to go anywhere fancy, they’re at a dingy dinner a few blocks from the apartment that George swore has the best milkshakes in all of Chicago. And as Y/N takes a sip of hers, she can’t help but agree.

“That was also the first time we held hands,” Y/N reminds him, blush coating her cheeks. They were twelve and George had been so embarrassed that Y/N had reached out to squeeze his hand and he never let go. Two weeks later they went on their first date, and a week after that they were boyfriend and girlfriend.

“I was so nervous that I threw up when I got home,” George admits with a grin. “I told Fred it was because I could still feel milkshake dripping out of my nose, but really it was because the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen had held my hand.”

He lays his arm across the table, palm up in invitation. Without a moment of hesitation Y/N places her hand in George’s and a shiver runs up her spine when he grasps her fingers. George brushes his fingers over her knuckles, and they sit in silence as George looks at their intertwined hands and she looks at him.

“What happened, George?” Y/N asks suddenly, her voice shaky. “I thought things were going so well and then suddenly they weren’t.”

“I was scared,” he admits after a few moments of silence, still refusing to meet her gaze. “I always knew the NHL was my future, but getting that call, that Chicago was going to offer me a rookie contract, scared the shit out of me. I still had two years until they were going to call me up, and so much could have happened. They could have decided to drop me, or I could have had a career ending injury. And I had no Plan B. Hockey came first, my grades were barely passable and I had no passion for anything else. Without the NHL I would be nothing, and I couldn’t burden you like that. I figured letting you go so you could find someone worthy of your love was better than dragging you down with me.”

“George,” Y/N whispers, at a loss for what to say. Her heart aches in her chest, because George may have been the one to break them, but Y/N didn’t fight hard enough to save them. She knew something was wrong with George, and that he hadn’t suddenly become a heartless asshole after nearly ten years together. Y/N wishes she had stayed that day, refused to leave until George talked to her about what was really going on.

Maybe if she had the engagement ring on her finger would be real, and it would have saved them both years of pain and longing.

Before she can say anything else the waitress is back with their food, and they pull apart as she places the plates down in front of them. She’s gone in another instant, and even though everything smells and looks amazing, Y/N has suddenly lost her appetite.

The next morning there are pictures of them all over social media, with several different sports sites publishing articles about how hockey’s hottest bachelor is officially off the market. Y/N hadn’t even noticed people taking their photo, but she’s glad that they all seem to have been taken before things got awkward. In each photo they’re both smiling, and there’s even a few where you can clearly see a blush outlined on George’s cheeks.

They actually look in love, and it makes Y/N feel sick.

Things were weird between them the rest of the night and George was up and out of the house to head to camp before Y/N was awake. Her only shred of hope has been the fact that George had still left a fresh pot of coffee for her. Maybe this whole thing isn’t over before it really even got started.

Because Y/N has decided it’s time to stop playing the long game and merely hoping that this whole thing ends with her and George together for real. Y/N is going to get George Weasley to fall in love with her again even if it kills her. After his confession yesterday, Y/N knows now more than ever that George is the man she is supposed to end up with, and she is not going to give him up again without a fight.

Will she ever forget how he had hurt her that day? Of course not.

But what matters is that she’s forgiven him, and she’s ready to show George that what they have now can be real.

She barely focuses on work all day, formulating a plan and figuring out her next steps. By the time George gets home that afternoon, his usual protein shake is waiting and Y/N is ready. Operation get George Weasley to fall in love with her is a go.

Y/N decides to make her move that night when they’re in bed. The awkwardness between them had started to fade as they fell into their evening routine, and by the time they were eating dinner on the couch together they were laughing and joking around again. While they hadn’t talked about what George said at the diner, it seemed they had come to a silent agreement to leave the past in the past and to keep moving forward.

With only one week of training camp left before preseason starts, the focus of camp has shifted from running drills to starting to run plays, so when Y/N crawls into bed that night George is still awake, sitting up against the headboard as he reviews his book of plays.

She mirrors his position, keeping only a few inches of space between them as she starts to read her romance novel. Y/N keeps glancing at George out of the corner of her eye, not really paying attention to the words on the page. After a few minutes she gives up, huffing as she shuts her book before angling her body to face George.

“I’ve been thinking,” she trails off, waiting for George to give her his full attention.

“That can’t be good,” he jests, placing his playbook on the nightstand before he turns to face her as well. “What’s been going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her face. “Well I saw all the pictures of us people were posting this morning, and I was thinking about that family skate thing and the team dinner you were talking about and how if we’re going to be out and around people, there’s probably certain things they are going to expect from us.”

“Like?” George asks, urging her to continue.

“Like PDA things,” she explains, swallowing the nerves threatening to creep up her throat. “Holding hands, touching, cuddling. Kissing.”

“Oh,” George murmurs, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“So I was thinking maybe we should practice. Doing all of that stuff. That way when we’re in front of people it doesn’t look weird or awkward. It looks like something we do all the time.” When George doesn’t say anything Y/N feels her stomach drop, and embarrassment flushes her cheeks. “Nevermind, forget I said anything,” she dismisses, kicking herself for even bringing it up.

But before she can turn her back to George and pretend to sleep he grabs her wrist, using his grip to pull Y/N even closer. “Sorry, I was just processing. You’re right. No one will believe we’re engaged if we look like two chickens pecking at each other when we try to kiss or if you flinch every time I touch your ass.”

Without giving her a chance to respond George grips the back of Y/N’s neck, pulling her into a kiss as his other arm wraps around her waist. There’s no hesitation as they kiss for the first time in years, and Y/N feels fireworks as George’s mouth melds against hers.

George breaks their kiss for a moment, muttering a quiet fuck before he’s kissing her again with more force. Angling her head back, George deepens the kiss and Y/N moans as he nips at her bottom lip. She shivers as his tongue soothes the sharp pain before letting him lick into her mouth.

Next thing she knows George is pulling her closer, dragging her so she’s straddling his lap. Her own hands grip his shoulders as George massages the back of her neck, his other hand wandering down to cup her ass. He drags her even closer, and they both let out a gasp as his hard cock presses between her thighs, nestled just where she needs him most.

As Y/N rocks against him, moaning as his cock nudges her throbbing clit, the reality that they are about to cross a line that they will never be able to come back from hits them both. In the blink of an eye Y/N is back on her side of the bed, hair tousled from George’s grip and her breathing heavy. She spares a glance at George, happy to find that he looks just as affected.

“So I think that was enough practice, yeah?” George doesn’t even wait for Y/N’s response before he’s up and out of bed, one hand trying to cover the tent in his sweatpants as he rushes into the bathroom. A second after the door closes Y/N hears the shower turn on, and she can’t help but slip a hand under her sleep shorts.

Phase one complete.

They haven’t kissed again since that first night early in the week, but much to both of their delight, physical touch starts to become a regular part of their relationship. When they’re out in public George doesn’t hesitate to grab Y/N’s hand, and he often keeps a hand on her lower back to guide her. Now when George gets home he seeks her out, sometimes content to rub her shoulders as she works, sometimes so desperate to feel her close that he hauls her from the chair into a hug. While they cook dinner together they’re constantly brushing against one another, and Y/N is practically in George’s lap while they eat.

The space they try to keep in bed at night has been completely erased, with George refusing to fall asleep until Y/N is wrapped in his arms. Her plan is working even better than she could have imagined and she can’t wait to show off their new found closeness tonight at the Rebel’s family skate.

Training camp is officially over, and every year to celebrate the team hosts a family skate night. The guys get to bring their wives or girlfriends and their kids, and everyone just gets to have fun together on the ice before the craziness of the season starts to take over. Preseason starts next week, and after the first game at home on Tuesday, the team will be gone for the better part of the next three weeks. Which makes tonight at open skate and tomorrow’s team dinner Y/N’s last chances to really get close to George before they are apart again.

“When do you think is the last time we skated together?” George asks as he steps out onto the ice, holding his hands out so he can help Y/N enter the rink.

In years past George never really cared for family skates considering the fact that he never really had anyone to bring with him, but he’s been looking forward to this all week. Not only did he and Y/N meet on the ice, but ice skating was their first date, making this the perfect next step in his plan to get her to fall in love with him again.

Y/N thinks about it as she grabs George’s hands and joins him. “Probably a family skate back when you were in the juniors. You used to have to bribe me with kisses to get on the ice.”

George keeps Y/N’s hands in his, starting to slowly skate backwards, pulling her along. “Mmm, that reminds me.” He pulls her in closer, leaning down and kissing her briefly. “Thank you for skating with me.”

She knows it’s for show, but it makes her heart rate pick up anyway. “You’re welcome. But I think I deserve one more kiss for being so brave.”

“Y/N, you can have as many kisses as you want,” George murmurs as he leans down before pressing their lips together again.

Their kiss is much longer this time, and Y/N is just about to open her mouth for George’s tongue when someone skates by, stopping sharply to spray them with ice.

“Adam, fuck you,” George growls as they pull apart, glaring at the other man as he skates away.

Y/N laughs, pushing George away to put some distance between them. There are children present after all. “You look so cute when you’re mad.”

“Only when I’m mad?” George pouts playfully, bringing his attention back to her.

“Nah, you’re cute all the time,” she reassures him, momentarily releasing one of his hands so she can boop him on the nose. The smile that graces his lips takes her breath away, and Y/N tilts her chin, silently requesting another kiss.

George immediately obliges, pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss. It’s over far too quickly for Y/N’s liking, but George keeps her close as they continue to skate around the rink. It’s nice, just being there with him, and Y/N lets her gaze wander around as they move.

It’s funny, watching these guys who are so big and broad glide around with their kids. The ones who are too young to skate are just being held in their dad’s arms, bundled up in little snowsuits. There’s a few toddlers too, wearing little skates and a tiny version of their dad’s jersey as they’re guided along the ice. Some of the kids are even old enough to hold sticks, and they’re skating around passing pucks with their fathers before taking turns shooting on the goal.

It hits Y/N then, that if this all works out that could be her and George next year. A tiny baby in his big broad arms, wearing a jersey that says Daddy across the back with George’s number underneath it. A few of the wives have custom jerseys as well, with Mrs. Last name embroidered on the back and their husband’s number underneath. She’s sure that George would insist on her having one too.

Y/N’s attention refocuses on George as they slow and they come to a stop in front of the home bench, where George’s coach is tightening up his daughter’s skates. George wraps his arms around Y/N’s waist, pulling her back into his chest.

“Coach,” he greets when the other man turns and acknowledges them. “I just wanted to introduce you to my fiancé, Y/N.”

“Daniel Morris.” His voice is gruff, and Y/N takes the hand he offers, giving it a brief shake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman who’s lit a fire under this ogre’s ass,” he teases with a grin. “Weasley has been playing his best these past few weeks, and we have you to thank.”

“Oh well, I don’t know about that,” Y/N brushes off, hoping the pink tint on her cheeks can be blamed on the cold. “But thank you. It’s nice to meet the guy George is always bitching about.”

Morris lets out a loud laugh, grabbing the attention of almost every single player out on the ice. “I like her George, you better keep this one around.”

“Oh trust me, Coach,” George starts with a grin, flicking his gaze down to Y/N. “I intend to.”

And that’s the truth.

“God I’m so sore,” Y/N moans as she crawls into bed that night, flopping down onto the pillows. “I don’t know how you do that every day. I barely did anything and my body aches like I just climbed Mount Everest.”

George shakes his head as he chuckles and he rubs a comforting hand down Y/N’s back. “Years and years of conditioning, baby. Where did you think all these muscles came from?” He flexes, causing Y/N to laugh.

“I do love your hockey butt,” she teases, giving George a wink.

“And I love your regular butt,” he responds, playfully giving it a slap. “C’mere, let me make you feel better.”

George maneuvers her so they’re cuddled close, one of Y/N’s legs slung over his hips with her chest pressed against his own. She presses her face into the crook of his neck, and a shiver wracks through his body when she kisses the sensitive skin there. George starts to rub circles into the tight muscles of her back, his fingers applying just enough pressure to work the kinks out without hurting her.

“Feel good?” he asks after a few moments, and Y/N lets out a moan of appreciation. “Good,” he murmurs as his hand starts to trail down her back. He pauses for a moment on the curve of her ass, digging his fingers in for a moment before continuing down to the thigh he has slung over his hips. George repeats the same motions as he did on her back, working out the muscles of her thighs.

George threads his free hand through the hair on the back of Y/N’s head and he slowly starts to scratch at her scalp. The gentleness of George’s simple intimacy brings tears to her eyes, and Y/N shuts her eyes to keep them from escaping. It’s easy to pretend when they’re like this, that this is just a normal night and they’re just a normal couple taking care of each other before they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

As Y/N starts to slowly fall asleep she sends out every piece of good karma she has out into the universe, wishing that her plan to make George fall in love with her works. Because she’s already head over heels in love with this man, and if he breaks her heart again she’ll never be the same.

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fan fiction #george weasley au #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter au #gw #golden

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thethiefandtheairbender · 9 days ago

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anyway today in "bonds ATLA never explored but I think could be real interesting": Toph and King Kuei, specifically from Toph's POV.

We know she's from a wealthy aristocratic family, so knowing stuff about Ba Sing Se and its royal lines / nobility definitely would've been an aspect of her upbringing. We know from canon that she hates Ba Sing Se and its rules. Then she's presented with Kuei, who's good hearted if naive, and living a much more rigid life of the one Toph was supposed to have: being controlled and monitored at all times, a figurehead puppet who doesn't actually make any of their own decisions... only Toph was an earthbender with a rebellious streak who chose to get out, and Kuei got his whole world upended overnight without much say in the matter.

We also know that Kuei comes from a similar-ish mindset as Toph ("[the war]'s not my problem) mostly because he didn't think it existed / didn't know it was happening, but he changes his tune and stops being isolationist the second he knows there's a reason to. After his kingdom falls, though (for mostly plot reasons + the writers didn't want to change the group dynamic) he dips from the Gaang and lets them figure out everything on their own, not appearing again in the series. Meanwhile, Toph remains an active part of the war effort until its conclusion, even when it almost takes her life and routinely puts her in danger.

Does she blame him for walking away or being naive? Does she judge him for happily being the helpless child she fought so hard against? Does she envy him for caring so little that he could walk away?

Idk, just something to think about.

#atla #toph beifong #avatar: the last airbender #mine

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zephfair · 9 months ago

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Hello? Anyone still here?

Hey, who disappeared for months and has desperately missed all her little friends who live on this hell-site but has been too exhausted and overwhelmed to actually login ... and who lost track of where this sentence was going ... Yeah, this girl.🤗

But, wow, have I missed you all and all the beauty that is Tumblr, and I hope you'll forgive me for secreting myself away since--holy cow--January.

Quick life update behind the cut.

So, I knew going back to work full-time at my age after quite a long unintended break AND now having health disabilities, well, I knew it would be hard. I knew I would have to adjust my whole, entire life. I expected it to be incredibly difficult, and I fully planned to give myself some grace and time in having to change my every routine.

But somehow, I still underestimated it.

I am so thankful to have a job now, with a steady (if small) income and benefits that frankly make me want to weep with thanks. I mean, I don't have time to go to the doctor, but at least now I could afford to go, if I could get there.

But wow, work is tough. Not just the literal work but, as I said, changing my entire life around it. I'm not complaining, but I am doing my best to learn all new skills (job is not in my old field), relearn how to work and reschedule my own needs and just upend everything.

The absolute worst thing has been trying to take care of my aunt. I was to leave town on Jan. 7 to start my training on Jan. 8.

My 90-year-old aunt fell and broke her pelvis (and a finger and needed some stitches) Jan. 2. I spent every waking hour with her over the rest of that week. While I'd planned to spend that week cleaning my house, getting my business in order and just resting, I was freaking out and traveling through the snow and literally worried sick about her.

It was bad.

And I couldn't stay with her like I did when she broke her hip because I had to attend training full-time. At least they let us come home super-early from that first on-site week of training, but that led to a literal nightmare of a drive home one night through snow, ice, rain, flooding and fog that I'm not joking I've had nightmares about before and now since. Long story.

So, I spent January and February training and working 9 hours a day then spending all day Saturday at her place cleaning and doing laundry and making sure she had everything she needed for a week, and then I had Sunday to do my own laundry and clean the house and take care of my own things...which just keep getting pushed back because I'm too worn out.

Thank God, Aunt made a miraculous recovery and now is doing her own house and laundry etc. but I still go out one day a weekend and do anything else she needs and make sure she has all her groceries and supplies and stuff.

We're all each other has.

Needless to say, I haven't been taking care of myself. I don't sleep well anyway, but add the stress of the new job and my dear aunt and my own health issues, and I'm exhausted. Weary. Overwhelmed and just so very tired. My body is so heavy, I can barely move anymore. It's bad.

And when I finally got to my doctor two weeks ago for my long-delayed check-up, found out I was right about my blood pressure being sky-high again. It went high for the first time several years ago when my Mom was dying, but it eventually settled and was fine. But yeah, it's bad again now. No shock there. And all my lovely chronic health conditions have flared which was no surprise--again, I had braced myself to expect it and power through it, and that's what I'm doing. But it sucks. And it's hard. And there's so much pain.

I don't want to say much about my job, but the over-arching Praise the Lord wonderful thing about it is working from home. There have been so many days already that I never would've been able to get to an office to work, but I can push through it here because I don't have to use any spoons to get myself "ready" (sweatshirts and leggings, no personal grooming necessary, yay), and I don't have any anxiety about driving because zero commute. It has its challenges too because Teams is a weird office communication alternative to get used to, but on the good side, I don't have to deal with interpersonal drama from co-workers.

The work itself is challenging, but I have some days where I finally feel quietly competent and think, Oh, I can actually do this. And then there are some days that leave me in tears and praying for help because it's just too hard. But there's no way I'm quitting; they're going to have to fire me because did I mention the benefits are incredible? I mean, I live in the US and if you knew how much I had to pay last year for my own health insurance, and then the scope and biopsies and then the skin cancer and surgery and then the other skin pre-cancer biopsy and treatment. Yeah, I'm still in big debt from all of that.

So I keep praying that they keep me and that I'll do a good job. And my immediate supervisor has started piling extra work on me over the past 3 weeks so suddenly I'm doing my own stuff AND cleaning up the work from co-workers who aren't keeping up. And all of them have been working since October while just a handful of us began in January?

I have been complaining about this to my aunt, and I thought it meant that my supervisor thinks I'm incapable or is punishing me for trying to get through own my entire workload every single day. But she believes he's giving me all their shit work because I'll actually do it, and I admit, I have gotten some of it completed successfully after they'd given up on it. So, I don't know.

I know that I'm a perfectionist and I've always pushed myself as hard as possible to do my best at work (not at housework and other things in my life lols) but I really hope that it gets me a good reputation at this job and they keep me.

So yeah, that's what's going on here. I've completely abandoned the fandom things in life that I actually enjoy. I almost feel, like, guilty when I'd think about trying to make some time to browse Tumblr or wasting time on social media or even trying to write fic. I get done with work at 6:30 pm, and until I get something to eat and then clean up, it's 8 or 8:30. I have to spend about an hour on the phone with Aunt (and I call her every morning, break, and lunch time too). By then, I can barely walk or move so I just try to make it upstairs to bed. Even though I can't sleep, it just feels nice to lie down.

But I miss all of you. And I miss fandom fun. And I want to be around more because maybe it would recharge me rather than me feeling so freaking overwhelmed every minute of the day.

And I promise not to complain and bitch all the time, now that I've gotten it out of my system. But thanks for listening.

I do miss you, and I love you all.

PLEASE let me know if I've missed anything important in your lives and goings on here! I've got A LOT of catching up to do!

#personal

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uncloseted · 5 months ago

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I’m all for chappel standing up for herself and not letting anyone walk all over her, but her whole attitude toward fame really just irks me lmfao. Her saying “This fame crap.” At the VMAS and “I don’t want to win a grammy.” just feels so ungrateful to me and tbh a bit bitchy (I know that was an old statement but still). I get being overwhelmed by bad interactions, and she has EVERY right to be, but jesus christ why complain about the career you are actively pursuing on a red carpet? Like girl if you REALLY don’t care that much let someone else do it who WANTS to? I know she blew up overnight. I know she’s probably very overwhelmed but fuck, her whole attitude is like a high schooler trying to pretend she’s too good for everything. It’s off putting and leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

So I think a number of things can be true at the same time. She's right and she should say it, but the way she's going about it probably isn't the most strategic move she could be making in terms of her public image, and at the same time, there's no such thing as a perfect victim, so I don't think there's any way she could have asserted herself that would have been universally applauded.

As I've said on here before (here and here), I do think that fundamentally, Chappell is right. Especially in countries that have deeply ingrained stan cultures, as the US does, the relationship between celebrities and the public is kind of abusive. We’re putting these celebrities in gilded cages and expecting them to dance on command, as if they’re objects instead of people. Chappell should have the right to be an artist without being harassed every time she goes out in public and without her friends and family being stalked. I think it's really weird that we act like this treatment is acceptable for artists when it would be totally unacceptable to do to like, the barista at your coffee shop. I think she has a right to pursue professional opportunities (award shows, interviews) without also agreeing to interactions with fans in non-professional contexts, when she's not "on the clock". I don't think that's inherently contradictory. It's reasonable for her to want a work-life balance, especially since she's someone who is playing a character when on stage. I also want to point out that we don't know how much control she actually has over these public appearances. Her label may have committed her to interviews and award shows without asking her permission, or there may be a reason why she couldn't pull out of those obligations even if she wanted to.

That said, from a PR perspective, I think she should have stopped while she was ahead. Instead of posting raw TikTok videos and then continuing to double down, it probably would have been more strategic for her to work with her team to craft one single statement, and then to reiterate those same points whenever the topic comes up in an interview or other public space. The way that she's been talking about it seems like it's eroding the good will she has with the public, and, as you say, the narrative is starting to become that she's bitchy and ungrateful. I think her team should be doing a better job managing her public image and guiding her in the right direction, since they're the professionals and she's really new at this.

But that said, Chappell is an introverted 26 year old girl who struggles with bipolar disorder and only blew up five months ago. Of course she's struggling with this. Touring is grueling even for people who are really mentally healthy. It's overwhelming and exhausting and all of your routines get upended. There's an interview where she says that, "this industry and artistry fucking thrive on mental illness, burnout, overworking yourself, overextending yourself, not sleeping. You get bigger the more unhealthy you are. Isn’t that so fucked up?”, and I think that's really true. And so for people who struggle with a mental illness, touring is that much harder, and can really exacerbate their symptoms.

Plus, for someone like Chappell, who describes herself as very introverted, I think touring must be especially hard because you're essentially with your coworkers all day, every day. There's this one Vanity Fair interview that she did before Rise and Fall of A Midwest Princess came out where she says that, "I found it to be pretty exhausting just interacting with so many people a night. Not anything they did wrong, but my soul was just so overwhelmed. Shows really take it out of you. It's a really emotional rollercoaster being on tour, so it's hard to play the character [of Chappell Roan] all the time." She also says that, "finally I found a place that I feel good about my meds. I'm in therapy. I really try to like, take care of myself. But, oh my god, it's so hard with this job because there's no checking out. There's no clocking in and out. I worked at a doughnut shop for a long time and I loved it because I would just leave work and I would just go watch TV and it was great. But I feel like this is just really hard to take a step away from, especially on tour."

In that context, where she's gone from being virtually unknown to not being able to go out in public without being recognized, where she, her family, and her friends are being stalked, where lots of people have an opinion on her as a publicly queer woman, where she's been touring for months on end, where she's maybe not able to take care of her mental health as well as she could at home, I think it makes a lot of sense that she's in a place of being burnt out and not quite knowing how to handle it.

To me, it seems like she's going through a very human emotion of wanting to set boundaries but not wanting to lose the fans and support she has and not knowing how to find that balance. I think especially for someone who (from what she's said) has felt ostracized and different her entire life, the idea of losing the huge amount of appreciation and support she now has is probably terrifying. She's said that this project is about "honouring the childhood I never got" and so I think it makes sense that she's both fiercely protective of it and not ready to let it go.

I've also seen a lot of people say that she should just cancel all further appearances and disappear from the spotlight for a while, but I don't actually know if she can do that. She's not really in a position like Lorde or Enya where she could just go home and everyone would treat her the way they used to. She's from a small town in Missouri where everyone knows her and I imagine, a lot of people have negative opinions about her, and now she lives in LA where everyone knows who she is. I think she would have to start over somewhere totally new, in the middle of nowhere, with no queer community and away from her family and friends. I get why she might feel like that's not really an option.

I think ultimately what she wants is for people to view "Chappell" and "Kayleigh" as two totally different entities, where Chappell is a celebrity but Kayleigh isn't. And I think that's a totally fair thing to want, especially because Chappell is a very easily identifiable character, so it's easy to know when she's "at work" and when she's "off the clock". I think it's super reasonable for her to want to do the things she loves to do- make music, perform, play the character of Chappell on stage- while also having a private life. I think she does really want this career as a pop star. But I don't think she wants the career of "celebrity" and I don't think she's actively trying to pursue that (beyond what her label is obligating her to do).

The last thing I want to say is that I think, as is typical for the internet, a lot of her statements are being taken out of context. For example, the Grammy's thing she said was, "my mom would love to go to the Grammys or the Brits... but I’m kind of hoping I don’t win, because then everyone will get off my ass: ‘See guys, we did it and we didn’t win, bye’! I won’t have to do this again!” I think what she's talking about is the process of campaigning for a Grammy. Those awards don't just go to the artists who are the "best" in some kind of objective way. Labels campaign hard for those awards, which means that their artists also have to campaign hard for the award, whether that's something they really want to do or not. So I think she's saying "if I lose, we won't have to do the campaigning for this award the next time I put an album out," not "I don't appreciate the recognition and appreciation I'm getting." In general, I would really recommend reading that entire interview, because it gives good insight into where her thinking is right now, where she is emotionally, and what these interactions that she's talking about are actually like.

I'm sure I'm forgetting something I wanted to say about this, but I guess all I'm really trying to say is that I think Chappell (and all celebrities) are put in a really difficult situation, and I don't blame her for not being able to handle it perfectly. I think her team should be doing more to shield her from some of this and to protect her image so that she doesn't have to deal with people hating her on top of dealing with the people who love her too much.

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theharpermovieblog · 2 years ago

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#HARPERSMOVIECOLLECTION

2023

I watched Barbie (2023)

Remember when Hasbro and Peter Berg made Battleship into a movie and the world collectively said "NO"

This is way better than that.

Living happily in Barbieland,a stereotypical Barbie doll begins to experience strange and upsetting changes, which lead her to the real world and a complete upending of her perfect life.

There's a lot I want to cover here, so let's dive in.

This is an endlessly entertaining, hilariously funny and often touching film, which goes far beyond what I ever expected a licensed doll movie to be.

Director Greta Gerwig has pulled off the impossible, by making a live action Barbie movie one of the most culturally relevant films out there today. In so many creative ways, what could have been a typical "fish out of water" story, is a story about gender equality, feminism, self reflection and the human experience as a whole. It really is beautiful. I cried.....twice.

Gerwig also makes sure to never leave us bored or sad, by making sure we are either laughing out loud or being dazzled or both. Is there a ballad/toy war/dance routine that is fantastically executed and relevant to the plot? There sure is. Is there a real world version of Mattel that both criticizes corporate culture and remains consistent with the humor of Barbieland? Yes, absolutely. Is the fourth wall broken to comedic effect by Helen Miran? Fuck yeah it is.

The cast is superb. Everyone from Margot Robbie on down is excellent. Robbie is funny and three dimensional as her character learns to be more human. Every single version of Ken and Barbie is fantastic as well. So many great performers fleshing out Barbieland. Michael Cera as Allen and Will Ferrell as Mattel's CEO, are amazingly good. And, this excellent cast is working with an extremely funny script, which just helps them shine from beginning to end.

But, as much as this is a movie that got my inner feminist to step forward, I gotta give it up to a male actor for funniest and most entertaining. Ryan Gosling is so goddamn good as Beach Ken. I've never seen someone so perfectly understand the assignment and so committed to the bit. And, his character's plot line is perfect. Being swept into the patriarchy and becoming the ultimate bro is an area so rich for humor and handled amazingly well, and yet it's not without real sympathy for the character.

Of course, trash Like fox News and pissants like Ben Shapiro are out there complaining that this movie is "Woke". And, I agree with them. This movie is insanely "Woke". It is a party of a good time and the best part is that the party is inclusive.

I can only imagine the anger and idiocy crawling through ignorant minds as they sit and watch a film that features Barbies of all shapes and sizes. Trans Barbie, Disabled Barbie, Black Barbie, oh my! All having fun together in a film that shames toxic masculinity and calls out the patriarchy. Hell, some right wing heads must have exploded when one Barbie openly states that Corporations aren't people.

It's sad that there are some out there who saw this movie with disgust and hate instead of wanting to be dancing along.

Barbie is a great movie for many reasons, but outside of it's true and positive messages, it's creative storytelling, genius casting, great direction and ability to make Republicans piss blood, this film is first and foremost an incredibly funny and entertaining good time at the movies.

I know it's amazing, but it's yet another thing which Ben Shapiro is wrong about.

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years ago

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hey kay bb!! hope you're doing well 💖

mando has been on the brain lately so i'm requesting fluffy smut with him pls 🥺😫 (the yearning is *extra* today)

niiiiiiiiik my darling my dear hope you are also well 💗

ok…this got away from me. I blinked and suddenly a plot! exposition! SMUT! (multiple scenes at that) all the things. I’m a slut for Din Djarin and it really jumped out on this one.

(smut below the cut, a full plot, the helmet comes off, a bit of inexperienced!din, reader is kind of a bad ass, descriptions of bodies, unprotected p-in-v sex - wrap ur shit even if ur in space ok)

sleepover saturday

uncharted territory

(word count 9.1k - it REALLY got away from me okay)

gif by @aceofwhump

Then you are a Mandalorian no more.

Din Djarin aches in a way he has never felt before, much more powerful than any injury he could ever sustain. His Creed, demolished. His son, gone. His life, upended. As he staggers out of the Covert, trying to think of where to go next, he cannot shake the feeling of lost that settles around his shoulders like a cloak.

Maybe coming to Glavis was a mistake; maybe he should have stayed back on Nevarro, kept taking jobs from Karga until he finally had enough credits to take the old man’s advice, get himself a camtono full of spice and disappear into the Twi’lek healing baths until he forgot the whole thing.

The truth of it? He knew he could never forget. There wasn’t enough spice in the galaxy to help him forget it all. It wasn’t possible. And the larger part was that Din didn’t want to forget.

His leg aches as he walks. The bacta Paz had sprayed him down with had helped some, but the ache runs deep, and the drills the Armourer had forced him to run with the Darksaber had only made matters worse. He should find a place to lie down, to hide for the night before he decides what he plans to do next, where he plans to go.

Where will he go?

You are a Mandalorian no more.

The echo of the words make his head split, and for a moment, he has half a mind to wrench the helmet off, to launch it off the ring, let space swallow the beskar whole. But he stops himself; it feels as though his armour is all he has left.

His armour, and the Darksaber. The right to the throne of Mandalore.

Maker, he can’t think straight. The ache only worsens, his limp more prominent, and it gets to the point where he can take no more. He falls onto the nearest crate, his injured leg stuck straight out in front of him. His body feels twice as heavy, his head even more so, and he tips it back against the wall to lighten the load. He’ll rest just a moment, he’ll just shut his eyes for one—

“Mando?”

Din pulls his blaster from his holster as his eyes shoot open. There’s the sound of shuffled steps, something metallic hitting the floor, a murmured dank farrik! He hits a button on his vambrace, turns off the thermal setting on his visor.

“Sweets?”

You look exactly the same as he remembers. It’s been ages, but he could never forget your face. He knows what’s underneath your clothes, too, and the memory speeds to the surface of his mind faster than a pod-racer.

Before he had an in with Peli on Tatooine, the Razor Crest routinely parked and tuned up in Hangar 3-5, he had you. You were well-known within the Guild, had more than a few contracts with different gangs and hunters in the galaxy. If something on a ship broke, you were the one to fix it, and you had enough heavily-armed thugs on your side to make anyone think twice about trying to mess with you.

Some called you the Mechanic, simple and descriptive. Others, those you let a little closer, knew you as Sweets, a moniker earned by your penchant for candies and treats. You’d let your favoured clients off easy if they were short a few credits, but had something sweet from the far reaches of the galaxy to offer in lieu of the missing cash.

Din knew he was one of your favoured clients, perhaps your favourite. Or, had been. You’d crowed endlessly about the Crest, desperate to get your hands on it any time he hauled it in for service, whether it actually needed it or not. Sometimes he genuinely needed something fixed, some times he’d found some candy or sweet in a far off corner of the galaxy that he’d brought back just for you.

Other times, he just wanted to see you.

You were sweet in other ways, too. He knew first-hand. And he knew he was the only client you let into your bed. He’d been drawn to you the first time you’d been introduced — a common contact between you and Din sent him your way when the Crest was in serious need of a tune-up, and you were the closest mechanic he could get to without doing more damage to the ship.

Your knowledge astounded him, to start. You were barely into a diagnostic and you knew exactly what needed to be fixed, what parts you had and didn’t, how many credits it was going to cost him. And you hadn’t even set foot on the ship yet. Your competency drove him wild, only spurred on when he brought you aboard the Crest to give the interior a once-over, eager to see if he’d kept everything original, or if you had any modifications to offer that he might be interested in. Din followed you around the ship silently, answering whatever questions you had, mostly just watching you work. It was intriguing beyond belief.

“That’s not much of a bed,” you’d commented, cocking your head to the side when you hit the button that opened the bunk. “When’s the last time you had a new mattress?”

He just shrugged.

“One thing you should know,” you said over your shoulder, descending the Crest’s ramp, heading back towards the entrance to your shop. “I don’t use droids.”

Din nearly fell over. “That’s not a problem.”

“Good,” you replied, tapping at your data pad, your brow scrunching. “It’ll take longer than your usual hangar; I do everything myself.”

“I’m happy to wait,” he said, dipping his helmet, thankful it was hiding the way he was raking his eyes over you. I don’t use droids. Had someone made you in a lab somewhere, on some backwater planet, just for him? “I know she’s in good hands.”

The grin you’d offered him was sweeter than anything he’d ever seen, and you shooed him out a moment later, muttering something about getting back to work.

When he returned three days later to retrieve his ship, he almost didn’t recognize it. You’d repainted most of the outside panels, replaced all the ones that were missing, and the engines were so shiny Din could see his helmet reflected in them. Inside the Crest was another story; you’d outfitted him with a carbonite cell system, top of the line and primed for use. That meant no more mouthy bounties, no more wasting durasteel cuffs and gags when he could just hit a button and have a quiet ride back to the Guild.

And in the bunk, a new mattress, complete with a pillow, and bolted on the wall, a mount for his helmet.

“You don’t sleep with that thing on, do you?”

“The carbonite system,” he nearly sputtered, rubbing a gloved hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t have the credits, I didn’t—”

You poked the toe of his boot with your own. “Call it a gift, Mando. Let’s just say I shouldn’t have had the thing hanging around to begin with.”

“Is that gonna cause me any problems?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p. “Wiped all the identification numbers from the system. No one will know where it came from. Except you.”

He stared at you a long moment. “Except me.”

He was sure to pay you in full, plus the candied flowers he’d found at one of the vendors in the markets. You’d smiled again at that, and while Din committed the sight to memory, he also promised himself that he wouldn’t let it be long before he saw your smile again.

And he kept that promise. The next time he landed the Crest in your hangar, it wasn’t because he needed a tune-up or new parts. He’d struck gold at a black market on Coruscant; his bounty had lead him into the belly of a sweet shop, and after the Gungan had been dealt with, Din did some hunting of his own. He took as many boxes as he could carry, trying to take one of each flavour, a few extra of the ones he’d seen on the shelf in your shop.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing here?” you’d called as soon as he landed, stepping out of the shop and into the hangar, your hands on your hips, cocked to one side. “You ruin my handiwork that fast?”

“Not exactly,” he’d replied, walking down the ramp, his arms laden with goodies. Your eyes had gone huge. “I come bearing gifts.”

“For me?” you cried, gasping as you took the boxes from him, tongue poking between your teeth. “Mandalorian, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He’d never been so grateful for his helmet at that exact moment. He might have crumbled to dust if you’d seen how red his cheeks were. “I-I owed you,” he stuttered out, “for the carbonite.”

“You didn’t owe me anything,” you quipped, swaying from side to side on your feet, staring down at your treats. “I told you, it was a gift.” You gave him one of those smiles again, and Din felt his stomach twist at the glitter in your eyes. “Why don’t you stay a while? I’ll feed you and everything.”

You disappeared into the shop, and Din paused a moment before following.

He saw you disappear behind a dark curtain that had definitely seen better days, and Din followed your further to discover there was an apartment of sorts attached to the shop. Apartment was perhaps too kind a word; it was one large room, a kitchen to one side, a large futon spread in the middle. Trunks and boxes and crates stacked along the far wall, a few grease-stained jumpsuits littering the floor. You stumbled over your feet trying to pick them up, tossing the offending fabric into a nearby crate, before you turned back to him. “What are you hungry for?”

You served him first. Noodles with dark sauce and some kind of shredded meat you thought was bantha but weren’t quite sure. But, as you stated with a shrug, “it’s good, and it hasn’t killed me yet.” After you slid the bowl across the table to him, you turned back to the stove and stayed that way. After a moment, Din wasn’t sure what to do, but then your head turned slightly, your eyes trained directly to the left, not wandering towards him over your shoulder. “I won’t look. Swear.”

He lifted the helmet just enough to shovel the food into his mouth. You were right, the mystery meat was good, and the sauce you’d made to go with it was even better. He nearly inhaled the food, not wanting to keep you too long, and when the helmet slid back down, the mechanism hissing back into place, your head turned again, still not looking at him.

“You’re safe,” he said, sliding his empty bowl back across the table.

You turned fully, serving yourself, and he expected you to sit across from him, keeping a bit of distance between you, but instead, you rounded the table and plunked yourself down on the stool right beside him. You ate much slower than he had, and Din let his eyes graze over you. The streak of engine grease on your cheek, the scar that split your lower lip, the intricately messy way you wore your hair. A silver chain sat around your throat, strung with a tiny silver ring. It disappeared down the front of your shirt most of the time, but right then it sat awkwardly, the chain caught on your collar, the ring sitting in the hollow of your throat. He resisted the urge to reach out and fix it.

The jumpsuit you wore was nearly identical to the ones you’d hurriedly swiped off the floor. Torn on one knee, zipper unfurling beneath your chest, a symbol he didn’t recognize patched onto your thigh. You’d tied the sleeves around your waist like a belt, a dirty rag tucked in at your hip. The Mechanic, herself. Sweets.

He thought you were beautiful. He had a feeling you’d look beautiful in anything.

Or nothing.

Din was distracted by your thumb at your lips, swiping a drop of sauce from your chin and sucking your finger into your mouth. His flight-suit was tight beneath his beskar to begin with, and you weren’t helping matters. “So,” you said simply, reaching for your food again. “Tell me a story, Mando. A good one. Best bounty you ever caught.”

The conversation filtered between you two easily. You were a good listener, easy to talk to, and Din felt like he couldn’t stop talking to you, telling you about his first kill, his first bounty. His first ship, before the Crest. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you about the before, before the Guild, before he was just the Mandalorian, when he was just Din Djarin. A foundling. Part of him wondered what you think, what your reaction might be to his past, but a larger part forced his mouth shut.

At some point, he turned himself towards you on his stool, one arm braced on the table, the other resting on his thigh. After you finished your food, you leaned heavily on the table, your head pushed into your palm, legs crossed at your ankles, swinging slowly, the toe of your boot tapping his shin every once in a while.

He could see you were tired, the way you started covering your yawns and rubbing at your eyes. “I should go,” he said, starting to get to his feet. “You’re tired, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Your hand flashed out quick — not quick enough to startle him, though — and wrapped around his wrist. You’d managed to wedge your fingers right into the space where his glove met his vambrace, and he felt you against his pulse, against his bare skin. “You don’t have to leave, Mando.”

Din. He wanted to tell you. My name is Din.

Slowly, his own hand reached out, hovering in the air, shaking more than a vibroblade. He saw your eyes trace its path, watching until it lowered, dropped until the flat of his palm met the curve of your thigh. His gloved fingers wrapped around the meat of your leg, his thumb pressing towards the inside.

He heard you gasp.

He moved forward an inch, and his hand moved higher, thumb riding the seam of your jumpsuit. You hummed, fingered squeezing around his wrist, and Din moved closer, until he had one leg between yours. He let his hand wander higher, listening carefully to the changes in your breathing, the hitch in your throat. The heat between your legs was almost stifling, and something feral in the back of his brain screamed for more.

Whatever snapped in him, it seemed to break in you at exactly the same time. You both shot to your feet together, and Din’s hands moved to your waist, to where your sleeves were knotted at your waist. Yours roamed his chest plate, fingers tapping along beskar until you hooked them in his cloak. He halted his own hands, ready to help you remove the fabric, but you handled it just fine on your own, finding the hidden snaps with ease.

His blood turned to flame when he felt your fingers along his throat, seeking his pulse in another spot. “You should stay,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a murmur. “Please, Mando, I want you to stay.”

He forced himself to nod, his mind now preoccupied with ripping his gloves from his hands. He needed to feel you, no barriers in between.

He needed to see you, something in him screamed, no barriers in between.

He silenced that voice before it could spur him further. Busied himself with diving his hand beneath the waist of the jumpsuit, the broken zipper catching on his wrist. You were even hotter beneath, and he sucked down a breath when he found you wet, slick coating his fingers.

Your body leaned into him, chasing his touches, and he hooked his other hand around your thigh, lifting you up and backwards onto the table. He could feel you watching, your eyes moving from his helmet down his front, to where his hand was jammed beneath the jumpsuit. He crooked one finger, testing, pressing it into you, and grinned beneath his helmet when you moaned.

Din hooked his arm under your waist, lifting you just enough that he could maneuver the jumpsuit over your hips, down your legs. His cock jolted between his legs at the sight of you bare, leaned back on the table, your chest heaving. Even though the visor, he could see how slick you were, the evidence shining on the insides of your thighs.

He wanted to taste you.

He pushed the thought away again. Another time, when he wasn’t smearing the inside of his flight-suit with precum, when you weren’t keening into his touch as he dragged his fingers against the sensitive skin between your legs, when he could turn the lights off and shed his armour, bare himself to you the same way.

You moaned again when his fingers found your clit, drawing a sloppy circle that had your muscles tensing against his hand, knees closing against his hips. “F-fuck, Mando,” you ground out, tipping your head back on your shoulders. “You’re good with those hands.” Another stuttered breath as he twisted his wrist, curling two fingers just inside your entrance, thumb stretching up to swipe over your clit. “Really good.”

He was grinning beneath the helmet again, eyes glued to your face as he pressed further, fingers threading deeper into you. He could feel everything, the twitch of your thighs, the clench of your cunt. You reached out with one hand, using the other to balance yourself, and closed it around his elbow, your fingers digging into the thick fabric so hard he was shocked your nails didn’t bite right through.

“How do you like it, Sweets?” he asked, leaning forward until he was nearly hovering over you. Your hand moved from his elbow to chest, fingers hooked in his armour. “Tell me what you need.”

Your hand moved again, this time moving straight down his front, past his waist, right between his legs. His cock throbbed as you palmed him, a cat-like grin on your lips as you tilted your head level with the visor. You leaned up slightly, pressed your lips to the beskar edge that mirrored his jaw. Another squeeze, and the slow pace of his fingers faltered, his head nearly smacking into yours. “I need this.”

Din couldn’t hold back anymore. Something in the way you stared up at him, eyes tracing over the helmet, told him you didn’t want him to.

“I like it rough.”

It all happened in one fluid motion. He pulled you closer, right off the edge of the table, and you spun in his grip, leaning forward over the table, planting your hands flat. The jumpsuit slid further towards your ankles and you arched your back, your ass grinding against his hardness, and Din groaned audibly, tilting his head towards the ceiling. Your legs spread as much as the jumpsuit would allow, and Din worked his own zipper down, freeing himself from the flight-suit. You made the most delicious noise as the tip of his cock smacked against your ass, the tip dripping with precum.

Your head turned as he took himself in hand, tapping your ass with his cock again. “Maker,” you breathed out, your eyes widening. “I knew you’d be big.”

Beneath the helmet, Din turned crimson.

He planted his other hand between your shoulders, tipping you forward. You went willingly, eyes rolling back as he pushed his hips against your ass. He could see how wet you were as you bent, slick still dripping down your thighs.

There was nothing stopping him from dropping to his knees right then and there, lifting the helmet just enough to drag his tongue through your cunt. The thought alone made his cock pulse.

But then your hand reached back, twisting in the fabric covering his hip, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He bent his knees slightly, notching himself at your entrance, and pushed inside.

The noise you let out was nearly enough to make him cum right then and there. He knew he wasn’t gonna last, and judging by the sounds you continued to make and the way you were bearing down on him, hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, he didn’t think you were either. He set a fast pace, the space filling with the slick sound of him driving in and out of you, your moans echoing each move. Din’s gaze dropped, trained on the sight of his cock disappearing to you. Your hand flapped at his hip, scrabbling for purchase, and he wrapped his fingers around your forearm, groaning when you did the same.

He was right; you didn’t last long, and neither did he. Your entire body clenched as you came, one hand slamming against the table, nails digging deep into his wrist. It spurred his own orgasm, that coil at the base of his spine snapping, and he pulled out, cumming hard across the curve of your ass.

Silence settled over the both of you as you caught your breath. Din couldn’t help himself, rubbing his bare fingers over the expanse of your back, tracing over your spine. You arched a bit into his touch, making a satisfied noise before you lifted yourself off the table. You turned to him, leaned up to press a hot kiss to his bare throat. It made him shiver.

“Think we could do that again?” you murmured, lifting a finger and dragging it along the edge of his helmet. “Maybe you take all the metal off.”

Din cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched, already wanting a second round. “Helmet stays on.”

You stared at him a long moment, smile on your lips. “Helmet stays on.”

He kept close to you after that night. He rarely took bounties that took him to further reaches of the galaxy, loathe to admit that he was always within a few parsecs of your hangar. He brought you a long-distance commlink so he could tell you when he was coming back, so you could contact him if you ever needed him. He didn’t worry about you, per se; you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, and he knew for a fact you knew how to shoot the blaster you kept holstered on your thigh when he wasn’t around.

But then the comm went quiet. He called, you didn’t answer. A lead weight formed in his stomach, and he pushed the Crest’s engines are fast as they’d go. Carefully, though — he wouldn’t dare ruin any of your handiwork.

When he landed in the hangar, the lights were all off. It didn’t help his worry, and it only grew worse as he sprinted off the Crest, heading straight for the shop door.

It was locked, but the lock was no match for his vibroblade and a bit of brute force. Inside, the space was empty. no trace of you left inside. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood smeared on the floor or the wall, but it didn’t ease his mind any. What if someone had come for you, spirited you away in the dead of night to some backwater planet? Dank farrik, what if someone had put out a bounty on you? His mind reeled, raced, chewed him up and spit him out.

He never meant to get so attached to you.

Din switched the settings on his visor, finally determining that all the footprints he could make out on the floor were your own. Then he saw it, sitting on the edge of one of the shelves in the kitchen. The commlink, perched precariously, just enough out of sight that no one else would think twice, but not Din.

He thumbed through the screen, saw the icon flashing with a recorded message. Your face lit up the screen instantly, and he stifled the way his stomach clenched. You looked…scared. Not hurt, not injured, but scared.

“Someone sold me out,” you said, your voice distorted and warped. “I can’t give you details. I can’t really tell you anything. Just know I’m going somewhere safe, and I’ll miss you, Mandalorian. Take care of yourself.”

Your eye were shiny as you reached out to cut the recording, and Din’s heart sank into his toes.

He put the commlink in his pocket, and returned to his ship.

He’d watched the message so many times the words were engraved into his brain. The change in your voice, the way you’d blinked harder the more you spoke. The way you paused in the middle, glanced over your shoulder with a shock of fear in your eyes.

And now here you are, standing in front of him, a pile of metal spilling out of a crate tucked beneath your arm, that same streak of fear in those big eyes. Eyes that have haunted him all these years. You nearly drop the crate as you crouch, your gaze zeroing in on the wound on his leg. “Maker, Mando, what the hell did you do?”

“Long story,” he groans out, wincing as you adjust his leg slightly, leaning to the side so you can get a better look. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reply, getting back to your feet, retrieving your crate of parts. “C’mon, let me clean you up. You look like hell.”

Din goes willingly, not sure what else to do, his mind racing from the combination of the Covert and you appearing out of nowhere. He lets you pull him slowly to his feet, tuck yourself under his arm. “Sweets,” he starts to protest, but you drag his arm around your shoulders.

“Shush,” you whisper, glancing around as you start to lead him in the opposite direction he’d been going. “Lean your weight on me.” He does as you say, nearly crumbling with relief. “There you go.”

The ache only worsens as you go, Din resisting the urge to lean his head against yours. When you finally turn him towards the door, he thinks he may topple over completely, but you’re quicker, producing a remote from your pocket. The door slides open, revealing the inside of a hangar, and you all but carry him through, discarding the crate of parts the moment you’re through, hitting the button again once you’re inside. The door slides shut, and Din lifts his head enough to look around. It looks nearly identical to your old hangar.

Then he hears a curious little beep, and looks down to see a tiny droid scurrying towards you. A BD-1 unit; he recognizes it from Peli’s, though yours is a little more rusty around the edges, the cleaner bits of metal painted grey and yellow. “Not now, Shrimp,” you grit, waving at the droid. It beeps loudly back at you, like an arguing child, and Din stifles his laugh.

“I thought you didn’t use droids,” he mumbles.

“He came with the hangar,” you reply, moving him across the hangar. Shrimp follows a few more steps before darting off, disappearing into a pile of crates. “Couldn’t bring myself to scrap him. Besides, not like he’s much help; tiny thing can’t even lift a socket wrench.”

He laughs out loud this time, and when you pull him into the shop, he laughs again, despite himself.

There’s a shelf of sweets above the workbench.

There’s no curtain between the shop and the apartment, instead another sliding door, another remote. Din lets out a low hum when he sees the apartment beyond. More than one room, furnished with actual furniture. It’s…nice. It’s really nice.

You deposit him on the couch, propping his leg up on the table in front of it. “Wait here,” you mumble, pointing a finger at him before disappearing into another room.

He doesn’t move, but hooks his fingers into the edge of his helmet and yanks it off, depositing it on the couch beside him. He sucks down a breath of unfiltered air.

You gasp as you walk back into the room, nearly dropping the silver case in your hand. “Mando, you—”

“Din,” he says instantly, reaching down, tugging his gloves off, tossing them onto the helmet. “My name is Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you repeat, slowly, like you’re tasting his name on your tongue. The corner of your mouth quirks. “Din…Djarin.”

He just nods. You approach him carefully, like you’re walking towards an injured animal instead of a man, the silver case clutched against your chest.

“Your helmet,” you start, gesturing vaguely. A memory sparks. He told you before — not in so many words — about his Creed, his upbringing. You’d asked, and he’d answered. It wasn’t information he gave willingly. The second time he had you, when you were sprawled out completely naked on that old futon, writhing and moaning beneath him, when he’d shed almost all his beskar, felt the warmth of your body pressed up against all of him. Afterward, when you’d both been sated for the time being, you’d peered up at him from your place on his chest. “Do you ever take it off?” you asked, your voice laced with sleep.

And he’d answered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says now, eyes darting towards the curve of silver. “I’m not a Mandalorian anymore.”

“What?” you ask, your brow furrowing. He wants to reach out, let his thumb ride the space between your eyebrows, feel it smooth over as he kisses the spot. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” He trails off. Loaded question. What does it mean? Truly? “My name is Din Djarin.”

There’s still confusion etched into your features, but you don’t question him further. Your brow doesn’t loosen, and you perch on the table.

“What’s in the case?” he asks, jutting his chin towards the silver case still in your hands.

You look at him for a long moment, eyes sweeping over his face, over his features. Like you’re committing him to memory. He’s doing the same, almost scrutinizing your face, trying to remember what it looks like without the filter of his visor, what you truly look like, with no barriers in between.

He could taste you easily now.

The thought catches him off guard, the throb between his legs a welcome change to the pulsing of the wound on his thigh. The bacta the Covert had given him has worn off almost completely, and the pain is climbing.

“B-bacta shot,” you stutter out, shaking your head slightly as you flipped open the case. Your eyes moved to the wound on his leg, peering at the plates of beskar, the flight-suit, the discarded helmet on the couch. “That needs to be cleaned.”

Din just nods.

“Think you can walk to the bedroom?” you ask, shoving the silver case into the chest pocket of your jumpsuit. He recognizes it — the tear in the knee, the patch on your thigh. You fixed the zipper. “It’ll be easier.”

It’s slow-going, getting him back to his feet, shuffling carefully to the bedroom. You ask him if he wants to bring the helmet; he just shakes his head.

What does that mean?

Your bed is unmade, but Din barely notices. The scent of you is amplified in here, and he’s sucking down breaths like he’s been deprived of oxygen. You help him lower to the edge of the bed, and he starts on the armour. You sink to your knees in front of him, setting the bacta shot on the mattress beside him. He removes a pauldron with shaking fingers, and you’re right there to take it from him, your movements sure, setting the metal carefully onto the floor, waiting for the next piece.

“You disappeared,” he says, after more pieces of beskar have been removed, when you’ve moved onto his boots, setting them both carefully at your side.

Your brow had just smoothed out, and it pinches again. “I had to. I left you a message.”

Din pulls the zipper on his flight-suit, reaches into the pocket sewn into the lining, and produces the commlink. “I know.”

Your lips part as you look at the piece of metal, dwarfed by his hand. “You found it.”

“I did.”

Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you look back up at him through your lashes. “It wasn’t safe.”

“You’re safe now,” he says, and you reach for the bacta shot. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” you reply, your voice bordering on stern. “Somebody sold me out.”

“I knew that much,” Din mumbles, and you shoot him a glare.

You sigh. “Let’s just say, there were some parts in the hangar that shouldn’t have been there, someone wasn’t happy with some work I did, and then next thing I knew, there were Imps on my tail. So I disappeared.”

“You could have told me where you were going.”

You shake your head. “They were listening. Tracking every message I sent out. I couldn’t let you get roped into it too.”

“You could have gone to the Guild,” he says. He’s too distracted to notice you pull the syringe out of the case. He doesn’t see the needle until you’re pushing it into his muscle above the wound. He grits his teeth audibly, hands curling hard around the edge of the mattress. “Dank farrik.”

“Sorry.”

“I would have come for you,” he says, breath hitching in his throat as you push the plunger down. It feels like his body has been flooded with ice water, his teeth chattering for a moment before the cold turns to a woozy sort of warmth that spreads through his chest like Corellian fire whiskey. He blinks hard, slow, one eye than the other.

“Can you stand?” He nods. Or thinks he does. “The bacta will help, but I need to put a bandage on that wound, at least.” More nodding. He’s vaguely aware of you draping his arms around your neck, your arms sliding around his waist to haul him up. He plants his feet beneath him, forces his weight over his ankles. His movements are slow, languid, like he’s moving through water. You manoeuvre one arm out of his flight-suit, pushing the fabric down his shoulders, until it settles around his hips. The metallic sound of the zipper seems to echo through his brain, and he knows you’re touching his waist, moving the fabric slowly over his injured thigh. But it doesn’t hurt.

All he can feel is you.

You sit him down again, work on pulling the suit off completely. Your hands are warm, soft, gentle against his bare legs, and he nearly buries his nose in the crown of your head when you bend down. Once the flight-suit has been removed, leaving him in his boxers and undershirt, you disappear again, and Din’s not sure if it’s thirty seconds or thirty minutes.

Something cold presses against his thigh, and he flinches. “Does it hurt?” you ask instantly, and your voice is clear, then muffled, then clear again. “It shouldn’t.”

“Nuh-uh,” he slurs out. He hears you laugh, and the sound is like tinkling bells. He wants to hear it again. “Sweets.”

“Yes, Din?” Clear, muffled. His name is a song on your lips.

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“Mesh’la,” he mumbles, and then his eyes fall shut, his body slumps back, and he thinks you laugh again. He’s not quite sure; sleep is too busy yanking him under.

Din wakes to the sound of running water.

He’s disoriented, confused, not sure where he is until he pushes up on his elbows, looks around, drinks in the sight of your bedroom. The memory floods back; the Covert, then the hangar, taking the helmet off, the bacta shot that knocked him out.

But more importantly: you.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes. How long was he out? He can’t be sure; there’s a window on the far side of the room, but time on Glavis is different, artificial nighttime and starlight instead of sun. His armour has been moved from the floor, neatly piled on a dresser against the wall, his boots on the floor underneath. His flight-suit is spread out on a worktable in the middle of the room, and he can see from his spot that you’ve tried to mend it, patching the spot the Darksaber had cut open with a square of fabric. It’s looks to be the same kind of material, but the colour is darker. Beneath the sheets, his leg is wrapped in cotton bandages, and there’s no sign of blood seeping to the surface.

His head turns in the direction of the noise of the water, and he pauses, waits for some kind of pain to prick through his body, but it never comes. He feels…good. Well-rested. His eyes follow the sound, and then he sees it.

The door to your bathroom is wide open, and from his spot on your bed, he can see directly into the shower. You’re inside, steam pouring over the top of the glass wall, and Din’s whole body jerks. He never forgot what you looked like naked, and it’s been a long time, but somehow it still feels like the first time. He can feel the blood rushing south, and his hands clench in the bedsheets.

He just stares, watching the water move over you, cascading down your spine, rolling in rivulets over your curves, following the lines of your body. He wants to follow them too, wants to read you like a map only he knows the key to.

Dank farrik, he’s missed you. He hadn’t realized how much.

The water shuts off, and he sees you reach for a towel, wiping your face first. He sinks back down on the bed, wondering if he should feign sleep, feeling like a kid caught doing something he’s not supposed to. But before he can— “You’re awake,” he hears you call, and looks back just as you wrap the towel around your middle. “I thought you’d be out for the night.”

Din coughs, shifting the blankets, trying to hide the tent that’s formed in his boxers. “You don’t close the door?” He doesn’t know what else to say.

You laugh. “I live alone,” you say, stepping out of the bathroom, walking towards the dresser his armour sits upon. “Force of habit.”

He clears his throat. Loudly. Pauses. “…it’s a nice view.”

Your tongue peeks between your lips as you walk over to him, still in just the towel. Your hair is still dripping, water droplets dotting your shoulders. You sink slowly onto the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“G-good,” he spits out, adjusting himself, making more room for you. “Really good.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I’m glad. You scared me, Man—” You catch yourself. “Din.”

A drop of water splashes down from your hair, starts a path down your upper arm, and Din reaches out, catching it on his finger. You watch his hand, lips softly parted, and he continues the path, drawing his hand up and down your skin, the backs of his knuckles against your bicep.

“I wondered where you were, all these years,” you whisper. There’s longing in your voice, he notices; the same feeling sits like a weight on his chest. “I never stopped wondering.”

“I’ll tell you sometime,” he whispers back. There’s something forming in the air between you, thick like the steam that still foams from the open bathroom. Din can almost taste it, and the thought he’d had in your living room resurfaces, making him twitch beneath the sheets. He could taste you so easily now. “It’s a long story.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I got nothing but time.”

So does he, he realizes. He’s without a ship, without his son, without anything anchoring him to one planet or another, to any sort of path. He’d been wandering already, trying to find the Covert, and now he is unmoored once more, yet somehow managed to find his way back to your hangar.

To your bed.

His hand stops chasing water droplets, and he sees your teeth sink into your lower lip. He lowers his palm until it rests on your bare thigh, and he can feel how your skin is still hot from the shower. “I never kissed you,” he rasps. “Before.”

Your head shakes slowly, and you turn towards him more fully. The towel is loose around your chest, your hand holding it in place, and he reaches for it, slowly uncurling your fingers from the fabric, until your grip falls slack, and the towel goes with it. “You should fix that,” you murmur.

“I’m out of practice.”

Your lips twitch again. “How bad?”

“Few decades,” he says softly. “Since before I swore the Creed.”

“You were a child.”

“It was a childish kiss.” He pauses, moves his hand again, brushes dripping locks of hair from your face. “I don’t want to kiss you like that.”

“Just…” Din leans in slightly, tilts his head to the side. “Do what feels natural.” You mirror his movement, and his eyes are glued to your mouth, to the way your lips stay parted even when you’re done speaking, the way your collar lifts with shuddered breaths. He sees your hands move the towel out of the corner of his eye, pulling the fabric away from your body completely until you’re bared to him, head to toe.

You’re just as beautiful as he remembers. If not more.

The tip of his nose drags along the slope of yours, and his hand slides from your thigh to your hip. “I need you closer, Sweets,” he murmurs, and you nod against him, your foreheads tapping together. There’s a bit of shuffling, the blankets moved back, his tented boxers exposed but barely acknowledged as you climb into his lap. He revels in the way you look above him, your knees pressed either side of his hips. You’re hesitant to lower your weight onto his leg, and he guides you slow, giving you a quiet it’s okay as you settle onto him.

He doesn’t feel any pain; he just feels you.

Once you’re comfortable, your hands clutching at his shoulders, he adjusts his grip on you, palms skimming up your spine, mapping out your ribs and the curve of your ass. You make a quiet noise when he squeezes one cheek, the movement propelling you forward, making your hips roll into his, your core pushed against his hard cock. It makes him hiss with pleasure, and he slides one hand up to your hair, knotting his fingers in it and dragging your mouth down to his.

It’s not artful; he’s sure it doesn’t look pretty from the outside. There’s a lot of teeth and tongue, the fumble of hands as he tries to get you even closer. He’s sure you’ve been kissed better than this, and it makes his cheeks heat, makes him pull away, tucking his chin towards his chest. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey,” you say softly, your hands moving to cup his cheeks, tilting his face back up towards you. “It’s okay. Just…follow my lead?” You say it like a question, your thumbs swiping over his face, through the smatter of facial hair along his jaw. “I got you.”

Din nods, lets his lips part as you cock your head to the side, leaning in slow. You kiss his top lip and then his bottom one, giving him just enough teeth that he wants more, wants it harder. He grips your hips as you move, but your kiss stays tender, slow, your tongue a wet heat against his own. He’d dreamed of this, of kissing you, and this one — albeit the second attempt — is everything he ever imagined.

Finally, your mouth grows more insistent. He’s hard as steel between his legs, and he can feel how hot you are, your wetness spreading across his boxers with every roll of your hips. Your mouth is sweet, almost sugary, and he finds himself chuckling against your lips, still trying to get you closer. Your stomach presses to his as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder, your tongue licking into his mouth.

“Sweets,” he grinds out when you start pulling at his undershirt, insistent to get it over his head. He lets you, and when you lower your head again, your mouth moves to his throat instead, and it makes him moan. “Mesh’la, wait, please, I need—”

You pull back instantly, your eyes bright with worry. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I want…” His eyes drop, tracing a path down your body, his throat growing dry when they land on the apex of your thighs, the glistening wetness he knows he’s caused. He lets one hand follow the path his eyes made, rubs his thumb over your clit. Your whole body shivers. “I want to taste you.”

Your eyes go big, pupils blown with lust, and Din uses your momentary shock to his advantage. He’s stronger than you, perks of the bounty hunting lifestyle, and he flips you easily with one arm around your waist, his other hand hitching your thigh over his hip. You squeak as your head hits the pillows, clinging to him until you’re laid out beneath him.

It’s his turn to kiss his way down your throat, and he does, laving his tongue against your pulse as he makes his way down your body. He pauses at your chest, moves to the side to close his lips around your nipple. It makes your back arch, a high-pitched noise falling from your mouth, and he grins against you, giving you just the edge of his teeth before he’s wandering across your chest to give the other the same attention.

You’re a writhing mess by the time he’s settled between your thighs. He can’t keep his eyes still, raking over every inch of you, trying to remember every part. He can see the muscles in your legs jump as he traces his fingers over them, the more sensitive parts of your skin making you keen.

With your legs spread, he can see everything, and his mouth waters at the sight of your wet cunt, walls fluttering around nothing as he teases you with his fingers, collecting your wetness on the tips before drawing them to his mouth.

He moans at the taste. Of course, you’re sweet. Deliciously so.

“Din,” you groan out, propping yourself up on your elbows. He can feel you watching, and his gaze flicks up to yours as he drops his jaw, lowers his mouth to you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, one hand moving to knot in his hair, and Din moans into you. His tongue explodes with the taste of you, sending shocks down his spine, making his hips rolls into the mattress, seeking relief.

Just do what feels natural, your words echo in his head. So he does. He licks into you, wide stripes with the flat of his tongue, smaller kitten licks to your clit. He can’t get enough of your taste, hooking his hands around your thighs, pulling himself deeper into you. And you guide him some, your hand in his hair an anchor of sorts, tugging slightly to get him right where you need him, a gasped oh fuck, right there! reaching his ears.

It’s not before long that you’re smacking at his shoulder, muffled moans on your lips with your teeth sunk into your lower one. He detaches from you, gets one more good look and lick in before he’s following your grip, kissing every inch of you he can reach as he makes his way back up your body.

“I need you inside me,” you slur, your hands reaching down, pushing at his boxers. His cock springs up against his stomach and he groans, the sound growing louder when you wrap your fingers around him. “Please, Din, I want to cum on your cock.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t cum right then and there, hearing your words turn filthy. And filthier still as he hauls himself over you, plants one elbow beside your head, looks between you, reaches down to line himself up and—

Freezes.

He can feel your eyes on his face, features pinched with anticipation. Your hands have found homes along his ribs, fingers tapping out rhythmless patterns. Hips lifting, you must see something in his expression, because you move a hand to his chin, lifting his eyes to yours again. “Din,” you say, and a shiver shoots down his spine again at the way his name sounds on your lips. “It’s okay. We can stop, if you need to.”

“No!” he nearly shouts, and feels himself flush, lowering himself slightly, careful not to drop all his weight on you. “No, that’s not what I…I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” you murmur. Your voice is quiet, understanding. You give a soft laugh. “I know you’re not a virgin, but if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I won’t say any—”

“It’s not that,” he cuts you off, petting his hand over your still-damp hair. “I want to. I want you. It’s just that…” He chews at his lip. “No one’s ever seen my face, while we…when I…”

Realization slides through your features. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have to look,” you say quickly, skimming your knuckles along his cheek. “I can turn over, if you like, if that’s easier than—”

“No,” he says, not a shout this time, but firmer. “I want you to see, Sweets.” He drops his chin, emboldened by your softness, your understanding. He kisses you soundly. “I want to kiss you while you cum.” His words pull a silky noise from your throat.

He breaks the kiss as he takes himself in hand, pushes into your dripping cunt. You’re hot, clenching down on him instantly, arms draped around his neck as he lowers himself further, latches his lips to yours. He hitches one of your legs high on his hip, drives into you deep. He had you close on his tongue already, and he rolls his hips hard, catching something deep inside that makes your entire body seize.

“Yes, Din, please, oh gods, please, please, please,” you’re babbling against his lips, one hand pressed flat between his shoulders, the other knotted in the back of his hair. “Yes!”

Just as he said, he kisses you while you cum. He feels it pulse through your body, your limbs taut and then lax, still holding him close. Your hips chase his, cunt clenching tight as a vice, and Din’s not far behind you, pleasure lighting a fuse down his spine.

You pull your lips from his just as he starts to spill in you. Your hand moves to grip his chin, and you force his gaze to yours. He gasps and your mouth mirrors his, lips parted in a soft o, turning to a grin as he grinds into you, painting your insides as deep as he can go. It feels like an implosion, his bones rattled in his body, but then set on the softest bed of silk as he collapses into your chest. You hold him close, petting one hand through his hair, breathing deep and slow until his own evens out, matches yours, until your heartbeat syncs with his.

“Mesh’la?” he calls after a moment, cheek still pressed to your sternum.

“Yes, Din?” you reply, your voice scratchy as your nails start to drag along his scalp. His eyes are heavy.

“I missed you.”

He can hear the smile in your voice. “I missed you too.”

Din wakes alone in your bed again.

He thinks it’s the next morning — the rest of what he assume to be evening was spent in your bed, both of you naked and wrapped in each other. Again and again and again, he pulled pleasure from your body, let you pull it from his, found your bliss together. By the time you were both too tired to move, sprawled on the mattress, your head on his shoulder, you’d whispered, “You’re a good kisser, Din Djarin.” And then you were asleep, Din not too far behind.

He dresses quickly, boxers pulled back on, undershirt in his hand as he pads out of the room. He finds you standing in the kitchen, a steaming cup of caf in your hands. The droid — Shrimp, he dimly recalls — is perched on the table, beeping out a message to you. You’re nodding along, blowing the steam off the top of your caf, and your eyes flick to him as he steps into the kitchen.

“You know Peli Motto?”

Din’s brow crinkles with confusion. “You know Peli?”

You scoff. “That woman taught me everything I know.”

“You’re joking.”

“Swear on my hangar.”

Din just laughs, walking around the table. He slides an arm around your waist once he’s close enough, leans into kiss the side of your head. You lean into him. “Why are we talking about Peli?”

“She sent me a message,” you say, offering him your caf. He takes a sip, only feeling more confused. “Asking if I had any spare ships laying around my hangar. A replacement for her Mandalorian friend.”

Din balks. He hasn’t told you about the Crest. “Sweets…”

You step away from him, pressing a hand to his chest as your eyes go wide with realization. “Din Djarin, what did you do to that ship?”

“I didn’t—”

“Din.”

“It was Imps,” he says, trying to reach for your hip. “It wasn’t—”

“Where is the Razor Crest?”

He sighs heavily, and reaches out to take the cup of caf from you again. “Now it’s nothing but a scorch mark on the planet Tython. It was the Imps. They took my son.” The words are out before he can stop them.

Your eyes go so wide he’s worried they might pop out of your skull. “Your son?”

“It’s a long story.”

You pluck the caf out of his hands, walk around the table, pull out a chair and sink into it. “I got nothing but time.”

#sleepover saturday #my fics #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin headcanon #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian headcanon #the mandalorian fanfiction

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xelasrecords · 2 years ago

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Go, Go, Stay

Harry Choi x Reader

A peek into Harry's mind, his denial of his feelings, and his belief that love is fiction, as seen from his perspective. Day 35 spoilers.

Words: 1.7k

Masterlist Read on AO3

Would it be too selfish if Harry wanted you to stay despite? Despite turning you down, despite setting a firm line between you, despite not wanting anything more with you. A word constantly repeated would lose its meaning, its syllables deteriorated into a foreign jumble of sounds. No matter how many times Harry repeated it in his head, the most logical conclusion remained: you were unique and he wanted more time with you without being pressured by the future.

There was a time when Harry was just drifting. He made films just because he could, he played the piano because he had the talent to, he swam and ran for the sake of moving, and he ate in bed because he saw no use for a dining table. There was nothing to hate and nothing to like.

Was it a life worth living? Harry never bothered to ponder the question, but if he were asked whether his routine brought any meaning to him, he was sure he wouldn't be able to give out an absolute answer.

When you barged into his life, he didn't think much of it. It was a disruption to his ennui, but what did he care? He just had to talk more, take more pictures, and set aside more time for another person. It was almost effortless, so he didn't mind the invasion of his habit.

It was almost effortless that he instinctively knew that it was different.

You were different, for who could ever trespass on his personal life without aggravating him? You were the shining, brilliant ray that sliced through his lifelong daze. Everything you did should have been a violation of his principles, but he never viewed you as a weapon. He looked forward to talking to you every day, and that was that. End of speculation.

If you were gone the whole day, Harry would have the urge to blurt out, Don't go too far. Talk to me. Can't you see how invested I am in you? Why are you still here? No, don't answer that. I don't want to know, and would be taken aback by the intensity of it.

But perhaps it was for the best that he never spoke it out loud; God forbid if he labelled you and him as anything romantic. You were just two people conversing with each other every day. Hearing your voice made him want to get out of bed, but that wasn't romantic. Harry would rather get lost in the woods forever than labelling himself as a man of romantic notions.

If he had to be honest, it hurt him to see you hurting because of his words. Sometimes he would be too callous without thinking, and he could see that he had gone too far. It wasn't a conscious sharp pang that staked through his heart, but the words did taste bitter on his tongue, and he would spend the rest of the day wondering if he had acted in some vile way that had sent you running from him, never to come back.

How many times could he push you before you finally left? How long was he allowed to stay in this grace period?

Of course, Harry would always end his internal discourse with, Who cares if she leaves? My life will remain the same. Nothing has changed. Nothing has to change.

But then one day, you spilled your most vulnerable feelings to him. You showed him how strong they were, and how sure you were in him when he couldn't even be sure of his own desire. Harry couldn't help but feel like it was retribution for his effort to change. He was just adjusting to this new routine with you, he was just getting used to having a constant in his life without being forced to plan ahead, and now you wanted to upend everything he knew? Couldn't you go with the flow as he did? Avoided your feelings and pretended they didn't exist?

Why did you have to change?

He wanted you to be more like him, but he wasn't even comfortable with himself. Such was the pain of being in denial.

If Harry were braver in speaking the truth—not the kind he tended to use as an excuse to be rude, but the kind that would make him seem more humane—he would have asked you to go slower. Wait for him. He was new in this and he was a creature of habit, so please don't push him too fast. He couldn't handle extreme changes. He wanted you, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. Please understand.

When Harry realised there was a real possibility that you would leave after his onslaught of abrasive rejection, he was horrified. In the process of trying to avoid ending a relationship by refusing to get into one, he had unknowingly, possibly irreversibly, ruin the very relationship he was trying to save. Harry's ex had once told him that his careless indifference would someday find its way back to hurt him. He was starting to see what she meant.

Harry wanted to be selfish. You were someone he shared his stories with. You knew about his romantic history and didn't doubt him when he tried to convince you there was nothing romantic going on. It was strange enough that he was afraid you might misunderstand, but he quickly shut down the thought. He just did it so you wouldn't annoy him with unnecessary questions. Yes, that must be it.

You were not the problem. You listened when no one else cared to. People always dragged him around like a ragged doll, but you waited for him to come to you. Harry was tired of people scrambling his life and putting it back the way they saw fit, so imagine his relief when he realised that you were nothing like them.

You were patient and walked by his side. He too kept you close, averse to the idea of people finding out about you. Not because Harry had ill intentions to alienate you from the world, but because he wanted his connection with you to remain untouchable, a secret exclusive to you and him.

You were easy to love; it was Harry who found it hard to let himself love someone, anyone. In his experience, loving meant dating meant severed relationships meant losing something he couldn't bear to lose. Why must he love anyone if they would leave him in the end? If losing someone was inevitable, then it would be better if he never got attached to them in the first place. He had operated under the belief of keep nothing, lose nothing for so long that he had forgotten how to hold close the things dear to him. His house, bare of furniture and items that might suggest the owner's personality, was the evidence.

But look at him now. Look at the mess he made. Now, Harry was sure you wouldn't talk to him again. The teasing, calming voice he longed to hear every night before falling into deep slumber would be no more. He wanted to reach for you, but there was something that held him back. Asking you to come back meant he had to be vulnerable, and it was the last thing he needed to do in a moment of weakness.

How could he protect himself if he had to bare his heart?

It wasn't you that Harry feared. Or perhaps it was you, seeing that you were the only person who had the power to make him tremble and question everything he knew about love. But he couldn't let you see how he felt, not when he was too terrified to peer into his own emotions. He wasn't even aware that they existed until he met you.

But the more Harry pushed to get you out of his mind, the more you haunted him. The act of noticing and then deliberately ignoring was heinous and counterintuitive. How could he pretend something wasn't bothersome when it kept scratching for his attention? How could he ignore someone who had already caught his attention? How could he toss you out after he knew you as if you were just another nuisance?

You were not, you were not, you were not.

After rejecting you, Harry felt like he could never reach you again. You would put up your guards against him, and he wouldn't fault you for it. Harry knew very well how good protection was for a heart—it wasn't as if he hadn't just done exactly that. But beyond that, he was afraid of losing you forever. It was a fear that outweighed his extreme avoidance of anything remotely close to romance.

Harry had to get back to you. Although he couldn't yet face the possibility of something more, he still wanted you to stay in his life. He wanted to be included in your daily routine. Your interests interested him, your quirks intrigued him, and the most important thing of all, you were not boring. You always came around with fresh ideas that made him wonder why it had taken him this long to meet someone like you.

With you, Harry found a new purpose to live. No longer was he drifting aimlessly, now he wished to be aware of his every waking second and savour every moment with you. He didn't want to live in the world where he had known you and had to go on as if he never had. That wouldn't be living. That would be the cruellest torture he had to withstand forevermore.

Harry then made a promise to himself that he would talk to you more often and be more open about his concerns regarding you. He would scoff less at your outrageous remarks that he chuckled at when no one was around. He would ask you point blank about how you were doing, not out of courtesy, but because he cared.

How many times had he run from his problems? How often had he tried to escape from intrusive people? Harry didn't want to run anymore. He had to fix this relationship before it was too late, before you saw him as an irredeemable monster and his fear became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Love might not be real, but you were, and you were worth staying for.

Footnotes:

My guiding thought throughout writing this was humanise not antagonise. What Harry said was hurtful, but he wasn't a villain.

Another one is cut down metaphors. God forbid he says anything flowery (a huge loss for me sigh).

I didn't dive into his childhood because, by this stage of revelation, I don't think he could dig to the root of his avoidance to love yet. Becoming aware of your attachment style takes time, and someone like Harry would need more time than one reflection after rejecting someone he refuses to admit he likes.

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#harry choi #the ssum #the ssum harry #the ssum imagines #the ssum fanfic #xela writes #harry choi x you #harry choi x reader #harry choi angst

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hubbie22 · 3 years ago

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Here is an ask well half an ask from the lovely @meddowscrl please don’t hate me 🥺 I just can’t do happy endings. I tried, I just couldn’t. I can only do angst. I like to suffer ~nervous laughter intensified~ Also, please excuse the writing, I have a respiratory infection and am heavily medicated.

You were happy, weren’t you?

“I want a divorce.”

You stare at him, you had only asked if he wanted to change the drapes. And the answer, turned your world upside down. He had been your boyfriend since 1968, your husband since 1972 and yet with one sentence he was now nothing.

“The drapes, I just wanted to change the drapes.” You mutter out like a hapless child.

“We haven’t been good for months.” He looks at you, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

“We haven’t?” Since when haven’t you two been good? Since when haven’t you two shared one brain cell? That was news to you.

Roger stands firms, flicking his long hair back. “No, Y/N.” He sighs, “We haven’t been us for months.”

“Is there someone else?” You look at him, searching for something. “You promised me. You promised me.” The words come out like a chant or mantra, what you held onto when he was on the road. A promise from another lifetime ago.

He sighs, as if he wants to tell you the truth. But he looks at you, and he sees the brokenness he caused. And he can’t bare to make it worse. So, he lies.

“No.”

You walk past him, and he grabs your hand and you think for a moment he will tell you he change his mind. But he hasn’t, and you tear yourself away from him trudging up the staircase.

“Y/N, this has been a long time coming. I’m not happy…. I’m not happy with you anymore.”

“A long time coming for who?” You can’t even look at him while you are packing your things. Most of which, he bought you. So, you only bring what you can into this relationship with yourself. “For you? Because I was happy.” There are tears streaming down your face, like a waterfall, “And I thought we were happy, it’s news to me that we aren’t. And that’s we haven’t been for sometime. Or maybe that you haven’t been.”

You sit across from him in a London high-rise, a wood table between you two and armed with a divorce lawyer. It happened fast, or maybe you were out of it the last few months.

You looked over at Roger, his hair was shorter the last time you saw him.

He stopped by your new apartment to drop off things you left, you could remember his shocked face when you open the door. You heard rustling outside and curiously you opened the door to see Roger crouched down, putting a box by your door. Blue eyes meet yours, and it was like time hadn’t passed. And maybe that’s why you treated it that way, maybe that’s why you went with the old routine. And you wonder if it was the gleam in his eyes, that let you believe that there was something to hold onto; that hope remained.

“Just some bits and bobs of yours.” Roger said, fumbling his keys in his hand.

“Thanks, Rog.” You can’t move from the door frame, the gaze y’all shared unbroken. Years of memories dancing between tha gaze. The squeal of the kettle you put on earlier makes the both of you jump.

“Cuppa? I still have your favorite biscuits.” You couldn’t stop yourself from buying them. It was just normal. And sometimes normal in this new word you didn’t know, was what you needed to sleep at night.

“Really?!” His blue eyes light up, and you motion for him to come in. Staying for tea was a dangerous thing, an old and easy routine. It was weird being so comfortable with someone, who was leaving you behind. Funny how the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Maybe it was because of the easiness of it all, that you left yourself fall back into the comfort of it all. As of you two were old friends, not two lovers frayed at the seams. Because of that easiness, you let yourself entertain a thought that maybe you could save your marriage. Put back the broken pieces into something recognizable, but it wasn’t enough. The yearning, the reminiscing of old times through the stuff he brought to you somehow turned into fumbled kisses and clothes thrown around haphazardly. It was something you thought would change the course of where your life was going. Instead of reconciling, it turned into Roger sneaking out when he thought you were asleep. It turned into your lawyer, letting you know Roger wanted you to have more than you asked for. It turned into more resentment and hurt from you, how he could use you and then leave you. How could he so easily but all those years together aside? It turned into something that shouldn’t have happened. And it turned into something that would stay with you forever. A funny word forever, because forever never is forever.

“Sign this, and your divorced will be finalized. All assets obtained during the marriage have been split, due to Mr. Taylor’s wishes.” Your lawyer says looking at you, sliding the papers across, while Roger’s lawyer speaks, “You will be comfortable, and well off Y/N. My client has been more than generous. In fact, I’ve never seen a settlement this amicable from the side of the main breadwinner .”

You sign the papers without any words, you don’t even look at Roger. You realize as you sign on the dotted line, this will be the last time you will use the surname you used for years. Funny how something you thought would never change, would be stagnant in your life just fades away. You then pass the papers across the table back to Roger’s lawyer, you watch as the lawyer slides the papers over to Roger for his signature.

And when Roger takes the paper, you stop breathing you wonder if his mind will change at the eleventh hour. But, he signs it without any hesitation. It’s a fluent and flawless movement, very unlike Roger- really. Part of you breaks at that, it was like he didn’t care he was closing the door on years of his life. Closing the door on you.

You stand up, smoothing out your wide legged pant suit. After the divorce, you had dipped your toes back into the world of working for a living. Putting that masters degree in business to use, and now it was time to separate yourself from the last of the rock n roll lifestyle you loved. And you turn to walk away, high heels on the marble floor when someone grabs your wrist turning you around.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N.” Roger looks at you with concern in his blue eyes. And you wonder if it’s for the friend he was losing, and not the marriage he let go of so easily.

You look at him, “I will. Don’t forget to wear your glasses, we both know you are blind. Don’t forget to call your mum once in while, she misses you. And try not to get so angry at the boys, they mean well.”

“Even after everything I’ve done, you don’t hate me.” You spot something in his eyes, you can’t put a name too. An emotion that seems out of place, it was almost looked like guilt and forlorn.

“I told you a long time ago, I could never hate you. No matter how much, I may want too. I just can’t.”

“You are too good, Y/N. I’ve forgot to remind myself of that. Maybe that’s why…” he drifts off, “Even those daft band mates of mine agreed. Never let me forget it. But, Im sure they are out to drive me mad!” He says with a small smirk.

“With the drum sets you destroy, I doubt the plan to make you mad.” You make a small sound, something between a strangled “hmph” and snort in retort.

“Same old, Y/N.”

“By the way, I have something to-”

“Roggiee!” A voice like a bell cuts through the hushed words you tell him.

You both turn to see a girl, or really a woman bounding toward y’all. And you look toward Roger, and you see the look in his eyes. A look that used to be reserved for you. And it clicked, the guilty look etched in his eyes, not even moments ago. The guilty look he wore that night. The whole reason your world was being upended and ruined. It was for her.

The bitterness filled you up, the way he could so easily toss you aside. The look you threw at Roger was one of pure resentment and unbridled rage.

“You lied.” Your hushed words, that come out through clinched teeth drip with a malice.

He looks at you with wide eyes, as if he was trying to shelter you from the truth. And you see that damned look again. “Y/N, please. I just couldn’t tell you.”

But before you can answer, she comes up with a smile on her pink lips and a twinkle in her dark brown eyes. “You must be, Roggie’s lawyer! I’m Gwen.” She smiles at you. And her smile is sickly sweet, and almost innocent.

It makes you want to scream, to throw something, to do something other than what you are doing.

“I’m Y/N, actually.” You extend your hand to her. Her eyes go wide, and she looks at Roger, who goes to her side immediately.

“Y/N, please listen.” He hold onto her side, and the whiteness of his knuckles against the material of her dark dress don’t go unnoticed by you. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with her.”

Gwen chimes in, “We honestly tried to stay away from each other, we just couldn’t. We were drawn to each other.”

If you weren’t so bitter, hurt, and angry perhaps the romantic side of you would find that notion tragic. You had read about it in books, and always rooted for the star-crossed lovers. But, now you were the collateral damage, you were the woman scorned.

“When we decided that what we had was something, I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell you that I was in love with someone else, when you were there from the start. I just didn’t want you to find out after I got back from tour-”

“He couldn’t see you broken like that.” Gwen finishes for him.

You can’t even begin to comprehend the information given, you were gobsmacked. You were completely barred raw, for everyone is this godforsaken lobby to see. And because of that, you selfishly did not want to see how genuinely happy he looked with someone else. Someone who wasn’t you. So, you used the words you knew would cut him to the bone. “So, you thought it was better to make me believe it was my fault you weren’t happy. That I was ignorantly living in one sided marital bliss, while you were falling in love with someone else? While you were planning to leave, I was planning for a life with you?” Your eyes are blazing, your face hot with rage, “You thought it was better to make me believe I was the problem? I can’t believe you! After everything I did for you? After putting my life on hold for you?! This is how you repay me? I deserved the truth, but you, the both of you took that from me.”

“I just-” He sighs, “I just wanted to be happy again, and when I’m with Gwen I’m happy. And I was going to tell you, I was going to tell you that day with the drapes. But, you then you uttered that damn promise. And what was I supposed to do? How could I break my best friend? I’ve always been the asshole to everyone, but you.”

“I love you.”

You look at Roger, his long blonde hair disheveled with bright blue eyes. “I love you too, you are my friend. My very best friend.” You bump your shoulder against his, and let out a giggle.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

You stare at him wide eyed, “Oh.”

“I have been for sometime.”

“Rog, I love you too. But, that doesn’t mean I want to date you. I know how you are, you will grow bored of me and find someone else. And love is sweet, but it’s not your nature. I don’t think I have it in me to me hate you, or to lose you. Please don’t make me lose my best friend.”

“You don’t get it, Y/N.” He looks at you like you hung the moon, and you like it. You crave that look. “I don’t want anyone else, it’s you. And I think it’s always been, and always will be you.”

“You promise? You promise it’s only me forever?” You bite your lip and stick out your pinky finger, like you had done so many times growing up.

“I cross my heart and hope to die.” He says as he raises your intertwined pinkies up to kiss it.

“And in that moment, I was back in Truro laughing with a curly haired little girl, and then I was in uni with that same girl, who was my best friend, I saw that girl. And, I couldn’t do that to her.”

You look at him, your face cold as stone. “I’m still that girl, I haven’t changed. You have. And that’s okay, it’s okay the change that’s life.”

That is how it ends, with a look of heartbreak on your face as the elevator doors close on the sight before you. And when the doors open, and you are greeted by the sight of the lobby. You realize, you didn’t even tell him what you wanted too.

Would it change anything?

#roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #queen imagines #roger taylor

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ashdumpsterpile · 4 years ago

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ASH’S TMA HURT/COMFORT/FLUFF REC LIST

For the gays. (And @damcrows who’s been dead for the past 24 hours. Rest in peace babe. Read some gay fic. Deny the inevitability of canon. <3)

___

the end, but the start (of all things that are left to do) by @ajkal2

Jon wakes up.

aka. mag200 tore out my heart

(Very smol, very short, very spoiler. Def recommend for anyone who just finished the podcast.)

remind me how to smile by @tamerofdarkstars

Jon is probably fine, just hiding out somewhere while the whole murder thing blows over and that's... fine. Martin is fine with that explanation. Really. He's got plenty to distract himself - like listening through the entire What the Ghost episode library, for example. Or watching Georgie Barker's Instagram livestreams.

(Yea this was in the last rec list, but you don’t understand THE ADMIRAL GIVES CUDDLES)

Chamomile by Dribbledscribbles

Whatever the ex-tea was, if it really had ever been that last bag of chamomile Martin claimed he’d found tucked in the back of the cupboard, it was fast now.

Martin had tried catching it, chasing it, blocking its way with shoebox lids and plates and an upended footstool, but the thing was just too quick. Jon knew as well as Knew that he might have left off the attempts completely if not for the creature’s preferred game.

The game was, See How Many Times I Can Push Martin Towards Cardiac Arrest Before He Comes at Me with The Broom.

(Scottish Honeymoon Era. Adorable and weird. A vampire gets harassed.)

hey stranger by @ennuijpg

It’s a late night Tesco run, how eventful could it be? It’s not like Martin is going to run into his boss who’s wearing something absurdly different from usual and get the most acute form of whiplash possible from seeing him, right?

(Martin runs into Jon at the grocery store and has an existential crisis.)

roses roses, roses. by @judesstfrancis

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses.

(Canon enemies to friends to lovers au-ish. Martin POV. Very pining much sweet.)

go softly by doomcountry

And there is nothing else besides this.

(More hurt/comfort than fluff. Scottish Honeymoon Era. Mild eye mutilation.)

Not Alone by @backofthebookshelf

After the coffin, Daisy and Jon are both fragile. They hold each other up.

(Post-buried Jon&Daisy starter pack. Very hurt/comfort.)

trust my love by antlsepticeye

“you… you’re real, aren’t you?” jon whispers, the fog slowly dissipating from his mind. “it is not a trick?”

“i’m here,” martin says softly, reaching up to grab jon’s hand that was resting on his cheek, intertwining his fingers with jon’s and squeezing. he moves jon’s hand to martin’s chest, resting it over his heart. “you’re alright. i’m alright. take your time, love. let’s just take some deep breaths, okay?”

(TOUCHSTARVED JON HAS ENTERED THE CHAT.)

reaching out by Athina_Blaine

By the time things settled, when Martin had finally managed to crack through his cold shell, feel some of his old self returning to him in bits and pieces, they had found their little routine.

One that had the two of them sleeping in the same bed, making breakfast, going to the mart. Where Jon reached for his wrist while they slept, and Martin luxuriated in the gentle warmth of his fingers.

But not one where Martin reached back. One that had Martin kissing Jon awake or taking his hand over the breakfast table, because ... Martin never had the courage to try. And then it never became a part of the routine.

And Martin desperately wanted it to be.

Martin and Jon have an important conversation.

(More Scottish Honeymoon Era for the soul. Hurt/comfort/fluff.)

Belabor by @janekfan

Jon's given the position of Archivist and is falling apart at the seams. Tim and Sasha are upset and playing games. Elias is overbearing and manipulative.

And poor Martin is stuck cleaning up the mess.

(THEE first fic I ever read for tma. Season 1, hurt/comfort/fluff, and hints of Jmartin. janekfan is the absolute master of seasons 1-3 hurt/comfort. This is my favorite, but pls check out the rest of their fics.)

tea, blankets, and a damnable stubborn attitude by ivelostmyspectacles

“Are you really gonna stay here and pester Jon all evening?”

“I’m not pestering him,” Martin retorted, sounding vehement if not busy going through the cupboards. “I’m heating up soup.”

“Oh, you might as well make him another cup of tea while you’re at it.”

“Oh, good idea.”

Jon shot Tim a withering look.

(The one where Jon is ill, Martin makes tea and they watch doctor who together. Fluff 1000%.)

A Kind Hand by @voiceless-terror

Jonathan Sims was adjusting just fine, thank you very much.

In which a minor workplace spill causes Jon to realize that he might have friends.

(Ah yes, the other master of seasons 1-3 fic aka voiceless-terror being my other fav author in the fandom. This one is also season 1 hurt/comfort/fluff.)

A Weather In The Flesh by @cuttoothed

"There is a span of years where Jon doesn’t touch anyone other than the occasional hand shake. It’s not so bad. He’s never been someone who’s needed physical affection."

Jon has never been any good at making people want to stick around.

(More touched starved Jon! Much hurt/comfort!)

Something Old, Something New by @cirrus-grey

Months have passed, and everyone is doing better than they were. Daisy and Basira are getting married, Melanie is feeling her old self, Georgie is as much herself as she has ever been, and even Jon has stabilized on his wild fall away from humanity. Everyone is doing better.

Well. Almost everyone.

(Daisy/Barsira wedding! Melanie is a bitch and we love her! Jmartin dance! Post-canon (almost) everyone lives!)

The Weight of Love by @voiceless-terror

Jon is a restless sleeper. Martin attempts to adjust.

(The fic where Jon is literally me and Martin attempts to sleep for 1k words.)

The Art of Conversation by @voiceless-terror

"Do you ever stop talking?"

Jon has a complicated relationship with words. Difficulties come and go.

(Jon has adhd and Martin is in love.)

Novelty by @backofthebookshelf

Jon experiences A Sexual Attraction; Martin has A Concern. They figure it out.

(Any fic that explores the ace spectrum is a 10/10. We stan all ace interpretations of jon on this blog.)

Half a Hug by Dathen

I know you weren’t going to hurt me, I trust you, he said again and again. And then a different kind of fear shone through, hollow and echoing: “Please don’t stop touching me."

Or: Life is hard when you're touch-starved but have trauma related to your closest friend. Spoilers through TMA 132.

(Honestly bless every author who saw jon&daisy and was like. They’re siblings. No I will not elaborate.)

the loneliness never left me (but i can put it down in the pleasure of your company) by Athina_Blaine

It was about Martin making Jon feel safe, treasured, and loved. And it had been so, so long since anyone made him feel that way.

And, in the face of it all, Jon was starting to flounder.

(At this point I just need to make separate rec list for Scottish Honeymoon Era.)

you can watch me corrode by scarletfish

"So, how long have you been pulling this shit then?"

"I… excuse me?" Jon’s indignant, certain she can’t mean what he thinks she means.

"When was the last time you ate?"

(Georgie decides Jon and Melanie need a normal day off. Jon learns that he and Melanie have more in common than he thought.)

(Look, Melanie isn’t my favorite person in tma, but she and Jon are like THE SAME PERSON and I adore fics that elaborate on their relationship.)

Out of the Wind, In From the Cold by @ostentenacity

There are two bedrooms in the safehouse, and two beds.

For a moment, Jon considers asking to share, but decides against it with a wince. “I really loved you,” Martin had told him. Loved. Past tense. And Martin doesn’t exactly have a lot of choices right now in terms of company; it would be cruel to demand he play at feelings he no longer has just to make Jon happy.

(For a moment, Martin considers asking to share. But he dismisses the idea with a shake of his head. Jon has already done so much for him. Martin isn’t about to ask for more, especially not when it’s something he doesn’t really need. He has his right mind back, and he has Jon’s friendship. That should be enough for him. It’ll have to be.)

---

Jon thinks that Martin doesn’t love him. Martin thinks that Jon doesn’t love him. They do not, of course, discuss this. Unrequited love is already awkward enough, right? No need to dwell on it.

(THEE SCOTTISH HONEYMOON ERA FIC. IT’S ABOUT THE PINING, BEING MUTUALLY OBLIVIOUS AND FALLING IN LOVE. 10000/10.)

I Do by @voiceless-terror

“I, um- this was supposed to be a lot more romantic, I swear.” Martin looks down at the dirty bar floor. “I had it all planned out, I-I was going to take you somewhere nice, and then we’d go for a walk in the square- I’ll still do it!” He hurries to explain, as if that’s the most pressing part of this situation. “It’ll be really nice, I’ve already hired a photographer-”

In a fit of protectiveness, Martin proposes to Jon.

(Everyone lives, Martin accidentally proposes and Jon is crying in public.)

________

#lmao follow for more fic recs #ash recs #ash's rec list #ash recs fics #tma fic list #tma fics #jmart #jmartin #jon sims #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tma fic recs

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theawkwardanglophile · 4 years ago

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The Tolerance Evaluation

Happy Fluff Crawlspace 2021! I was FINALLY able to write a fic for this special day. It’s actually one I’d started probably not long after the finale aired, but never went back to finish it. I always wanted a little more closure after Sheldon and Amy’s argument before their Nobel ceremony, so here it is. Enjoy, my friends. I love you all!

You can also read on FF here.

Sheldon's vision blurred as he watched the feathers on Amy's dress multiply. It had been an amazing but exhausting day. So many handshakes (much to his chagrin), interviews, photos, congratulations, and by the end of it all, so many hugs exchanged with their friends as they said goodnight, and Sheldon apologized for his behavior once more. After his speech earlier this evening, the gang had decided it was all water under the bridge anyway. It wasn't to Sheldon. He realized just how close he had come to losing all of them, and he was determined to appreciate his friends better from here on out.

And his wife.

If he was being honest, the biggest contributing factor to his exhaustion was this nagging fear that things still weren't right between him and Amy. Sure, she was fine during the ceremony, and every time their eyes met during all of the mingling and interviews, she'd given him a smile. But he wasn't convinced. They hadn't gotten a chance to talk alone since they were in their hotel room earlier when Amy had spoken words that had shaken him to his core.

He thought today would be perfect; finally winning the prize he'd sought after his whole life, with his brilliant wife standing proudly beside him sharing the victory. By all accounts, it was one of the best days of his life. But knowing there was a chance Amy might not be as happy in their marriage as he had believed left him rattled. He had to make this right.

They finally were able to return to their hotel room for the night. They were both so tired of talking that neither one said much on the way back.

Once the door was closed they began to change into their pajamas. Sheldon was quite ready to get out of his tuxedo, and he imagined Amy's feet were hurting from her fancy shoes.

They quietly went through their nighttime routines, Sheldon first, then Amy. He got in bed and waited for her to join him. Part of him just wanted to sleep and let this go until morning, but he didn't think he actually would sleep if he put it off.

Amy turned out the lights around the room except for the one by their bed and crawled into the covers. "Wow, we really did it," she said.

"We did," Sheldon agreed cautiously. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired, but I still have so much adrenaline. It might take me a little while to actually fall asleep."

"In that case, can we talk?"

Amy nodded.

"It's about what you said before the ceremony. When you told me sometimes you merely tolerate me."

"I'm sorry I said that. I was just frustrated."

"It scared me, Amy. Am I really that terrible to be around? I don't want to be that way. I don't want you to just tolerate me."

Amy shifted to face him better. "I wasn't trying to scare you, Sheldon. I just wanted you to open your eyes and see what you were doing to those around you."

Sheldon closed his eyes in frustration. "I honestly thought I had made progress with our friends over the past few years. You've helped me become a better friend, but obviously, I haven't mastered it yet. And I am sorry for the way I treated you, and everyone else."

Gently placing her hand on her husband's cheek, Amy said, "Look, you can be difficult to deal with sometimes, but our friends know this and still love you. And I love you, no matter what, remember? That will never diminish. You're the only one I would want to be with on this journey. You're the only one I wanted standing with me on that stage."

Sheldon reached out to wrap his arms around her, pulling her close, needing to feel her against him as relief swept through him. They were going to be ok. "Having you up there with me was the best part of the ceremony."

"And your speech was beautiful, by the way," Amy whispered, her head resting on his chest.

"Thank you. This night would never have even happened if it wasn't for you."

He could feel her smile into his pajamas as she said, "Part of me still doesn't believe it did happen. It hasn't fully registered yet."

"Neither has the fact that Leonard and Penny are having a child."

"I know! I'm so excited," Amy exclaimed. "Did Leonard really say that about their babies being smart and beautiful?"

Sheldon nodded. "He did, and then I added they would be imaginary."

"Sheldon!"

"Well, by all the information I had gathered, it didn't seem possible at the time. But I was…wrong, apparently."

Amy cast him a mischievous smile, as she fingered the hair at the base of his neck. "I was thinking…what if Leonard and Penny's child had a playmate to grow up with?"

"I suppose Halley and Michael will be suitable playmates eventually. Why are you asking this?"

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "I meant, what do you think about starting to try for our own baby?"

"Oh!"

"I mean, we just accomplished probably the biggest milestone of our careers. It seems like a good time, don't you think?"

Sheldon could see it all unfolding in his mind, a baby of their own, growing up with the baby of his best friends. He used to never think he would ever want this, but now it sounded like the most wonderful idea. He'd actually been ready to start their family for some time now but wanted to at least wait until the Nobel was behind them.

"If you're ready, Amy, then so am I."

They both leaned in for a kiss. Sheldon meant for it to be brief, but as soon as their lips met, his overwhelmed emotions took over. He wanted Amy to understand everything he was feeling in that moment, everything he had felt the entire day. His love for her had never been stronger.

They continued to deepen the kiss until Amy pulled back to blurt out, "Want to start now?"

Sheldon paused, trying to gather his thoughts.

Amy rushed on, "I, uh, don't know if you had anything on your schedule, if you're still making a schedule, but I want to be with you tonight if you'll have me."

"Amy, what kind of husband would I be if I didn't schedule celebratory lovemaking on the biggest night of our lives?"

Smiling, Amy leaned back in to kiss him once more. "I love you, Sheldon," she whispered against his mouth.

"I love you, Amy."

Nine months later, little Leonard Cooper arrived to upend their lives in the most wonderful way.

Biggest night of their lives, indeed.

#shamy #fluff crawlspace #sheldon x amy #tbbt #the big bang theory #big bang theory #sheldon cooper #amy farrah fowler #shamy fanfic #my fanfiction

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1dmonthlyficroundup · 4 years ago

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1D Monthly Fic Roundup

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for May 2021! Below the cut you’ll find 17 One Direction fics that were all published this month in the order they were submitted to the blog. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup.

New York Kiss by wordsnnotes / @quelsentiment

[Louis/Zayn, Mature, 47k, tumblr post]

“Also, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m quite the narcissistic type, and I didn’t want that cute guy to have a bad opinion of me for the rest of his life.” “Who, me?” Zayn bats his lashes jokingly, ignoring the fact that his heart skipped a beat at Louis’ words. “Yeah, you. So, shall we go?” Louis drops what remains of his cigarette on the floor and steps on it to light it off. Meanwhile, Zayn makes a reckless decision. “Alright. Lead the way, De Niro.”

Or: A strangers to lovers AU where Louis is an actor, Zayn is a writer (among other things), and they meet each other literally by accident in NYC, just as the world is about to turn upside down.

I Love The Very Blood Of You by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10

[Harry/Louis, Explicit, 129k, tumblr post]

“I don’t just like him …” Harry muttered, fiddling with the string at the waistband of his jogging bottoms that had definitely seen better days. “I love him, Zayn. I’m in love with Louis. With a vampire.”

He looked up just in time to see a small smile on Anne’s face, and she reached out with a hopeful look. Harry couldn’t resist, and put his large hand in hers, letting her comfort him for a moment.

“I could tell there was love between you,” she confessed softly, a light blush on her cheeks. “When I met you, I knew you were smitten with each other. I won’t pretend it doesn’t make me nervous, but … I can’t tell you who you can and can’t love, sweetheart.”

A vampire. A human. A broken arrangement. A love long since forbidden. Hunted by hate. Destined.

One More Taste of Your Lips by MsHydeStylinson @mizzhydes and @canadianlarrie

[Harry/Louis, Explicit, 80k, tumblr post]

It had been eight years since the hiatus began, and Louis had spent that time writing and recording music, touring and making it safely through the pandemic. When the opportunity arose to go back on tour with One Direction, Louis knew he'd be a fool not to take it. Sure, life on the road would be different after all this time apart, but he was looking forward to experiencing that comradery again.

What he hadn't realised was that living the better part of nine months in each other's pockets was bound to dredge up issues from his past. And when one of the pockets belonged to Harry, who he'd had a rather unconventional friendship with that drifted apart during their last tour, life on the road again would upend both their lives in irrevocable ways.

***

Harry wasn’t that sixteen year old boy anymore. Nor was he the young man in his late teens who was on the cusp of conquering the entire world.

But some traits seemed to remain the same; his vibrant green eyes, the dimples set deeply in his cheeks whenever he laughed earnestly, or his curls that were the same shade of cocoa that Louis remembered fondly.

And yet, Louis had absolutely no idea who this man that stood a mere twenty paces away was today.

take my hand, wreck my plans by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose

[Harry/Louis, Teen & Up, 38k, tumblr post]

Louis meets the man in the center of the room, feeling every eye on him.

“Mr. H,” he whispers.

The man smiles brightly and laughs as if he can’t believe his eyes. “It’s you,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Nor I you, especially under these circumstances.”

“Even so,” Mr H says, his eyes bouncing from Louis’ eyes to his lips. “Will you do me a great honor and join me in leading the first … um…”

“Dance?”

Mr. H laughs and nods. “Yes, that’s the one.”

Louis bites his lips and doesn’t hesitate before whispering, “Yes.”

Mr. H beams and reaches for Louis’ hand. Sparks fly at the touch and a zing of excitement shoots through Louis’ body. His face heats up as he’s afraid his scent would give away his feelings towards the other man.

Winter Light by wordsnnotes / @quelsentiment

[Liam/Zayn (Liam & Louis, Harry/Louis), Teen & Up, 58k, tumblr post]

“Do you think this place is dead?” he suddenly asked, his eyes focused on one of the two oaks, whose bark was grey and trunk cracked.

“What do you mean?” Zayn inquired, joining him by the tree.

“Well, it’s winter now, so obviously everything looks dead anyway,” Liam said. “But do you think come spring, this place might look like the way it looked before?”

Zayn took his time to think about Liam’s question. “I think all things are salvageable,” he eventually answered. “Including this garden. You just have to try hard enough.”

After his mother’s death, Liam is sent to live at his estranged uncle’s manor in the North of England, where new friends, mysterious places and family secrets await him. A Secret Garden inspired Soulmate AU

Cake and Kiss by @loulovehome

[Harry/Louis, General, 2k, tumblr post]

The one where omega Harry didn't like cake and wants to throw up when his alpha kisses him.

Love After the End of the World by writing_practice / @mercurial-madhouse

[Harry/Louis, Explicit, 150k, tumblr post]

“Wait. Just so I’m clear in me fucking noggin,” Niall says. “An international worldwide takeover is well under way and the only thing standing between having hot showers and a second end of the world is us five fuckers?”

-----

Society shattered when all electricity suddenly cut off across the globe, plunging the world into darkness. Now, Prometheus Industries is the sole remaining supply of power, a saving grace to those who survived Lights Out. As fugitives in no-man’s land struggling to break into Prometheus HQ, death lurks around every corner for Louis and Zayn. Things get complicated when a routine recon falls apart and Louis collides with Harry and his mates Niall and Liam, survivors with their own agenda.

When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

Hometown by @allwaswell16

[Louis/Harry, Not Rated, 2k, tumblr post]

On the day Harry gets his driver’s licence, he drives through the suburbs, heartbroken that he can’t drive home to Louis.

Baby Blues by @kingsofeverything

[Louis/Harry, Explicit, 12K, tumblr post]

8 mpreg Harry snippets originally posted on Tumblr. Mostly smut ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But If This Ends by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense

[Harry/Louis, Explicit, 107k, tumblr post]

Harry’s life as a vampire is routine. He spends his years moving around from place to place, learning as much as he can, and falling in love whenever the universe sees fit. When he tries to move his casual relationship with Louis to something more, it all gets turned on its head. As they navigate confusing thoughts and complex emotions, Harry finds himself torn between the love he feels for Louis and everything he thought he knew.

Featuring pet names, love letters, secrets, meaningful friendships, and two insecure boys desperately in love.

Pretty in Pink by lovelarry / @chloehl10

[Louis/Harry, Explicit, 18k, tumblr post]

“Love? Can I come in?”

Harry sniffed and shook his head before he realised Louis couldn’t see him. “No. Go home, Lou. Please.”

“I’m not leaving,” the Omega insisted, his voice full of concern. “And I’m not judging either. Just… talk to me, Haz.”

Harry briefly considered changing or at least ripping everything off and greeting Louis in his boxers before he realised that might actually be worse, that Louis had seen him dressed up and there was no need to hide anymore. He meekly shuffled over to the door and pulled it open before he backed away, refusing to meet Louis’ eyes.

To the Omega’s credit, he walked straight over to Harry and wrapped his arms around him from behind, resting his cheek between Harry’s shoulder blades.

“This top feels nice. Soft. I see why you like it,” Louis said quietly from behind him.

*****

Alpha Harry loves to secretly dress up and be pretty. He loves his feminine side, even if it’s not typical of an Alpha. But when Omega Louis finds out, it might just the start of something even more beautiful for them both...

Plant New Seeds In The Melody by @vintageumbroshirt / 28sunflowers

[Louis/Harry, Explicit, 58k, tumblr post]

After losing his husband in a tragic car accident, the last thing Louis needs is to keep running into popstar Harry Styles, who David was quite fond of.

Obviously, that’s exactly what keeps happening.

But as their unlikely friendship blossoms, Louis realizes that, maybe, having Harry in his life was the only good thing that came out of his adverse circumstances. Harry could be just the right person to help Louis find trust and intimacy in someone new.

We are the same, you run in my veins by @vintageumbroshirt / 28sunflowers

[Louis/Harry, General, 4k, tumblr post]

When the time for Louis to become the Alpha leader of his pack comes, he can’t rise to the occasion for not being yet bonded. A series of trips to neighbouring packs in search of his soulmate is fruitless until he meets one of the other packs’ Alpha heir.

Harry.

The world seems to stop turning for a second and then it shifts, clicking into its axis. All the distress and wrongness he felt until that very moment suddenly disappears. Louis is finally whole.

But two Alpha leaders from different tribes soulbonding is something unheard of before.

evergreen, evermore by docklands / @hershelsue

[Louis/Harry, General, 2k, tumblr post]

The year is 1979. Their entire lives, Harry and Louis have lived in Chichester, home to the best watermelons in the world. An unruffled life in the country has always served their long term friendship well. It all shifts when Harry has to move away to a bigger city due to his mother’s job, albeit his love for his hometown and for Louis. It’s even harsher when the moving truck leaves on his birthday, of all days. When all seems lost, Louis ends up having to pull some strings to ease the pain in Harry’s heart.

When The High's Too High, and the Low's Too Low by DaysLikeMasquerades

[Louis/Harry, Mature, 22k+ (wip)]

Two perspectives of growing up neurodivergent

Some days Harry wondered if he would ever find a friend who could look past all the things he couldn't change. Someone who didn't care that he could spend hours talking about his latest fascination without calling him obsessed. Who didn't laugh when he couldn't stop his hands from expressing his emotions. Who didn't care that he was 13, but he'd start crying if he went into too many stores, because they were too bright, too loud, too smelly, and it was all just too overwhelming. Some days he thought someone like that just didn't exist.

Most nights Louis wondered if there would ever come a time when he didn't hate himself. When he would learn to control his emotions and the mood swings that seemed to take over everything and leave no room for himself. He wondered how he could live with himself when he only seemed to hurt the people he loved. His teachers thought he was a wonderful boy, but he knew the truth. Most nights he cried himself into exhaustion wondering how it was possible to feel so broken at only 15. He wanted to be happy, but he didn't know how and that scared him more than anything. Most nights he just hoped he could figure it out before it was too late.

Make You Never Wanna Leave (so Don’t) by @beelou / cherrylarry

[Louis/Harry, Explicit, 3k, tumblr post]

“You look hot in plaid.” “What?” “I said you look like a dad.” “No, you didn't.” “Yes, I certainly did, Harold. You have no proof.” -- Or, the one where Harry wears plaid.

a little tenderness by @disgruntledkittenface

[Harry/Niall, Not rated, 10k, tumblr post]

“Listen, my alpha and I broke up and it turns out that all of our friends were really his friends and I need someone to help me through–”

“No,” Harry practically shouts, the word bursting out of him unbidden. He cringes when he sees the shock on Niall’s face, his pale skin flushing lightly. “I’m sorry, but my answer has to be no. I don’t help omegas through heats. I’m really sorry, Liam knows that, so I don’t know why he would give you the idea–”

“It’s not heat, Harry,” Niall interrupts. “It’s depri.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

Touch deprivation makes a lot of sense now that Harry thinks about it. Niall seems generally unwell; he appears to be weak, his skin is pallid and his lips look chapped, and his breathing is ragged. He’s wearing a cozy-looking sweatshirt, but even over FaceTime, he kind of seems cold, hunched over with his arms wrapped around his body. Harry’s never been around an omega in depri as bad off as Niall looks; most of the time, there’s an alpha friend or family member who can help out with scenting and physical contact.

Oh.

#28th appreciation #tracksintheam #trackinghome #1dsource #fic rec #may 2021

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thesleepiesthufflepuff · 4 years ago

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My Favorite Fics 2020

Alrighty. I read a decent amount of fanfiction this year (mostly thanks to Wizards Hearts/Game of Drarry), and I’m here to list out some of my very favorites. Thank you to all of the creators out there who put so much time, effort, and energy into creating beautiful stories, and here’s to lots of reading in the new year 💜 also, this is in no particular order and all rec notes are from my personal fic tracker spreadsheet (if anyone wants details on how I set up my spreadsheet, etc. please feel free to send an ask!) 💕

1) Change on the Horizon by Static_abyss / @static-abyss [Explicit, 118.6k,]

When things settle down after the war, Harry has trouble figuring out who he’s supposed to be and what’s expected of him. At the same time, Draco finds himself having to decide between what his parents want and what he wants for himself. Together, Harry and Draco embark on a journey to figure out who they are as individuals and what that means for their future together.

A canon AU drarry fic based on the relationship between Mickey and Ian from Shameless.

Hands down one of the best fics I've ever read. Ana did the most amazing job at translating Micky and Ian's relationship to Harry and Draco, although it’s definitely not necessary to know Shameless in order to enjoy the story. The writing is stunning, and I loved every single bit of this

2) I’ll Play Your Game by JayseHasNoGrace [Mature, 52.2k]

After quitting the Auror department at the ripe old age of twenty two, Harry Potter finds a nice, uneventful job in an apothecary. At least, it's uneventful until his old rival Draco Malfoy comes into the shop.

They strike up an unlikely friendship, which evolves into an increasingly convoluted scheme, which then snowballs spectacularly out of control into a tangle of lies and blurred lines.

They'd agreed to a fake relationship — in Harry's case, to get the wizarding world to take him off his 'perfect saviour' pedestal, and in Draco's case, just to be given a chance in wizarding society at all — but neither of them expected just how difficult that might really turn out to be. Especially when the stakes grow ever higher, and they both start falling for each other. Just a little bit.

FAKE DATING!!! Ugh, this was so good. I love the media aspect of it, and the way that everything comes together is just brilliant. A must-read for anyone who loves fake dating!!

3) I Can be Your Lighthouse by orpheous87 / @orpheous87 [Teen, 4k]

When Harry gets called to investigate reports of Dark magic, the last thing he expects to find is an almost unconscious Draco Malfoy. After multiple instances, he resolves to find out what's going on.

inspired by the song The Lighthouse by The Used.

So, so sweet. I love Harry's determination to figure out what's going on. This is such a lovely fic, and I enjoyed every minute of it

4) Freedom to be by Quicksilvermaid / @quicksilvermaid [Explicit, 169.5k]

Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived.

12 years after the war, he's become the Boy Who Lived For Everyone Else. He has the perfect wife. The perfect house. The perfect job. The perfect friends.

Only nothing feels perfect.

Until one day he stumbles across a club called Release and begins a journey of self-discovery that takes him to a very different place.

This left such an impact on me, and it’s a fic I think about often. I can't even begin to explain how incredible everything about this is.

5) Dear Diary by AWickedMemory (TeddyLaCroix) [Teen, 20.4k]

// This can’t possibly go worse than the last time I kept a diary. //

After the war, Harry picks up a journal to write in… and it writes back. Luckily, it’s not a Horcrux on the other end this time.

Absolutely amazing. The relationship that develops between Harry and Draco as they write to each other was so soft and wonderful, and I would easily read 100k of this!

6) Grounds for Divorce by Tepre [Explicit, 122.2k]

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.

A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

I loved this. It was so angsty at times, but well worth it. An absolute classic that I’m so pleased to be able to say I’ve read.

7) Nero Su Bianco by Zuzallove [Explicit, 40.5k]

September 1997. Hogwarts is under the regime of Voldemort and the Carrows. Finding himself alienated by both his friends and his supposed enemies, Draco puts quill to parchment, and writes letters. He addresses them to the only person he can think of, as Hogwarts rapidly falls into chaos and ruin: Harry Potter. He goes to great lengths to ensure the letters are never discovered, and he’s pretty certain he’s done a great job.

Until the day of his trial.

The letters were so much fun to read, even though they were heartbreaking at times. I loved Draco’s characterization in this, as well as how his relationship develops with Harry.

8) Thunder by Keyflight790 [Explicit, 21.5k]

The storm will disappear; the rain will subside; but what's left in its wake will last forever. A story of love and loss, redemption and thunder

I really loved how well Draco's addiction was written. I'm not a huge fan of past relationships, but this was done in such a beautiful way. Plus, talking to dragons!!!

9) dirtynumbangelboy by magpie_fngrl [Explicit, 39.4k]

After Harry’s unfortunate encounter with his ex, Draco Malfoy makes him a proposition. Draco wants his parents to stop matchmaking him and Harry wants to make his ex jealous. All they need to do is simply pretend they’re in love. Problem is… Draco already is.

Amazing. This has absolutely sucked me into the world of fake dating. I could ramble about this forever, to be honest. Simply incredible, and I love how snarky their relationship was. It was the epitome of a good Drarry fic.

10) just tell me when it’s alright by M0stlyVoid / @bonesliketambourines [Explicit, 23k]

Harry’s been fighting tooth and nail for any bit of normalcy he can get his hands on. He’s sick of feeling like something’s wrong with him, tired of feeling different. He thinks he’s finally gotten to the root of it, and has settled into a routine that makes him happy. Naturally, that’s when Draco Malfoy walks back into his life and upends it once again. Has Harry bitten off more than he can chew with his former rival?

YES!! I genuinely loved Harry’s clinginess. This fic was absolutely amazing, and the secret dating was lovely. Plus, bi awakening!!

11) When Hippogriffs and Pygmy Puffs Collide by oldenuf2nb [Mature, 32.7k]

Harry Potter bakes cakes, brilliantly. Draco Malfoy inks tattoos, brilliantly. Owls deliver post, including messages from clients, with an occasional lack of brilliance.

I was really surprised at how much I loved this, especially since I’ve not really read many fics with odd jobs. I absolutely adored the fact that Harry was a baker and Draco was a tattoo artist, and the characterizations were absolute perfection

12) You Send Me (Honest You Do) by firethesound [Explicit, 37k]

As far as potion accidents go in general, and deaging incidents go in particular, Draco knew this could have been so much worse. Harry only lost about ten years, and all his memories are still intact. But the sight of him looking as if he’s stepped straight out of Draco’s Hogwarts memories has dredged up a whole mess of complicated feelings Draco thought he’d buried years ago, and Draco really doesn’t know what to do with any of it.

I absolutely adored this, and I thought the de-aging aspect was done is such a tasteful way. Such a good read.

13) Highly (in)Compatible by daisymondays [Teen, 36.8k]

Draco’s been shagging The Prat Who Lived on and off for a few months when his soul mark starts to change. Draco’s had to accept a lot of adjustments to his life, but accepting that Harry Potter could be his soulmate is one step too far. It can’t be true? Can it?

I LOVED THIS! Oh man, that ending! Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant

14) Kiss the Joy (Until the Sun Rise) by ICMezzo [Mature, 37.8k]

The Room of Requirement was severely damaged in the war, but not so much that it could not provide for one lost student and another young hero—especially when they needed each other most of all.

An amazing, beautiful, tender fic! The ROR has given them the gift of each other, and I honestly love that it's just the two of them and no other characters. An incredible and soft read

15) December Never Felt So Wrong by MaesterChill / @maesterchill [Explicit, 50k]

'Twas the month before Christmas and sixteen year old Draco Malfoy had never felt worse. His attempts to kill Dumbledore were failing and, as usual, Harry Fucking Potter was a constant thorn in his side.

All that suddenly changed when Draco woke up 15 years in the future and discovered that not only was he allegedly shagging Harry Fucking Potter, he also had thinning hair and a five year old son, and no fucking clue how he got there.

Truly brilliant, and I was laughing from the start. The combination of the aging up, Harry’s off-tune singing to Muggle songs, and soft parenthood were all things I immediately fell in love with. Will be reading again and again

16) Catch Me If I Fall by keeli_marie [Explicit, 38.2k]

When Draco Malfoy collides with Harry Potter one morning while dropping the kids off at school, things don’t go quite the way either of them would have expected.

Another absolute gem, and I'm still reeling from how amazing it was. I'm always a bit hesitant with kid fics, but this is one of the best depictions of love between Harry and Draco that I've read. I love how supportive Astoria is. Such a lovely fic

16) Love Found by Peachpety / @peachpety [Explicit, 7.5k]

During Harry’s sixth year, Draco Malfoy joins the Order as a double-agent and continues with his task to get the Death Eaters into the castle as assigned by Voldemort. Draco succeeds with his mission the evening Harry returns from the caves with Dumbledore. The boys reunite on the Astronomy Tower and, with the Death Eater’s arrival, are forced to engage in a fight, driving Harry to come to terms with his feelings about true friendship and romantic love.

SUCH a good rewrite of the astronomy tower scene. I can’t describe how much I love the pre-existing relationship, which is a trope I typically steer clear from. And the snark!!! Such a good fucking fic

17) Taro Milk Tea with a side of Depression by Veelawings / @veelawings [Mature, 1k]

Draco sat through twenty grievous minutes of Ministry-mandated group therapy for Newly Registered Magical Beings & Creatures — then promptly stormed out.

Okay, I loved this. The play format was so cool and fit the narration so well. Absolute perfection and SO. GOOD.

18) The Dragon At The Bottom Of The Garden by Zopno [Explicit, 52.3k]

At 25 Harry Potter's life was simple; he flew, sculpted, and had the vault in the back of his mind to keep all unpleasant business. It was stable, but when Draco Malfoy literally hit him with a giant rock; all that changed.

I loved the storyline, especially Animagus bird Harry!! This was such a unique take on an Animagus and post-war fic, and I loved reading it so much

19) Exposure by GallaPlacidia [Mature, 26.9k]

When Seamus uncovers Draco Malfoy's camboy profile, he, Harry and Ron decide to anonymously book a private show so as to humiliate him later. Fascinated by Draco's confidence, Harry keeps booking private shows under the disguise...

Self prompt: Draco is a camboy. Harry betrays him.

I can't give this enough praise. The hurt of it all was so brilliant. A new favorite for sure

20) you've got the antidote for me by Kandakicksass [Mature, 20.7k]

When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want.

He's never been selfless before, but for Harry, he can try.

Fuck. Like...fuck. This was so sad and angsty and perfect in all the right ways. Watching everything unfold was so painful but so worth it. Another new favorite

21) A Room Up There (And You In It) by thestarryknight [Teen, 59.2k]

When Preservationist Draco Malfoy was assigned to work on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he was excited to delve into the gorgeous Black family antiques. His excitement quickly ended when something in the House decided it did not like his presence one bit. Featuring a grumpy antiques lover who most certainly did not sign up for this, encounters with a vengeful apparition, and a healthy application of Christmas spirit.

Absolutely fucking fantastic. This fic reads intimacy all over, despite there being no sex. I love preservationist Draco and the way in which information about Harry unfolds. I can’t say enough how much I loved this advent fic, and Starry did such a great job

And now for three fics that I have yet to read/need to emotionally prepare myself for:

1) Modern Love by Tackytiger / @tackytigerfic [Explicit, 61.2k]

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.

And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what's he doing right, that Harry isn’t?

Because things don’t really change, do they? And if Harry can’t be happy, he’ll settle for a good night’s sleep, some posh antiques, and the opportunity to find out what Malfoy has been up to for all these years.

And that’s what starts it all.

2) Dragons Don't Know Paradise by tainara_black / @teacup-tai [Explicit, 50.9k]

In 2004, when Remus spends two scary weeks in the ITU due to complications of pneumonia and his HIV condition, Sirius walks around the house like a ghost and Harry finds comfort and strength in Draco through a chat in an online LGBT forum. Harry falls for him, but Draco has a lot of secrets and, before long, will need to come clean—even if he believes that no one is able to understand a dragon.

This is a story about falling in love online and about facing the reality of death, but above all, this is a story about hope, finding love and acceptance. (Non-magical / bookshop AU, written for the 25 days of Drarry 2020)

3) Aeternus Solem by onbeinganangel / @onbeinganangel [Explicit, 36.9k]

On December 1st, Harry Potter gets sent halfway across the world to attempt to break a possibly fatal curse on an unnamed British Unspeakable — except said Unspeakable is not unnamed at all and Harry has been in love with him for over four years.

{If anyone spots any mistakes in this list, PLEASE let me know! I hope you all have a lovely New Year’s, and may 2021 be less of a dumpster on fire than its predecessor 💜}

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco x harry #harry x draco #drarry fanfiction #drarry fic recs #drarry favorites #fay recs

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