#She’s my favorite I can’t help but spoil her with pretty woman!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

separatist-apologist · 2 years ago

Text

Red Earth & Pouring Rain

Remember what we found? No one can ever take that away. Something forever.

Summary: When Feyre's father tries to set her up with one of his high society friends' sons, Feyre does the only thing that makes sense in the moment: she fakes a Scottish fiánce. Writing him letters detailing her escapades, Feyre never expects anyone to read them. But when a mysterious uncle leaves her and her sisters three scattered castles, Feyre's forgotten fiánce appears on her doorstep, determined to make an honest woman of her yet.

Or- that time Rhys fell in love with a stranger writing him letters.

Big thanks to Unhinged Bookclub for help with the moodboard and @the-lonelybarricade for being my UK consultant (which consisted mostly of me asking about swear words)

Part 1/2: I've Got Something Burning, Coursing Through These Cold Veins | Read on AO3

Dear Rhysand Campbell-

Today is my sixteenth birthday, which ought to be cause for celebration. I want to be happy about it, but I’m not and I can’t tell anyone. My sisters already think I’m terribly spoiled and my father probably would, too, if he ever cared enough to notice me. Ugh, that sounded spoiled, too. Maybe they’re right. I don’t suppose you understand.

Of course you don’t. You aren’t real. And I guess there’s no danger in telling you about this miserable birthday party (if you could even call it that) or worrying you’ll think I’m spoiled and a miserable brat (like my older sister accused me of) (don’t worry, I pulled out one of her extensions in front of Tomas Mandray which…in retrospect…maybe proved her right on the miserable brat front. It was pretty funny, though. Even Elain cracked a smile.).

It all started with my father. He woke up one morning a month ago, looked me straight in the face, and asked me how old I was. I didn’t know what to say (I might have forgotten), so Elain told him I would be sixteen in a month. And he said we should celebrate, which made me so happy. I rattled off a list of things I wanted to do, and I thought he was listening.

I should have known he wasn’t when he put Elain in charge of planning. It’s not that Elain is malicious, she’s just…prim. Perfect, really. The sort of daughter he actually wants, I think because she doesn’t make a lot of fuss and maintains his calendar for him like mother used to (she died when I was nine).

And I definitely should have known we were NOT going camping when Elain had me measured for a dress. She looked so apologetic and I couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings when I know she’s trying really hard to fill the gap mom left when it comes to me, even if it makes her spineless when it comes to dad. And I could have asked Nesta to ruin it, but I guess I’m a little spineless, too.

So by the time the day arrived, it’s this huge party for all of dads friends, one of whom is running for parliament and needs money. And I look so very stupid in a floor length ball gown and—I am not joking—a jeweled tiara while all these old men in their fifties whore themselves out for cash. There was a cake (five tiers and chocolate, which is my favorite flavor, at least), there was singing, and of course the aforementioned incident in which several of Nesta’s extensions were pulled from her head unceremoniously.

Some leering prick told me I was a woman now. Well, he said it to my breasts, not really me. What is it about men that makes them think that’s a normal thing to do? Am I supposed to be flattered? Elain whisked me away, a smile plastered on her face and when I asked her how she stands it, she only laughed and said, “Oh Feyre.” Like I was the silliest person in the world.

She looked like a princess, and I don’t envy her for it. Every man our father is friends with is trying to trick or trap her into marriage. I think she could be a princess like Kate Middleton if she had the interest.

Anyway.

Father made some grand speech right before the cake cutting, where he talked about peace and, for some unknown reason, Brexit. He also thanked God for our monarchs, which, I didn’t realize he was that religious but I guess for this crowd, he is.

You know what he didn’t do? Say thank you for his daughters? Imagine, blessing Charles but not the daughters who enrich his life. Nesta was gripping a steak knife so tightly I thought she might actually stab him and Elain’s eyes were glassy and sad, even with that plastered smile.

And despite how Nesta thinks I’m a miserable brat, she DID stand up and demand everyone sing me happy birthday. And Elain led everyone in an off-key rendition of the song, which was nice. Serving staff cut the cake, and there were, of course, no candles.

Happy sixteenth birthday to me.

And at the very end of the night, some lord (I think—honestly, I wasn’t even listening at that point, I was just thinking about getting those miserable shoes off my feet) told father that his son was single, and also sixteen. I could see father's interest peak and I can’t be like Elain. She’s always letting those awful boys take her on dates, and they always make her cry. So I blurted out,

“Actually, I have a boyfriend.”

Father asked who, but already he didn’t care. So I said the most made-up, Scottish name I could think of—Rhysand Campbell. Maybe you do exist, somewhere. Actually, there are probably hundreds of you, though who's counting? What’s important is that YOU, Rhysand Campbell, are not real and this address is to a post office in the middle of nowhere Scotland. I expect it’ll be shredded. Perhaps the mail worker will read it and have a laugh at my expense.

Still.

Thank you for saving me tonight.

All the best,

Feyre Archeron

Dearest Rhysand–

I didn’t think I’d write to you again, but I think I have to confess my lies, and you are the only person I know who won’t judge me.

Of course, you’re fake, but in my mind you’ve become a little real. Everyone wants to know how we met, and if you’re curious why they would ever want to know that, well, you are very convenient. You see, most girls my age want to date. And in some ways, so do I. There are some very handsome boys, nice boys, even.

But none of my family approves of. If they found out I slept with Isaac Hale, I think they might actually kill me. He’s a fishmonger, which is a very real job thank you very much. It only sounds fake and like something from an eighteenth century book because of the word monger. Which made me laugh the first time I heard it. Anyway, I thought maybe it was better to just get things over with, and he really was so nice that I just…kept going back.

He has a girlfriend now, and I’m trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt my feelings a little. Even though I know I could never bring him home. Nesta would sneer and call him smelly and Elain…well, Elain would probably be nice but her eyes would be pitying. So maybe it’s for the best.

I’m sidetracked again.

So Isaac has his girlfriend from Milton Keynes, which I am absolutely NOT jealous of, even if her eyebrows made her look insane. I admit, I was brooding which Elain says is going to give me frown lines around my mouth. And of course father took that moment to stroll in and say he knew just the thing that would cheer me up.

That thing??? A MAN. In what world has a man’s presence ever made a woman feel better? Even Elain turned her head to roll her eyes, thinking no one saw. Nesta was in a mood, though I didn’t ask why—I don’t care, so long as she keeps yelling at father on my behalf. She told him seventeen was too young to worry about marriage, which made him remember that Elain is nineteen and Nesta is twenty-one, so I suppose we’ll all be dealing with that fall out later.

But the Lord of Rose-something-or-other has a son. Tamlin? Timothy? I was not paying attention. What I did say, was, “You know I’m dating someone already. I’ve told you all about him.”

I probably could have gotten away with that if Nesta and Elain weren’t in the room. We talk more frequently and they’ve never once heard me say your name. Of course Elain was fascinated, and Nesta was suspicious. Father is far easier to gaslight.

“Ah, yes,” he said, that liar. “Remind me, who’s son is he?”

And I said, of course, that you were no one’s son, but just a regular Scottish man.

Nesta, that traitor, narrowed her eyes. He can always tell when I’m lying. “Oh? How did you meet this London-living Scotsman?”

Murdering your sisters is a crime. I’m saying that as a reminder to myself, because if she invented a fake suitor to get father to leave her alone, I would have gone along with it. So I said we met in a tea shop. I made you charming. I said you saw me from across the room and couldn’t help yourself. In this fictional meet-cute, you were enamored at first sight, and I, of course, believed you were the most handsome man I’d ever seen (I did not mention that because I was talking to my father).

That was important, because NO ONE thinks that about me. They think it about Elain, who is so beautiful it makes my teeth ache, and they might think it about Nesta if her eyes didn’t promise violence all the time. But not me. And I have mostly made my peace with it, but it would be nice if there was one man who didn’t prefer my sisters to me.

Even if I have to make him up in order for that to happen.

He told me to invite you to dinner. Please, oh please, Rhysand Campbell, will you do me the honor of dining with my dysfunctional family? Father will want to know all about your father, and if your family could be of use to him and his shipping business. And Nesta will hate you on principle alone, while Elain won’t be able to help but like you.

Of course I like you, if only because you are not real.

It’s a shame you can’t make it because you’re heading back to Edinburgh to take care of a sick relative. You’re so compassionate, so selfless. This is why I like you.

Thank you (again) for rescuing me. Too bad you’re just me, rescuing myself,

Your beloved,

Ferye Archeron

Darling Rhysand,

Last names are formality by now, don’t you think? I’ve officially taken things too far. The nice thing about being overlooked is everyone kind of forgets what you’re doing (or that you exist), which means you and I have been happily dating for the last two and a half years. If I go out with someone else, no one questions it because they assume I’m seeing you.

And no one cares that they haven’t met you, because you’re some nobody they assume I’ll eventually tire of. Which would be all well and good if I hadn’t blurted out, in front of god and EVERYONE, that you asked me to marry you. Let me set the scene:

I panicked.

Okay, I guess I didn’t need to set much at all. It was another party and as you can guess, I was in another stupid dress. Have you ever seen Gone With the Wind? You know those kinds of dresses? That’s how I feel, no matter how sleek and lovely the dress actually is. And I know I look perfectly fine in them, but I feel out of sorts. Like a doll, like someone who LIKES when men stare down my dress despite their wife right beside them, and tell me I’m beautiful.

They never say that when they’re looking at my face.

Anyway, do you remember Tamlin? Well, he’s a baron and his father and an MP, despite having so much money he doesn’t need to work (I suspect he just misses when the nobility could boss around the english populace), and he is quite taken with me. Rhys (can I call you Rhys? I feel like since you proposed I could probably call you that), he’s actually really handsome, too. The first time I saw him, I almost considered breaking things off with you. No hard feelings, of course, it’s just…you’re not real.

But he’s duller than dry paint. BEIGE dry paint. We have nothing to talk about, and believe me, I’ve tried. I thought if I could get him to talk to me for even thirty minutes, we could get naked.

But it’s like pulling my own teeth, dragging answers out of this man.

And, between you and me, he once told me “your hair looks clean” as a compliment. He couldn’t even lie and say I was pretty? So you and I continue our romance, implausible as it is. Tamlin’s father was saying how handsome we’d be, and Tamlin jumped in to ask me on a very public date and I am a coward, I think.

Because I said, “Rhysand proposed.”

And Nesta burst out laughing, the bint. It was Elain, eyes brimming with hope and pleasure—she so badly wants to see one of us do whatever we like, father be damned—who asked to see the ring.

Of which there isn’t one. So I’ve made you poor, I’m so sorry. I lied and said you didn’t have one, because you were working toward affording something nice and of course I don’t care about it (because I don’t). Father demanded to meet you and Tamlin was humiliated (a silver lining to this whole affair, truly).

Any reasonable person would have just confessed the whole plot right then and there. But I am not reasonable, my darling fiance. I am, I think, a little crazy because I slipped out the next morning and purchased a ring myself from Boodles, and since I bought it, it was perfect. Nothing terribly fussy—a sapphire cut in the shape of a diamond, with little diamonds haloed overtop, like falling stars. Set on a delicate silver band, it really is quite lovely.

I showed father, who was rather impressed with it. I lied and said it had belonged to your mother, who was so overjoyed at the thought of getting a daughter that she solved your ring dilemma on the spot.

It doesn’t fix the problem of everyone wanting to meet you, of course.

Our engagement is going to be short lived, I think—just as soon as I can figure out what to do next. If I’m not careful, I’ll be saying I eloped and then what?

What then, indeed.

Yours, faithfully,

Ferye

Rhys,

Well.

It’s officially over. Why am I so sad? You were never anything more than a figment of my imagination, and yet telling my family you had ended things drew real tears from me. Elain comforted me, and Nesta called you a self-serving asshole, which is her way of assuring me she loves me. Father, of course, just barely remembered you existed despite the ring I’ve been wearing for a full year. I tucked it in a box as a token of how far I’m willing to commit to a lie (and because it was pretty expensive, and I don’t think I can return it).

Even though you’re fake, I didn’t have the heart to make you an asshole. I said your mother had become gravely ill and you had to care for her. That it was with your deepest regrets you ended things—that you thought I deserved someone who could be in London fully, and you would always regret me.

Nesta called it “typical male bullshit,” so I suppose she believes me now. Or she’s willing to pretend, given how sad I am. I’m mostly sad that I think I should probably stop writing to you. I’m twenty, now, and I think it’s time to stop indulging in my fantasies and be real. I’m nearly finished with school, and I should devote more time to paintings.

And besides, Elain is practically engaged, which has taken the pressure of marriage off Nesta and I, for now. Lord Graysen Nolan. How I wish you were real, because you would think he was a total twat, too. Nesta begrudgingly tolerates him because Elain is so head over heels, but he is awful. A scourge, a plague upon mankind and CERTAINLY upon my beautiful sister. He’s going to dump her in some ancient country estate, fill her with babies, and crush her into dirt and she can’t even see it.

He is handsome and charming, though, and he has my sister wrapped around his finger. I think it’s because he doesn’t think she’s beautiful—though, I think he says so in his effort to break her down. She is so used to everyone finding her impossibly lovely that the first man who insults her is worthy of her heart.

I’m rambling again. Anyway, this is my official break-up, fake boyfriend slash fiance. I have loved you, though you never existed. You were the perfect man (because you were fake), and I’m not sure how any others will compare. Maybe I’ll try boring Tamlin again.

What’s funny is that we could have been together, if you’d been actually real. Some dead uncle gifted my sisters and I three castles—one apiece—and mine is in the Scottish highlands. Isn’t that wild? He was my mothers uncle, so technically an uncle twice removed? I’m not sure how that works, honestly. But in his will, he left us each a castle in need of repair to do with as we like. Elain has dreams of turning hers (of course it’s located in the English countryside) into a charming bed and breakfast while Nesta wants to live in it as, and this is a direct quote, “the local bog witch all the children are afraid of.”

As for me, well…I’m not entirely sure what to do with it. I intend to go visit at the end of the month with my paints to see if inspiration might strike. I admit, I’m curious about a real life castle—maybe I will start a farm and remove myself from society instead. Everyone will ask (no one would, because that would require remembering I exist, but lets pretend they would), “What ever happened to Feyre Archeron?”

And my father would be forced to tell them I own a multitude of cows. All of which are named—and perhaps even treated like my children. Who can say? I am not sure if I’m cut out for livestock, or farming or even castle living. Maybe I’ll make it a museum or something else that requires little effort on my part.

The caveat seems to be fixing it up. I can do that, I suppose.

This whole letter is rambling. It is supposed to be me telling you goodbye, and putting this whole messy affair behind me. Thank you for being my only friend, which I recognize is pathetic. I hope the postal worker who has been reading these takes pity on my plight, however pathetic it was.

I will think of you fondly.

Yours, forever,

Feyre

Feyre wiped her nose on the back of her hand, breathing rather hard for someone who was in decently good shape. Six months since she’d moved to the highlands, thinking replacing the inner workings of a centuries old castle would be easy. Replace the plumbing and the floors, rework the electric, and fix the broken glass and she’d be done.

If only. Every day there was some new, horrible discovery. Bats in the attic and rodents in the cellar. A crumbling foundation that had to be nearly rebuilt. A leaking roof that flooded water into the great hall, which then ruined all the flooring Feyre had installed, causing it to be ripped up and replaced again.

It cost a small fortune before the sprawling structure was decent enough to sleep in, let alone live in. And though she had her uncles inheritance to go along with fixing the god forsaken castle. Of course, that money was only for castle repair, and was just barely enough. She’d used her fathers money, too, a paltry sum given just how much of it he had to give away when it was for one of his friends or some do-nothing politician looking to cut taxes in a way that personally benefited her father.

Feyre also considered she was far luckier than Elain, who’s castle came with a rather surly occupant that swore he also owned the castle—and after a little digging through legal records, was found to be correct. Feyre would have lost it if she had to compromise at all.

Except, now she had a nearly finished castle she had no idea what to do with. As it turned out, Feyre did not have the aptitude for farming like she’d hoped, and rather missed living in the city—though, she didn’t miss London. She missed people, and things to do, but not London itself.

There were enough rooms to turn it into a hotel, like Elain was considering. Feyre also thought it made a rather nice venue for people looking to host events or get married. The view of the Scottish highlands was breathtaking, and the castle itself was really nice. Stone on the outside, mostly modern on the inside. Full, working plumbing so long as no one shoved too much toilet paper into the drains, claw baths, and big, four poster beds in circular rooms overlooking the hillside. There was a full, working kitchen Ferye had never used, a ballroom, a grand hall, dungeons—anything a person might want, if she could only figure out how to market it.

It was just a passing idea. For now, Feyre was living in it with a small, paid staff to keep herself fed and the bats from sneaking back in.

It was pure privilege to spend her days painting, and yet Feyre felt like she’d earned it. Without her father and his obnoxious social circle breathing down her neck, she could run wild like she’d always wanted to. She had a little hammock in the courtyard she frequently fell asleep in, a barbeque she’d spent an exorbitant amount on only to use twice, and was even considering digging out a pool. Why not? Who could stop her?

No one.

She’d have to go back eventually—home, that was. Her father’s calls were becoming more frequent and becoming more annoyed. All three of his daughters had just vanished, leaving him to manage his own life for once. Who was he going to build life-long alliances with if he couldn’t move Feyre and Nesta around like pawns.

Elain was all but sold to the Nolans, if the ugly engagement ring Graysen had given Elain was any indication. Feyre supposed she’d have to come home for that tragedy. Sometimes Feyre wondered if Elain wasn’t dragging out the business with her castle in an attempt to avoid wedding planning.

Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Feyre woke that warm, summer morning like she did every day. Breakfast was waiting in the small dining room on the main floor—a simple fare of sausage, beans, and toast. She dressed, braided her hair in a long, french tail, and gathered her art supplies, intending to make her way to the furthest point on the grounds.

Outside the heavy, rounded doors lay a neat stone path meant to feel old, though it was very modern. She’d watched the workers lay it herself. And standing at the very end of it, dressed in a black shirt and a blue and green plaid kilt, was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His dark, blue black hair ruffled in the wind, while eyes so blue they seemed nearly violet, stared openly at her.

She saw plenty of Scotsmen, given she was in Scotland. And yet there was something about this man, with his toned shins clad in high, black socks and his tall, powerful body, that gave her pause. She could see the hint of ink just above his knees and the curve of his neck, and when Feyre looked back to his face, his mouth was curved into a sensual smile.

“Feyre Archeron?” he asked with a rich, dark accent.

Feyre cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s she—I ah—I mean, that’s me.”

His smile widened. “Aye, ye are, aren’t ye?”

She blinked. “Can I help you with something, Mr…?”

He chuckled, placing a broad hand against his muscular chest. “Ma apologies. I’m Rhysand Campbell.”

A soft scream escaped Feyre’s lips. “Liar.”

He took a step toward her, reaching into the leather sporran hanging from his waist. Feyre couldn’t breathe, watching in horror as he pulled a stack of letters out and offered them to her.

She didn’t take them, shaking her head back and forth. “Prove it.”

He was still grinning, reaching for his wallet. Feyre’s hands shook when he pulled out a license, proving he was exactly who he said he was.

“How…?”

“Did ye think there was no one in all of Dornoch with the name Campbell? It’s quite common a last name.”

Feyre’s heart was mere seconds from jumping out of her chest.

“It was luck I happened to be named Rhysand.”

“Luck,” she repeated, looking skyward. “All those years and you never thought to write back/”

He merely shrugged, taking back his license from her shaking fingers. “At first? It was charming. I figured ye’d stop eventually. Ye wrote a lot of things.”

“Oh, I get it,” Ferye said stiffly. Prick.

“I’m sure ye don’t,” he replied with that insufferable smile.

“No, I do. You got my letters, figured out who my father was, and now you’re here for money. Is that it, Mr. Campbell?”

“Not quite,” he replied, coming closer still.

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Where’s tae ring, darling?” he all but purred. Ice slithered through Feyre’s veins, her eyes landing back on those letters. She’d spent three years writing to him, pouring out her secrets, venting about her family…and telling him all about their nonexistent romance. At best, Ferye had imagined an elderly postal woman reading those letters with a mixture of pity and amusement before tossing them. Never, in her wildest dreams, did she imagine that an actual man was reading what she wrote.

“It’s here, isn’t it?” he pressed, those eyes flashing with delight. “Sentimental, lass.”

Feyre shook her head again. “No. Absolutely not. Send father those letters—”

“And Nesta? Or Elain?” he pressed, preventing Feyre from turning on her heel and leaving him standing in the garden looking foolish. “What about them, hm? What do ye think they’d think of yer scathing assessment of them?”

Feyre exhaled. “What is it that you want? A sham engagement?”

“Oh, a wee bit more than that. I’ve come to claim my wife.”

“You don’t even know me,” Feyre protested, wondering if she ought to just call the police. He was blackmailing her—into marriage, for a purpose she couldn’t ascertain.

“We’re in love,” he said, some of his smile fading just a little.

“So I’m supposed to, what, exactly? Call up my father and tell him—”

“The engagement is back on,” he interrupted, closer still. She could smell him, then—like citrus and the sea, washing over her with the warm morning breeze. Rhysand blotted out the sun with his large body, peering down at her with enough intensity to make her uncomfortable. “And we’re in love.”

“Lies.”

“Ye should be verra familiar with that, darling,” he replied, an edge to his voice.

Feyre ran a hand down her face. “For how long?”

He shrugged. “Who could say?”

Prick prick prick!

“A marriage built upon the foundation of blackmail. You are too charming, Mr. Campbell.”

“Just as ye always imagined,” he replied with a wicked grin. “Now. Are ye going to invite me in? Or do I have to beg?”

“Why not?” Feyre grumbled, eyeing those letters. Rhysand caught her, offering them up again.

“Take them. It’s not like I didnae make copies.”

Still, Feyre snatched them from him all the same, holding them close to her chest. She’d hoped she might undo this mess simply by throwing them away and thus, removing his leverage. In truth, were Rhysand ever to show her father her letters, it would merely force him to pay attention to her. Elain and Nesta would forgive her, with time.

But the idea of her father knowing just how much she loathed him, all while craving his validation and approval, was too much for her pride to handle. It was enough to make her think that, perhaps, this wasn’t such an awful idea. If she could set some hard rules, having a ne’er-do-well for a husband kept her from ever having to get married to someone awful.

Like Tamlin, who still sent the occasional too-formal text inquiring after her help.

And this man was hot. Surely he knew it, too, if that wide smile and the way he kept running his hand down his chest was any indication. How long could he tolerate her? How long before he realized his new wife had no intention of sleeping with him, of showing him any affection?

He couldn’t blackmail her into sex—even Feyre had her limits and had to assume he did too.

Or hope, anyway. The bar was in hell, even for a man who’d shown up on her doorstep and declared his intention to marry her.

She forced a smile on her face. “Right this way, Lord Campbell.”

His smile vanished. “I preferred when ye were calling me Rhys. All my friends do. My wife should, too.”

“I’m not your wife yet,” Feyre reminded him. “My sisters are going to be so thrilled. Elain will want to throw an engagement party, and father—”

“Elope,” he said, stepping through the threshold with big, wide eyes. “I’m not going to London for a wedding.”

“Your wife is from London,” Feyre reminded him through gritted teeth. “You’ll have to visit them eventually.”

“Why? Invite them here. Surely there’s space.”

Feyre whirled on her heel, smacking straight into the hard plain of his chest. Rhysand reached for her arms, steadying her with a soft chuckle. “Careful, lass.”

“Let me get this straight. You will make no concessions in this sham marriage? Because, despite what you’ve imagined, blackmailing is a crime and my father has a lot of money.”

“Do ye want to go back to London?” he asked patiently, one perfectly groomed brow arched. As if he already knew the answer to that. As if he knew Feyre would have done anything to stay exactly where she was—far from London, far from her father and his circle of friends. Feyre crossed her arms over her chest, hating how smug he looked.

“It will be an actual wedding. And you will invite yer family—”

“I have none,” he interrupted, a shadow crossing his handsome expression. Feyre faltered.

“Friends?”

A soft smile. “Aye. Friends I do have.”

“Okay. Then friends. And you will keep your hands to yourself the entire time. Separate beds. Separate lives.”

He clenched his jaw for a moment before nodding. “Aye. I can do that. Any other demands ye have?”

“Once we’re married, I want you to burn those letters,” Feyre said, feeling suddenly small and vulnerable. “I’ll—marriages are not so easily undone.”

“And how do I know ye won’t back out tae moment they’re gone?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

She considered pleading with him. Was it not enough, she wanted to ask, to make her go through with this? That he knew things about her she’d never wanted anyone to know? He couldn’t let her forget it? Feyre took a deep breath and willed herself not to cry. Not in front of him.

“Very well,” she said, trying her hardest to channel Nesta’s icy disdain. “Let me just—”

She turned, and he caught her by the arm, spinning her around. “Give me a reason to trust ye, lass, and I’ll destroy them.”

“And will you be giving me a reason to trust you?” she asked, wrenching her arm from his grasp.

“I could have gone straight to ye father. Shown him what ye did, demanded he pay me to keep quiet. I came to ye, instead. I don’t want yer money, Feyre. Just…”

“My home,” she finished with a sigh.

“Aye,” he agreed solemnly. “A castle that belongs to Scottish blood, not the English.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” she snapped.

“Tae only way,” he murmured, and despite the softness of his tone, it was clear he didn’t care for disagreement. Feyre dug the heel of her hand into her eyes and sighed loudly.

“Call him,” Rhys said, nodding toward her shorts and the phone outline in the tight fabric. “Tell him the good news.”

“He will never accept you as a son.”

Rhys only shrugged. “As long as his daughter loves me.”

“She doesn’t,” Feyre snapped, but it didn’t matter. She pulled out her phone and dialed.

Took a breath. And then.

“Dad? It’s me, Feyre.”

-*-

Living with Rhysand was a mixture of insufferable and tolerable in equal measure. The castle was sprawling, big enough that for the first day, she didn’t see him at all. She’d instructed the staff to serve him and slipped that ring back on her finger in order to keep up appearances. Absurd, given any truly happy couple reuniting might have spent that first night locked in bed together, and Feyre had very much shut her bedroom door with the letters Rhysand had given and begun to pour through them.

They were worse than she imagined. Not only had she complained about her family, she’d divulged personal secrets, told him about her hopes, her dreams. She’d sent him sketches, she’d told him about the people in her fathers social circle, along with all the most embarrassing and hilarious gossip. Things that Rhysand could have sent to a trash magazine and humiliated half of London with.

She’d treated those letters like a diary, never thinking there was a real man on the other end. Feyre couldn’t sleep that first night.

Or the second.

She did sleep the third, but only because Elain had promised to come down that weekend, delighted to meet the man she’d heard so much about. Nesta had sent back only three words.

Are you sure?

If Nesta came, she’d see straight through Feyre, so Feyre supposed she ought to be grateful Nesta was embroiled in some kind of property dispute with her castle and a local reenactor who took to staging battles of Scottish victory over the English on her front lawn with loud enthusiasm. Feyre suspected Elain was rather happy to escape for a bit, and might soften Rhysand ever so slightly.

And maybe if he realized there were more interesting Archerons, he might take to courting Elain instead of insisting with the sham wedding. Not that Elain would ever agree to it, but…men had always gravitated toward her. Feyre thought Rhysand simply wouldn’t be able to help himself.

On the fourth day, Feyre slipped back through the castle, lugging her art supplies in a canvas bag with her. She expected the grounds to be empty, that Rhysand would be inside lording about her staff like some kind of king.

She heard the sound of wood splitting in the courtyard before she saw him.

Shirtless, in that kilt and the same black socks, rolled halfway down his shins from sweat and exertion. He’d found an ax and with a mighty swing of his powerful biceps, brought it screaming onto a block of wood.

Feyre couldn’t take her eyes off the slick, taut muscles of his stomach, his back, tattooed in dark whorls of ink. Rhysand seemed far too pretty to do any sort of manual labor, which brought Feyre back to the present.

Though, he’d absolutely caught her ogling him. He halted, pushing one booted foot up onto the heavy stump he was using to split wood while using the hem of his kilt to wipe at his forehead. “What are you doing?” she demanded. Didn’t he know she paid someone to bring in firewood? Besides, there was heating the castle—she’d also paid for that.

“Chopping wood,” he replied, his eyes sliding to the neat stack at his feet. His tone was polite, though perhaps annoyed. As if he really wanted to say, what does it look like I’m doing?

“I pay someone to do that.”

“Of course ye do, lass,” he said with relish. “I don’t see why—I am more than capable of helping.”

Feyre hesitated. “You want to help?”

“Aye.” He frowned. “What did ye think I was gonna do? Sit around waving my hands like some kind of fancy lord?”

“Yes, actually—that’s exactly what I thought.”

“I already told ye. I don’t want yer money.”

Yes, he had said this, hadn’t he? Feyre sniffed. “Fine. You want chores? There are bats in the attic again.”

He offered her a handsome smile. Coupled with the bright sunshine and his warm, brown skin, Feyre’s knees wobbled a little. Why couldn’t he look disgusting? Her traitor body had not gotten the message that they hated him.

“I can do that,” he said. “And anything else ye have for me.”

“I’ll make a list,” she said tartly.

But later, when Feyre was alone with nothing but her thoughts and her canvas, all she could think about was Rhysand, midswing over that block of wood. She thought of the tight expression on his face and the controlled movements of his body.

And even though she hated herself for it, she reached for a piece of charcoal.

And began to sketch.

-*-

Elain arrived at the end of the first week of Rhysand’s arrival. True to word, Rhysand had done every chore Feyre had left for him without complaint. He’d cleared out the bats and fixed several burnt light bulbs, digging out a ladder from god only knew where. And when he ran out of things to do, he turned his attention to the dilapidated stables Feyre had never bothered with. In truth, she’d always meant to tear them down.

It seemed Rhysand meant to fix them up.

He was out there when Elain swanned in, tan from a summer outdoors in the English countryside. She grinned the moment she saw Feyre, throwing her arms around her sister's neck.

“It’s so good to see you,” Elain said, squeezing tight enough to make Feyre’s ribs ache. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? How are you holding up?” Feyre asked, pulling away to search her sister's expression. A faint blush bloomed over Elain’s cheeks.

“Well—I’m, well, I’m perfectly lovely, if we’re being honest.”

“Oh?” Feyre asked.

Elain held up her hand, wiggling bare fingers while Feyre just stared. “You got your nails done?”

“You’re so terribly observant. I’ve called off my engagement—just in time for you to be married. I’ve come to see if you want any of the things we put deposits on, so they don’t go to waste.”

“You—what?” Feyre gaped, realizing only then Elain was trying to show her a hand without an engagement ring. “What happened?”

Elain only shrugged, though more pink crept up her neck. “It wasn’t right. I was…I was deluding myself, I think. It doesn’t matter, because I know you hated him, so you don’t have to pretend. I’ve brought pictures so you can see everything, and it would be no trouble to have it all brought here for you. I know how much you hate planning,” Elain added brightly. “I only wish I could be more helpful.”

“This is already too helpful,” Feyre said, pulling her sister through the open hall toward the spiraling stairs that led both to the left and the right. Elain drank it all in as the skirt of her buttery yellow sundress swished around her legs. She looked every inch a princess, and it took no effort at all to imagine her walking these halls four hundred years before while poets and bards sang songs about her beauty.

“Are you going to introduce me to your husband?” she asked, looping her arm through Feyre’s. “I’ve always wanted to meet him. Nesta used to swear you made him up and I told her you’d never do such a thing. It’s nice to prove her wrong sometimes.”

“Yes,” Feyre agreed. “He’s working on the stables. I’ll take you to him.”

This would be the moment of truth. Rhysand would see her and realize his mistake, just as all men did. He wouldn’t be able to look away—and Elain seemed radiant that morning, glowing like the midafternoon sun beating overhead. Her golden blonde hair was perfectly curled, a cascade over her slim shoulders while a set of pearls graced her ears. She’d put on make-up, which Feyre never did, and had the air of someone both effortless and yet unattainable.

The same air Rhysand had, if Feyre was being honest. They’d make a smart couple. Why did that thought annoy her so much?

Feyre led Elain over the grounds slowly, giving her a tour and pointing out all the work she’d done while Elain explained how her bed and breakfast was going. She’d created a tentative peace with the other occupant and owner of her castle—a man with a distinctly French sounding last name and decidedly French first one. Lucien Vanserra. He sounded snooty, and given the difficulty he’d created for Elain, likely some seventy year old man looking to exert his control one last time before his time on earth ended.

“Oh, he’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Elain said, which was a very Elain sort of thing to say. She could charm a wild bear holding a sword. If the man had eyes, it likely hadn’t been hard to talk him into a small compromise.

Rhysand was coming out of the stables as Feyre and Elain began to walk in. He didn’t see them approaching as he mopped up the sweat on his brow with the hem of his shirt. Feyre’s breathe caught at the sight of peeking abs, vanished the second he saw Elain. His eyes slid from her sister back to Feyre, some answered question flickering in his gaze.

“Elain, this is Rhysand,” Feyre told Elain just in time for her sister to plant her foot in a wet container of wood stain.

Elain screeched, yanking herself backward. Her lovely white flat was ruined, which was a shame, truly—though Rhysand? wasn’t looking at Elain at all, but Feyre. His expression very much betrayed his annoyance, some shared secret she didn’t quite understand, as if to say oh. I understand now.

“I’m so sorry,” Elain said, looking at the mess pooling around them.

“No need,” Rhysand replied, though there was some disappointment in his tone. “I was going to do tae floor as well.”

“Of course. Probably not like this, though,” Elain replied with a small laugh.

Rhysand only nodded, looking back to Feyre for some guidance. But it was Elain who was the conversationalist, and when she realized he didn’t know what to say, pressed forward. “How is your mother?”

Oh, christ. Feyre had forgotten that lie, amid the others. Rhysand became rigid for a moment, haunted by Elain’s ask. “She passed, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Elain whispered. Rhysand only nodded, his jaw tight with emotion. So that had been true, in some way. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not yer fault,” Rhysand murmured. “But I miss her.”

Elain nodded. “Well,” she said, wiping her hands on her dress nervously. “We should ah, probably let you get back to…”

“I’ll see ye both at dinner,” he replied, offering up his most charming smile. And that was that. Elain, holding her shoe by the crook of one finger, waited until they were out of earshot before she said, “You really undersold how handsome he was.”

And when Feyre turned to look over her shoulder, she found Rhysand leaning against the wooden door frame, eyes wholly on her.

It was that night that both Feyre and Rhysand seemed to realize they could not sleep apart in opposite wings of the castle. Elain had made some little quip about how nice it must be to have all this alone time and Rhysand’s fork had clattered to his plate while Feyre’s cheeks burned with embarrassment.

He’d come to her, at least. Feyre sat up against a sea of pillows when she heard him knock, sucking in a deep breath.

“Come in.”

A moment later, the handle turned and there he was. He’d put on plain black sleep pants and a white t-shirt, and his still damp hair told her she’d just freshly showered. If she’d been smart, Feyre would have dragged a divan up from another room so he could sleep on it. As it stood, there were two little chairs facing a small breakfast table and then her rather large, four-poster bed.

And Rhys was a tall man. He looked around, drinking in the cream colored rug and the sand and stone walls, illuminated by an overhanging chandelier. A little potted plant sat half dead in the circular window at the far end of the room, while books were stacked on beneath the television stand haphazardly.

“I’m not sleeping on tae floor,” he told her when he realized their predicament.

“I assumed,” she replied, scooting to the far side of the bed. “No touching.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a theatrical eye roll. As he padded toward her, he asked, “How long will she be here?”

“The weekend,” Feyre replied, trying—and failing—not to notice how good he smelled. “Why?”

“She’s not what I imagined,” he finally said, dragging a hand through his hair with contemplation.

Feyre immediately felt defensive. “She has that effect on people.”

He frowned. “Oh? And what effect do ye imagine she’s having on me?”

“She’s just very…”

“Verra…” he prompted, waiting for Feyre to spit it out. “Dull?”

“What?” Ferye gaped. “She’s not dull.”

“Proper, then. A real English princess,” he amended.

It was asking for pain, and still Feyre couldn’t help herself. “Then what does that make me?”

He smiled again, his face blooming with warm affection. “Wild. Free,” he added, thinking to himself for a moment, as if he needed to choose his words carefully lest he insult her. “Ye are far more lovely than her—”

“Don’t,” Feyre snapped, unable to stand the lie. “No one thinks that.”

She turned to her side, angrily fluffing a pillow before turning off the bedside table.

“I think that,” Rhysand murmured defensively. “I saw a picture of tae three of ye, once.”

She half twisted to look at him. “How?”

“We do have the internet here too, lass. It was simple enough to google ye. I wasn’t sure which of ye was which—but I hoped ye were…well…Feyre. I thought ye must be Elain, given how much you talked of her beauty.”

Feyre’s heart pounded. “You’re such a liar, Mr. Campbell.”

“Not when it comes to ye, darling.”

There was a pause of silence between them, hanging thickly as Feyre digested that information. Hoped. She didn’t know what to make of that.

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

“It was one of the things I liked about getting tae letters,” he murmured, settling into the bed. After turning off the lights, it felt easier to peel back some of her defensiveness, to listen to him talk. “My sister died when she was wee, and my mother, well. She never quite recovered from it. When ye wrote that first letter, she was ill again and my father was in one of his rages. And there ye were, in a similar predicament. I thought maybe it was fate.”

“Why didn’t you write back?” she asked, turning fully to her side, her head resting on her elbow.

“Cowardice, I suppose. Ye were a bit younger than me, too. Sixteen, but I was nineteen. It dinae seem right, and truthfully, I didnae want spook ye.”

“Is this your attempt at not spooking me, then? Demanding I marry you for reasons you’ve yet to divulge?” she asked, this time without her usual anger.

“Aye,” he murmured, twisting so he was facing her, too. “I never said I was a good man, Feyre. Only that yer letters were never funny to me.”

“Will you tell me why all this was necessary? I might be able to help, you know—”

“One day,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “When all this is done and ye aren’t so angry, I will. I want to. Not tonight. Hate me all ye like, but I know ye—you’ll be trying to get out of this marriage if ye think you can solve my problems with money. I don’t want yer money.”

“Yes, so you keep saying and yet once we’re married, you’ll have it, regardless. Surely you’ve considered that.”

Rhysand’s pause betrayed him. So he hadn’t realized he’d become unspeakably wealthy the moment Feyre said I do.

It settled some wild, ugly thing in her. “That’s yers,” he finally said.

And with nothing left to say, Rhysand turned over and left Feyre to fall asleep.

-*-

Feyre agreed to take the least offensive things from Elain’s wedding, which, to be fair, were few and far between. The cake was nice, along with the flowers of which Elain would always be the expert. Tables and chairs, and of course, the caterer. Elain had been delighted, in no small part, Feyre suspected, because it meant Graysen wouldn’t be getting his money back. What had he done to her? It wasn’t like Elain to be so petty, but with each thing Feyre said yes to, Elain’s smile grew wider and wider until Feyre wasn’t sure how her sister's smile didn’t split.

And then, with an exasperated sigh, Elain was gone to check on Mr. Vanserra, who was likely wrecking everything in her absence. Feyre thought she’d be sad to see Elain go, but the minute her sister's car pulled out of the drive, Feyre felt the smallest hint of relief.

Rhysand, too. She caught him peeking around a corner, muddy boots on a rather nice ivory floor runner she’d need to wash later.

“Is she gone?” he asked, as if Elain were some terrible creature and not just chatty and maybe a little nosy.

“For now,” Feyre agreed. “She’s putting together your dream wedding, you know.”

“Ours,” he amended.

“No matter how many times you say that, it will never be true.”

He stared her down, straightening to his full height. Feyre’s heart leapt into her throat. “Will ye tell me tae truth about one thing?”

“I doubt it, but you can ask,” she replied primly, wedging her way past his obnoxious body.

“In yer letters, ye said I was tae most beautiful man ye’d ever seen. Is that true?”

Feyre froze. If she turned, he’d see her answer written all over her face. “Everything I imagined about you in my letters was a fiction, Mr. Campbell—”

“For fucks sake, Feyre, call me Rhys,” he snapped. “I cannae stand hearing ye call me Mr. Campbell.”

Feyre forgot she wasn’t supposed to look at him, turning to argue only to find him so close she could smell him. Eyes wide, she backed up only for him to slam his palm against the stone wall behind her, trapping her with his body.

“Tae truth, lass.”

“Why does it matter?” she whispered, hating herself for wanting him and hating herself for not being able to send him away.

His fingers brushed her cheek. “It matters.”

“You can’t have it all, Rhys,” she hissed. He winced as she spat his name, saying it as though it were a curse. “You can’t have your secrets, this marriage and my affection.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t!” she shouted, shoving him away from her. Rhys let her, though she knew if he’d wanted to keep her where she was, there was little she could have done to stop him. “I’m guessing you’re the kind of man who just snaps his fingers and gets exactly what he wants. You could have asked me on a date! You could have been honest and told me who you were, that you got my letters! I would have said yes, you know. If you’d just asked. And if you told me the truth, I would have helped you. You want your secrets, fine. Here I am, playing along. Whatever else you want from me, though? Forget it. For the rest of your life, just forget it.”

“Feyre!” he called as she stormed off. “Feyre, come back!”

She didn’t turn, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she was certain she was going to explode. Feyre didn’t pay attention to the direction she went, running through the halls as fast as she could, just in case he was following her.

He wasn’t. She heard a door slam somewhere in the distance, and if she had to bet, Feyre would have guessed he was headed to the stables. It slowed her just enough to make a decision. He wanted secrets? Well, Feyre didn’t. She’d been too wrapped up in her own misery that past week to bother thinking rationally, but she’d seen him drag in all his things.

Surely there was some answer to the Rhysand question up in his room.

Feyre didn’t feel even a little badly flinging open that door. Where she was messy, Rhysand was immaculate. His bed was made for the morning, draped in silken black that was just like him.

He’d tucked his suitcase beneath the bed, and when she opened his drawers to the dresser, everything was neatly folded and in its place. Feyre rifled a bit, feeling like a creep as she shoved aside his underwear and socks.

The curtains to the windows were pulled open, allowing gloomy gray light to filter through. Outside, she was certain a storm was brewing. If it rained, Rhysand would retreat indoors and she’d have to try again another day.

She didn’t know what she was looking for when she dropped to her knees, sitting on the plush, circular sand rug she’d put in all the rooms. Feyre pulled out his suitcase, unzipping thinking she’d find a passport with his real name, or maybe a criminal record that would explain this whole thing. And then she could call the police and be free of him.

Her stomach clenched when all she found was a large manilla envelope, unsealed.

Feyre.

With trembling fingers, Feyre pulled out a stack of letters. They were stapled individually before he’d folded them into quarters. She reached for the one on top, surprised to see it was the very first letter she’d ever sent him, highlighted and starred with a blue pen.

And beneath, was the letter she’d said he should have sent her.

Dear Feyre Archeron,

Don’t be embarrassed, but I have received your letter. I am curious—do you possess the gift of sight? It seems too much a coincidence that you would mail a letter addressed to Mr. Rhysand Campbell to my home in Dornoch. I’ve decided it’s fate, or at least luck. Tell me, though, this one thing: is your birthday on Christmas? I received this at the new year, and I have been trying to figure out when, exactly, you were born.

I guess it doesn’t matter, though it would be nice to send you a birthday gift next year. If you’re wondering, my birthday is in August. Not that you have to send me a gift. It just seemed fair, since I was asking, to tell you my birthday, too.

And, if it makes you feel better (I’m guessing it won’t, but it did make me feel better), my father also forgot my birthday this year. He was working, and I think he expects my mother to handle those things. I shouldn’t care because I’m an adult, and adults don’t need birthdays (or, that’s what I tell myself at least), but it stings every time he looks me in the eye and asks how old I am.

I think he thinks I’m disappointing. Maybe I am.

Anyway. I am happy to be your pretend boyfriend if it keeps you from having to date wankers. If you decide you’d like to write me back, send it to my address in Edinburgh. My mother lives in Dornoch, and I visit when she’s ill (which, to be fair, is pretty often), but I don’t want to miss one.

That is, assuming you don’t find this horribly creepy.

Yours in pretend,

Rhysand Campbell

P.S. I think Nesta deserved to have her hair pulled, just between you and I.

My silly Feyre,

You keep sending letters (that I devour), but I can’t make myself send one back. I’m starting to suspect I’m a coward, which is a terrible quality in a boyfriend. Maybe you should end things with me and date the beige paint (don’t do that). You’re so honest, and I’m so jealous because without my secrets, who am I? The thought of stripping myself bare makes me feel sick, and so I fold these letters up and pretend you read them and they didn’t disgust you.

In truth, I think you’d stop writing if you knew the truth about me. I’m back in Dornoch and mother is ill and father is working and I am just here. Barely existing, both in Edinburgh where I’m trying to be diligent and finish my education, and in Dornoch, where everyone thinks I’m a good son.

Am I? Can I tell you something?

My sister died when she was nine. It was no one’s fault—except, I suppose, the man driving the car who hit her. We were out together and Ainsley darted out of reach. Father was closest. He lunged, but he wasn’t fast enough, and by the time mother and I could react, it was all over.

I was eleven.

I think we tried to rally together for a while, but the days following Ainsley’s death all blur together. Mother cried all the time and father began yelling. Everyone blamed themselves because we couldn’t blame each other, until we were just festering. Father stayed in Edinburgh, and mother went home and I was in-between.

It’s like she’s lost in a fog, and I’m so angry sometimes because I needed her, too. I needed them both, and it was like, if they couldn’t have Ainsley they didn’t want me. Or anyone—I think mother wishes she’d died, too. And I think father is too busy punishing himself—and by extension, me—to take care of mother.

I wonder what will happen to him when she dies. He loved her better than he ever loved either of us. And deep down, I think he’s ashamed he failed her by letting Ainsley die, and it’s better to yell at her, to stay away, to pretend none of it matters to him.

I can’t send this to you, but I like to pretend you’re reading it anyway. That you’d understand, because you feel forgotten, too. That’s how I feel.

Anyway. Tell Tamlin to stay away. I’m fond of you, pretend girlfriend or not.

Your mess,

Rhysand

Feyre, my darling,

Engaged? I admit, I laughed out loud when I saw what you’d done. I knew the English were awful, but surely there must be one tolerable man among the lot of them. I’m tempted to drive all the way up there and rescue you, if only to spare you the embarrassment from when this falls apart. I’m also curious to see the ring I got you.

I’d like to have it, if only so I can get on one knee and ask you to marry me myself. It’s strange how much affection I feel for you. How often I think about you, how I miss you without knowing you. I feel as if I do (maybe I’m crazy, too).

I graduated last week. Father wasn’t there, though he did call in the after to ask me what my plans were. I nearly told him I planned to marry an English lass–but I have no plans for that yet, and no idea how to announce myself to you. It’s been almost three years, and I think I should have been less of a coward back then and just said hello.

I think, sometimes, you would have liked me. More than that other bloke (Ian? I remember his name, but it makes me feel better to pretend I don’t.), at any rate. And maybe my plans wouldn’t seem so far-fetched, and you wouldn’t have to keep lying to your family because I would be asking you to marry me.

For now, things seem possible. I feel like my own man for once, even if I don’t know what I’m doing with myself. Only that whatever it is will bring me closer to you. Of that, I’m certain. I am looking forward to hearing of our fake marriage, though—I hope you tell me exactly how you imagine it, so when we do meet, I can impress you.

Is that charming, or does it make me creepy? It’s a question I keep asking, and I think I’m walking a very fine line when it comes to you. Perhaps this will all be charming to you—or maybe you’ll have me locked up. I look forward to finding out. I’m certain I will never live it down, regardless.

For now, just know that I find you endearing.

Yours,

Rhys

Feyre,

Your ability to tell the future is unnerving. Our relationship is over because my mother is ill—and though you don’t know it, you were right. I don’t think it would give you solace to hear she finally passed, but in a way, it gave me peace thinking you’d written me to say goodbye. That you understood, even if you didn’t know it, why you and I were just a foolish dream.

Father and I stood in the rain to bury her. I didn’t think he’d come and it would be just me, watching them set her beside my sister. Reunited, at last, just like she’d always wanted. And for one moment, he and I stood there, shoulder to shoulder, silently weeping for all we’d lost and all the things we’d never have again. Ainsley should be here and so should mother.

Her heart failed. I didn’t think you could die of a broken heart, and today I think I could, too. I thought I’d prepared myself better for this moment. As I so often am, I was wrong. Father left, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. Or if I even want to. Maybe that moment was enough. Maybe enough passed between us to call it even, to start over.

I think I’ve been trying so hard to forget when I should have been trying to remember. And I think you were just another way to pretend I was someone else, at least for a little while. You don’t know me—you don’t know Rhysand Campbell and neither do I. Not your once betrothed, anyway. That man was a fantasy, someone I wanted so badly to be.

I would have disappointed you. I’m not a good man, Feyre. I don’t think you would have liked the real Rhysand Campbell, and I would have loved you. That’s the tragedy of us, at least to me. You are witty and funny and charming and I am…I am this. I am not the sort of man you fall in love with, but you.

Oh, you, Feyre. I don’t know how everyone isn’t in love with you. How you don’t walk onto the street and have everyone at your feet, wishing they knew your name. Begging for a second of your time. And even though I know you’ll never see this, and so it doesn’t matter what I think or what I say, I feel as though I’ve been drowning in endless night, and you were the first bright thing that came along.

It would be wrong to go looking for you, no matter how strong the impulse is. You’ve said goodbye, and I am saying it, too. I need to figure myself out and maybe that will take forever. I know one thing, though. I will always be thinking about you. Always be wondering about you.

It’s your birthday (I think), today. That’s what started this whole thing.

Happy birthday Feyre.

Yours, eternally,

Rhys

A crack of thunder sent the letters flying from Feyre’s hands. Was she crying? For one wild moment she twisted to look up at the ceiling, certain there must be a leak. Only, no, it was just her, dripping salt onto the elegant penmanship of Rhys’s unsent letters.

“So,” a dark, masculine voice from the doorway intoned. Feyre’s head snapped to the side, drinking him in. His expression was carefully blank, fingertips holding the frame as he leaned forward. Ferye had been caught, had been so engrossed in the parallel lives they’d been living that she hadn’t realized the rain had started or that he’d retreated indoors.

His wet shirt clung to the contours of his chest, slicking that dark ebony hair to his forehead.

“So,” she agreed, her voice trembling.

Feyre held his gaze. Waiting for his ire.

“Now you know.”

#feysand #feyre archeron x rhysand #feysand fic #yeah i did this #it started off as a joke #now it has spin-offs #and 13k words #smut tomorrow!

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michaels-office-hours · 10 months ago

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Ok… brainrot… but….

Yor in a wedding dress…. But because it’s her wedding she’s worried it’ll be attacked.

And also Yor is very traditional, in some traditions (I actually genuinely don’t know which… probably Christianity????) The white dress means purity.

Yor has a hard time believing she’s pure, or good. So she wouldn’t think she deserves the white dress. And add on her worrying about an attack? She’d much prefer a black dress like she usually wears.

I think Loid would except it on the wedding day…. But if he was allowed to pick outfits for the honeymoon? (Let’s be honest he always is dressing up his ladies in the best of the best. It’s his favorite pastime aside from staring at them lovingly) He would probably find all kinds of white, or pastel color things for Yor to wear. Probably two or three dresses even.

And I can only imagine the conversation.

Yor: LOID! Not another dress!

Loid: It was on clearance. Don’t worry. (And this is all on Wise’s check)

Yor: You got so many new clothes… they’re so lovely, but I’ll never be able to wear them all. (They’re all so light. They’d show so many stains… I could never wash them out)

Loid: Well, you can trade wearing your favorites like you do at home. And then when we get home, you might add some to your favorites. *smile spreads across his face*

Yor: *can’t say no when he smiles at her, so hangs her head and concedes*

Yor: I’ll go make coffee.

Loid: Not before you pick out one of the new sweaters I got you to try on!

Yor: Loid I- *sigh*

Yor: *selects a light blue one, pastel robin’s egg, then turns to leave*

Yor: You spoil me too much

Loid: *only smiles that infuriating smile*

Later they’re sitting on the couch of the hotel they’ve rented talking and sipping the still warm coffee

Yor: And then Anya said she would protect me from all the aliens and in the world, if they ever tried to steal my cabbages.

Loid: *laughs and wipes a tear from his eye*

Loid: That sounds like out Anya alright.

Yor: *warmth fills her chest as she hears his laugh. She wants to hear it more. And forever.*

Yor: She raised her arms up like this too and then- OH NO THE COFFEE!!

Loid: *rushes over in an instant and catches the cup and saucer before it can fall to pieces, but the same can’t be said for Yor*

Loid: Yor! Are you ok?! I’ll get towels, but it didn’t burn you right?

Yor: *quietly crying, shakes her head*

Loid: *comes back with the towels and does what he can*

Loid: I think it’s ok Yor, this couch is leather so it won’t be stained. We won’t have to pay any fees or- are you sure you’re ok?!

Yor: *starts sobbing loudly*

Loid: Yor?!

Yor: You got me so many pretty things, and I can’t even keep them nice around the house!

Loid: I- What?!

Yor: *looks down at her sweater and the brown stain seeping through it and cries harder*

Yor: You deserve someone who won’t make messes. I can’t clean all these up! I can’t fix this! Oh Loid! Why on earth did you have to be stuck with me!

Loid: *takes her head in his hands*

Loid: Hey, hey, Yor. Listen to me. Breathe. It’s ok. You’re going to be ok. I’m not mad. Nothing is wrong. Just breathe in and out. Like this. 1..2..3..4..1..2..3..4.. there’s my girl, there you go. It’s ok.

Loid: *as he gently strokes her hair until her hiccups calm enough for them to talk, Loid assesses the damage*

Yor faintly: I’m so sorry, L-

Loid: Don’t be.

Yor: *bottom lip quivering anew*

Loid: *turns her head up to look at him directly. And kisses her*

Loid: There is no other woman I would have. Period.

Yor: *stares astonishedly*

Loid: You work so hard to clean, and cook, and provide for Anya and myself. You are allowed to fall short, or have skills you need help with. Or frankly… to be human.

Yor: *blinks*

Loid: I wasn’t going to expect you to clean this up. At least not without help. And yes I knew the light clothes would stain and it would be hard to get that out. I still think you look good on them, and deserve to let yourself feel pretty.

Yor: But… it’s new, Loid.

Yor: *tearing up with the weight of everything*

Yor: It’s brand new, and you have it to me, and now it’s stained.

Loid: Yes. So now it’s yours.

Yor: What?

Loid: Every new thing wears down eventually. Everything in peak condition will eventually have a couple bumps and ruts. If you were the one that put them there, you know how to work around them, or might find them to add beauty to a plain sweater.

Yor: *giggles despite herself*

Yor: How can coffee stains make something prettier?

Loid: Human brains tend to find patterns, so it will link memories to images. You were telling me about a memory with Anya, we were spending time, we are now. All of those are now linked to that stain when we see it.

Yor: And also me crying…

Loid: … ok and that. But focus on the positives.

Yor: *snickers*

Loid: And you don’t have to keep it if you don’t want it. I can always go get a new one for you.

Yor: … Loid?

Loid: Yes?

Yor: All that stuff, you said about leaving marks? You were talking about us… weren’t you. Leaving marks on each other’s lives.

Loid: …

Yor: *cuddles into his chest*

Yor: Anya made a mark too, didn’t she?

Loid: I would rather die, than not have your love stains on my heart.

OH MY WORD WHEN DID I WRITE THIS I LOOKED UP AND ITS BEEN LIKE 30 MINUTES WHAT!?! Ahem….

Idk if this is pre or post reveal. Honestly I think you could tweak this whichever way you wanted hehe. But uhhhh. Yeah. (Btw no I’m not still salty the only good line from Cars two was that one about dents what gave you that idea >:P)

#spy x family #loid forger #yor forger #spy x family fic #??#idk what this counts as #I’m not used to tagging my spy family stuff honestly #this one I want seen tho #I like that last line

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flowersandbirdsflyingfree · 7 months ago

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With TF2 being a main focus again, I’ve decided to at least write my self-shipping stuff for fun for myself!

Although Excavator will likely star in future writing and/or comics, I have to admit I have more fun just slapping myself next to Medic because that is self-love to me. So the lines may blur a bit

Edelweiß (TF2 Storyline)

How did this happen? Excavator wasn’t sure herself. Seeing as Medic threw his hippocratic oath out the window, he isn’t the most reassuring. Yet they developed a close-bonded friendship with each other.

Excavator is the one who usually throws Medic a bone the most on the battlefield (and sometimes literally too). She’s fended him from near death experience many times. Her help extends in her free time to care for the baby baboon nursery and some voluntary projects.

Archimedes has taken a liking to the digging woman. She shares her sunflower seeds with him. There isn’t a day she doesn’t ask for him when seeing Medic.

It wasn’t until Archimedes had heard Ex open up about her feelings for Medic. Medic was intelligent, charismatic, energetic, surprisingly patient with her, incredibly dreamy… Archimedes spoiled this secret to the doctor!

At first, he thought it was endearing she found someone like him to be gush worthy. He might’ve playfully flirted with her in amusement to surprise her. But it’s not long until he realizes he felt the same way.

Excavator is his best friend. Ex always put him first and supported his dreams. But he also felt his efforts to protect her were fulfilled with being taken for granted. She was very sweet yet a force to be reckoned with. So much that factored in his deep-rooted affection for her. A grounding force for his racing mind.

Medic and Heavy already dated in the past, so he was worried of ruining another work relationship becoming awkward. He took the risk anyways, and luckily for him, everything turned out far better than expected.

Edelweiß (Modern AU)

Medic has cheated the devil before, so he WILL do it again! He not only lives in the same modern day as me, but he doesn’t look like he aged at all. Nothing genetic rewiring and black magic can’t fix! Doing so has allowed him to sneak into being a doctor again in a new state. He carries out his medical mysteries at home which may or may not include copious amounts of stealing for materials and tools.

We bump into each other in the middle of a HomeGoods. Although he got in to escape the cops in the evening, I’m just looking for a lamp to put in my new apartment since I just moved into town. We feel drawn to each other and exchange numbers. It’s not long at all until we become great friends.

It wasn’t long until I found out his dirty little secret in his… medical interests. However! I promised him I’d tell nobody about it. But in exchange, he found that I would have to help him as his partner in crime

Of course, feelings manifested regardless and the two of us became the world’s most unhinged power couple (well, second most compared to Zhanna and Soldier)

Now time for fun mushy stuff!

We definitely enjoy just sitting beside each other and reading our books. Usually we pick out our own separate novels. But we do like to occasionally read the same book together before bed. This will vary from a picture book to huge medical textbooks

Our main ship song is Here Is The House by Depeche Mode. Runner ups include Edelweiß (yes The Sound of Music one), Who Knows What Love Is by Strawberry Switchblade and My Heart Goes Bang (Take Me To The Doctor) by Dead or Alive

We pretty much bounce off each other’s playfulness. If you stood in another room all you’d hear is endless giggling and maniacal laughter. His energetic, kooky nature is one of my favorite things about him

Medic does enjoy teasing me for his amusement. Something about seeing me so shocked or horrified over his dark jokes or some sort of medical rambling is adorable. It's never anything mean thankfully, just lighthearted banter

I do have to chase after him sometimes if he's accidently caused anything life threatening.

We do work together. Enjoying one another's presence is a big thing for us. There are two desks down in the lab extension to our home. One for his studies and another for me to craft nearby him.

I'm genuinely surprised just how much of a hidden romantic he is. He never fails to surprise me with roses and never turns down the chance to cuddle at all. He's old fashioned but never fails to make me smile.

We both have a shared past trauma about dating partners. We used it as strength to be better people for ourselves and each other. There's at least an understanding of what we don't want to ever put each other through knowing the feeling of abuse. With my more complex childhood things however, he's not at all bitter about it.

Nothing's better than falling for your super best friend <3

#edelweiß #my writing #self-shipping #f/o community #romantic f/o #self ship

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ikeromantic · 1 year ago

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You already know I can't resist making just one celebration request so Could I pretty please with a cherry on top get Sasuke, Beauty 🥰? Thank you in advance, and congratulations on 1k followers (lol I said subscribers on my other ask, like your blog is a literary otome magazine 😆) Cheers to another 1k followers!

Hehehe you know I didn't even catch that. An otome literary fanzine would be pretty cool though. There probably already is one and I just don't know about it xD Well, anyway, here's some adorable Sasuke being too sweet for approx. 800 words.

Sasuke pushed aside another branch and waved away the cloud of gnats that flew into the gap. This trip was turning into quite the hike unexpectedly. But the road he intended to take was washed out and now he and Mai were forging their own path through the valley. On a map, it looked like a shortcut but in reality, it was kilometers of thick undergrowth that took a lot of time to navigate.

“Are we there yet,” Mai called from behind him. She was breathing hard but still smiling, her cheeks red with effort and the heat of a summer afternoon.

“It depends on what you mean by there,” the ninja countered.

She laughed and stopped for a moment, leaning against a tree. “That wasn’t philosophical.”

Sasuke’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Oh? Well if we’re being literal . . . I guestimate another hour of this before we’re around the blockage and back on the road. Maybe two.”

“Ugh. Well, it’s not like we can call an Uber. I just hope there’s a bath and a really soft bed at the other end of this.”

“The odds of both are high.” Sasuke let her pass under the branch he held and then let it go. He hoped he was right about the town they were headed to. It was technically a work trip, so amenities were not a guarantee. If the facilities were lacking, he would make it up to her, he thought.

Spoiling Mai was one of his favorite hobbies. Right up there with hanging out with his BFF and fanboy-ing the warlords. He knew all of her favorite foods, the bands she liked (but couldn’t listen to anymore), tv shows (same), colors, fabrics and . . . other things.

“Hey. Why are you smiling like that?” She glanced at him over her shoulder, catching him in the middle of a naughty grin.

“No reason.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose and sped up to walk in front again. The smile stayed put as he navigated past thorn bushes and found paths around clusters of brush.

They found the road again just as the sun began to set. It looked like they would arrive in town just after dark. Hopefully early enough to get a good meal and that bath he knew Mai would want.

As they stepped out onto the smooth, packed dirt, she went a little ahead of him. Mai stretched up on her toes, reaching toward the blushing sky. Her hair hung in a braid, with the loose bits sweat-stuck to her forehead and the nape of her neck. A few leaves and twigs stuck out from her hair and clothes, and mud stained her hem. Sasuke was certain he’d never seen a more beautiful woman.

“You are giving me a look again.” She dropped her hands to her hips.

“Can’t help it.” The golden light set off the tint of her skin and made her eyes glow. He still couldn’t understand how a woman like her fell for a man like him. But he was so glad she had. Sasuke closed the distance between them in a few steps. “I can’t take my eyes off you.”

Mai blushed, staining her cheeks an even darker hue. “You’ve been spending too much time with Shingen. Are you going to ask me if I’m a thief next?”

“A thief?”

“Yeah, because I stole your heart.”

Sasuke laughed. “No. You can’t steal something when I gave it to you already.” Which was also probably something Shingen could say. Well, you couldn't top the flirt-master. He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “I love getting to look at you every day.”

“Even when I’m filthy and sweaty and probably covered in bugs and dirt?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Especially then. You’re like a wild forest fairy today. Though, I don’t believe in fairies. But the fairy is an accurate comparison, as a literary device to denote -”

Mai kissed him, silencing the lecture with her sweet, salty lips. When she pulled back, she tapped him on the nose. “Sometimes you explain too much. You can stop at ‘fairy’.”

Sasuke felt his heart skip a beat at the love in her eyes right then. He chuckled and nodded. “Noted.” His thumb stroked her knuckles on the hand he still held. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Hmmm. I don’t know. Let’s weigh the pros and cons.” She nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully. “Pros, you are a really good kisser. And I like being kissed. That about covers it. Then cons. The cons are -” Mai paused. “Well, actually, I can’t think of any cons.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” When he kissed her again, he felt as if he were flying. All of his tiredness disappeared in the softness of her lips and the feel of her in his arms.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen sasuke #sasuke sarutobi #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff

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nancypullen · 2 years ago

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Middle of May

It’s been a pleasant blur of days around here. Yard work, Mother’s Day ( I was spoiled because I have the BEST family), puttering, and then yesterday my sister came for the day. What fun! She is in the middle of a big move. They’ve sold the home where they’ve lived for nearly thirty years, raised kids, and had to maintain about 3 acres.. They’re downsizing and have purchased a home on a smaller lot and will basically gut it and make it new. Yikes. That’s a lot. Emptying the old home, storing what will be kept, tackling the new home from the studs up...it doesn’t happen as quickly as they show it on HGTV. Anywho, she allowed herself a break from the madness and came for a day. The true purpose of the visit was to give me some of our Grandma Ethel’s iris before the new owners take over the house. I know spring is not the time to divide them, but sometimes you gotta’ do what you gotta’ do. Better than letting those treasured bulbs fall into hands that might not love them. If you’ve followed this blog for any amount of time you’ve probably heard me talk about my grandma. She was simply the best. She had every grandchild convinced that they were her favorite and she had a sense of fun that was unrivaled by any other adults I knew. She also had the greenest thumb of all time. Her irises were legendary. When she died, my sister came into possession of some of her bulbs. Those bulbs have thrived and bloomed for years in my sister’s yard and are always in their glory right around Ethel’s May birthday. Now that I’m nearby she’s sharing the bounty with me. I am thrilled. Generations of irises have made their way from Weiser, Idaho to my yard on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Here’s my adorable sister with some of the flowers we cut. Thanks, Ethel.

After we dabbled in horticulture, we hopped in the car and drove to Easton. We had lunch, raided Target, ransacked Ulta, tried on dresses in Marshall’s, and laughed ourselves silly all day. It was perfect. I really feel awful for any woman who doesn’t have a sister. Who understands your verbal shorthand? Who knows your history from birth and gets you? Who would help you get rid of a body? Sister, therapist, accomplice...it’s all the same person. I’m grateful for mine. Other than that, we just poke along doing the daily tasks that make it a life. I’m way overdue for a day at my desk making things - jewelry, cards, art, something needs to happen soon. Maybe I can get creative tomorrow. I’m caught up in the yard and mostly around the house. The mister mowed today and everything looks so pretty. I’ve got a zillion baby zinnias up and some mighty fine looking sunflowers as well. I was surprised to see a bunny in the yard a couple of nights ago - better not eat my sunflowers!

Oh well, it’s time for me to shower off the yard dirt and make some dinner. Yesterday was salmon and roasted broccoli. Tonight it’s barbecued chicken thighs and roasted green beans - I’m feeling crazy, I think I’ll add wild rice. Tomorrow will probably be taco bowls with cauliflower rice. Or maybe just a big salad with chicken. I’ve gotten into a rut with our meals and I tend to make the same simple meals over and over. Mickey doesn’t complain, and most of it is healthy and easy - so I shouldn’t complain either. I just get bored. What a great problem to have, right? I already feel guilty for complaining. I’ll throw some dinner together and then we’ll watch Ted Lasso. This is the last season and I’m savoring every minute. I hate to see it end.

Is it just me or is Rebecca especially magnificent this season? I so hope that she gets her happily ever after. I’m off. Sorry about the boring post. I’m a granny in a small town. News is scarce. We had a jailbreak in Denton last week but it only lasted about 45 minutes. The guy was nabbed over on Cattail Commons, probably didn’t even get to do anything fun. Oh well, don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.

I hope that May is treating you well. It’s a truly lovely month and before we know it the heat of summer will be upon us. Ugh. Love the color, hate the temps. Get out and do fun stuff before the sun tries to kill you. I’ll be spreading mulch tomorrow because my baby plants are finally big enough. Not fun, but I’ll be happy when it’s done. My friends farther south are way ahead of me, and I followed that schedule for decades. I feel like I’m learning to garden from scratch -different soil, different zone, different issues. Still a pleasure though, I love the results. Okay, really stopping this time. Sending you love, wishing you all good things, and hoping that you stay safe and stay well. XOXO- Nancy

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celticbarb · 2 years ago

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#BOOKREVIEW #AmyJareckiBooks #Arcblogger #netgalley #newbookrelease #Scotland #lacemaker #KiltedTwins

Book: Kissing the Highland Twin

Author: Amy Jarecki

Series: The MacGalloway’s , Book #4

Publisher: Oliver Heber Books

Release Date: February 7, 2023

Book Length: 279 pages

Overall Rating: 5 Stars

Blog Rating: 5 Saltire Flags

The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry….Robert Burns (Scottish Poet)

Scotland 1817

Andrew and Phillip MacGalloway are the handsome identical twin brothers of a Scottish noble family where their oldest brother is the Duke. The twin brothers also run a mill together that creates exquisite muslim. The ruse is that Philip wants to deceive his betrothed, Eugenia Radcliffe who he hasn’t spoken to or communicated to in over three years! Now his mother is having a house party but it is pretty much so Philip will honor his betrothal and set a wedding date already!

Furthermore Phillip just wants Andrew to give Miss Radcliffe very little attention but to basically ignore his fiancé and go hunting most of the time. Andrew feels this is so wrong to treat the woman you want to marry like this. Where Philip is a cold, self-centered, snob that only cares for himself. Andrew refuses this horrible plan but hesitantly agrees so his new sister-in-law-to-be won’t feel ashamed or embarrassed plus being the helpful brother he is.

Therefore being the kind, sincere, gentleman he is and decides to make his acquaintance with Miss Eugenia Radcliffe as pleasant as possible. Andrew even keeps a list of the things that makes her special and unique,thinking it would enhance his brother's future marriage. Except he starts to have feelings for this woman who he now thinks as Eugenia that aren't very brotherly at all!

Eugenia thought for sure Philip wanted to break off the engagement! Especially not hearing from him since he proposed, however this man was is very different. Of course it’s been over three years so maybe he has changed or she doesn’t remember clearly. Eugenia always felt her mother set him up and put them in a compromising position to begin with. Especially since she had no offers since she came out two years ago being the shy wallflower. As both her mother and spoiled younger sister seemed ashamed of her and acted like she didn’t even exist the majority of the time.

So it was easy to discover her own amusements and during this time she discovered she had a talent for making lace, yet being the daughter of a Baron no one could know! As the gentry looked down at tradesmen, and snubbed women with talent and who had a brain who wanted more than just to be a married baby maker! Therefore when Philip was showering her with attention she was truly confused and she started having feelings she couldn’t control. Well that was until the real Philip returned to his mother’s house party and possibly opened up a whole can of worms!

Will Eugenia feel absolutely humiliated and betrayed not just by the twins but their entire MacGalloway family who all knew the truth? Shall she realize she has fallen in love and taken liberties with the wrong brother? If she discovers the truth can she ever forgive and forget? Will this cause a scandal of dire consequences that will ruin her family? Will she refuse her hearts true desire due to everyone’s deception? Will Eugenia assume the life of a spinster and remain alone forever?Find out this and more by reading this remarkable story about love, independence, deception, forgiveness and love.

Another winner that I absolutely loved about a scheming bother and a protective brother. It has all the elements that draws me in a beautiful story plus a few things that made me giggle too. It is no wonder Amy Jarecki is one of my favorite go to authors! Another book in this fun MacGalloway’s series that I absolutely loved. Can’t wait for the next book in this captivating series

A book I definitely recommend!

Disclaimer: I received an advance reader’s copy from Oliver-Heber publishing. I voluntarily agreed to do an honest, fair review and blog through Netgalley. All thoughts, ideas and words are my own.

Buy Links:

https://www.amazon.com/Kissing-Highland-Twin-MacGalloways-Book-ebook/dp/B0B8QGBCBF

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/kissing-the-highland-twin-amy-jarecki/1142899826

https://oliver-heberbooks.com/our-books/kissing-the-highland-twin-the-macgalloways-book-4/

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purelyfiction · 3 years ago

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Crossfire ---✈︎ 2

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x F!Reader | 1 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Word Count: 5,618

Summary: After a rowdy night of drinks and some beachside conversation, you find yourself growing closer to your new squadron, one member and one night drive at a time.

Content Warning: This is a successor to the first part, please read that first! || This story will have TopGun: Maverick plot line elements to it and will possibly spoil the movie for you. Please be aware. This - and all of my stories - is 18+. By continuing to read you agree that you are 18 or older and that any content you come across is by your own decision. || tw: death mention, major character death, spoilers for TG: Maverick

Author Note: I am not hopelessly cruel, really, so I am going to be pretty quick with these uploads, so long as I get the last section done that - admittedly - still isn’t written. I love, love, love hearing your feedback so please do not hesitate to comment, reblog, flood my askbox, I wanna know your thoughts!!

✈︎ ✈︎ ✈︎

By the time you’re ready to go, most of the bar’s patrons had funneled out, including most of your squadron. Payback still sat on the other end of the bar, talking to a girl you didn’t recognize. You’d spent most of your time catching up with Penny, talking and ordering drink after drink. With abundant laughter rolling through you, the woman sighs looking at her watch. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Shiner, but it’s past 2. Bar’s closed for the night.”

With a drunken gasp you sit up. “You didn’t do last call!” You try, but a voice from behind you speaks up.

“Oh, she certainly did. You ordered three more Cojitos. I drank two of them.” Rooster is pulling his shirt back on over his white vest, snickering at your state.

“That’s rude. You pay for ‘em? Otherwise, you owe me two drinks.” You frown, causing Penny to jump in.

“He paid for them. Now, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” She offers kindly and you sigh, pulling your wallet out and tossing a tip on the bar. Penny picks it up with a face, shaking her head. “I’m not taking this.”

“Yes you are.” You try to argue.

“Nope. I can’t.” She puts the fifty back on the bar and you pick it back up.

“I’ll put it in your mailbox the next time I’m out your way and then you risk Amelia getting it.” You hold it up one more time and the woman sighs, taking it with a smile.

“G’night Lieutenant.” She hums, and you give her a mild salute before heading to the backdoor. You were more than content walking the beach for the rest of the night - you were off tomorrow, luckily. Part of you wondered if Maverick just wanted an excuse to have a three day weekend, but none of you were complaining.

As you’re walking the shoreline, you can feel the cool chill of summer air hit you, making you wrap your arms around yourself carefully. Paired with the cool water that laps over your toes every now and then, you find peace here. Looking up the beach, you can see the stars light up the mountains that surround the area, making you smile.

This was still one of your favorite places, even after all this time. You’re not sure what it would take to change that - if anything. Your last name breaks through the air from behind, leaving you to turn towards the sound. When you do, you spot Rooster, jogging up behind you. Finally, he catches up to you, shoes in his hand as he matches your pace. “You gonna walk all the way back to the base or…?” You can still smell the rum off his lips, and you’re sure that you are in the same predicament.

The free feeling that consumes you is rightly from the amount of alcohol running through you. You can’t help it, Cojitos don’t taste anything like alcohol, and you knew that going into the night. “Maybe. It would just be another workout you happen to interrupt.” You taunt him, spotting the grin on his features. It doesn’t initially hit you, but you eventually realize what was happening. What had once been out-right insults had morphed into teasing. Friendly or otherwise… you’re not sure.

“Well, I don’t want to stop you, but… “ He slows to a stop, causing you to do the same, looking at him as he extends his arm, shoes in hand with a pointed finger. “Base is that way.” Both of you begin to crack up, shaking your heads at your inability to navigate.

“I guess you prevented me from making a very, very long trip home then.” You hum as both of you head back to the Hard Deck.

“I guess I have. Especially if you let me give you a ride back. I’d hate to explain to Maverick where you drunkenly wobbled off to.” He digs an elbow into your arm, letting you giggle. You’re looking back at him, seeing his gaze on you, matched with a warm smile.

“I’d be stupid not to take you up on that, wouldn’t I?” You ask, leaving him to shrug.

“You said it, not me.” Chuckling, he’s happily leading the way back.

When you do make it to the parking lot, you see his classic baby blue Bronco is the only vehicle in the lot. It’s a gorgeous car, which you stop to take a minute to appreciate. Fingers glide along the trim of the door, looking at it more deliberately as Rooster reaches into the trunk, grabbing a towel. “I’ve always loved classic cars. They make the day to day of life stand out.” He’s coming around the back of the trunk, opening your car door.

“Call it a hobby.” He shrugs, handing you the towel to brush the sand off your feet. You’re using the door to keep your balance, leaning against it as you half-ass your efforts to clean off your feet. Soon after, you’re losing your balance, falling forward, Rooster quickly reaching out his arms to catch you, which he does. You’re in a fit of laughter as he tightens his grip on you in an effort to stand you back up. Once standing, he’s holding onto your shoulders, looking you in the eye. You witness the laughter coming from him as well as he looks to the ground. “You alright?” Chuckling alongside you, he looks back up at you as you let one of your hands take his that’s resting on your shoulder.

“I’m fine,” You giggle, using his support on your shoulders to finish the task before climbing in the car. Soon enough, he’s doing the same, climbing in and starting it with ease.

As you drive along the roads, the cold air finally starts to get to you. You’re about to roll up the window when he stops you. “Ugh, that window crank doesn’t.. Work.” He attempts to dissuade you, causing you to glance at him.

“Some hobby you’ve got, Rooster.” You taunt, seeing his smirk.

“Alright smartass, and here I was about to offer up the blanket in the backseat.” He waves you off when you pout.

“No, no, I’m sorry. Please?” You’re trying to fight the smile on your face, but you’re quickly failing as you move to another fit of giggles.

“Nope, guess you’ve gotta suffer.” He retorts, driving along with a calm ease to him. You’re looking around and finally notice you’re on a different route to base than you were anticipating.

“Hey, where we going?” You ask, watching as he takes a turn.

“Taking the long way. It’s a nice night out.” He shrugs. “I mean, I can head back if you need to get home-”

“I was just curious. It’s not like we’ve got work tomorrow.” You remind him, leaving him to grin. He’s fiddling with the radio soon after, hearing the intro to one of countless Elvis songs. You weren’t too familiar with his less popular tracks, which this one turned out to be. But, unsurprisingly, he knew each of the words by heart. He’s turning up the volume, singing along as he’s driving. Each time he sings a line, he’s theatrically adding facial expressions and hand gestures in tandem, cracking you up as you move around the roads of California, cool air rolling over both of you, wind in your hair. There’s still moisture thickening the air, carrying the smell of the ocean with it, bringing it with you, no matter where you were headed. Rooster turns into another parking lot, still happily singing along to a song about poor Elvis being unable to reach his sweetheart because she kept sending his letters back. ”Alright, if this is your attempt to kill me, you could’ve just poisoned me with alcohol and left me on the beach.” You comment, seeing him shake his head as he climbs out of the vehicle.

“I’m not in the mood to be dishonorably discharged from the Navy, Moon.” He’s quick with a response, the back of the truck vibrating. Curiosity gets the best of you and you’re climbing out. By now, you’ve started to sober up, watching his actions. Rooster climbs up into the bed of the truck, turning and looking down at you. Soon after, he’s sticking out a hand, expectantly waiting for you to take it to climb up with him. So you do, climbing up and balancing yourself. He then hands you a blanket, which you happily wrap yourself up in as he settles in a comfortable spot against the back windscreen. You mimic his spot, looking around.

“What are we doing-” Soon, your chin is being directed upward with a gentle grip between his thumb and forefinger. When you find the sightline he’s after, you hum with surprise.

“My dad brought my mom and I out here right before he died. They were having a firework show and he set up a cushy spot in the truck bed and let us sit and watch. Not a soul was in the lot with us. When the fireworks finished, he had a box of sparklers for me to play with while he and my mom caught up. We had to leave not even two days later.” The two of you sit with your heads tilted up towards the sky, looking at the stars, finding constellations. “On days like today, when I feel like it gets a bit too much… I try to get back there. Back when it was the three of us.” He shifts in his spot, leaving you to look at him. It’s very faint, but along the specks of gold in the melting pot of brown and green that were his eyes, you got the reflection of the stars. There’s immense beauty in them - the stars and his eyes.

The quiet has tucked the two of you away by now, with you still watching his eyes, Rooster watching the sky. “Thank you.” Finally he turns back to you again when you speak. “For a piece of quiet. I think… we both needed this.” You glance back up to the sky again.

You’re in that lot for nearly an hour before you get back into the cab of the truck and head to base. Finally, you’re past the gates again, parking and starting to climb out. You’re not wanting to leave the warmth of the blanket, but you drop it back into the truck bed anyways. You’re starting towards the sidewalk when Rooster catches up again, tossing you something. A jacket, which you’re happy to take. Pulling it on, the two of you walk, mindlessly for the most part. Soon enough, you come up on your door and you stop. “I think it might be time to call it a night.” You suggest and Rooster nods with a yawn.

“I was thinking the same thing.” Pocketing his hands, the two of you awkwardly stand there as you begin to unlock the door. You’re about to open it when your name comes from him.

Your first name. Which makes you look at him. He’s carefully stepping forward as you wait for him to say something. Instead, his head begins to dip towards yours. Instinctually, you’re closing your eyes, just as his lips meet yours. It’s awkward and sloppy, your noses smush against one another, but it is the best feeling. His hand comes to cup the back of your head, pulling you closer until you break the contact, needing air. When you do, you open your eyes again, meeting his shortly after. “Goodnight, Moonshine.” He pulls himself from you, a quick salute of his fingers as he turns to head to his own dorm.

———————————————— ✈︎

When you arrive at the airfield the next day, you’re surprised to see the note on the whiteboard in the hangar. In poor penmanship, likely Maverick’s, sits a message in blue ink.

Materials required for today’s lesson: swimming attire.

As the team huddles around the board, you look at one another in confusion. Still, you all split to go and grab the requested article.

When you return, Maverick stands with an old school Fighter’s shirt and swim trunks, sunglasses on his face - a football wedged between his side and his arm. “We’re going on a field trip.” The fourteen of you - including Mav and Hondo - make your way to the beach just in front of Penny’s bar, where he explains that for this mission to have a greater success rate, you would need to learn to communicate and coordinate with one another, which would be done off the airfield and in the sand in the form of ‘Dogfight Football’.

It takes you all a minute to get the rules straight - but when you do, you’re all going at top speed. You’ve found that Rooster has taken to the game like a fish to water, which is far from where you’re at. You’d never been strong at team sports, but Rooster is happy to pull you to the side to explain what you were missing; His mini-lessons would assist you as you got further along in the game. There are plenty of times where you end up on your back, rolling in the sand with your teammates as Hondo attempts to referee the game. When the sun is setting for the day, none of you are ready to go home as Maverick himself joins in on the second round of the game. You’re grabbing a drink of water when out of the corner of your eye, you spot Rooster peeling the white vest from his chest. Half of your water ends up out of its container and onto your own chest as you register the sun’s glare on his skin. You curse, wiping at your mouth and haphazardly get the lid back on. “Moonshine! We’re waiting on you!” Fitch is shouting from his spot near the water, making you drop your bottle.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Hours pass before your energy is fully exhausted, wherein Maverick ‘dismisses’ the class, the boys all heading to Penny’s back porch for a beer, leaving you and Phoenix to head back to base for a shower. The two of you climb into your car, starting the engine and blasting the AC. You’re like a bat out of hell as you pull away from the building, desperate to wash off the sand, salt and sweat off.

“Well that was an unexpected way to get a point across.” Phoenix starts, already pointing the vent toward her to try to beat the stuffy heat of the car, having been baking in the waning sunlight of the afternoon.

“I think it worked really well, honestly. There was one point where I even saw Hangman and Rooster high five.” It’s spoken with a sarcastic tone, but you’re certain that the two were finally getting along - somewhat. At least you hoped, especially after the stunt Hangman had pulled in the lecture hall the other day, that nearly ended in a physical altercation between the two men.

“Let’s pray it did. Something tells me this is going to be the beginning of the end.” Phoenix sighs and you understand what she means. There were no shortcuts and no fooling around from here. Shit was about to hit the fan when it came to training. Both of you grow quiet. Soon after, the sun is nearly blinding you with how low it’s gotten and you’re cursing.

“Hey, can you grab my sunglasses from the back?” You ask her for a favor as you drive, knowing you’d changed your shirt and forgotten them somewhere in the backseat. The brunette shifts herself to look for them, rummaging around for a while before she pulls a faded blue jacket from the backseat, handing over your sunglasses while focused on the item. “Thanks.” You take them easily, sliding them over your nose and glancing at her.

“This is yours?” She asks, holding the fabric up by the shoulders. “Looks a little big for you.” When you glance over, you’re finally registering what she’d pulled out.

“Oh, no, that’s a friend’s.” You try to leave it at that as she inspects the patches sewn onto the denim, fingers tracing over the red thread that secures it to the jacket.

“A Navy friend?” She gives an unamused squint of her eyes towards you before further inspecting the jacket, it seems as though she’s been clued off with the vintage Naval badges that litter it. When she finds the label, she finds an embroidered ‘G’ on the tag, a near gasp leaving her as she connects the dots. “Shiner, does this belong to who I think it does?” Her voice is filled with disapproval, clutching the fabric tightly into a fist.

In an attempt to tranquilize the argument that’s inbound, you begin your line of defense. “Now hold on, you abandoned me at the bar the other night and Rooster drove me home. His window was broken and I was cold, so he let me borrow his jacket. I just haven’t gotten around to returning it, which is why it’s still in my car.” With a rational explanation, she tosses the jacket back to its place on the back seat with a thunk.

“Okay, good. So long as it doesn’t go past that.” You give her a weird look, causing her to continue. “I mean, I’m glad that you guys are starting to get along but I’ve heard things. He’s got a reputation you know. Not to mention, he’s screwed you over before to get what he wants. I just… don’t want you to feel cheated out of a spot again.” As she says it, it burrows itself into your brain. You’d not thought of that. What if it had been a ploy to distract you? To get you to fall behind so he could come out on top again? You sweep it under the rug, after all there’s nothing that pointed to any malicious intent right now, at least not from what you can tell.

“I see what you mean. I appreciate the lookout, Phee, but I think we’re gonna go the route of ‘guilty until proven otherwise’. It was just a ride home after all, no different than this.” You wag a finger between the two of you, referring to the current ride you’re on, as you pull onto the road to the base she nods.

“You’re right, you’re right. Just trying to get ya to tread with caution.”

So you do. The next few days you take a small step back from Rooster, strictly professional - pilot to pilot. That is until the shock of Admiral Kazansky’s death comes to all of your doorsteps.

The service left all of you quiet. No one spoke a word, especially not Maverick. Not on the way there, or the way back. You truly felt as though you’d never stood more still for a salute than you had that day. With a blue sky and a gentle breeze sending the flag unfurling, you stood like steel, all while pushing emotion back as best as you can, but it’s difficult when you can see your own captain starting to crumble. You never thought you’d find yourself vulnerable enough to waiver from the enduring practices the Navy had put you through. Yet, you flinch when Maverick pins his Naval Badge into the coffin.

You tried to find peace after the service had completed, which meant you were at the beach again, thinking over it all.

From what you’d heard, he’d been ill for some time, yet no one really knew. Perhaps that made sense. The Admiral did not want anyone to see him for anything other than what he was: A lion–hearted man who saw opportunity in everyone, no matter their rank or place in life. After all, it was because of him that Maverick was placed in his position as your instructor and for that you owed him plenty.

As you’re about to head home, you spot the familiar pilot at the stoop of the Hard Deck. Taking counted steps, you’re joining him at his spot, making it comfy as you look at him. “Hey. How are you holding up?” You’re careful with your question, primarily as you can’t imagine being in his shoes.

You watch Maverick’s shoulders shrug, before you let a hand rest on one. “Yeah, me too.” Instead of prodding the conversation further, you look at the water lapping on the shore, listening to the crashing sound.

“No one tells you how many friends you lose when you join the Navy.” Mav speaks with such bitterness, leaving you to look at him.

“Is this you telling me?” You try, an effort to lighten the mood, ever so slightly. He glances at you with a small smile before sighing.

“Just might be. We weren’t exactly at war or anything but I can still tell you I’ve been to more funerals than I’ve ever expected to be at.” He’s fiddingling with his hands, making you watch as he’s picking at a hangnail.

“I hope that won’t be the case with us.” You offer, which makes him look at you. Of course you had your concerns with the rest of the group, they’d started to grow on you - like algae or a bad pop song that’s been overplayed.

“Us, huh?” He points it out and you smile, shaking your head as you lean into him.

“Yeah. Us. They may be assholes but they’re admittedly my assholes.” You retort with a happy grin. “I hate to think that one day they won’t be with us, if that’s by choice or happenstance… I think part of me came to realize that today.”

Maverick rolls his head towards the parking lot as he hums in agreement. “I just hope for all of you it’s at the hands of something potentially expected. I would hate for it to just.. Come up and grab you all by surprise.”

You can’t even imagine. You’ve thought about - especially when it comes up in conversation with Rooster. Losing his parents both so unexpectedly… you hated to think about how that impacted him. First his dad, he couldn’t have been more than 6. Then his mom in the middle of what are supposed to be some of the best years…

“What was Rooster’s dad like?”

For the next forty minutes, Maverick happily goes on about their days in TOPGUN and prior. What Rooster had been like as a kid… how they had quickly fallen out over something neither of them enjoyed. You had half the mind to ask what it would take for the two of them to get back onto the same terms but you’re not sure it’s entirely possible at this point.

“It’d take a miracle, kid.” He sighs, standing up to head out - presumptuously to Penny’s to seek some well needed guidance that you weren’t able to provide.

“Well as it stands we’re working on being miracle-workers. I’ll give you a call if the first two work out.” You tease, referring to the very mission you all had to tackle. The amused yet disapproving grin on his features is enough reassurance to be comfortable leaving him again, seeing he’s in much higher spirits than when you found him.

You stand with caution, hands in the pockets of the jacket on your shoulders - yes, that jacket, and it seems that Phoenix isn’t the only one to notice it.

When his head raises, Maverick smiles at the sight. “Man, I haven’t seen this in years.” He reaches up, pulling the fabric from your torso to get a better look at it, only for you to let your arms come out in a T shape, displaying the coat for him to see, the worn patches proudly stitched into the material. You take your time and slowly spin for him before sitting down.

“Rooster let me borrow it on the way home the other night. Keep forgetting to give it back to him.” There’s guilt in the confession. You’re keeping a part of his dad from him, but at the same time… it smelled like Rooster. And maybe you selfishly wanted to keep it a little longer for that reason.

“He must trust you a great deal then.” Maverick makes the comment which leads you to look at him with confusion.

“You think?” This causes him to laugh.

“Oh, I know. He barely talks to me about his folks, let alone lend me their cherished belongings.” The captain has a point there, it’s a sharp comparison to what Phoenix had suggested, which is far more reassuring than you expected it to be. You’re now realizing you haven’t said anything for a while. Before you can form a sentence, your instructor stands, looking down at you. “Be careful.” He speaks before heading out to the direction of the parking lot.

Suddenly you’re not sure if he’s talking about the jacket or the man who owns it.

The following morning, you find your team at the lecture hall, expecting another day of Maverick chasing you down in the air or making you want to hurl with half radius turns but instead, you’re met with Admiral Bates and Simmons. You’d not seen them since the first day of your assignment when they’d introduced Maverick. Who is nowhere to be seen.

It’s then that Admiral Bates explains that Maverick is gone and Admiral Simmons is taking over and to top it all off, you now have only a week to do the impossible.

As if you weren’t already shitting bricks at the start of all of this. Now you were being tested to do something that hadn’t even been done before. One of you was about to speak up when the nearest radio starts up about an unauthorized F-18 in the air. When the pilot identifies themselves. Maverick was in air and about to attempt the run - in 2.15.

You all had your ears honed, eyes fixated on the screen in front of you, watching his position, speed, time.

He’s. Doing it.

The group surrounding you is jumping into comments, encouragements, mumblings. Sat with your arms crossed against your chest, you watch like a hawk as the captain approaches the target…

Contact.

For the rest of the morning, the group is electrified and frankly - won’t shut up about it. Hungry, you suggest lunch at a nearby sub shop along the beach. About five people take you up on it, including Rooster. You all navigate there before sitting down to eat. Unsurprisingly, you’re the first to finish your meal, seeing as everyone else is too hyper-fixated on the run that Maverick had shoved in Simmons’ face.

Eventually, the energy dies down as people leave, which leaves you and Rooster as he starts to finish his meal. You’ve cleaned up, and didn’t want to abandon him, so you sit as he munches on what’s left of his sandwich. Your gaze has shifted to the window, only before you hear the other attempt to speak, but with his mouth full, you can’t make out very much. “Wanna try that again?” You tease, looking back toward him, seeing him wipe at his mouth in an attempt to clean up.

“I was saying that Coyote suggested we have a weekend for Dogfighting Football again.” He brings up a conversation that you’re actually willing to engage in.

“Really? Even though he got his ass absolutely pummeled?” You lean back in your seat, boots pushing off the side of his chair to let you rock on the back two legs.

“Oh yeah, he’s looking for redemption, obviously.” The male crumbles up his parchment paper and remaining crumbs from his sandwich, tossing it in the little plastic red basket they served their sandwiches in. “You ready to head out?” A nod, you let all four legs sit on the floor again, heading to the door way before Rooster was ready. You’re stepping out into the sun again, smiling as the golden rays warm your skin. You keep the door open for your company who is trailing behind you. You’re about to head to the car when Rooster turns down the road even further.

“Car’s the other way, Bradley.” You comment, catching up with him. The name is so easy off your tongue, you nearly don’t catch the discrepancy. Suddenly, you’re all too aware of your mistake. “Did I just call you, Bradley? Shit, Rooster. Rooster.”

You’re scared to look at his expression, wondering how badly you’d screwed up. But instead of the menacing glare you’re expecting, you get… nothing. He’s fiddling with a green packet of gum he’s retrieved from his pocket. Finally he speaks as he shoves a stick of gum into his mouth. “Eh, don’t freak about it. As for the car, I know it is. I’m not entirely eager to get back to Maverick’s fanbase just yet and something tells me neither are you.” He gives a knowing smirk while offering gum from the pack as he strolls along the boardwalk. You politely decline, leaving him to pocket it again.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was incredibly impressive.” You offer, pushing your sunglasses down from your head and back onto the bridge of your nose.

“Incredibly. Really.”

“Absolutely.” Both of you are snickering when you come upon an ice cream stand. Seeing the cartoon popsicles makes you smile, Rooster catching it and slowing down. He’s staring at the menu pensively, making you also look over the options. There’s dozens of options, but you have one picked out, pulling your wallet out. Rooster speaks up.

“Can I get the Spiderman popsicle, and whatever the lady wants?” While fiddling with your wallet, you hadn’t realized that he had a ten bill in his pocket and had already handed it over to the vendor.

“The Spongebob popsicle please.” You smile kindly at the woman under the umbrella watching as she pulls them both out for you, handing over the change, which Rooster drops in her tip jar. She gives a nod, thanking him before the two of you continue on whatever path you were on. Unwrapping your treats, you stick out your hand for his wrapper, which he happily deposits in your hand, leaving you to drop them in a nearby barrel with a black garbage bag. A faux garbage can if you will. He holds his popsicle out towards you, leaving you to bump yours with his as though they were champagne glasses.

Both of you enjoy your walk in the California sun, no words exchanged, just enjoying a nostalgic treat and the view around you. It seems as though the sun is melting your treat faster than you can consume it though, as Spongebob’s eyes begin to droop with the melting confection. It leaves you with little choice, grabbing the gumball with your teeth before chewing it. Rooster shakes his head. “You’re ruthless. Stealing eyeballs left and right.” He says it with such a straight face, making you laugh, nearly dropping your popsicle.

With sticky hands and stale gum, the two of you start back to your car to head back to base. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to have to do push-ups when we get back for being late.” You point out, seeing the leisurely pace your teammate is walking at.

“Eh, I don’t know, maybe if we kiss enough ass Maverick will let us off with a warning.”

“That is if he was reinstated to his post.” You remind him, knowing that he had technically stolen the jet he’d performed his record run at.

“Valid points were made.” He offers as you start toward your car when you reach the gravel parking lot. It reminds you of the conversation you’d had the other night about the origin of the three scars on his chin. You unlock the sedan, climbing in with ease. Though, as you’re starting the car, you hear a thump come from Rooster’s side. You turn to see him cursing and rubbing the side of his head. Laughing, you reach over with concern.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” You find the spot he’d collided with the car frame with, carefully running fingers over it.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He huffs, reaching up to grab your wrist, pulling your hand down slowly. When it's back in his lap, you smile, waiting for him to let it go only to ruffle his hair before you back out of your spot.

“Klutz.” You start on the coastline road that leads back to base, hearing him mess with the AUX cord in your car. When he’s plugged in his phone, you half expect some old school music like the other night, but instead, the familiar comedic chanting from Blue Swede’s Hooked On A Feeling comes through instead. Rooster has the window down, starting to sing along, theatrics and all. Amplified even, since he’s not in the driver seat this time. He’s practically rocking the car as you pick up speed down the highway. You’re still giggling as he does so, catching a glance of him mock singing into a microphone. As you approach a stop sign, he looks at you with a knowing smile, having put a pause to his nonsense. The chorus kicks into high gear again, leaving him to start the high note, letting you laugh again. You cover your mouth with one hand, the other still on the wheel. As he carries on, you see him share your brief eye contact. Hazel eyes you’ve come to know like the back of your hand.

Hazel eyes you’d begun to fall for.

———————————————— ✈︎

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Tagged by request: @thatchickwiththecamera @pleasedontblameme @babychaosnacho @mothresscos05 @mannstarkey @deadpoolgirl23 @lclove2012-blog

#top gun #top gun maverick #Bradley Bradshaw #Bradley Bradshaw x reader #Bradley ‘rooster’ Bradshaw x reader #rooster Bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #Bradley rooster Bradshaw x reader #Bradley Bradshaw x f!reader #Bradley rooster Bradshaw x f!reader #roo

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offbrandhange · 4 years ago

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Wedding Day ! | 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

Fluff & NSFW headcanons on your wedding day/night with some of the AOT boys!

! Slight NSFW !

Warnings: Alcohol, mentions of sex, pregnancy. Fem ! reader.

Majority of this is fluff, but there are mentions of !BEEP! sooo yeah.

Characters: Armin, Eren, Erwin, Jean, Levi

a/n: I have to take my SAT tomorrow, please wish your girl good luck for those sweet, sweet good grades....

𝕬𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝕬𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖗𝖙 ~

Helps you plan the wedding and possibly loves it even more than you do. He’s a sucker for quality time.

Armin would prefer a small or medium-sized wedding. If you want a large wedding though, there’s no way he’s holding you back from having it.

100% a beach wedding. No doubt.

The venue is BEAUTIFUL. Spent countless nights researching and visiting places to make sure you got the best.

Eren is chosen as the best man, although Armin feels guilty for having to pick only one out of all his friends.

On the day of the wedding, Armin is a panicking mess. Eren and Jean literally have to give him a pep talk before he goes to stand at the alter.

Practiced deep breathing techniques before the wedding. Unfortunately, they aren’t working.

When you finally walk down the isle, Armin starts crying softly. Eren put his hand on his shoulder to comfort him......which just made him sob harder. He cried multiple times during the wedding.

Your wedding rings are the set his grandfather and grandmother shared :’)

Specifically told the bartender not to serve Connie and Sasha more than 3 drinks. He doesn’t trust them making their own alcohol-related decisions at his wedding.

Armin isn’t a dancer but....he practiced how to slow dance just for you.

Shy at first when it comes to the more fast-paced dancing, but Jean coaxes him into it, and he ends up having a lot of fun.

The speeches are so nice!!! But mostly because Armin asked Mikasa to read them over before hand to make sure they were okay.

After the wedding ends and everyone has left, you and Armin sit and watch the waves at night.

NSFW below !

The beach was reserved...meaning it is now completely deserted. I am now politely reminding you, Armin is not a saint. Honeymoon sex on the beach, anybody?

The sex is slow and sweet; he takes his time with you and kisses you all over. It’s 100% the definition of, “making love.”

If you’re down for a kid right now, Armin’s down for a kid right now. He WILL try for a baby with you if it’s what you want.

After you made a mess of yourselves in the sand...Armin would probably let you sleep for a little bit as he watched the waves. He doesn’t want it to end yet.

When he’s finally content, he would carry you back to the hotel, trying not to wake you.

Super considerate dusting the sand off you, and then tucking you in bed. He’s totally cuddling you to sleep, too.

𝕰𝖗𝖊𝖓 𝕵𝖆𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖗 ~

Pretty much gives you full control of the wedding planning; he only has a few requests.

Eren would be the type of dude to invite friends, friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends. Your wedding is gonna be packed.

Has no idea what kind of wedding he prefers.

Please, god, don’t let him pick the venue. He will go to the first one, look around, and go, “Yeah, this is pretty nice.” That’s how you’ll end up getting married at an AirBNB with a nice backyard hidden behind the local Walmart.

Doesn’t know if he should make Armin or Zeke the best man, so he flips a coin to decide. It landed on Armin, and from that day on, Zeke was super salty.

Tries to convince you to try on the wedding dress/suit the day before. He can’t sleep that night because he’s so keyed up thinking about how pretty you’ll look.

On the day of the wedding, he’s super fucking ecstatic and practically bouncing all over the place.

Eren would get kind of impatient when waiting at the isle, to the point it would annoy the groomsmen. Jean came so close to saying something but was thankfully stopped by Armin.

When you finally walk down the isle, he’s BEAMING. He tears up a little bit out of happiness, but nothing too extreme.

Armin had to help him pick out the wedding rings otherwise you would’ve ended up with one of those plastic spider rings you win at Chuck e. Cheese’s.

Eren gets so fucking drunk you’re worried you might have to carry him back to the room by the end of the night.

Jean literally nit-picks everything Eren does the whole night....which almost ends up resulting in a drunken bar fight...at your wedding. It ends up fine, though, because Levi and Mikasa step in as bodyguards.

You SWEAR Mikasa is giving you dirty looks. Likewise, Eren SWEARS he’s getting dirty looks from Levi.

He does alright slow-dancing, but is so tipsy and distracted by how attractive you are to him, he’s kinda just....trying his best.

Absolutely OBLITERATES the dance floor when the fast-paced songs come on...

WILD assortment of speeches. Mikasa is crying, Armin’s reading a poem, Floch’s trying to get you to join his cult, Zeke is crying......and Eren is sitting there like, “Is this almost over.” You’d think it was America’s got talent, or something.

When the wedding ends, he 100% drags you to your favorite fast-food restaurant. Still in your wedding attire. Seriously, this dude is crazy, but he’s fun.

NSFW below !

When you get back to the hotel, he lets you eat your food--and then he fucks the shit out of you.

Way, way, way more rough than usual; super passionate sex. Multiple rounds, too. You don’t even KNOW how he has this much stamina by the end of the night.

Not even TRYING to get you pregnant, but his dumbass probably accidentally would.

Good luck trying to walk tomorrow!!!

When he’s finally tired, he is GONE. Like, you could scream bloody-murder and he still wouldn’t wake up.

𝕰𝖗𝖜𝖎𝖓 𝕾𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖍 ~

You can TRY and take that wedding planner from Erwin--the only way he’d give it to you is if you pried it from his cold, dead hand(s).

Tells people he’s married MONTHS before the wedding.

Everyone.....and I mean EVERYONE.....knows you’re getting married. he will walk up to strangers and brag about you.

Erwin invites everyone he sees. Elderly woman crossing the street? Invited. Barista at the coffee shop? Invited. Guy on the bus who offered him a seat? Invited.

All those people attend the wedding, too. Why? Everyone knows and loves Erwin. So when your wedding is literally PACKED with people you have never seen before--you’re only slightly surprised.

You know those reality shows where they have HUGE, expensive weddings? Your wedding would put theirs to shame. Erwin goes ALL OUT.

The venue? A literal castle. How did he manage to book and afford a castle? Don’t question it.

Your wedding dress doesn’t have a budget. Seriously, your wedding is crazy expensive--and straight out of a fairy tale.

You’re pretty sure Levi made himself the best man--and Erwin was fine with it.

Is super excited on the day of the wedding. He knows it’s going to be perfect; he got his eyebrows done just for the occasion.

When you walk down that isle his smile is SO BRIGHT. he is SHINING.

Yeah, those wedding rings? Imported from Italy, plastered with giant, real, diamonds. You will never be able to say Erwin doesn’t spoil you.

Pretty chill wedding, nothing’s too rowdy and everyone’s still having a good time.

Whispers sweet nothings and tells you how happy he is the whole night. He can’t go five minutes without saying, “I love you.”

Just TRY to get him to stop holding your hand; he won’t.

Erwin is so good at slow-dancing??? And he’s so careful with you, too. 100% the one in the lead, but he’s spinning and dipping you so sweetly. Not to mention the way he’s looking at you...

He’s a serious guy a lot of the time, but I honest to god believe in the sweetest way possible, you would genuinely have a really fun time fast-pace dancing with him. You would both be laughing at each other’s moves.

Majority of the speeches are super nice. Hange tried to get Levi to say something, brought him up to the stage and....he starred at the crowd for a couple awkward seconds, then walked off. He conveyed his message through his eyes, I guess?

The wedding is so long you weren’t sure it was ever going to end...

Hotel? Nah he booked that castle, that’s where you’re spending the night...

NSFW below !

You’re fucking in the king bed tonight baby, literally.

Pays attention to your needs/wants the WHOLE NIGHT. Seriously, he’s a soft dom, and makes sure you’re more than satisfied.

Tons of body worship?? He’s so sweet and careful with you.

Erwin secretly really, really wants to give you his babies and start a family with you on the honeymoon. If you’re willing, he will make sure he gets you pregnant; you’re getting no sleep.

After you’re done, he will run you two a bath and clean you off. He adds in a little bonus massage, too.

When you get in bed, he pets your head, cuddling you until you fall asleep. You could’ve sworn you saw him smiling before you drifted off to sleep.

𝕵𝖊𝖆𝖓 𝕶𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖎𝖓 ~

Jean would definitely help you plan the wedding--he values romance a lot, so having the perfect wedding for him and you, is important. He also doesn’t want to put all the weight on you.

Brags to his friends that he’s getting married--they all get tired of hearing about it.

Normal sized wedding--not too many, but not small, either. Lots of family and friends.

The venue is at a barn. Yes, he picked a barn. it’s a nice venue, too; the only problem is that he’s not going to be able to escape those horse jokes.

Marco is chosen as the best man--and when Connie hears about it, he sulks for a few days. He gets over it eventually, though.

He’s kind of nervous the day of--but Marco reassures him and teaches his some deep-breathing techniques.

Keeps his cool until he goes to stand at the alter--and then he’s in full-blown panic mode. “What if I can’t make her happy?” “What if she runs away with Eren?” meanwhile, Eren is standing right there with the other groomsmen, like “wtf?”

When you walk down the isle--he’s super overwhelmed. He feels a huge sense of relief you didn’t ditch him and run away, but also metaphorically hit by a semi-truck of emotions since he realized he’s ACTUALLY getting married. There’s a little bit of happy crying.

His mom picked out your wedding rings; you only find out when she brags about it--and Jean yells at her for telling you.

His wedding gift to you is a giant portrait he drew of you--and on the back, there’s a message in French. He won’t tell you what it says, but you’re pretty sure it’s an oath to love and protect you ‘till the day he dies.

He does pretty well slow-dancing. His mom also mentions he begged her to practice with him so he didn’t mess up.

He’s a little worried about making himself look like a fool dancing in front of you--but for you, he does it anyways; You both laugh your asses off and have a lot of fun.

The speeches make Jean look like he wants to drop dead from embarrassment. He’s not sure what’s worse--Connie and Sasha doing karaoke, Eren making horse jokes, or his mom telling all of his embarrassing baby stories.

After everyone leaves, Jean takes you to look at the animals before you leave, too.

NSFW below !

As for honeymoon sex; you better not make a horse joke, otherwise you’re getting laid in that fucking barn. Maybe. He threatens that, but you know he wouldn’t want to have sex there on your wedding night. He’s 100% down for another time, though.

A mix of rough and sweet at the same time--he does the right things at the right times.

Is a lot more passionate and soft than usual--very careful with your body, and makes sure to really take everything in; He wants to remember the night for as long as he lives.

Immaculate aftercare; and on top of that, he lets you fall asleep in his arms, occasionally kissing your forehead.

Bonus: he sings you to sleep.

𝕷𝖊𝖛𝖎 𝕬𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖓 ~

Lets you plan the wedding, but looks it over and makes sure there’s nothing too crazy happening. He, somehow, is worried you’re going to plan a circus or something else ridiculous to show up.

No one knows you’re getting married until the envelopes are mailed to family and friends. In fact, some people didn’t even know you were together.

Pretty small wedding, it’s mostly people who are very close to you two. It has a very homey-feel.

The venue HAS to be indoors. Levi thinks an outdoor wedding is unsanitary--so you end up getting married in a banquet hall.

Erwin is 1000% the best man. You don’t even have to ask, you already know it’s going to be Erwin.

Is literally shaking and sweating his ass off he’s so nervous the day of the wedding--if anyone asks, though, he swears he is fine. Has no idea it’s completely obvious he’s on the verge of absolutely freaking out.

Erwin and Hange try to get him to relax--but he continues to deny that he is in fact, NOT calm.

When you walk down the isle and he makes eye contact with you--his brain short-circuits. His mind literally stops working and is constantly repeating, “p...p...pre....pretty..” the whole damn time.

Mentally saves the image of you in your dress/suit to use as his motivation to always come home to you.

Tries to remain expressionless, but is literally tomato-red and on the verge of crying; he never thought he’d be able to find happiness--it feels like everything is finally going to be okay. Erwin is smiling like a proud dad, and Hange is trying to suppress their amazement that the dude’s showing emotion.

Your wedding rings are fairly plain--but on the inside of the bands, both of your names are etched.

He won’t read the vows out loud, he simply hands you a letter and tells you to read it another time.

When the time comes to kiss--Levi literally hides behind you and shyly pulls you in. The view the audience gets is your back--and they aren’t sure whether to clap or not.

Your wedding gift to him was a giant assortment of different teas--and he genuinely seemed really excited to try them. He didn’t realize it, but when he mentioned tasting them, he said, “with you” at the end.

Has no idea how to slow dance. Erwin tried to help him, but it didn’t do much, so you teach him on the spot. Your first dance, he concentrates really hard on not messing up, eyebrows furrowed and all.

Doesn’t know how to dance fast-pace either, in fact, he’s pretty confused. You have to grab the man and force him out of his comfort zone, spinning him and all. Hange and the Survey Corp members are laughing their ass off at his bewildered face.

The speeches went pretty well--except for when Hange didn’t stop talking; Levi threatened to force them off the stage, and you don’t think he was joking.

The wedding was fairly short--but only because Levi rushed everyone home; he just wanted to drag you off and keep you to himself for the rest of the day.

After the wedding, he takes you to a spot nearby to watch the sunset. He has a soft smile, and you can tell he’s genuinely happy.

You take HIM back to the hotel--he would’ve been fine staying there just a little longer, in the peace of it all.

NSFW below !

You’re literally taking his virginity. He saved himself for marriage; he wanted to make sure he gave himself to the right person.

Very nervous--and kind of insecure, too. He isn’t sure what you’ll think of him, and he’s worried about you seeing his scars. He STILL isn’t completely convinced you really want him.

Lots of body worship and reassuring him; he melts at your touch.

Once he gets comfortable and into it, he repeats “I love you” a lot.

He doesn’t last very long...but keeps going until you get off, too. He’s still a little confused by everything, so you have to teach him.

He’s half asleep after cumming--but still insists the two of you need to get in the shower.

Was too tired to stand, so you took a bath together instead. He falls asleep, leaning on you, when you massage his head.

You end up being unable to wake him up--the man is dead tired from not only sleep deprivation, the long day, but also his first time.

You can’t get him out of the bathtub, either--he’s too bulky to lift. You expected him to be much lighter due to his height, but his muscle makes him a lot more heavy.

Hange and Erwin have to be called to haul his ass--naked--out of the tub and into the bed. Hange is of no help since they’re laughing so hard--and Erwin is helping, but trying so hard not to break face and laugh too.

After they leave, you cover him up and cuddle into his frame; you could swear you heard a quiet, “thank you.”

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silly-thinkings · 3 years ago

Text

Venom/reader x Batman/Bruce Wayne

Sooo, I wrote this while I was feeling for both Venom and Bruce... I regret nothing~ Please enjoy! do not repost my work. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. ~~++~~

“Venom! I said no. Put that man down.”

“but he’s a criminal Y/N nobody will miss him!”

“I’ll make your favorite brownies tonight~ ya know. the ones with the m&m’s, kitkats. Hershey chocolate filling~” she coo’d”

The poor man that was hanging upside-down shook even more as he saw the massive gooey beast visibly drooling.

Venom growled “FINE”

The symbiote tossed the man to the side of the wall, knocking him out cold.

Just as he was about to jump away, He felt something sharp imbed itself in his shoulder. Then electricity surged from the blade.

Venom growled and ripped the sharp object. He looked out towards the entrance of the ally to see two other vigilantes.

“Uh oh.” Venom heard Y/N say

“These puny humans and their toys are no match for us!”

“V no. Don’t hurt them, please. They protect this city to remember. If anything they were here first.”

“But we are much cooler!”

Batman and Nightwing looked at each other then back to the large mass that’s clearly an alien talking to itself.

“Excuse me venom! We have some questions. You’ve been out helping others at night just like us. We’d like to-”

“No! No questions. We’re leaving now.”

Venom pointed to the unconscious man “This is the runaway you were looking for. Next time you miss a criminal, I’ll eat their flesh! And use their bones as toothpicks.”

“V!”

The two men watched as the beast muttered something before turning around and crawling the buildings.

“H-hey wait!”

“Leave him Nightwing. We got to get this guy checked before we hand him over to the GCPD” Batman said walking towards the unconscious criminal. After confirming that he had a pulse, Batman informed the police where the last bandit is.

The two head to the Batmobile “so about the alien”

Bruce tapped a few buttons on the screen. A red blip showed up on the map “I want to know where it stays. This thing is a threat.”

~~~~

Venom let out an annoying growl as he landed behind one of his favorite supermarkets. After making sure nobody was around he retreaded back into Y/N.

Y/N adjusted her hair a bit “what’s wrong hun.” She asked her peeved companion.

“Can’t you hear that beeping! It’s annoying.”

Suddenly Y/N began coughing. Her eyes watered as her body did everything it could to remove the random object. finally spat out a small metal-like ball.

“So that’s what it was! That bastard put a tracker on us! How dare he!”

Y/N took a deep breath trying to regain her composure. She looked down at the device.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t go straight home then huh big guy” she said stepping on the piece of metal.

She made her way inside the store and pulled out a shopping cart.

“Pretty empty today. I wonder why.”

“Doesn’t matter. That means more chocolate for us!”

Y/N giggled “of course. You did so well not eating the guy.”

Y/N made her way down to the candy aisle and began taking the chocolates that she needed. When she began walking away to look for the rest of the ingredients she noticed two tendrils pick up three different kinds of sour candy and put it in the cart.

“Venom?”

“You’re spoiling me. So let me spoil you.”

“You do know I’m still the one that has to pay for all this right?” She placed the candy back “I’m sure I still have some of my candy back at home.”

She put the candies back and finally began shopping for proper groceries.

~~~

“We lost the signal bats. I think we should call it a night.” Nightwing said as he followed the raindrops outside the car window.

The two were parked outside of a grocery store. Batman looked at the screen in mild annoyance. This was the last place the beast was tracked and the trail suddenly died. No sightings, no surrounding damage. The thing just disappeared.

Bruce looked up from the screen to see a woman pick up many grocery bags out of a cart.

“Geeze, how much stuff did that lady buy?”

Batman let out a sigh “I’ll go help her. You can head back to the cave. Inform Alfred I’ll be out a bit longer.”

Dick smile “The Batman is gonna help a lady civilian with some groceries. There has to be a catch.”

“Yes. The thing might still be in the area.”

Without another word, Batman pulled out an umbrella and gave it to his son. “Oh c’mon!”

~~~~

Y/N grumbled, “why did it have to rain.”

She heard Venom chuckle “stop being so stubborn Y/N. I can carry all this no problem”

“No, I got this.” She said with a pout.

She finally managed to pick up all the groceries by herself. Y/N huffed “see! I told you I can do it.”

“Excuse me miss?”

Another deep voice that was clearly not Venom spoke up from behind her. She knew that voice all too well. Slowly she turned around to see Batman under an umbrella walking towards her.

“Y-yes?” Y/N felt herself begin sweating. Did he actually track them down. Will he report to the cops. Will he take Venom away.

“Nibbles… relax. He does not know about us. And if he does, we’ll just eat him!”

Y/N’s breath became even more shaken.

“Would you like some help?” Before she could respond he took half of the groceries that she was carrying

“O-Oh um… t thank you, Batman.”

“Not a problem. Now, where is your car.” He asked looking around.

“N-n- no car. Just… little ol me haha, only me… just me” Y/N honestly tried her best to sound as normal as possible. But she was in front of Batman, Gotham's greatest detective. He surely must know the truth.

Batman raised an eyebrow “no car? How did you expect to take all this home?”

“I was going to walk” She said sheepishly. Batman pressed a button allowing the batmobile to pull up beside them. Y/N looked at the car shocked, then back at him. “I can take you home. Nobody should be out alone this late. It’s dangerous.” He pressed another button and the trunk opened. He began placing the groceries in the car. Y/N shook. Fear overtook her easily. “H-he knows V. He’ll take you away from me” Y/N felt her body move on its own, courtesy of Venom gently moving her to place the groceries in the trunk. “Thank you” she said softly. ”Its no problem” “Of course” Batman escorted her to the passenger seat and closed the door. “He doesn’t know Nibbles. I can assure you that we are safe. i will keep you safe.” Y/N felt her hands that were in her pockets grow warm. She smiled to herself “ya know. You’ve got a lot softer since we’ve been together” She heard venom grumble “I am not soft Y/N! I’m just. Making sure that you don’t start rambling nonsense.” Batman got into the vehicle “so, where do you live” Y/N smiled “I live in the apartments on 25th,” she said pointing to the map Batman blinked “you mean the street by crime ally?” “Crime ally?” Y/N tilted her head “I-I'm sorry we just moved here. Still learning the areas.” Batman looked over at the woman. She wore gray sweat pants and a large black hoodie with regular sneakers. She didn't look all that special, but a person of her size to live in a place like that? He started the car and began driving. “Where did you come from?” “New York, This place isn’t so different so I’m settling down just fine.” Batman nodded his head in silence. The ride to the apartment was quick. On occasion, the woman would either giggle or slap her hand. “Is everything alright miss?” He asked, parking the car. Y/N cleared her throat “Yea yea I’m fine. Just, talking to myself” To avoid any more awkward silences she opened the door and made her way to the trunk. Batman is quick to follow and picked up most of the groceries. ”Batman, you’ve already done so much. I can take it from here.” Batman raised an eyebrow “Miss, It really is no problem.” In all honesty, Bruce was just curious as to why a woman her size would buy all this food. “This man is annoying Y/N. Find a way to ditch him before I bite off his head.”

“No biting heads” she huffed.

“Biting heads?”

Y/N let out a nervous laugh “y-yea. It’s my… friend's band. Back in New York. Really great stuff… haha… So! How bout you help me to the elevator. I’d feel more comfortable that way.”

Not wanting to push his luck Batman picked up the groceries and followed her lead. The lobby wasn’t that bad, aside from some of the lights flickering.

Y/N pressed the button to the elevator. “I hope you have a safe night Batman.” She said turning around to face him.

“Of course. You be safe too miss. And be careful” he responded placing the groceries next to her.

She gave him a small wave as the elevator closed.

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Venom began to form on her shoulder and faced her “Nice work Y/N”

Y/N squeaked and grabbed his head “what are you doing! We aren’t clear yet, go back inside.”

Venom grumbled then retreated most of himself back. After another ding from the elevator, the doors opened to their floor.

Y/N watched Venom pick up most of the bags with his tendrils and let out a sigh. A bit too tired to properly care.

She shuffled through the hallway and opened her apartment door that was at the end of the hall.

“IT IS TIME Y/N!”

“Wait wait wait. Let me shower first. I’m all icky”

“But Y/N! You promised me the chocolate brownies when we got home.”

Venoms head appeared from her shoulder. He was about to yell before he felt her hand on his head “I didn’t forget. The shower will be quick.”

As Venom went on a little tantrum Y/N got her towel and walked into the bathroom.

_____

Part 2

#bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne #venom x reader #venom symbiote #dc comcis #marvel comics #reader insert #fanfic

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doctorgerth · 2 years ago

Note

May I please request headcanons for Nami, Robin, Vivi, and Bellemere getting a manicure/pedicure with their S/O for the first time? 😊

a/n: As a gal who hardly ever gets mani/pedis (I’m broke, no time, and my feet are super ticklish 🥺) I hope I managed to pull this off for you? It feels kind of all over the place tbh but hopefully you enjoy it!! Thanks for requesting!

featuring: Nami, Robin, Vivi, & Bellemere x GN!Reader

warnings: none!

GETTING A MANI/PEDI FOR THE FIRST TIME

NAMI —

It isn’t Nami’s first time, it’s yours. Nami regularly keeps up with her nails and one of her favorite ways to relax is a good mani/pedi session. She’s excited to be able to treat you with it!

When the two of you are able, she’s on the hunt for a good salon wherever the Sunny is docked. But, living the pirate lifestyle, salons aren’t always readily available.

So the first time is actually done by Nami herself. She’s pretty good at it, what with keeping up with her own nails and doing various crew members’ nails occasionally, and she does a good job of making it enjoyable for you! The two of you talk about all kinds of things while she works, growing closer with each intimate touch and story about your lives. The moment is very special for the two of you.

When able to be done by professionals, Nami will cover all costs to get your nails done however you want, no matter how elaborate and expensive. It’s always much more than just mani/pedi sessions too. She loves to treat the both of you to a full spa session to unwind.

As appreciative as you are for the expensive spa days, nothing can possibly compare to when Nami is holding your hands so delicately, telling you stories of her childhood and opening up to you as she perfects her skills. She can’t help but to agree, but this woman just loves spoiling you in general!

ROBIN —

She immediately reads up on the art of mani/pedis and seeks Nami for advice once you show interest in your first mani/pedi session. She wants to make sure it is relaxing and perfect for you!

It of course happens as a private moment for the two of you, listening to soft music and enjoying each other’s company. Robin could easily make use of her devil fruit capabilities to speed up the process, but she’s rather enjoying taking her time in taking care of you and painting each nail with perfect precision.

She can feel you relaxing and melting under her touch and that’s what makes this exchange worthwhile for her. The soft smile on your face and the way you trust her as she does her work on your nails makes her heart soar.

When you switch so you can begin to work on her, she wasn’t expecting to enjoy it this much. Though she’s joined Nami in her spontaneous spa sessions, there’s something about the way you touch her so tenderly, poking your tongue out as you concentrate that has her letting her guard down. She always does when she’s with you, but this is particularly special.

Being a pirate, this kind of session can not always be scheduled regularly. But anytime the Sunny is simply cruising along the water and the crew has plenty of time on their hands, the two of you love to unwind with a nice mani-pedi session. She’s looking forward to trying some designs next time!

VIVI —

Just like with Nami, this is far from her first time getting a mani/pedi as they are regular occurrences for her, but it is her first time getting it done with you, so the moment is automatically a thousand times more special!

As a princess, she’s used to getting them done by someone else. So when you suggest that the two of you try it on your own for fun, she’s a little nervous but also giddy with excitement.

Turns out, Vivi is…not the best at giving mani/pedis herself. Her hands are a little shaky so she ends up smearing the nail polish all around your nails and struggles to remove it. The two of you are painfully aware that it looks as if a toddler painted your nails.

Just when she thinks she’s ruined the entire moment, your sweet smile assures her otherwise and you wear your new nails proudly. With it being your first time, your performance is honestly not much better. You might have even done hers worse intentionally in hopes to make her feel better.

But the two of you easily laugh it off because, despite the absolute disastrous results, the two of you had a lot of fun trying. A part of you feels closer after handling each other so intimately. Vivi assures that you two will visit her designated nail tech next time.

BELLEMERE —

Mani/pedis are not something that interest Bellemere, and she worries it might be counterintuitive being that she regularly breaks her actual nails but when you show interest in getting one done, she easily gives in to your wishes.

Knowing that it’s your first time getting one done as well eases her mind. The massage chair against her back is also welcoming, but the moment the nail tech begins at her feet, she’s squeezing your hand.

It’s a rather embarrassing way to find out that her feet are extremely ticklish, what with the way she nearly kicks the nail tech in the face, but your amused laughter and reassuring squeeze of your hand helps her to manage through the pedicure. Once the worst part is over, she’s amazed at how soft her feet are!

She opts for shorter nails because she doesn’t trust herself with the longer ones. Bellemere tends to bite her nails, so this is a good incentive to ease off that habit! She definitely wants to get matching nails, because she’s really unsure (and maybe a little indecisive) of what colors to pick for herself. She promises to be more creative next time and you’re very interested to see that result haha

When the session is over, Bellemere is honestly a little clunky. She waddles like a penguin and cannot do anything with her hands, scared she’s going to mess up the salon’s hard work! You have to help her throughout the day with the silliest of tasks but it's okay because you two only laugh together over it. She definitely wouldn’t mind going again!

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years ago

Text

SLEEPLESS

a/n: omg! it's been so long since i last wrote something for harry so it feels a bit weird but in a good way to be back. i've been spending more time offline so writing hasn't been going that fast like before, but im working on a few other stuff too! just please be patient with me, im trying my besti swear! so now enjoy this oneshot of two oblivious and stupid roommates who start sharing a bed...

pairing: Roommate!Harry x reader

word count: 8.1k

masterlist

Living with three boys has its perks but also a lot of downsides too. It’s not how you planned, you were set to move in with one of your friends from second year, but she bailed on you last minute, leaving you with no place to live when most of the houses were already taken for the next at least one year. You were bracing yourself to sleep under a bridge or something already when your heroes came along.

You went to high school with Harry Niall and Louis, but you weren’t exactly in the same friend group, just knew about each other. Then you ended up in the same Lit class freshman year with Harry and he was basically your pass into their little group. You hit it off pretty easily and you always wondered why you didn’t become friends before college. Later you had two more classes with him in the second semester and it was just all a coincidence that he found out about your living situation.

“Why don’t you move in with us?” he prompted one afternoon when you were studying together in the library.

“I’m not sharing a room with any of you, Harry,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“You wouldn’t have to. We had a fourth mate living with us but he dropped out about a month ago. You could take his bedroom.”

“Are for real? You should talk about it with the boys first, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind it. They like you too and if I’m being honest, the place could use the touch of a woman,” he smirked and you just rolled your eyes, but you were incredibly thankful for the offer.

So after talking with Niall and Louis about it and once they gave their amens on the situation, you officially moved in with the three of them.

You’d be lying if you said there hasn’t been times when you thought about choosing the bridge, living with boys is not exactly a dream. They are messy, sometimes loud and oblivious about certain things women do and need. You’ll never forget Niall’s face when you packed the shelf above the toilet with your tampons and pads. The horror in his eyes as he examined all the different sizes and types.

“But why so many? I don’t get it why you need the large ones and the mini ones too,” he huffed.

“Because I vary them according to the strength of my flow.”

“Bless you,” he scoffed and just walked away.

They tend to leave their clothes around the house and they don’t always realize when it’s time to let some fresh air into the place either. Harry has a sixth sense wanting to use the bathroom when you’re in and Louis always forgets to get rid of his spoiled food from the fridge. Tini things that surely got you thinking if it was a good idea to move in with them. But then there are times when you can’t even imagine sharing a home with anyone else than these three idiots.

The way Harry always leaves you a cup of coffee on the counter when he has an early class on mondays and wednesdays, how Niall always waits for you to get home after your night shifts at the restaurant you’ve been working at, but he always just says he was watching Supernatural on TV. You love that Louis goes out of his way to get you your favorite pastry for breakfast on sundays when he goes for his morning runs. But the absolute best is that you never feel alone or bored with these three around. Something is always happening and they make sure to involve you in everything, making you feel like part of their little pack.

Tonight is Thursday and Thursdays are movie nights in your home. It’s been a tradition since the first week and you haven’t missed any of them. Sitting on the couch at your usual spot, you laugh as Niall growls in annoyance when you suggest to watch another rom-com.

“Not again!” he protests, sitting on the floor by the coffee table you and Harry thrifted a few months ago after the previous one was broken at a smaller party held in the house.

“Why? I bet Harry would love it!” you grin, glancing at the guy in talk who is now entering the room with a big bowl of popcorn.

“Of course he would, because he is a pussy! And the two of you always team up, dragging Louis with you so I can never watch something I enjoy!” Niall whines as Harry sits next to you, not too bothered by his friend’s cries.

“Come on, I bet you enjoyed Crazy, Stupid Love last week!” you laugh, remembering how he whined for the first part, then fell asleep at the end.

“Love, if you think that was enjoyment, I wouldn’t want to be your boyfriend,” Niall scoffs and you gasp at his reply.

“Hey!” you snap at him, but can’t help laughing. This is how it always goes with you and Niall, the non-stop bickering can sometimes drive Harry and Lou insane.

“Okay, so what do you want to watch?” Harry asks, throwing some popcorn into his mouth as he gets comfortable, an arm resting on the back of the couch behind you, the other one busy with the snack in his lap.

“There is this new horror I’ve been dying to see!” Niall’s blue eyes light up right away, but you’re fast to break that shine.

“Nah, no way. I’m not watching a horror movie.”

“Why not?”

“Because I fucking hate them and they scare the shit out of me.”

“That’s like the whole point!” he protests, but you shake your head no again.

“What are you fighting about again?” Louis asks, walking into the room after his quick shower, the smell of his body wash filling the room for a few moments.

“I want to watch a horror movie, but Y/N is a little baby and she doesn’t want to.”

“I’m not a baby! I just don’t enjoy watching people get killed or demons sucking the life out of someone!” Niall just rolls his eyes at your response.

“But it’s always what you or Harry wants to watch, why can’t I choose just this once?”

“That’s not true, we watch movies you like too!” you retort, but Niall gives you an unimpressed look. “We watched that crime thing, that was your choice!”

“That was three months ago, Y/N,” he sighs and as you do some quick math you realize that he is right.

“Hey, he has a point. Let’s just watch what he wants this one time, yeah?” Harry curls his arm that’s been on the back of the couch around your shoulder and he pulls you to his side, squeezing you gently.

“But I hate horrors,” you pout, knowing well that it’s already kind of settled, you lost this battle.

“It’s just a movie. And if you get scared in the night, you can sleep at mine,” he offers with a wink that surely makes your heartbeat fasten a bit.

If you’re being honest, you’ve always had a tiny crush on Harry, even back in high school, when you didn’t really know him. He was the cool guy, but not the douchebag type, more like the one that was nice to everyone and earned their respect and liking. Getting to know him just proved that he really is a great guy, but you figured he would never feel the same way about you. These three guys only saw you as their sister and that was in a way kinda worse than being friend zoned, but there’s nothing you can do about it, so you just decided to come to peace with your situation. But that doesn’t mean you don’t get flustered when you see him wander around the house in just his boxers or when he gets a little touchy with you, which happens a lot, because that’s just how he is. Hands on your shoulders, a little squeeze on your hips, the gentle touch of his fingers on your back, they happen all the time and they get your pulse up every time. You can only hope it’s not that noticeable.

Niall finally gets what he wants and you agree to watch that stupid horror movie. It doesn’t start off too bad, but it quickly escalates and makes you shudder every time the screen gets a little darker or the music is foreshadowing that something is about to happen.

“Jesus fuck!” you jump a little when the killer appears out of nowhere in the scene.

“You alright?” Harry asks, peeking down at you.

“I fucking hate this dude,” you mumble, rubbing your face with your hands, to get your shit together. Harry chuckles lightly next to you, his arm pulling you to his side close and you gladly sink against him, the warmth of his body giving you some comfort and a sense of safety.

Your eyes are on the screen, but your mind is dancing around how his fingers are delicately running up and down your arm, drawing circles and little shapes on your skin. It could put you to sleep easily, even with the woman screaming on the screen after seeing her husband get killed.

“Just imagine the guy with a funny mustache,” Harry murmurs, leaning closer to you so he doesn’t bother the other two guys with his comment. “Or maybe in a ridiculous outfit.”

“Like… in a onsie?” you ask, squinting your eyes at the screen.

“Could be, yeah,” he chuckles quietly. “Just imagine him running through the woods in a onsie with bunnies all over it.”

You can’t push your laughter down, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t bother the others. Harry just smirks, giving you a squeeze as you’re still melted against his side on the couch, legs pulled up to your chest, while his are spread out in front of him.

“Definitely not that scary,” you giggle and Harry hums in agreement.

“Would you mind getting a fucking room, you guys? You have two, in fact!” Niall snaps at you playfully, when you start laughing again.

“Sorry, sorry!” you clear your throat, your cheeks heating up at the comment, but luckily it’s dark enough to hide your embarrassment. Niall is always quick to make dirty jokes and tease you in a way that makes you nervous, especially when it involves Harry as well. He has made plenty of comments about you and Harry since you’ve moved in, implying that the two of you sometimes act like a couple or that you should hook up. Harry is always quick to shake them off, that’s how you know he couldn’t even take the thought seriously.

At the end of the movie you feel like it wasn’t bad, not with Harry holding you close at least.

“Will you be screaming tonight, Y/N?” Niall teases you, making you roll your eyes at him.

“Either way it’s gonna be your fault.”

“I can live with that!” he laughs, bidding his goodbye before he shuts the door of his bedroom behind him.

You do your usual evening routine, get ready to bed and by the time you’re done in the bathroom all the boys have retired into their rooms. The hallway stands dark in front of you, only a tiny bit of light coming from your bedroom since you left your bedside lamp on in there, but you still can’t help the eerie feeling that washes over you. That movie didn’t sit right with you and now you have to face the aftermath of it.

Switching the lights in the bathroom off you sprint into your bedroom, pictures from the movie flashing in your mind of the killer just jumping out of nowhere. You shut the door and lean your back against it for a moment, taking a deep breath. Tonight is going to be long.

No matter how hard you try, you just can’t fall asleep. You’re way too alerted, opening your eyes at the tiniest of sounds around you, which is unfortunate, because your window is looking over the main street, unlike two other rooms in the house, that are facing the small backyard. Harry and Louis have the luck to have those rooms.

Every time you’re about to fall asleep something from the movie sneaks into your thoughts and you get scared to death. Soon, you realize you won’t be able to sleep on your own tonight.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you wonder if Harry really meant that offer that you can sleep with him or not. Part of you is convinced it was just a joke, but when you hear someone shouting down the street you push your doubts aside and you quickly find yourself making your way to Harry’s room.

You knock on the room lightly, not wanting to wake anyone else up. The last thing you need is Niall seeing you go into Harry’s room in the middle of the night.

No answer comes from inside, but you won’t just leave it at that. Opening the door you’re facing another dark room, barely making out the furniture, but you already know the route by heart. Making it to the bed your eyes finally adjust to the darkness and you can see Harry lying on his side, sleeping peacefully. Squatting down you place a hand to his shoulder and give him a tiny shake.

“Harry?” you call out quietly, but his answer is just a huff. “Harry, it’s me,” you try again, squeezing his arm. He furrows his eyebrows before slowly blinking his eyes open, finding you in his sight.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” he asks in that groggy, low voice you love hearing in the morning so much.

“I can’t… Did you mean that I can sleep here if I’m scared?” you ask, afraid that he might just have a good laugh and send you back to your room. For a long moment, he just blinks at you before nodding his head and you feel relief washing over you.

“Sure,” he hums.

“O-okay then I’ll bring a blanket and take the floor and--”

“Shut up, you are not sleeping on the floor,” he growls, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into bed with him as he scoots over, making you space on the mattress.

It’s a bit weird at first, lying in bed with Harry, especially because it’s just queen sized, so there’s not much space between the two of you, but it seems like Harry doesn’t mind it so why should you?

Your nerves are a lot calmer with Harry next to you, but maybe it’s still because of the movie or because you’re a bit anxious about the whole situation, you just still can’t relax enough to fall asleep.

“Y/N, no one is gonna kill you here,” Harry speaks up surprising you because you thought he has already fallen back asleep.

“I know, I know,” you whisper, trying to sound convincing, but you can’t fool anyone, especially not him.

He huffs deeply and before you could realize what’s happening, Harry’s arm is curled around your waist, pulling you against him, spooning you from behind, the warmth of his body wrapping your figure almost entirely.

“If a murderer comes, they will have to fight me first, alright? Now sleep,” he mumbles against your hair, squeezing you gently. All at once, you couldn’t care about killers and dark shadows around you, because Harry was right there, holding you tight and there was nowhere you wanted to be more than right there.

You slept like a baby. Harry’s closeness kept every nightmare away from you and the morning came with ease. Harry’s phone wakes the two of you up at eight, because he has a morning class at 9.30. The two of you are completely tangled up in each other, lying on your side facing each other, Harry’s arms are wrapped around you, while yours are hugging his waist. Groaning at the sound of his alarm, he rolls to his back to reach for the phone on the nightstand and then he finally turns it off. It’s bright outside, the darkness of the night finally long gone. You’re still groggy when Harry rolls back, his arm coming back around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world and in a sense, it feels like that. But as you both slowly wake up, you realize that you might be a little too close. Slowly but surely you let go of each other, rolling to your back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hope I didn’t kick you in my sleep,” you smile at him, peeking over at him, hoping to break the awkwardness of the situation.

“No, don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, rubbing his eyes, before pushing himself up and off the bed. You follow him with your gaze as he steps to his dresser and grabs a pair of clean underwear. “I’ll put on a coffee while I shower, want one too?” he asks, though you know he could make one for you anyway.

“Sure, thank you,” you nod and he nods back, yawning as he walks out of the room, leaving you lying in his bed, a bit confused and kind of aching to be held by him again.

Two days pass by, everything is going as per usual, neither you nor Harry brings up that you spent the night in his bed that one particular time. Now it’s saturday and you all were planning to go out, but a sudden storm has cancelled your plans, so the evening turned into a cozy, lazy hangout instead of a wild party at some frat house.

Louis decided to work on a paper that’s due in two weeks, Niall has been relentlessly swiping on Tinder while you and Harry are spawled out on the couch, watching some shitty action movie that was on TV, since you both were too lazy to choose one and put it on. Deep down you’re a little happy you don’t have to spend the evening in a crowded, smelly house, drinking cheap alcohol.

Harry gets up from his seat to grab himself a drink just when Niall growls in annoyance.

“What is it?” you ask.

“They keep unmatching with me after we’ve talked a little!”

“Have you thought about the reason?” you smirk at him, knowing well that Niall probably isn’t the easiest to talk to, he surely takes it too far too soon.

“Well they probably don’t like that I ask them if I can go over,” he shrugs, making you laugh.

“You’d go over in the pouring rain?” Harry asks, returning to his spot on the couch. He puts his drink to the coffee table and instead of sitting into his previous position, leaning against the arm of the couch, he lies down, laying his head to your thigh, making your breath hitch for a moment.

“Of course not!” Niall rolls his eyes. “But I thought it would make them think I would do anything for them.”

“It makes you seem desperate,” Harry retorts, earning a questioning look from his friend. “What? It does!”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does,” you nod in agreement. “Going over in the middle of a storm just to fuck? Sounds like you’re having a hard time finding someone.”

“Women are so fucking complicated, and for what?!” he growls, before storming off to his bedroom, like an angsty teenager, leaving you and Harry alone.

He doesn’t move, his head stays on your thigh using it as a pillow. His curls are tickling the soft skin on your thigh and you have to fight the urge to play with his hair or scratch his scalp. You stay like this for the rest of the movie and when he gets up you almost want to pull him back.

“Alright, I’m fucked, I’m gonna go to bed,” he yawns, stretching his arms out into the air as he heads into his bedroom. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Night, Harry!” you call after him as you watch his frame disappear down the hallway.

Sighing, you slide down on the couch, cursing under your breath that you’re still so hung up on Harry. You really thought that you had it under control, but lately those damn butterflies are acting up in your stomach at everything he does.

“I’m pathetic,” you mumble under your breath just as the sky rumbles outside with a blinding lightning, making you jump with a squeak. “Shit,” you huff, already knowing that falling asleep will be a pain in the ass. Again.

You’ve always hated storms, they make you think that something bad is about to happen, a tree is about to fall into the window or a lightning will blow up the building. It’s kind of stupid, you know it, but you just can’t help it.

Tossing and turning, you jump every time a lightning flashes somewhere outside and a few seconds later the thunder rips through your whole body, almost making you fall off the bed.

“Oh God,” you let out a shaky breath. You have no idea how long it is until the Storm finally stops and you’d really like to have a good night's sleep. So pushing your anxious thoughts to the side, you get out of bed and head over to Harry’s room once again.

It’s such a deja vu from a few nights ago, as you gently knock on the door you wait again, but this time you actually get an answer.

“Yeah?” you hear him call out from inside and you slowly open the door, peeking your head inside. Harry is lying in bed, his head propped up against the headboard as he is scrolling through his phone. “Y/N? What’s wrong?” he asks, putting the phone aside as he sits up.

“I just, I-I know it’s stupid, but I was thinking… I don’t know--”

“Y/N, just tell me, alright? Come on in,” he gestures for you and you slip into the room, closing the door behind you before sitting to the edge of the bed next to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep during storms…” you admit, looking into his eyes, hoping he gets the hint where you want to head with it. He stares back at you for a moment before he scoots over, lifting the covers up, giving you the green light to join him.

Relieved, you climb over to him, making yourself comfortable as he wraps the blanket over you, his arm immediately coming to cradle you, this time pulling you to his chest so your head is laid upon his shoulder, a hand gently placed onto his hard chest, probably right above where his butterfly tattoo is adorning his abdomen.

This is now easily your favorite place. Safe and tight in Harry’s arms, protected from anything and everything, like you’re in a little bubble as soon as you get on his bed.

Lightning strikes outside again and you shiver a little. Harry probably notices it, because he tightens his hold around you, as if it’s his way telling you that he is here and nothing bad is gonna happen. Eventually, you’re able to shut the outside out and only focus on Harry’s warmth, the touch of his hand on your arm and his even breathing. And then finally, you drift off to sleep.

This morning is different from the previous one you spent here. There’s no alarm since it’s Sunday, neither of you have anything in particular to do, so you wake up feeling rested, the Sun shining through his half drawn in curtains, no trace of last night’s storm can be noticed from where you’re lying in bed, the sky is as clear as ever. Sometime during the night you got tangled in a way where Harry is the one now cuddling you, his head lying on your chest, hugging you as if you were a giant teddy bear, his leg thrown between yours, lightly snoring against your sleep shirt. You can only see his mop of hair and the urge to play with them is back, but this time, you give in.

Leaving one hand on his back, you move the other one to his unruly locks, gently playing with one before you comb your fingers through it, lightly scratching his scalp. Harry hums in pleasure, shifting from his dreams back to reality, but he doesn’t move, just keeps humming as you massage his scalp.

“It’s not a good morning, it’s the best,” he mumbles groggily, making you chuckle at his words.

One of his hands is flat against your ribcage and the damned butterflies start dancing when you feel his fingers gently stroke your side as you keep playing with his curls. This feels so idyllic, as if you’ve been like this forever. You wish that was true.

Groaning as he stretches, Harry rolls to his back, making you instantly miss his body pressed against yours. He rubs his eyes, sighing deep as he blinks up at the ceiling a few times, then he turns his head to the side, looking at you.

Just when he is about to say something, outside his door it sounds like someone just broke a pile of plates and it’s followed by Niall’s usual annoyed growl. You both get out of bed to go and check what happened, not even thinking about how it might appear that you both are coming from Harry’s room in the morning.

Harry flings the door open and there is Niall, collecting pieces of a plate from the floor, his breakfast scattered down the hallway as well while he curses under his breath.

“What happened?” Harry asks, picking up a bigger piece from the plate.

“Fucking tripped,” he growls back, glancing up just for a moment, then back down, but then he processes that you’re standing behind Harry, in his room, in the morning. “What the fuck are you doing in Harry’s room?” he bluntly asks, quickly forgetting about the mess he just made.

“What?” you ask nervously, your pulse quickening in an instant. Harry stands up, seemingly not too bothered by Niall’s question.

“You slept in his room?!”

“She did,” Harry answers, leaning against the doorframe.

“Wait, are you two fucking?” Niall’s eyes widen, snapping back and forth between you and Harry.

“Just because two people sleep in the same bed, doesn’t mean they are fucking, Niall,” Harry chuckles, seemingly amused by the situation that’s got your stomach knotted. Louis’ door opens and he walks out, his hair a little messy, but already dressed, a mug halfway filled with coffee in his hand.

“Wha’s this circus out here?” he asks, looking around, his eyes scanning over the mess on the floor.

“Did you know these two are fucking?” Niall asks him and Harry lets his head drop back at his words.

“Are you?” Louis simply questions and you shake your head no.

“We are not. Y/N can’t sleep in a storm so she came over to mine.”

“Funny, she doesn’t come to me when she’s scared,” Niall scoffs.

“I never came to you because you don’t understand that sleeping together doesn’t mean sex,” you retort, though your ears are practically burning from the rising anxiety inside you.

“Wait, whoa. This wasn’t the first time you two slept together?”

“She was scared after your stupid horror movie too,” Harry shrugs.

“Wow, so are you guys a thing now or what?”

“Niall!” Harry growls and you’re not entirely sure what bothers you more. Niall’s shock and interrogation or the way Harry seems so cool and unbothered, like it’s no big deal. Maybe because for him it really isn’t, it’s only about the sleeping, nothing else, even though the cuddles are a little beyond the lines of friendship.

“What? I’m just asking the important stuff! Am I not allowed to tell dirty jokes to Y/N because you’ll cut my prick off?”

“You shouldn’t tell those anyway,” Louis chimes in and you nod in agreement.

Seeing that the conversation is just getting more and more awkward with each passing moment you decide to pull yourself out of it. Pushing yourself past Harry you mumble an excuse me before rushing back into your room, the three boys eyeing you curiously as you shut the door behind you, finally putting a physical barrier between you and them.

You shouldn’t be this offended, it’s not like any promises were made and you should have known better and not fall for him more than you already did. It was silly of you to think that there was anything more behind these nights spent curled up against each other, or when you woke up tangled and melted together. It was never what you hoped it to be.

Then and there you decide it’s better if you distanced yourself from him, or at least go back to how it was before. No bed sharing, no cuddling and preferably no bitter feelings.

It all goes well, because you have a pretty busy week after that day, you always have something to do and it’s not like you spent the night with Harry randomly, so it was evident that you stayed in your room so far.

But about a week later another storm was threatening to strike. The sky was gradually darkening all afternoon and now it’s only five o’clock, but it feels like eight. It’s Sunday, you’re quite exhausted since you were working until three. Niall was out somewhere with some of his coursemates and Louis went home for the weekend, won’t be back until Tuesday. It’s just you and Harry, who’s been sprawled out on the couch in only his sweatpants while you’re making yourself an early dinner so you can go to bed soon and have a good night’s sleep.

It doesn’t take long for the rain to start pouring, you’ve just gotten out of the shower when the first thunder rips through the place, making you gasp in fear. Harry’s head snaps around, looking in your way where you’re standing at the bathroom door, a questioning look in his eyes, but he doesn’t say a word. Ignoring his gaze, you just make your way into your bedroom, not even thinking about what could be on his mind. Is he thinking about whether you’ll ask to sleep with him again or he doesn’t care about it at all?

By the time you are ready to go to bed, the storm is fully raging outside, making your insides tremble every time you see a lightning or the thunder breaks the quietness in the house. You make one last trip to the kitchen, finding Harry leaned against the counter as he eats an apple.

“Going to bed early?” he asks as you pour yourself some water.

“Mhm,” you nod, avoiding looking at him.

“Everything alright?”

“Sure, I’m just tired,” you force a small smile onto your face just when a thunder rumbles outside, making you jump. Harry is watching you curiously and kind of expectantly, but you’re doing your best ignoring it. Instead, you just grab your water and head back to your room. “Good night.”

“Night, Y/N,” he calls after you, and you can feel his burning gaze on your back right until you close the door behind you.

Your plan to sleep a good ten hours goes right out the window. It doesn’t seem like the storm is about to calm anytime soon, so you’re stuck to suffer through it on your own. You’ll be damned to go to Harry’s, that would be an instant heart break and you just can’t take that right now. Long, torturous hours pass by with you lying awake in bed and part of you wants to go running over to Harry, but you force yourself to stay. It’s not happening tonight.

You fall asleep sometime after two in the morning when the thunder and lightning have stopped. Unfortunately, you need to wake up early in the morning, so when your phone’s alarm shakes you out of your sleep, you feel like absolute shit. Dragging yourself out of bed appears to be the hardest thing right now. As you make your way out, you are met with an all too familiar figure sitting at the small dining table, two cups of coffees in front of him, one obviously made for you.

Harry’s eyes snap up at you curiously, taking in your terrible looks as you head to the bathroom.

“Morning,” you mumble under your breath.

“Good morning’,” he nods in your way and though he doesn’t say anything else, you can tell he has a few thoughts about your current state.

Once you’re done with your morning business in there you join him at the table, barely able to keep your eyes open.

“Rough night?” he asks, eyes examining your face.

“Kinda.”

“The storm?”

You don’t answer, just nod your head. He remains silent, but you can feel that he is dying to ask another question.

Why didn’t you come over?

You’re glad he doesn’t actually asks you, because you wouldn’t be able to give either a normal answer or say anything without starting to cry. Instead, you just grab your coffee and head back into your bedroom to get ready for the day.

That week on Friday all four of you are invited to a party. At first you want to cancel, but some of your friends from classes will be there too and it’s been ages since you’ve been to a great party, so you decide to tag along with the boys.

For the first half of the evening you go your separate way, spending time with people you don’t actually live with and see every day. One drink follows the other, though you make sure you don’t go farther than getting tipsy. You’re not in the mood to deal with a nasty hangover in the morning.

Sometime after your third or fourth drink you run into Niall and he pulls you into their little circle that also involves Harry. When he sees that you’ve joined them, his eyes light up and goes out of his way to get next to you.

“I haven’t seen you in ages!” he whines, slurring his words as he wraps an arm around your shoulders to keep you at his side. He is definitely drunk, that you’re sure of.

“It’s been just about two hours, Harry,” you roll your eyes, but can’t push your smile down. You’d be lying if you said you’re not enjoying having him so close. Your dynamic hasn’t been the same since you stopped sleeping in his bed. Not that it was such a regular activity, it only happened two times.

“But I missed you, I feel like we haven’t… haven’t talked in so long!” he huffs, knitting his eyebrows together. “Have you been avoiding me?” he asks leaning closer, so your conversation can somewhat be private.

“That’s silly. Of course I haven’t!”

“But it feels like that,” he pouts with glossy eyes. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Sure,” you nod, the bitter taste of lying filling your mouth.

“Alright, cool,” he smirks and pulling closer he kisses into your hair before he engages with the rest of the group again, keeping his arm around you as if it wasn’t a big deal.

For the rest of the evening you simply don’t leave his side and not because he doesn’t let you, but because you don’t want to. Harry is not the only one missing the other, this week you’ve noticed that even though you’ve been keeping yourself busy, your thoughts always took you back to one particular, curly haired boy. Despite everything that’s been going on, he is your friend first and foremost who you love spending time with and talking about anything and everything.

Both of you are intoxicated, Harry a bit more than you, but you’re having a blast playing beerpong or ruining Niall’s chances with girls he is trying to pick up. You’re genuinely having an amazing time and it wouldn’t be the same without Harry.

Arriving back home your little group splits, everyone using the bathroom after the other and you’re the last one in line, because you always take the longest. By the time you’re finished, Louis and Niall are both locked up in their rooms, but Harry’s door is still open, some dim lighting illuminating the hallway. As you approach it, you find him throwing his dirty clothes into the hamper, but his head perks up when he sees you.

“Good night, H,” you sigh, quite tired and in need of a good sleep, but before you could head into your own bedroom, Harry grabs your wrist and pulls you into his. “What is it?”

“Sleep here,” he simply prompts, already leading you to the bed.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to.”

“I-I… I don’t--” you stutter, feeling flustered from his offer.

“Come on, you can’t say no,” he tells you, already crawling under his covers and then he holds them up as the invitation.

Taking a deep breath you follow him and make yourself comfortable in your almost usual spot. Harry’s arm falls over your waist in an instant, spooning you from behind as he hums pleased. But a few moments later he lifts his head, looking at you with concern in his eyes.

“You know you can say no, right? I was just joking.” Looking back at him you give him a small smile. Even drunk he makes sure you aren’t doing anything you don’t want to, but how could you not want it? You’ve been aching to sleep next to him all week, especially after the last storm when you suffered alone in your room.

“I know, Harry.”

“Alright, okay,” he nods, his head dropping back to the pillow. “I missed this,” he mumbles with a sigh.

“Yeah?”

“Mm, sleeping alone sucks,” he hums and in a split second, your heart breaks.

Harry didn’t want to sleep with you, he just wanted to sleep with someone and you were the one there. It has nothing to do with you.

You want to blame him, you want it to be his fault that your chest is now aching, knowing that it truly doesn’t mean the same thing to him it does to you, but you know you can’t. It wouldn’t be fair, so once again, you’re left with a sinking heart wrapped up into Harry’s embrace that suddenly feels burning.

“Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Harry.”

When the morning comes Harry is still sleeping deep beside you, an arm thrown over your waist, puffing warm air against the side of your head with every breath he exhales. Seeing him so peaceful warms your heart, but then you realize everything that happened last night, how he only used you because you were available and not because he wanted you.

You don’t want to wait for him to wake up and face him, your emotions would surely bring the best out of you. So carefully, you unwrap yourself from his hold and sneak out of his room, back into yours.

There’s no way you can face Harry right now, so before he could wake up you leave, planning on spending the day in the library, working on your assignments, hoping the school work will take your mind off of how badly you’ve been friendzoned.

Sometime after eleven Harry actually texts you asking where you went and you just tell him you have a shitload of school stuff to deal with. He asks if he can join you, but you tell him you’re with a group of your classmates, even though you’re sitting in an almost entirely empty library. He luckily doesn’t push it and leaves you to be. Hopefully he’ll be fine when you take another step away from him for a while to get your head straight and sort your emotions out.

You get home quite late, but not late enough, apparently. Because walking into the house you find the boys clearly getting ready to watch a movie.

“Just in time!” Niall beams. “Join us, Princess!” he laughs, grabbing himself a cola from the fridge.

“Oh, no, I have some things to work on--”

“Come on, you’ve been in the library all day, you can have a break!” Louis tells you and you know you won’t be left alone, they are just so persistent.

So you join them in your usual spot, which is of course next to Harry, though you’re trying to avoid his gaze that hasn’t left you since you arrived and by now you’re certain he knows you’re avoiding him. There’s a reason why he asked you last night if you’ve been doing it lately, he is not stupid, but this is not the time to deal with it.

With your inner crisis bubbling inside you, you completely forget to ask what you’re watching. A few minutes into the movie it becomes quite clear however.

“Is this a fucking horror movie again?” you ask, snapping at Niall, who just starts laughing.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Harry will gladly let you sleep in his bed tonight,” he teases, making your whole face heat up at his comment. Harry slaps his chest before he turns to you with concern filled eyes, but you pretend like you see nothing, turning back to the screen with your jaw clenched.

You’re fucked.

The movie is a fucking shitshow and leaves you traumatized. When it’s over, you think about why didn’t you just stand up and go into your room when you realized it’s another horror. For a change, this one was filled with demons and monsters that hide in the shadows, just what you need before going to bed. In the night. In a totally dark room.

Exiting the bathroom you’re already planning on watching something lighthearted and cheerful in your room, hoping that would make you forget the movie you just saw and give you the chance to actually sleep.

Walking past Harry’s room you see that it’s still open and you catch him expectantly looking at you when you appear in the doorway as you walk down the hallway, your eyes meeting for just a split second before you disappear from his sight and shut your bedroom door without a word behind you.

No matter how many random videos you watch on YouTube, some scenes from the movie are just imprinted into your mind and they have you trembling in fear. Every shadow looks like a demon or ghost, hiding in your room, ready to haunt and kill you and you’re on the verge of actually crying. It might not be only because of the movie, more like everything else that’s been bottled up inside you, added to the fear the movie has brought to you.

Shutting your eyes closed you try to take deep breaths and for a bit it actually seems to help, but that is until you hear the door opening. It gives you an instant heart attack and you can’t keep your tears back anymore.

A whimper leaves your mouth as the door opens and you can only see a shadow entering the room, totally not recognizing Harry in the dark.

“Y/N, hey, it’s just me! It’s okay!” he quickly clears, seeing how shaken up you are. He rushes over to the bed, one hand cupping your cheek, the other one finding your hand and before you could think, you grip it hard.

“You scared the living hell out of me!” you cry out, sobbing.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to check on you.”

Silence sets between the two of you that’s only momentarily broken by your shaky breaths as you try to calm yourself down.

“Why didn’t you come to mine after the movie if you were so scared?” he then asks, surprising you with how straightforward he is.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mumble, blinking the remaining of the tears away as Harry stares down at you intently.

“Why would you think you’d bother me? I like having you there.”

“But it’s… Doesn’t matter,” you sigh in defeat, but it just concerns him even more.

“No, tell me!”

“Harry, just go back to your room. I’ll be fine.”

“You definitely won’t and I’m not leaving until you don’t tell me what’s going on,” he protests firmly and you lose your patience to keep lying to him.

“You just wanted someone to sleep with yesterday, okay? You didn’t need me. And… I don’t want to depend on you more than I should.”

Harry stares back at you with a blank expression and you feel like this is going to be the end of your friendship. You have to come clean about your feelings and he’ll tell you that he doesn’t feel the same way. But then he speaks up and the tables turn faster than ever.

“Y/N, I wanted you to sleep with me last night. Not just anyone. You.”

“What?”

“I really thought we have been on the same page, but apparently, we’re not even in the same book,” he sighs, confusing you even more. “Wasn’t it suspicious how things have been between us lately? The way we slept, the mornings, did you think these are normal things to do?”

“I-I thought that… it didn’t mean anything to you.”

“Well it did,” he replies and you breath hitches in your throat. “I was trying to take it slow, see how you’d react to everything and I thought you were feeling the same way. But then last time you didn’t come to my room when there was a storm and I thought that was your way of telling me that you want to pause whatever’s been going on.”

You’re just blinking in shock, listening to his words. This is nothing you expected.

“But then you seemed like you opened back up last night and you agreed to sleep with me, thought we were back on track, but then you were nowhere to be found in the morning, avoided me all day and now you would have rather spent the night crying here alone than to come over to me. What did I do? Just tell me, because quite frankly, I have no idea what we are doing anymore, Y/N,” he sighs, clearly tired of this insane game you’ve been playing without even knowing.

“So… you did all of this, because… you…”

“Because I like you, Y/N. But there’s a possibility it’s already way more than just a strong liking,” he admits with a soft chuckle that melts you in an instant.

“Oh god, I could cry again, but not out of fear this time,” you tell him, making him laugh as you scoot closer to him on the mattress. “I feel the same way, Harry,” you softly tell him, your hands finding the base of his neck while his hands have wandered to your waist so now he is pulling you towards him until he ends up in his lap. His face is now so close, and even in the dark, you can see the cheesy smile on his pink lips.

“You’re not saying this just to keep me here because you’re scared to be alone, right?” he asks, clearly joking, earning a wholehearted laugh from you.

“No, but I guess that would be a major benefit of it.”

“I’ll protect you from all the demons and killers under one condition,” he smirks, his face already inching closer, his nose is already touching yours.

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“I get to kiss you.”

“Deal.”

You barely say this one little word, his lips are already on yours, kissing you in a way that almost knocks all the air out of your lungs. You press yourself up against him, his arms curling around you, holding you tight as if he is already protecting you from everything that scares you, though you can’t really think about the stupid horror movies now that you’re kissing Harry.

He pulls you down with himself making you lie on your back as he holds himself up above you, his lips parting from your just enough so he can look into your eyes.

“How about I kiss you every time you feel scared?” he prompts, pecking your lips gently as you pull your legs up and his hips settle between your thighs, while your hands dance down his back.

“Alright, I’m in,” you smirk at him and for a moment he just stares back at you, smiling wide, in complete awe that it’s finally happening. Then he cocks his head to the side before speaking up.

“Are you still scared?”

“Very,” you nod. “I’m shaking.”

“Good,” he grins before his lips press onto yours again.

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

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