#all of my *close* online friends can be traced back to my one cousin who i have been good friends with since we were young | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years ago

Text

changes (best friend!harry)

Warnings: language, nsfw content, drugs (marijuana) and alcohol

Pairing: best friend!Harry x reader

Word Count: 17k (holy shit)

A/N: So this started as two requests I had in my inbox that I got way too into and then it became this. this may be the longest stand-alone fic I’ve ever written, and it, like watermelon sugar, is dedicated to touching!!!! I spent so long on this so as always. feedback is appreciated. and if you like it, please reblog it!!! reblogging is the best way to show fic writers your appreciation <3

{masterlist}

Unless she’s reminded otherwise, Y/N always thinks of herself as a teenager.

This, of course, isn’t true. She turned twenty-six a month ago, works as a media producer for an online clothing company, and lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in London. However, unless she physically has something in front of her to remind her of her real age and the passing of time, Y/N disregards this information.

Usually, the reminder is a bill in the mail, or a phone call to remind her that she needs to book an appointment with her doctor. Usually, the reminder is an ache in her back, her glasses prescription getting worse, or realizing that she has no idea what her teenage cousins are talking about when she sees them at Christmas. Usually, the reminder is enough to give her pause, but not enough to throw her for a loop.

This time, however, the reminder is her childhood best friend naked in her bathroom.

Y/N and Harry had been friends since they were in primary school, after Y/N had moved to London with her mother. Their new house just happened to be next to Harry’s, and Anne and Y/N’s mother had quickly hit it off. Anne had been quick to volunteer her son to be Y/N’s tour guide at school, and despite not being enthusiastic about each other in the beginning, the two began to grow closer by the end of Y/N’s first week there. Within a month, the two were inseparable, and that didn’t change as they entered their teen years, started secondary school, and Harry left London to become a member of the most famous boyband in the world. Just typical teen things.

However, despite their distance, Y/N and Harry had remained as close as ever. They constantly texted, called, and video chatted with each other, and Y/N even joined Harry on tour a few times (with permission from her mother). Although both of them had been worried when Harry left, their worries and fears never came to fruition. Just as they balanced each other in personality, they balanced each other in lifestyle—when Y/N needed a break from high school and university, Harry brought her to shows, award ceremonies, and parties, and when Harry felt like his fame was overwhelming, Y/N sent him reminders of home, hosted countless movie nights for him, and told him story after story of university life.

They were so perfectly matched that, when they were younger, many people—and tabloids—suspected that they were dating. Even their mothers had asked them, on occasion, if one of them had any interest in the other. However, their answers were always the same. Y/N and Harry were best friends, and nothing more. Sure, they were touchy, affectionate, called each other pet names, and had even kissed on a few occasions during truth or dare at parties, but none of it actually meant anything. Y/N had watched Harry grow from a cute kid to an awkward teen to a self-assured man, and her feelings for him had never changed, and an attraction to him had never developed.

Until now.

Harry’s facing away from her, his towel in his hand as he dries his chest. His entire body glistens with water from the shower. Y/N can’t stop herself from letting her eyes canvas over every inch of his smooth arms, toned back, down lower to his—

Her breath catches in her throat. Yeah. His ass is toned, too, she thinks to herself, and only has another moment to think that she shouldn’t be looking before Harry glances over his shoulder, alarmed by the small sound she had made.

“Y/N—” His eyes widen a bit, but he doesn’t make an effort to cover himself with his towel very quickly.

Her eyes automatically follow his movement for a moment before she realizes what she’s about to see. “Sorry!” Y/N turns around quickly, her face heated. “Sorry, I—the door was unlocked, I didn’t realize you were—”

“It’s fine.” Harry fixes his towel around his waist. “Don’t worry about—”

Y/N leaves the bathroom before he can finish his sentence, walking to her bedroom quickly and shutting the door tightly behind her.

Harry, it seems, is today’s reminder that she’s no longer a teenager, because his body is that of a man.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before, she tells herself, walking to her dresser to pick out a change of clothes. Y/N’s seen him half naked countless times. The whole world has seen Harry half naked countless times. But she’s never seen him like that.

When did Harry grow up? Somehow, between movie nights and pool parties and going away to school, Y/N had failed to notice that her childhood best friend is no longer a child. Harry had grown into his features, developed muscles in his arms and chest, tattooed designs all over his skin, and had become an incredibly attractive adult without her noticing.

Y/N pulls her pajamas off quickly, stopping to glance at herself in her full length mirror. She, like Harry, is also no longer a child. She had grown into her features like he had, had gotten a few tattoos, made her share of mistakes, and became an adult the same way he did. Neither her nor Harry’s growth had happened overnight.

As she runs her hand between her chest, down her stomach, brushing her hip, Y/N can’t help but wonder: has Harry noticed that they’ve grown up? Does he still look at her and see the shy little girl, the developing teenager, or does he look at her and see a grown woman? Is she the only one who’s been late to the party?

Y/N feels a flutter in the pit of her stomach. Is it possible that, at some point, Harry looked at her and had the same realization that she had a moment ago? That not only had she grown into a woman, but that she had grown into an attractive woman?

The sound of the bathroom door opening distracts Y/N from her thoughts, and she hurries to finish getting dressed. Her shirt, she finds when she pulls it on, smells a bit like Harry’s cologne, as she had set it on the side of the bed that he slept on the night before. She likes it more than she should.

After she’s dressed, she debates just staying in her bedroom to avoid facing Harry again for a bit longer. However, she can hear him working her coffee maker in the kitchen, and knows she can’t hide in her bedroom like a child. She isn’t a child.

Neither is he, she thinks to herself as she touches her bedroom doorknob. Which is the problem.

Still, Y/N shakes herself from her thoughts and walks out to her kitchen.

Harry, now dressed in wide leg jeans and a plain white t-shirt, is leaning against her kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. His hair is still wet from his shower, but other than that, he looks normal. Completely normal.

And yet, Y/N can’t manage to meet his eyes.

“Good morning.” Harry’s voice is low, a bit of amusement in it as he notices her demeanor. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine.” Y/N hates how tight her voice is as she grabs a mug from the kitchen cabinet. “I slept fine. Did you?”

Harry nods, his eyes still tracing her every move as her own eyes avoid him. “I did. Woke up a bit early, though. Thought I’d shower before brunch.”

Right. Brunch. They’re having brunch that day with a few old friends, at a place just down the street from Y/N’s apartment, which is why Harry had stayed over the night before. Y/N was going to have to act normal around their other friends, which means she can’t avoid looking at him for much longer.

“I’m sorry.” She says as she pours a cup of coffee. “I am, I—I should’ve knocked. I forgot you slept over, and—”

“It’s fine, Y/N. I should’ve locked the door.” Harry says easily, the corner of his lips tugging up. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

At that comment, Y/N pauses. “Except…I haven’t seen you naked before?”

Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No. You have. There’s no way we’ve been friends for almost twenty years, and you haven’t.”

“Harry, believe me. I’ve seen you in a lot of weird positions over the years, but I’ve never seen you completely nude.” Y/N feels her regular ease with him begin to return, just a little bit. “I would remember that.”

“Would you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his coffee cup half raised to his lips.

The bit of ease that returned disappears immediately. “I—” Y/N’s cheeks heat up again. “Shut up, you know what I meant.”

Harry tries to hide his laugh behind his coffee, but fails. “I’m just teasing you, love. It’s fine, promise. I don’t mind that you saw. I’m very comfortable in my body.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Too comfortable, I think.”

“Is there such a thing as being too comfortable in your body?” Harry asks in a teasing voice, crossing his arms.

“When your best friend walks in on you naked and you don’t bother to cover yourself?” Despite the blush on her cheeks, Y/N manages to laugh. “Yes. There is.”

“I don’t know…” Harry finishes his coffee and sets the mug in the kitchen sink. “It sounds like there’s issues with your comfort, not mine.”

Before Y/N can form a reply, Harry shoots her a smirk and walks out of the kitchen.

For the rest of the day, Y/N does her best not to think about that morning’s awkward encounter. Brunch with her friends is normal, and she just lets herself enjoy having Harry home, and catching up with everyone. The afternoon also passes in an unremarkable way, as does that night. Over the next few days, however, things begin to change.

Within two weeks, the atmosphere of the country has shifted. There’s a virus that’s highly contagious and can be fatal, Y/N’s work tells her to work from home, and soon the entire country is being told to stay home to avoid catching Coronavirus.

And then Harry texts her two days later, without any warning or leeway for her to disagree.

I’m on the last flight back to London. Pack a bag and bring some groceries to my place, so we can isolate together. You’ll go crazy alone in your flat.

Y/N tries to reply that it’s not necessary, but her message doesn’t go through. Harry’s already on the plane. So she does what he says, and packs a bag of clothes, her work bag, some alcohol, and her favourite snacks, and drives over to his house.

Letting herself in with her key, Y/N begins to bring the house back to life. She lights Harry’s candles and orders some dinner, as well as groceries for the next couple weeks. She makes sure she gets his favourite foods, and the weird snacks that only he likes. She calls her mum to tell her she’ll be with Harry, and Anne, to tell her the same thing. And then she waits.

When Harry finally walks through the front door, he looks more like the tired seventeen year old on his first tour than the grown man she had seen a few weeks ago. The bags under his eyes are evidence of his jetlag and stress, his jacket is rumpled from the plane, his hair just as messy, and he looks like he could collapse the second the door closes behind him.

“H.” Y/N walks towards him and gives him a tight hug. One hand goes to his back and the other to his hair, playing with it as she always does. “Are you alright?”

“Long flight.” Harry mutters in reply, eyes closed as he holds her tight. “Everyone’s going insane in the States. I’m lucky I got a flight back to London.”

“Why did you?” Y/N pulls back, brushing his messy hair from his eyes. “You could’ve stayed in LA.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry shrugs a bit. “I knew you’d be alone. And I wanted to be with you.”

Y/N can’t help the soft smile that creeps onto her face. “C’mon. I have dinner ready.”

Harry barely makes it through dinner with his eyes open, but still insists on watching a movie after. Y/N tries to tell him that he should just go to sleep, but he won’t hear it.

“We can watch it in my bed, like we used to when we were little.” Harry gives her his best puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

Y/N shoves his shoulder. “You’re twenty-six. Stop pouting to get what you want.”

“I’ll stop pouting when it stops working.”

Y/N laughs in spite of herself. “Fine, but shower first. You smell like a plane.”

Of course, as predicted, Harry starts to drift to sleep within the first half hour of the movie. He slips down in the bed more and more, until his head is in Y/N’s lap completely. Out of habit, Y/N begins to play with his damp curls, running her fingers through them at a steady pace as she watches the movie.

Harry’s breathing begins to even out as she does, and Y/N begins to pay more attention to him than the TV. When they spend the night with each other, Y/N always falls asleep first. It’s rare she gets to see him completely relaxed.

As much as she loves his green eyes, his eyelashes may be a close second. They’re so long and dark that they almost make Y/N jealous. And his cheeks…she brings one hand up to gently touch them. They’re stubbled from his long day of travel, but the skin underneath feels soft. Despite having lost his baby fat years ago, there’s still a layer of tenderness in his body.

Y/N is so distracted by him that she doesn’t realize that she’s stopped playing with his hair, not until Harry speaks up.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice is groggy with exhaustion, lower, with a thicker accent. His words slur together as well

“Hm?” Y/N hums in her throat in response. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Not really.” Harry’s eyes stay closed as he shifts his position a bit. “Will you play with my hair a bit longer? Feels nice.”

The movie credits roll in the background as Y/N does what he says. Harry sighs contently, relaxing back into her again.

Y/N turns the TV off, so the only light in the room comes from the moon through the open curtains. It shines over half of Harry’s face, catching the ends of his eyelashes. Somehow, the moonlight makes his cheeks and lips even more pink.

“You’re really pretty, y’know that?” Y/N says it absentmindedly, her fingers still combing through Harry’s curls.

“Thanks.” He has just enough energy to mumble a response. “’M, not as pretty as you, though.”

Y/N’s stomach flutters when he says it, so quiet that she’s not even certain she heard him correctly. “Liar.”

“’S true.” Harry’s reply is even less audible than before. “So pretty.”

If Harry was awake and more present in the conversation, Y/N might tease him. She might try to make him blush, or roll his eyes, or laugh. Maybe, just maybe, she’d even ask him to elaborate, just enough that she could figure out what the fluttering in her stomach means.

But Harry is hardly awake right now. And it wouldn’t be fair.

“Go to sleep, H,” is all Y/N says, shifting to lay down a bit more without pausing the movement of her fingers.

…

It takes Harry a few days to readjust to London time. While Y/N spends her weekdays working from the kitchen table, Harry naps and fiddles with his guitar and journal. While she can tell he’s working on something, Y/N can also tell that he’s not making much process.

A week after coming back from LA, Harry half stomps into the kitchen during the afternoon, frustration clear on his face as he opens the fridge and grabs an apple. He bites into it angrily and leans against the counter, the irritation still on his face.

Y/N glances at him from behind her laptop. “Everything alright?”

Harry gives half a shrug. “Trying to write.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Fucking sucks.” Harry takes another bite of the apple. “I thought I’d feel more inspired, being at home and not having deadlines, but I can’t get anything out. Not anything good, anyways.”

“I know the feeling.” Y/N sighs as she closes her laptop. “There’s been a huge surge in online orders, and my boss wants me to create more promo material, but it’s hard to focus on anything right now.”

Harry nods and glances out the window. “Doesn’t help that it’s a beautiful day, but we can’t go out.”

“We can go out. We just can’t leave the property.” Y/N replies. “You have a giant backyard. Why don’t you use it?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll go for a swim.” Harry takes another bite of his apple. “You want to come?”

Y/N laughs a bit. “Unlike you, H, I have a real nine to five job. I’m on the clock for another two hours.”

“After, then.” Harry tosses his apple core in the compost and gives her a grin. “I hope you packed that yellow bikini.”

Y/N crumples a piece of scrap paper in her hand and throws it at him. “Piss off.”

Y/N did, in fact, pack her yellow bikini. However, when she’s changing from her clothes into a swimsuit, she chooses her blue bikini instead, just to have a bit of agency. Every instinct in her is telling her to wear what Harry said to, and it’s a little concerning. She’s never cared about dressing for him before, and she isn’t prepared to start.

Despite the different colour, Harry still grins from the edge of the pool when he sees her walk out. “Look at you. Should’ve put you in the Watermelon Sugar music video.”

“Shut up.” Y/N sits on the edge of the pool, dangling her lets in the water. Harry rests his head on his arms, his cheeky grin still on his face as he looks up at her.

“I’m serious.” He says innocently. “It was a fun day. You really would’ve liked it.”

“Of course you thought it was fun; you had a bunch of beautiful girls fawning over you and feeding you fruit.” Y/N rolls her eyes from behind her sunglasses. “You’re such a narcissist.”

“All musicians are narcissists, love. At least, the best ones are.” Harry’s grin grows as he pushes away from the ledge. “Are you going to just sit there and look pretty, or are you actually going to swim?”

“I’m going to tan.” Y/N leans her head back, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun.

Harry shakes his head. “No, sorry. The pool is for swimming only.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

In hindsight, Y/N should’ve known what Harry was about to do. She’s been friends with him long enough that she knows how his brain works. However, Y/N is enjoying the sun so much that she lets her guard down for one moment, and that one moment is all Harry needs.

She feels his hands grip her legs, and before she can stop him, he pulls her into the pool. Her entire body submerges, and when she finally rises, gasping for air, the only thing she can hear is Harry’s snickering.

“You’re such an ass!” Y/N hits his shoulder hard, not caring about leaving a mark on him. “That’s not funny!”

“The pool is for swimming only. I told you.” Harry can’t stop laughing long enough to make it through his sentence clearly. “Them’s the rules.”

“Them’s the rules.” Y/N repeats in a mocking voice, hitting him one more time. “You’re the worst.”

“Maybe, but you’re stuck with me.” Harry runs a hand through his wet hair. “At least until quarantine is done.”

“I should’ve stayed alone in my apartment.” Y/N mutters, tossing her wet sunglasses on the pool ledge. “Would’ve been so much more peaceful.”

“And boring.” Harry points out. “And you wouldn’t get to take relaxing swims like this!”

“Right. Relaxing.” Y/N splashes him playfully. “Jerk.”

Harry just grins at you.

…

“Want one?”

Y/N glances at Harry as he packs loose marijuana into a wrapper, concentration clear on his face as he rolls it.

“You learn how to roll those in LA?” Y/N asks, taking a sip of her wine.

Harry chuckles lightly, his skin illuminated by the fire burning in front of them and the moon above them. “Yeah. I’m not very good, though. Usually I have somebody else to roll them for me.”

“So high maintenance.”

Another low laugh rolls out of Harry’s mouth. “Ha. High maintenance.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but an endearing smile is on her face. “It’s still illegal in the U.K., you know.”

“I doubt the police are going to break social distancing rules to arrest me for it.” Harry’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he tries his best to roll the joint tightly.

Y/N watches as Harry brings the wrapper to his mouth, licking it lightly. To her dismay, her attraction to Harry had yet to fade, and spending every moment of the day together wasn’t helping.

“I’m not an eighteen year old girl on your tour bus anymore, Harry.” Y/N raises her wine glass. “I drink red wine now. I’m sophisticated.”

Harry snorts, his eyes flickering to her before looking back down at the joint. “Sophisticated, right. Like you didn’t do body shots off the bartender at your birthday party this year.”

Y/N’s cheeks burn. “Birthdays don’t count.”

“Neither did tour buses, and neither does my backyard in the middle of a pandemic.” Harry seals the joint as best he can. “You may have a fancy job now, but you’re still my Y/N.”

His Y/N. That phrase ignites the now familiar flutter in her stomach and, over the last few days, her core. Something about Harry identifying her as his drives Y/N insane, even if it’s nothing new.

“And what exactly does your Y/N do?” She manages to say after a moment.

“She doesn’t take shit from anyone. She gets drunk fast and high faster. She’s always down for a laugh. And, although she won’t admit it, she has a tendency to make bad decisions that she tries to suppress, but can’t always manage to do so.” Harry sparks his lighter and sticks the joint between his lips, lighting it and puffing it quickly.

“Then you should know that your Y/N can’t have a joint of her own.” Y/N steals the joint from Harry’s lips, taking a few puffs of her own from it before handing it back.

The smoke curls in her lungs, forcing a few coughs from her.

“Alright?” Harry asks, concern in his eyes.

Y/N nods, her hand pressed to her chest like she can stop the burn. “Yeah. Just haven’t done that in a while.”

“You always cough so much. It would be cute if it wasn’t so bloody concerning.” Harry says casually, lifting the joint to his lips and inhaling.

Y/N watches as he exhales smoke slowly. She wonders if she looks as attractive as he does when she blows out smoke.

Harry grins at her with just the corner of his mouth, like there’s a secret tugging at the edge of his lips.

Y/N really doubts it.

“Here.” Harry places the joint between her lips. “Inhale slowly.”

Y/N does as he says, doing her best to keep from coughing until the joint and his hand is away from her face. Her eyes burn a bit, both from the smoke and the oncoming high that’s starting to twist through her body.

“That’s a good girl.” Harry praises her before leaning back, placing the joint back between his own lips. “You’ve gotten better at that. Thought you were going to pass out the first time we smoked, remember?”

“I remember I almost did.” Y/N giggles to herself as she settles down into the couch more. “I coughed so much that I thought I was going to die on that tour bus.”

“Niall was certain you had.” Harry laughs too, and Y/N known they’re both playing back the same memory. “Wasn’t quite sure how we were going to explain that one to Paul. Neither was I, honestly.”

“You don’t give me enough credit.” Despite the feeling coming over her, YN still takes another sip of her wine. “I was fine.”

Harry nods as he finishes the joint, setting the butt down into his ash tray. “Still…we had some fun nights on the bus when you were there.”

“That was a fun summer.” Y/N agrees, her eyes fixed on the fire before them. “Lots of good memories.”

As Y/N watches the fire, Harry watches her. He lets another moment or two pass before speaking again.

“When you were on tour with us that summer…” He rubs his lips absentmindedly. “You and Niall. Did you two ever…?”

“What? Fuck?” The weed and the alcohol take away the careful tone of Y/N’s regular speech, leaving honesty and bluntness behind.

Harry laughs once. “I was going to say date, but yeah. I guess so.”

“We didn’t date. We fooled around a few times.” Y/N shrugs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He was fun. But we both knew it wasn’t anything serious, just something to do while I was on tour with you.”

Harry nods a bit, reaching for his own drink and taking a sip. Y/N watches the movement with heavy lidded eyes. His arm muscles flex underneath his tattooed skin when he moves, and the way his fingers wrap around his glass is fascinating to her.

“I figured he would have told you.” Y/N pulls her sweater around her tighter. Now that the sun has set completely, a chill has appeared. “You guys always talked about girls together.”

“No, he didn’t tell me. And I didn’t ask.” Harry keeps his glass in his hand, looking down at it with an unreadable expression. “I thought you might tell me, but you didn’t, either.”

The substances in Y/N’s system are clouding her mind, but she does her best to focus on Harry’s words. As a way to ground herself, she pulls her sweater away from her body, hoping that the cold air will help.

“I’m sorry.” She says slowly, like it takes all her effort to get the words out. “I didn’t mean to…hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh.” Confusion fogs Y/N’s mind. “Then…why is it bothering you?”

“It’s not bothering me.” Harry denies, finishing off his drink. “I was just wondering why. You usually tell me everything. You always have.”

Y/N bites her lip. “I don’t tell you about every person I sleep with.”

Harry hums low in the back of his throat, but offers no other response.

After a few minutes, Y/N stands up. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”

Twisting his empty glass around in his hands, Harry nods. “Alright. I’ll be up in a little bit.”

“You know, you have a guest room.” Y/N pauses, fiddling with the bottom of her sweater. Her skin feels unsettled, and the fabric against it isn’t helping. “I should probably start using it. Social distancing, and all that.”

Harry looks up at her, a stubborn look reflecting in his eyes. “No. I sleep better with you beside me.”

When Harry finally comes up to bed an hour later, Y/N is still awake, eyes closed, with her back away from the door and head toward the wall. She doesn’t turn over when she hears the door creak open, and instead just listens to the rustling sounds of Harry changing, going to the bathroom, washing his hands, and returning to the bedroom.

Y/N feels his weight on the bed, but doesn’t hear him slide in next to her. Instead, she does her best to stay completely relaxed when she feels his fingers brush against her hairline, pushing back a few loose strands.

Staying completely relaxed, it turns out, is easier thought than done. The moment Harry touches her, Y/N feels the nerves in her face burst to life. It’s like electricity, like nothing she’s ever felt before from any previous touches from Harry. Behind her closed eyes, Y/N feels her head spinning, but she’s certain it must be the weed and the alcohol in her system.

Finally, the sheets are pulled back, and Harry gets under the covers. He pulls Y/N back against him, and Y/N can feel the hot skin of his chest pressed against her shoulders. Harry takes a moment to adjust before sighing, almost in content, and then he presses a gentle kiss to the back of her shoulder.

The tender action leaves Y/N speechless. The action itself isn’t new; they had always been very physically affectionate with each other. But there’s something about the moment that Y/N can’t quite place a finger on. Perhaps she would be able to if she was sober, or less tired, but with her brain in its current state, the words she needs are lost, and she’s certain she won’t remember the feeling in the morning.

Harry inhales deeply, his nose buried in her hair, and sighs again. Y/N can feel him relaxing back against her, but his arms stay wrapped around her tightly. It’s a comforting embrace, and makes it easy for Y/N’s mind to finally quiet and drift off.

…

“You’re still working?”

Y/N looks up from her laptop to see Harry standing above her, sweaty from his workout. His hair is tied up in a little ponytail on top of his head, and he has a towel wrapped around his shoulders that he uses to wipe sweat from his face. His body is literally glistening in the sunlight, and Y/N suddenly finds it very hard to focus on her work.

“I am.” She says finally, closing the lid of her laptop and stretching out on the beach chair. “Or I was. I’m done for today.”

“Good.” Harry sits down on the chair next to her. “I’m going to have a shower, but I was thinking we should try baking something later.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I want cupcakes, and homemade are way better than store bought.” Harry says easily, stealing Y/N’s water and taking a gulp from it.

Y/N watches his throat move as he swallows the water, how his Adam’s apple bobs, how he licks his lips when he finally pulls the glass away from his mouth.

Y/N’s own mouth suddenly feels very dry.

“Alright, yeah.” Y/N nods weakly. “We can bake something later. It’ll be fun.”

…

“It’ll be fun.” Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. “God, I can’t believe I said that.”

“It was fun!” Harry argues, holding up a red velvet cupcake. “And we did it!”

“And we made a mess.” Y/N gestures to the kitchen around them, which looks like a warzone. Flour, powdered sugar, and cocoa powder cover every counter surface. There are broken eggshells on the counter, splatters of batter everywhere, and both Y/N and Harry have dyed red hands from food colouring.

“It could be worse.” Harry shrugs, clearly untroubled. “C’mon. Try a cupcake.”

Y/N reaches for one, but Harry simply lifts the one in his hand to her mouth. She locks eyes with him as she takes a bite, the icing smearing across her top lip.

Y/N chews slowly and swallows hard. “Yeah. They’re good.”

Harry extends a hand, and his finger runs along her lip, collecting the icing. He pops it into his mouth, sucking for a moment before humming in agreement. “Yeah. Sweet.”

The cupcakes, it turns out, pair well with watermelon cocktails, and soon Y/N and Harry are sitting on the couch, takeout and cupcakes in front of them and drinks in their hands as they giggle and talk. They’re intoxicated, but not just from the alcohol in the strong drinks that Harry makes.

“Honestly, working from home isn’t ideal, but it’s not that bad.” Y/N pops a bite of food into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Definitely not the worst part of quarantine.”

“Yeah?” Harry leans back on the couch. “What’s the worst part?”

Y/N shrugs. “It sucks being away from people, cooped up inside.”

Harry nods, but his face looks wistful. “I miss sex.”

Y/N laughs, but she nods in agreement as well. “Fuck, I know. I miss sex so much.”

“It’s nice, you know? A good way to burn some energy…always sleep so well after…” Harry sighs, taking a sip of his drink between his phrases. “I feel like I’m back on a tour bus again, with no one around but my hand.”

A giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth. “How tragic.” She also takes a sip of her drink, and tries to stop herself from making a face. Harry really does make them strong. “I just miss touching. I haven’t been this touch starved since I was seventeen.”

Harry makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “We touch.”

“That’s different.” Y/N finishes her drink. “That’s friendly touching. It’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?” Harry challenges her, a glint in his eyes that Y/N’s come to recognize as a sign of trouble.

She refuses to take the bait. “You know what I meant.”

“I don’t.” Harry says it innocently, and he reaches forward to take her glass from her. “How about I get us some refills while you think of how to say it?”

Y/N lets him take the glass (she loves his drinks, despite how strong they are), but shakes her head. “Stop being an ass. You know exactly what I meant.”

A low laugh rolls out of Harry as he walks to the built-in bar he has in the lounge. He begins to recreate the drinks, muddling this, adding a splash of that. If Harry wasn’t already a rock star, she’d suggest he become a mixologist.

“Maybe I do know what you meant.” Harry shakes the cocktail shaker with ease before straining the liquid out over their glasses, which he’s filled with fresh ice. “But I want to hear you say it.”

Y/N runs a hand through her hair. She feels warm from the alcohol, and the lit candles around them aren’t helping. The food and cupcakes sit on the table, all but forgotten in their new conversation. “Say what?”

Harry’s lips pull up in a smirk, but his eyes show something else. He walks back over and hands her the drink before taking a seat next to her again. “The kind of touching you miss.”

Their fingers touch as Y/N takes the glass from him, and suddenly the warmth of the room feels ten times hotter. “You want me to say it?”

Harry lifts his glass to his lips, but keeps his eyes on her. “I do.”

“I…” Y/N takes a sip of the drink (which is stronger than the one before) and then presses the cold glass to her cheek. “I miss touching. Intimate touching. And…being touched intimately.”

Harry inhales deeply, stretching out his shoulders before responding. “Yeah. I miss that too. Holding hands, touching someone’s stomach, chest, legs…having them play with my hair…”

“I play with your hair.” Y/N says defensively, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.

Harry laughs once. “Right, but like you said…that’s different.”

Y/N clears her throat. “Right.”

Harry takes a long sip from his drink. “’S still nice, though.” Harry adds after a moment, licking his lips. “I love when you play with my hair. You know that.”

Nodding softly, Y/N begins to trail a finger over the rim of her glass. Whenever she begins to get tipsy, she begins to fidget more, and feel freer in her actions. And when Y/N glances back at Harry, she can tell he recognizes the sign as well.

“What about you?” He asks, bringing her back from her thoughts. “What do you miss having people do?”

Y/N drinks again, pulling her knees to her chest as she leans against the couch’s armrest. “I miss…having my hair played with, too. That’s always nice. I miss having my fingers played with…neck kisses…I like when people, like, rub my arms or thighs, just absentmindedly…” She leans her head against her arm. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Harry rubs his nose lightly, and Y/N can tell he’s feeling the alcohol, too. “What’s my turn?”

“Tell me what else you like.” Y/N smiles softly, a small laugh just barely bubbling out from her. “We’ve never actually talked about it, H. Isn’t that strange?”

Harry turns to face her more, pausing to think for a moment. “I suppose we’ve never been specific before, yeah.” He taps his thumb against his H ring. “I like being in control, usually. Telling them what to do, where to touch me…” His eyes get a faraway look in them. “But sometimes it’s nice to give up control. Have someone else…”

“Decide.” Y/N finishes his sentence for him when he trails off. “Yeah. I’m more like that, I think. I usually let someone else decide. But I like the in-between, too. Like…both exploring each other.”

“What do you mean?” Harry cocks his head to the side curiously.

Y/N shrugs loosely, her finger still tracing her glass. “’S hard to explain.”

Harry’s voice is low when he replies, almost like he’s somewhere else. “Try.”

“Well…” Y/N takes a drink before setting her glass down. “It’s like…do you remember your first time?”

Harry blinks, surprised at the question, but nods. “Yeah. I do.”

“And remember how nervous you were?”

“Yeah.”

“And like…” Y/N plays with her fingers as she ponders her next words. “You were nervous, yeah, but there was also this excitement in you. Kind of like…a breathlessness. And you looked at the other person and knew they…”

Harry closes his eyes for a moment. “Felt the same.”

“Yeah.” Y/N tucks her hair behind her ears. “And just, like, being comfortable with them, and knowing you could both explore, and ask questions, and you were both together…” Y/N feels heat rise to her cheeks as she trails off. “I don’t know. I feel like that’s rare, but I—it’s nice. I like it.”

“Yeah.” Harry rubs his thumb over his lip as he shifts his position on the couch. “It’s nice, yeah. Rare, usually. But nice.”

“I think it’s rare, because, like—” The alcohol makes it harder for Y/N to gather her thoughts, but also harder to sensor them. “I don’t know, I feel like when I was younger, and hadn’t had sex yet, I took more time with, like, finding the right person? Like I wanted it to be with someone who loved me for the first time, and someone I was comfortable with, and it was. And then after, the love part didn’t matter so much for me.” Y/N glances at Harry, who seems to be hanging on her every word. “Which, like, was fine. What mattered to me the most was that whoever I had sex with respected me. And they did, so that was…good. But it’s different.” Y/N rubs her arms. “I don’t know if that makes sense…”

“It does.” Harry assures her, placing a light hand on her knee. He begins to rub small circles. “Keep going.”

“I just think that, like, that in-between, breathless, exploring each other kind of thing…the comfort…that’s rare because it only really happens with someone you love.” Y/N murmurs. “At least, that’s how it is for me. And I haven’t really been in love much in my life.”

“I’ve been in love probably too much.” Harry admits, his hand still on Y/N’s knee. “Too much to be good for me.”

Y/N shakes her head adamantly. “No, H. That’s good. That’s…brave. You’re not afraid of how you feel. Most people are.”

“Maybe.” Harry finishes his drink again with one long gulp.

Y/N watches as he does, seeing a little drip of liquid slip from the corner of his mouth. She can’t stop herself from leaning forward and wiping it away with her thumb, feeling the stubble of Harry’s chin scratch against her.

Harry watches her with hooded eyes as she leans back to her previous position. His hand slips a bit higher, from her knee to her lower thigh, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Who have you been in love with?” He asks. His words are slurred a bit, and his accent seems thicker.

“My first boyfriend, Parker. You remember him.” Y/N sighs, closing her eyes as she herself remembers. “And…Christian, from university. We were together for two years. That’s it, I think.”

Despite the alcohol, Harry’s face still shows some surprise. “Really? No one else? No one since Christian?”

Y/N shrugs. “I’ve dated, yeah, and had relationships, but…I don’t know. I didn’t love any of them. I was…infatuated. But I never…it was intense, but like—intense like a spark. Nothing prolonged.”

Harry hums in response. “Thought you were going to say Niall for a moment. He was pretty torn up when you went back to school after that summer.”

Y/N’s face mimics Harry’s surprise from a moment ago. “Was he?”

“Yeah. Moped around a bit, spent time by himself, on his phone every two minutes…” Harry’s expression shows the difficulty it’s taking him to think back eight years while drunk. “I knew it was because you left. Thought you two had an…agreement, or something.”

“An agreement?” A giggle escapes Y/N. “This isn’t a Jane Austen book, Harry. We didn’t have an agreement.” Once she gets her laughter out, she sighs. “He was that upset?”

“Yeah.” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “So I thought…he must be in love with you. And you were…”

“No, I wasn’t.” Y/N says softly. “He was so upset that you thought he was in love with me?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N bites her lip. “Was he more upset than you?”

Harry takes a moment to reply, looking at her with a serious expression. His lips are so red, and his eyes are so green, and both of them are so drunk that neither of them can sense the meaning behind what they’re saying.

“No.” Harry finally responds. “He wasn’t.”

…

“Good morning.”

“Shhh.” Y/N covers her eyes with her arm. “Don’t yell in my ear.”

“I whispered.” Harry counters, but his voice is a bit quieter this time. “Do you have a headache?”

“I didn’t know something flavoured with watermelon could make me feel so shitty.” Y/N groans a bit, shifting on the bed without opening her eyes. “What did you do to me?”

When Harry laughs, it’s not audible, but Y/N can feel it through his chest pressed against her side.

“How are you completely fine right now?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

“I’m used to it. I’ve always been way better with hangovers than you.” Harry presses a small kiss to her shoulder before getting up. “How does breakfast in bed sound?”

“Normally amazing, but I can’t eat right now.” Y/N mutters. “How about coffee in bed?”

“Sure.” Harry smiles a bit. “You look cute like this.”

“Shut up.”

Harry returns ten minutes later with a tray of coffee, toast, and eggs, of which he manages to coax Y/N to take a few bites. She doesn’t really want it, but she knows it’s easier to do as he says instead of arguing.

“How about we have a movie day today?” Harry suggests after breakfast. “In bed, since it seems like you won’t be moving anytime soon.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N glares at him from the top of her coffee cup.

Harry raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t make you drink. You chose to.”

“I know, but it’s easier to blame you.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Is that why you’ve been doing it for twenty years?”

“Exactly.”

Harry carefully lifts the empty tray to the ground before holding up the remote. “You can pick the movies.”

Y/N bites her lip. “If we watch Titanic, will you make fun of me when I cry?”

“Of course not. I’ll even cry with you out of solidarity.”

“Alright.” Y/N settles back into the blankets. “Put it on, then.”

It’s easy for them to be like this, Y/N thinks, as Harry pulls her into his arms when the movie starts. It’s always been so natural for them to be physical and affectionate with each other. They’ve never acted any other way.

Except this doesn’t feel like any other way.

Yes, Y/N has watched countless movies while cuddling in bed with Harry. But has he ever whispered in her ear like that before? Has he ever rubbed her sides so carefully before? Has he ever let his lips rest on the bare skin of her shoulder, almost at the base of her neck?

Y/N can’t recall. However, she’s certain that if he had, it hasn’t felt so electric.

“Look at them. Look at how Jack watches her.” Harry murmurs his words directly in Y/N’s ear as they watch Jack draw Rose. Y/N can feel his lips brushing against her, and the heat of his breath and tone of his voice makes her shiver.

“She’s very pretty.” Y/N nods, shifting in Harry’s arms. She likes how warm he feels.

“I suppose, but that’s not what I meant.” Harry traces shapes on her arm. “I meant look at how he looks at her. Do you think they have the kind of love you talked about last night?”

Y/N glances over her shoulder at him, surprised he remembers their conversation. “I think so. Do you?”

“Yeah.” Harry says in a low voice. He says no more, so Y/N turns back to face the television.

They continue to watch in silence, gripping each other a bit tighter as the Titanic begins to sink. As they watch a mother reading to her two young children in bed, Y/N begins to lose her composure, like always. Tears well in her eyes, and she lets out a quiet hitched breath, a single sniffle.

“It’s alright, love.” Harry’s hands move to her stomach, holding her tighter to comfort her. “Don’t cry.”

Y/N can hear the tears in his voice, just as they’re in her own. “Can’t help it. This part and the band and the old couple in bed—they always get me.”

“I know.” Harry rubs his thumb along your side.

Y/N reaches behind her without turning around, threading her fingers through Harry’s messy curls. She plays with them absentmindedly as she watches, and tries to ignore how right it feels to be close to him like this. She wonders if he notices it, too.

Harry presses a chaste kiss to her shoulder.

…

The day they hit the one month mark of quarantine, Harry sits across from Y/N at breakfast with a determined look on his face.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Y/N glances up at him, her attention barely shifting from her book. “A proposition?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of proposition?” Y/N tilts her head to the side. What she first thought was just determination on Harry’s face, she realizes, is actually determination and mischief, and she knows it won’t end well.

“I haven’t had a tattoo in a while.” Harry steals a strawberry from Y/N’s plate. “And I have a machine here, so I was thinking you could give me one.”

Y/N stares at Harry incredulously as he pops the strawberry in his mouth. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably.”

“I’m a terrible artist, Harry. You know that.” Y/N shakes her head. “And even if I wasn’t, I have no idea how to tattoo someone!”

“You can watch a YouTube tutorial, or read a WikiHow.” Harry sighs loudly. “I’m so bored in isolation!”

“What do you even want tattooed?” Y/N eyes the intricate tattoos on his arms suspiciously. “I doubt I could do something like your ship.”

“Something simple.” He shrugs. “Probably lettering.”

“Probably?” Y/N says suspiciously.

“That’s why I want you to do it. I want it in your handwriting.”

Harry’s tone is easy, but it makes her breathing shallow.

“You do?”

“Yeah. I was thinking of something to remind me of this time, because of how weird it is.”

Despite her increased heartbeat, Y/N laughs. “What, do you want me to tattoo COVID-19 on you?”

“No. Be a little more creative than that.” Harry scoffs.

“Why do I have to be creative?”

“Because I want you to decide what I get.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “You’re not serious.”

“I am! Why is that so hard to believe?” Harry asks. “I trust you. And you’re good with words.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

…

“Make sure my drink has two shots in it.” Y/N calls to Harry as she looks over the tattoo supplies on the living room table.

Harry laughs. “I’m not sure I want my tattoo artist to be drunk.”

“The only way I’ll even be your tattoo artist is if I’m drunk.” She counters. “I still think this is an awful idea.”

Harry hands Y/N a tall glass with a light pink liquid in it. “Drink this, and you’ll change your mind.”

Y/N takes the glass and takes a large gulp, not focusing on the taste of the mixers, but the liquid courage behind them.

Harry grins, lifting his own glass. “Cheers.”

“Shut up and sit down.” Y/N mutters. She ties her hair back before grabbing the disinfectant wipes. “Where do you want this?”

“My upper inner arm. I already shaved it for you.” Harry smirks as he points to the area, which is easily exposed in his loose tank top.

“And you’re sure I can write it with pen?” Y/N asks nervously as she disinfects the area.

“Mhmm.” Harry leans back comfortably in his chair. “What did you decide on?”

“It’s a secret.” Y/N uncaps the pen, getting closer to him.

“So I can’t know until after it’s on me permanently?”

“Is that a problem?” Y/N asks innocently. “I thought you trusted me?”

Harry chuckles. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Also that I’m good with words.” Y/N makes sure Harry’s head is turned away before she carefully writes the phrase she chose. Then she snaps on gloves and starts the machine like she watched in videos early that day.

“You’re fine, love.” Harry assures her, seeing the nervous look on her face. “It’s a small tattoo. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Quiet.” Y/N mutters. “I need to focus.”

True to Harry’s word, the small tattoo only takes a few minutes to finish. When it’s done, Y/N gives it one final wipe before setting the machine down and taking off her gloves.

“Alright.” She picks up her glass and drains it completely. “You can look.”

Harry peers at his arm, curiosity clear on his face. There, in Y/N’s loopy handwriting is the phrase “touch me.”

“It looks so fucking good, Y/N.” Harry grins at her. “You did amazing!”

“I didn’t fuck it up?” She asks, chewing on her lip anxiously. “Is it alright?”

“You did a lovely job.” Harry smiles. “Wrap it for me?”

Y/N does as he asks, carefully wrapping the fresh tattoo in plastic wrap and taping it to his arm. “I think I’ll accept my tip in the form of another drink.”

Harry snickers. “Coming right up.”

Two drinks later, they’re both back in the honest and loose headspace that they’ve grown familiar with. It’s not enough that they’re unaware of their actions, but both Y/N and Harry know that their lips are looser because of the liquor in their systems.

They’ve migrated to the bedroom to get comfier, but took a few items from the bar with them. It’s with these items that Harry tops up Y/N’s glass again as he speaks.

“So tell me…” He sets the cocktail shaker on his bedside table. “Why ‘touch me’?”

“You said you wanted something to remind you of isolation.” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “And that’s what we both miss the most, right? Being touched?”

Harry nods slowly, his rings clinking against his glass. “Yeah. I’m probably going to go straight to the bars after this is all done. Find someone there.”

He laughs lightly, showing that what he says it half a joke, but Y/N sighs wistfully and shakes her head in disagreement. “I won’t.”

“You won’t?” Harry is surprised, his laughter fading. “Why not?”

Her shrug almost causes her to spill her drink on the bed. “I don’t know.” Y/N sighs again. “I don’t really—I’m not a hookup fan. Not right now, at least. It’s not what I…want.”

“What do you want, then?” Harry finishes his drink, but sets the glass down instead of refilling it. “If not sex?”

“I want sex.” Y/N says defensively. “But I want—I don’t want it to be someone random. I want sex, but I want to be…intimate. Like, I want to know that person cares about me, and I care about them.”

Harry licks the last of his drink from his lips. “Like that breathless feeling?”

“No. It would be nice, but no. That takes time.” Y/N brushes her hair behind her ear. “Just…someone who cares. I don’t want a quick fuck, I just—”

“You want to be touched. Intimately touched.” Harry takes the empty glass from Y/N’s hand and sets it down on the table next to the bed.

Y/N nods gently, her limbs feeling loose. “Yeah. Intimately touched.”

“You know, I could…” Harry trails off, pursing his lips. “We could…do that.”

The alcohol makes Y/N slow to recognize the meaning of his words. “What?”

“I’ve noticed you…the way you look at me, it’s…different than it was.” Harry says carefully, his eyes gauging her reaction. “For the last few weeks. And I—I know that I’m…attracted to you, too.”

“We…” Y/N struggles to think of what to say as she finally registers what’s happening. “We’re friends.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see you as attractive.” Harry looks down at his hands. “Don’t you…? I mean…”

“I—yeah. I think you’re—” Y/N laughs a bit nervously. “You’re attractive, H, you know that. We’ve just never…discussed it.”

“I’m not saying we have to fuck, or—we don’t have to do anything.” Harry straightens his shoulders and looks you in the eye. “Just—when we touch, it’s mild. If you want to be touched intimately, we could…”

“Like, a hand job?” Y/N says slowly, her words blunt with confusion.

Harry goes a bit red, but he shakes his head quickly. “No, Christ, that’s not what I meant, I—just—can I show you?”

“Um,” Y/N swallows hard. “Sure.”

“Okay.” Harry nods slightly, taking carefully measured breaths. “If this feels weird, or anything seems wrong, just tell me to stop, alright?”

Y/N replies faintly. “Alright.”

Nodding again, Harry moves closer on the bed, sitting on his knees so he can get closer to Y/N, who sits cross-legged. His hands rest lightly on her bare thighs, and his rings are a cool contrast to his warm skin.

Harry begins to rub his hands up and down her thighs slowly. His movements are measured, and he watches Y/N’s reaction carefully for a sign of her disliking his actions. However, what he finds is a nervous but interested girl staring back at him.

“Like this. Like, what you like.” Harry says lowly. His hands move more to her inner thighs, but they don’t creep higher. “And…”

“And…?” Y/N asks, her heart rate increasing even more.

Harry moves one hand to the hem of Y/N’s tank top, pushing it up a bit so his hand can rest on her waist. He rubs over her warm skin, marvelling in how smooth and soft it is to his touch. His fingers graze the lace of her bra, but he goes no higher.

“How—how’s that?” Harry asks quietly.

“It’s, um, it’s good.” Y/N replies as she struggles to keep her voice normal. “Yeah. Good. But, um, can you…” Harry’s movements pause at her words, and Y/N feels her cheeks get even warmer. “Maybe touch my, uh, my neck. If you’d like.”

Harry nods, and the hand on her thigh moves to her neck. He traces his fingers across her shoulder and over her collarbone, delighting in feeling the curves of her body. Y/N’s breath hitches when his fingers travel up her neck, and Harry swears he can feel her pulse increase under his fingers.

Y/N’s not sure if it’s the fact that she’s touch starved from self isolating that makes Harry’s touches feel so good, or if it’s the fact that it’s Harry touching her, but she doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, allowing him better access.

She feels Harry’s breath before she feels his lips, but she’s still surprised when she feels him begin to sponge light kisses across her neck.

“H…”

“Is this alright?” He asks the question right below her ear, and yet she can barely hear him because he’s so quiet.

“Yes.” Y/N breathes. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Harry returns to pressing light kisses to her skin, his hands still rubbing over her sides and hips.

For the first time since seeing Harry naked in her bathroom, Y/N can’t deny or explain away her attraction to him. She can’t convince herself that she doesn’t want him to touch her, because she does, and she can’t tell herself that she doesn’t need him, because she does. Every fibre of her being is telling her that she needs Harry, and she needs him now. Her heart is pounding, her skin is on fire, and her core feels like she’d going to explode if he doesn’t do something. And yet, Y/N can’t tell him to touch her more. She’s frozen, mind blank, and she can only register what Harry is doing at the moment as what she wants.

Harry continues to kiss her neck, never lingering too long in one spot, never sucking too hard. Every kiss is gentle and chaste, except the few rare ones that include the tip of his tongue running over her skin.

After what feels like an eternity, Harry pulls away from her neck, face flushed. Despite his hands still on her body, Y/N makes an involuntary sound in the back of her throat.

“Is that better?” He asks lowly, rubbing his thumb against your hip.

“I—kind of.” Y/N says softly. If anything, she thinks, it’s worse. She needs to satisfy the burn inside her, but she doesn’t know how.

“Good.” Harry replies, but he doesn’t take his hands off her.

Y/N’s own hands have been sitting at her sides as his moved over her body, but she raises one now, as hesitant as Harry was. She extends it towards his arm, but pauses with her fingers right over his skin.

“Is it okay if I…?”

The corner of Harry’s lips lifts up, just barely. “Yeah, love. Go ahead.”

Harry’s skin is warm beneath her touch. Y/N traces the outline of his mermaid tattoo carefully before moving onto others. She loves how his arm curves under her touch, how he stays still and lets her explore. She appreciates it, thinking that if Harry made any sudden movements, she’d force herself to pull away.

Soon, her fingers move from tracing his tattoos to tracing the lines of his muscles. She moves down his forearm to his hand, running her fingers over the veins that show through his tan skin, over his knuckles, down the tips of his calloused fingers and back.

Harry sucks in a breath, and Y/N’s trance flickers for a moment as her eyes move to his face to see what’s wrong.

“Sorry, just—surprised me.” Harry says, voice low yet sheepish. He nods down to his thigh, where Y/N realizes her own hand is resting.

“Oh—” She moves to pull her hand away, but Harry places his own on top.

“It’s fine.” He says quickly. “Keep going.”

Y/N bites her lip as she turns her attention back to his arm. Her fingers move slowly and carefully back up his forearm to his upper arm. She traces over his tattoos while she rubs her thumb gently against the muscle, and stops her fingers at the edge of his t-shirt sleeve. With a quick glance at Harry, she pushes the sleeve up, tucking it up on his shoulder so she can run her fingers over his ship tattoo, which is one of her favourites.

“Feels nice.” Harry murmurs, his eyes following her movements.

Y/N glances back at his face, taking in his appearance. His lips are red from the time he spent kissing her neck, and his cheeks are still flushed. His eyes are darker than usual, and she’s not certain if it’s the candlelight or something else causing it. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, with a few loose curls hanging down. Out of reflex, Y/N reaches up and pushes his hair back out of his eyes.

Before she can return her hand to his arm, Harry captures it in his own. Y/N watches as he brings it to his lips, inhaling as her wrist passes underneath his nose. Although she’s not sure why, there’s something about seeing how much smaller her hand is in Harry’s that delights her.

Harry presses a soft kiss to her wrist, following it up with another on her palm. Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the tender sensation.

“It’s my turn to touch you.” She says softly, her voice strained.

Harry hums in reply. “I know.” He kisses your wrist once more before looking at you. “I’ll help.”

Lifting his hand from his thigh (your hand, which was underneath, stays where it is), he pulls up his shirt just enough that he can sneak your hand underneath. He rests it on his lower chest, and even though his shirt is still partially covering him, Y/N knows she’s touching his butterfly tattoo.

“I like to be touched here.” Harry says in the same low voice.

“Okay.” Y/N bites her lip, her head swimming with alcohol and the smell of the candles and Harry’s cologne and Harry. “It…would be easier without your shirt.”

Without breaking eye contact, save for the moment fabric covers him, Harry pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. “Better?”

Y/N’s eyes drift down to his tanned stomach. His body is familiar and a stranger to her all at once. She knows his tattoos, scars, every mark on his skin from a distance, but seeing it like this—touching it like this—makes her feel like she’s never truly seen him before.

“Better.” She manages to say, her hand brushing across his ribs.

Y/N spends a while exploring the planes of his stomach, the contours of his body. When she gets to his v-lines, and runs her fingers over the ferns tattooed there, Harry shivers a bit, his hand gripping her knee tighter.

Y/N massages his thigh gently. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” Harry clears his throat. “I’m good.”

“Okay.” Y/N nods, but moves her hand further up again, over his chest and over his collar bones. She takes a moment to trace the lines of his neck, feel the beat if his pulse underneath her fingers, and then tangles her fingers in his hair. She uses the leverage to tilt his head back a bit, and presses her lips to the base of his neck.

Harry’s cologne smells better up close, and Y/N adores the heat of his skin on her sensitive lips. She presses small kisses over the curve of his neck, pausing over his jugular. Her tongue darts out and she carefully licks along it before ending the motion with a kiss.

“Christ…” Harry exhales slowly, the tips of his fingers digging into her knee slightly.

Y/N knows they’re crossing the threshold of just touching each other for the sake of touching. She can feel herself dripping in her panties, and when her eyes flicker down, she can see the outline of Harry’s half hard cock in his shorts. Together, they’ve reached the border of friends helping each other out, and she’s certain that she wants to cross it with him. However, she’s not sure if they should.

Pulling back enough to look Harry in the eyes, Y/N clears her throat. “H, we—what are we doing?”

Harry waits a moment to answer. “I…I don’t know. I have no fucking clue.”

“This isn’t friendly anymore.” Y/N’s voice drops to a whisper. “It’s not just—it’s intimate, yeah, but it’s more…” Her eyes move to the outline of his hardening cock once more before looking back up at his face. “It’s more.”

“Yeah. It’s more.” Harry moves his hand further up her thigh again, rubbing slow circles. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “You don’t?”

“It’s been so long since…” Harry trails off, his gaze drifting down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “And it’s you. I’ve always wondered if—we—”

“I’ve wondered, too.” Y/N admits, her voice filled with nerves. Are they really discussing this? “Especially since that day, in the bathroom—”

“I wondered if you looked then.” Harry’s voice drops lower (which Y/N didn’t think was possible). “I thought about it later that day. I—fuck, I wanted you to look.”

A small noise escapes the back of Y/N’s throat. “This—we’ve been drinking, and—it’s the alcohol, H. Neither of us is thinking straight.”

“This isn’t the alcohol talking. I’ve thought about—when we’re in the pool, when we cuddle, when we flirt, I—I can’t help it.” Harry closes his eyes for a brief moment, like he’s collecting himself. “I need you. And I think…I think you need me too.”

“I do. I need you.” Y/N touches his stubbled jaw with careful fingers. “But we’re friends. This is going to change that.”

“We don’t know that.” Harry leans into her touch. “You said before that you wanted someone you’re comfortable with, something intimate, something breathless. You and I are comfortable, and intimate, and—I don’t know. All I know for sure is that I want you.”

Y/N isn’t sure if he means he wants her in a purely physical way or something more, and while she knows she should clarify that, all she can focus on is his voice and the way it’s going straight to her core.

“I want you, too.” She says simply.

Harry brings his hand to Y/N’s hip. “Can I kiss you?”

Y/N nods. She’s not sure she’s capable of giving a verbal response.

Harry takes it upon himself to lean closer, his fingertips digging into Y/N’s skin in a way she adores. He pauses, hovering just above her lips for a moment, as if to give her time to pull away. Instead, Y/N just waits in anticipation, delighting in the feeling of his breath running over her skin.

When he kisses her, Y/N tastes alcohol, mint, and what she swears is her own heart in the back of her throat.

Any previous kisses she’s shared with Harry have been half kisses, given in teenage games of truth or dare and in a friend’s parent’s basement. Those kisses were safe, guarded, and an obligation. This kiss is the exact opposite.

Although it starts chaste, it quickly grows more passionate. Y/N can’t stop herself from tugging on Harry’s hair more than she imagines Harry can stop himself from rucking up the hem of her tank top. His fingers dip under the band of her lace bralette as she nips at his lip, tugging slightly, delighted when a strangled sound echoes from the back of his throat.

Within minutes, Y/N’s allowed Harry to pull her to straddle his lap, his hands grabbing at her hips with a neediness she’s never seen him exhibit before. Of course, she feels the same way, and she lets her hand run down his chest over and over, using her nails a little more each time. Although there’s no one around to see, no party to return to, nowhere to go, Y/N wants to leave a mark. She wants anyone who sees his chest to know that he belongs to her.

Harry breaks away from her, lips red, eyes frenzied, and breathing heavy. “Can I—?” His hands tug on the hem of her top, tugging in question.

Y/N lifts her arms in response, letting him pull it off and toss it to the side. Harry moves back in to kiss her again, but she keeps her arms up, giving him a long look.

“You’re not done.” She says simply.

He understands right away, and his fingers find the band of her bralette again. This time, however, he removes it slower, almost as if the removal is ritual itself, and his hands are less frantic when they return to your skin.

Harry looks at Y/Nu with wide eyes, and she understands the meaning in them: this is so much more than just touching, and so much more than two friends using each other for mutual pleasure. With every touch, they further cross a line, and neither of them can stop.

With this realization, Harry’s movements become more cautious. His hands come to rest on her sides, his thumbs just brushing the side of her breast.

“You’re fine.” Y/N assures him in a soothing voice. “Keep going.”

“Are you fine?” He counters, his voice an equal mix of concern and need.

“H.” Y/N takes his hands in her own and places them over her breasts. “Like that. Touch me like that.”

Harry sucks in a short breath as she manipulates his hands, showing him how to rub her and touch her. After a few moments, she lets her hands move to his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

Y/N begins to grind against him, desperate for a bit of friction. Their kisses are soon accented with their moans as they each pull the other closer in lust and need.

Still, underneath the physical desires, there’s a current running between them. Y/N knows it’s been there for the last few weeks, humming quietly in the back of her mind, but being here, now, with Harry touching her, it’s come alive like an electric fence. She can’t turn it off, and she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to in the slightest.

Harry begins to kiss down her neck like before, but this time his kisses are anything but chaste. When he reaches her breast, he kisses around them before taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Oh fuck—” Y/N arches her back, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. “Harry…”

He hums against her, and his spare hand rubs her back like he does when they get ready to sleep. Usually, the motion is calming, but right now, Y/N feels anything but calm.

Harry continues until he’s satisfied with his work, and then he kisses his way to her other breast, wrapping his lips against her other nipple. He spends just as much time on that one, letting his teeth graze it ever so slightly before soothing the action with his tongue.

When he pulls back, there’s a little line of spit connecting Harry’s mouth to her nipple, and Y/N whimpers at the sight.

“H…” She runs her finger through the line before gripping his chin with her thumb and forefinger. The need inside her builds, as does her fondness for the man in front of her. “God…”

Harry tweaks her hard nipple with his finger, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, but enough to make a gasp fall from her mouth. He offers no response in the form of words, but the hungry look in his eyes has only increased.

“Let me…” Y/N climbs off of his lap, gently pushing him to lay back on the bed. “Yeah?”

Harry runs a hand through his messy curls, nodding quickly. “You want that?”

“Yeah.” Y/N nods too, pressing a wet kiss to his swollen lips. “So bad. Yeah.”

Her hands move to the waistband of his shorts, and Harry lifts his hips off the bed. Y/N tugs down his boxers in the same movement, and tosses both articles of clothing to the side before looking back at him.

Harry’s cock is just as beautiful as she remembers it being the morning she accidentally walked in on him. Even more so, she thinks, because now he’s hard, and the head is the most appetizing shade of pink, with drops of precum pearling at the top. When Y/N wraps her hand around his girth, she adores the heat that she feels.

“So pretty…” She says the words almost to herself, and strokes him lightly to get used to the feeling of him in her hand. “I just want to…”

Y/N leans down and flicks her tongue over his tip, collecting the precum gathered there. In return, a strangled moan leaves Harry’s throat as his arm moves to cover his eyes for a moment.

Y/N presses a kiss to the head of his cock before she continues licking, reveling in the sounds Harry makes. She had no doubt, with a voice as angelic as his, that his moans and whines and whimpers would be just as beautiful.

When she wraps her lips around the head and sucks, she feels Harry’s hand move to her hair. She looks up at him without lifting off of his cock, staring him in the eye as she takes more and more of him into her mouth.

“Fuck—” Another moan leaves Harry’s lips, more strained than the last. “That’s it…” He tugs on her hair, but doesn’t push her down. Even when lost in pleasure, he’s careful with her.

Y/N loves him for it.

Pacing herself, she takes more and more of him into her mouth until her nose is pressed to the base of his stomach, brushing against his (neatly trimmed) pubic hair. She stays down for just a moment before pulling up completely to breathe, but keeps her hand on him, stroking him slowly.

“You look so good.” Harry mutters, running his hands over her hair in a soothing motion. “I imagined it, but didn’t think…so much better…”

Y/N moves to push her head back down, but Harry stops her, bringing her up for a kiss instead.

“I want to taste you, now.” He tells her, laying her down on the pillows. “Is that alright?”

Y/N nods desperately, feeling even more heat rush to her core and pool there. “Mhmm.”

Harry kisses his way down her body again, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her shorts. He leaves her panties on as he pulls the shorts down, and lets out a low groan at the sight of her pink Calvin Klein panties, and more specifically, the dark pink spot that’s apparent on them.

“You’re soaked…” He presses a kiss to her sensitive inner thigh before brushing a finger over the wet spot.

Y/N jumps a bit, making a sound in the back of her throat. “Harry!”

“Sorry.” He kisses her thigh again. “I’m sorry. Just relax, yeah? It’s just me. I got you.”

Harry continues to kiss along her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the thin cloth covering her center. When he presses his first kiss to the fabric, Y/N grasps the sheets in her hands.

“God…” She whispers, fists clenched.

Harry reaches up and takes one of her hands, placing it in his hair wordlessly before kissing over her again, his tongue peaking out just a bit.

The torture continues for what feels like forever, with Harry teasing her over the soaked fabric of her panties. Finally, Y/N sighs in relief as she feels his hands grip the fabric, and she lifts her hips eagerly as he tugs the article of clothing down.

The first thing she feels is his hot breath hitting her core, which is enough to make her legs reflexively close with pleasure. Harry’s hand grips her leg, pushing them back open as he takes in the sight of her dripping cunt before him.

“Fuck…” He inhales deeply, committing her scent to memory. “Your pussy is so gorgeous.”

Y/N whimpers at his words and tugs on his curls. “Please, H…I need you.”

“Need me?” Harry asks in a husky voice, his finger touching her outer lips just barely.

“Yes!” Y/N whines, not caring how she sounds. “Never needed anything more…”

Harry runs his finger over her slit, collecting the wetness dripping from her. YN moans loudly at the contact, not fully relieved but grateful for the light touch.

“So fucking wet.” Harry’s voice sounds not completely his own. “Fuck, Y/N, how are you so wet?”

Y/N feels heat rush to her cheeks, and she mumbles her reply in what’s almost an embarrassed voice. “You know exactly how.”

“Don’t even know what to do first.” Harry ignores her reply, lost in his own world as he continues stroking her slit. “Just want…”

He presses into her without warning, and Y/N arches her back off the bed as Harry’s finger slips into her cunt. His cold rings touch the top of her entrance as Harry pauses inside her, his eyes heavy with lust.

“And so tight.” He moans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark. “Oh my God…”

He curves his finger inside her, wanting to feel every inch of her that he can. Y/N continues to whimper above him.

“More.” She begs him, pushing back against his finger. “I can take more, Harry, please.”

Harry easily slips enough finger in, repeating his motion as she pushes back on him. However, the pressure building inside Y/N disappears abruptly as his fingers do, and she’s just about to get angry at him when she feels his tongue replace his fingers.

“Fuck!” She exclaims loudly, her eyes closing as she throws her head back. “Harry—!”

Harry moves his tongue in and out of her, loving the taste of her juices in his mouth. He moves further up to her clit, licking and sucking over the sensitive bundle of nerves as Y/N writhes above him.

“Taste so good.” He growls from between her thighs. “Fuck, Y/N…you’re going to cum for me, yeah?” He asks as he reaches up and grips her hands in his, interlocking their fingers. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”

Another strangled moan leaves Y/N’s mouth as he speaks. “I-I’m so close, Harry. Keep going, please.”

“Tell me.” He demands, licking over her clit again. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”

Y/N grinds against his tongue as she grips his hands tighter. “I’m going—fuck—I’m going to cum for you, H. I’m going—”

Harry sucks hard on her clit, and Y/N throws her head back as an orgasm hits her harder than ever before. Her thighs clench shut, trapping Harry’s head between them, but he just continues to lap at the juices flowing from her cunt while making the most obscene sounds Y/N has ever heard.

Harry doesn’t pull back until Y/N unclenches her thighs, and before he does, he presses one last kiss to her clit, making her flinch.

Y/N is so exhausted she can barely open her eyes. Once she does, however, and sees Harry, she feels all the exhaustion fade.

Harry’s lips are, somehow, even more red than before, and his whole chin is slick with her wetness. He keeps licking his lips, like he can’t get enough of the taste, and Y/N feels like her whole body is on fire.

“Harry…” She whispers, squeezing his hand again. She doesn’t know what else to say.

Harry lifts himself over her body, which is still shaking from her orgasm, and kisses her gently. She can taste herself on his mouth, and she adores it.

“You taste so fucking good.” He murmurs, pressing his sweaty forehead against hers. “Like candy.”

Y/N swallows hard. “I haven’t—no one’s done that in a long time.”

“I’ll be glad to do it again.” Harry replies, brushing her hair back. “But right now…all I want to do is make love to you.” He looks at her with sincere eyes. “Will you let me?”

The tenderness of him asking almost brings tears to her eyes, and Y/N nods, her hands coming up to cup his rosy cheeks. “Yeah, H. I’m…” She bites her lip as she realizes the truth of her words. “I’m yours. Always.”

Harry inhales sharply before kissing her softly, his hands stroking her hair in a comforting fashion again. “How do you want to…?”

“I want you on top.” Y/N replies, touching his swallow tattoos. “I-I want to feel you. Feel your weight. Feel you close.”

With a nod, Harry positions himself over her, spreading her legs wide enough that his body can fit between. He holds himself up with one hand and uses the other to guide his cock to Y/N’s folds, just brushing the head over them. He’s teasing himself just as much as her.

“Harry…” Y/N leans her head back at the sensation. “Please, H…”

“I don’t—wait—” Harry pauses his movements, and Y/N can see on his face the strength and discipline it takes for him to do so. “I—a condom—”

“I’m clean, and I have an IUD.” Y/N assures him, running her hand along his shoulders. “Are you?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I am, but—are you sure?”

As Y/N looks into his eyes, the love and concern and want written all over them, she knows she’s never been more sure of anything in her life. “I want to feel you, without anything in between. I—” She takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to his jaw. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead, and the tender action makes Y/N close her eyes as she revels in the feeling. A moment later, Harry moves down again and puts his forehead against hers as he pushes into her.

The moment he enters her, Y/N feels a fullness she’s never experienced before. Not only is Harry stretching her cunt in a way that feels euphoric, but she feels complete. He’s as close to her as he’s ever been, his breath is mingling with hers, his body weight is held over her carefully, and Y/N thinks she could die in the pleasure of this moment happily.

“Y/N…baby…” The pet name seems to fall easily from Harry’s lips as he bottoms out, holding himself still to adjust to the feeling. “Oh my God…”

Y/N digs her fingernails into Harry’s shoulders, pressing kisses to his lips between gasps for breath. “Move, H, please.”

Harry begins to thrust his hips, setting a slow but deep pace before gradually speeding up. While part of Y/N wishes he would thrust as fast as he can, a deeper part of her is grateful that Harry is taking his time with her. This feeling, now that she has it, is better than anything she’d ever felt before, and Y/N doesn’t want it to end anytime soon.

Harry kisses Y/N again as he moves inside her. Although they’re as close as they’ve ever been, each of them keeps pulling the other closer. As Harry thrusts deeper, Y/N pulls more of his weight down on her. As Y/N scratches her nails down his back, Harry kisses her jaw. Neither of them can process exactly what they’re doing, but neither of them can stop. Each touch is tender, each kiss is passionate, and each moment brings them closer together in so many more ways than just physical.

They don’t speak except for the occasional whisper from Y/N for Harry to move faster, or the occasional moan of Y/N’s name falling from Harry’s lips. The only constant sounds in the room are of the slickness between Y/N’s thighs as Harry moves between them, the sound of his skin meeting hers, both of them panting and moaning, and a few whispers of “please” that are barely audible. Despite the lack of speech, however, the two are in constant communication. Kissing, biting, scratching, and squeezing have become the vocabulary of their new language. When Harry looks into Y/N’s wet eyes, he knows that she feels something running through the very depths of her being. When Y/N feels Harry tuck his head between her neck and her shoulder as he whimpers, she knows that he trusts her to comfort him and hold him there.

Soon, Y/N feels the waves of pleasure begin to build, and she knows that when they finally break, they’ll pull her under. “H, I—fuck—I—” She can’t manage to form the sentence she needs to.

Harry, however, can tell exactly what she’s going to say. “Please.” He pants, adoring how she buries her head into his shoulder. “Please, love, cum for me…” He kisses over the shell of her ear as he thrusts deeper. “Need you.”

Y/N whimpers, biting down on Harry’s shoulder as her orgasm rolls over her. Harry feels her walls tighten around his cock, but he doesn’t slow down, and he works her through her climax until she whines in his ear.

“So good, H…” Y/N can barely find the strength to whisper the phrase.

Hearing her sound so fucked out, feeling her cunt squeezing him, and seeing the euphoria on her face is enough to bring Harry to the edge. He slows his thrusts, about to pull out, but Y/N presses on his back to keep him close.

Harry groans as a shiver rolls through his body. “I’m about to cum, Y/N—”

“Stay inside me.” She pleads, pressing the pads of her fingers between his shoulder blades. “I-I’m yours, Harry, I told you. Yours.”

Y/N looks up at him with such trusting and vulnerable eyes that Harry can’t make himself argue with her. He nods instead, his thrusts increasing in speed again until he feels himself reach the edge of pleasure.

As he freefalls into Y/N, his hips stutter, and he presses deep inside her while her name falls from his lips over and over again. He can’t think of anything else to say. He can’t think of anything else worth saying.

When Harry finally manages to pull himself together enough to pull out, Y/N instantly feels the emptiness inside her. She wishes he would stay, but knows that it’s not practical, and instead just relishes in the feeling of his cum dripping from her entrance. It’s like he’s claimed her as his, left a physical mark of himself, and Y/N doesn’t have the strength to stop herself from loving it.

They lay in silence for a few moments, trying to catch their breath and regain a sense of where they are. Both Harry and Y/N are sweaty, exhausted, and covered in each other in more ways than one. The wrap on Harry’s tattoo has slipped from his arm. Somewhere in their pleasure, Y/N has lost an earring. And yet, the only thing each of them cares about is looking at the other.

Out of instinct, Harry pulls Y/N’s shivering body into his, wrapping his arms around her tightly. He can’t imagine she’s cold, and Y/N can’t bring herself to tell him she’s shivering because of the feeling of being so close to him, but neither of them denies the other of the affectionate gesture.

Y/N loses track of how long they lay there until Harry breaks the silence.

“I—” His voice cracks, and he clears it quickly before trying again. “I’ll get you a cloth to—to clean you up.”

Y/N nods, and Harry gently untangles himself from her before going to the bathroom. Y/N can hear the running of water, and turns her head to see what he’s doing, but when she spots his naked silhouette, she closes her eyes. Despite what they just did, there’s a shyness in her still when she sees him completely stripped.

Her eyes stay closed, and she only detects his return from feeling his weight return to the bed. He places a gentle hand on her trembling knee, pulling her open ever so slightly.

“’M just cleaning you up.” Harry says in a quiet tone. “Is that okay?”

Y/N nods again. She’s not certain she has enough strength to say anything.

Harry wipes between her legs with a gentle touch, watching how she flinches at the slightest of pressure. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, kissing her knee tenderly before continuing. “You’re sensitive, I know. Almost done.”

Once he finishes wiping away the cum dripping out of her (his cum dripping out of her), Harry tosses the cloth onto his pile of clothes on the ground, deciding it can be dealt with later. His most pressing concern at the moment is Y/N.

He lays back down on his side so he can face her, and pushes a lock of hair away from her closed eyes.

“Y/N.” Harry murmurs, hand resting on her waist carefully. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is rough when she answers, and Harry can hear the echo of her moans in her words. “I-I’m fine, H. Just…tired.”

“Do you…” Harry bites his lip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Y/N gives a slight shake of her head. “Maybe—maybe tomorrow, yeah?” She does her best to open one eye, but quickly shuts it again when she sees how Harry is looking at her. “Can’t right now.”

“Okay.” Harry lays his arm over her side as he moves closer. “Tomorrow.”

Y/N presses her head into his shoulder and commits the scent of his skin to memory.

…

The first thing Y/N registers when she wakes up is the feeling of someone touching her hair.

She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know it’s Harry. Of course it’s Harry. It’s always been Harry. In every way.

Y/N sighs and readjusts her position in bed, moving a bit closer to Harry. She shivers once from the cold, still naked from last night’s activities, and that’s the only hint Harry needs before he pulls the sheet up around her more.

“Are you awake?” He asks softly, careful in case she’s still lost deep in sleep.

Y/N moves her head in a passable nodding motion, and her voice is thick with sleep when she answers. “Mhmm. Barely.”

A low chuckle escapes from Harry’s mouth, and the next thing Y/N feels are his warm lips against her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“A little hungover. A little sore.” Y/N finally opens her eyes as she speaks, and almost wishes she hadn’t.

Harry’s hair is a mess from both sex and sleep, messy and wild and haphazardly pushed out of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed, and his neck and chest are covered in marks from both Y/N’s lips and fingers. She knows that if he turned over, his back would be the same, and it embarrasses her and delights her at the same time. He looks completely fucked and content, and more relaxed than she’s seen him in ages.

Y/N wonders if she looks the same. If she looks as pretty.

“Sorry.” Harry says, his tone a bit sheepish.

“It’s not your fault.” Y/N replies, shrugging a bit.

“Well…it is, actually. I made your drinks. And I…” He trails off, brushing his fingers down her bare hip to her thigh.

“Yeah.” Y/N feels her face get warm. “I guess it is your fault.”

Harry laughs lightly, but it fades away as he looks into her eyes. “We, uh…we should probably talk about what happened.”

Y/N purses her lips. “Yeah. We should.”

“So…first question, I guess.” Harry props his head up on his arm, but keeps running his fingers over Y/N’s hip gently. “Do you regret it?”

Y/N sits up a bit more in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “No. I don’t. Do you?”

“No.” Harry replies instantly. “I don’t regret it.”

“Okay.” Y/N is so aware of Harry’s eyes on her as she thinks of her question. “Did…did you enjoy it?”

A snort falls from Harry’s mouth, and he shakes his head incredulously. “Christ, Y/N, of course I enjoyed it. It felt—you felt like heaven.”

Y/N flushes at the comment. “I’ve never…I’ve always made my partners wear condoms. So that was a first for me.”

Harry’s fingers pause over her hip, but only for a moment. It looks as though he’s deciding whether or not he should comment on that, but changes his mind at the last moment. “Did you enjoy it?” He asks instead, echoing your question.

“I did.”

“You said you were mine.”

Y/N swallows hard. This conversation is less incriminating than making love to him last night, but it seems infinitely more powerful. Probably because they’re both sober, she thinks.

“That—” She clears her throat. “That’s not a question.”

Harry sighs, but there’s an endeared smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You said you were mine. Did you mean that?”

Y/N can’t look him in the eyes, so she looks down instead. Harry’s hand lies between them, and she intertwines their fingers, playing with his rings as she carefully formulates her answer. “I’ve—I’ve always been yours, H. Ever since we were kids, I’ve belonged to you.” She runs a finger over his H ring. “Even when you were gone.”

Harry frowns a bit at the tone of her voice. “I’ve been yours too, Y/N. I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.”

“You’ve always been further out of reach.” Y/N pulls her hand from his, until their fingertips are just barely touching. “Always just…a little out of reach.”

Harry intertwines their fingers again. “I’m not out of reach. Not right now. And I’ve never—if you ever called me and said you needed me, I would’ve been on the first flight back home to you. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Y/N. I still would, and I always will.”

Tears prick Y/N’s eyes, and although she hurries to close them, one slips out. Harry catches it on his finger before it can run off her cheek, and when she looks at him again, there’s a concerned look on his face.

“C’mere.” Harry mumbles, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. He rubs her back like he always does, and the motion is so comforting that she almost forgets the vulnerable position they’re both in. “You’re my girl. You’re always going to be my girl.” He murmurs in her ear, voice low and soothing. “Always. Don’t you know that?”

Y/N nods, not trusting her voice at the moment.

“If this is too much for you…” Harry traces his fingers between her shoulder blades. Y/N thinks he’s tracing words, like they used to as children, but she can’t tell what words he may be tracing. “I understand. We can just—we can pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I—” Y/N shakes her head, looking up at Harry. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want, Y/N?” Harry asks, his tone as pleading as it was last night. “All I’ve ever tried to do is give you what you want, and usually I’m pretty good at telling what that is, but right now, I’m lost. I don’t want things to go back to how they were, but I don’t—I can’t lose you, so just—if you just tell me what you want, I’ll do it. I’ll make it work. I promise that I won’t be mad, or hurt, or anything.”

Y/N sits up as best she can, her fingers combing through Harry’s messy curls on reflex, as she always does it when he gets upset. “I can’t pretend that I don’t want you, H. I do. I need you. I told you that last night.”

“But you’re crying.” Harry cups her wet cheek gently, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. “I hate that.”

Y/N leans into his touch. “It just feels…strange.” She says after a moment. “All of this. I spent so long trying to stop myself from thinking of you like this, and now that I am, I feel like—like it’s wrong.”

Harry tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Does it feel wrong?”

His low voice makes her shiver. “No. It feels right. Really right.”

“I feel like…” Harry’s eyes flicker between Y/N’s own eyes and their intertwined hands. “I feel like we’re both dancing around saying it.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “Saying what?”

“Saying…” Harry leans in and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Saying that we’re in love with each other.”

Y/N feels breathless at the words coming from his mouth. “You’re in love with me?”

“Are you not in love with me?” He replies, moving so he’s leaning over her more. “We’ve said I love you so many times before.”

“That’s a different kind of love.” Y/N mumbles, touching the chain dangling from Harry’s neck.

“But we were both meaning something different when we were saying it. At least, I was.” Harry inhales deeply, like he’s centering himself. “I’ve known…for a while, but I’ve felt it for longer than I’ve known it. And I thought that you might…”

“I think I do.” Y/N whispers. “But saying it feels so—so permanent. Like we can’t go back to being friends if it blows up in our faces.”

Harry traces a finger down Y/N’s cheek, her neck, between her breasts, to her side, touching just below her ribs. “Maybe we can’t. But I don’t think we’ll want to, Y/N. I think we’re perfect for each other.”

Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “This last month, it’s been like we’ve been…playing house, or something. I’ve loved it. I keep hearing from friends saying that they’re so sick of the person they’re living with, so tired of them, but I’ve never felt that way about you, and I don’t think I ever will. I’ll never get sick of you.”

Y/N laughs a bit. “That’s romantic.”

“Shut up.” Harry can’t help but smile slightly. “It is romantic.”

“Yeah. It is.” Y/N says softly, her hand rubbing over Harry’s tattooed arm. “You’re really in love with me?”

Harry nods. “I am.”

“Huh.” Y/N bites her lip. “So I guess we’ve been lying to our moms, haven’t we?”

Harry laughs loudly, collapsing on the bed next to Y/N. “Jesus, can you not mention our mums when we’re naked in bed?”

“I’m just saying! We’ve been saying for years that you’re not in love with me, and it’s all been a lie.”

“What about when they ask if you’re in love with me?” Harry’s tone is joking, but there’s a hint of nervousness in the back of his voice. “Has that been a lie, too?”

Y/N’s heart pounds as she nods. “Yeah. We’ll have to get them something really good for Mother’s Day this year to help make up for it.”

A grin spreads over Harry’s face, almost triumphant, as he leans down to kiss her. “Agreed.” He moves to cage himself over Y/N. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“I want to hear you say that you’re in love with me.” Harry’s grin turns into a smirk.

Y/N flushes as she shakes her head. “You say it first.”

“I’ve already admitted it!”

“So have I!”

“Not as well as I have!”

“Oh, so it’s a competition now?” Y/N scoffs. “What a wonderful start to our relationship.”

“I’m just saying, Y/N, admitting it is the first step to—”

“Are you seriously going to say that to get me to say that I love you?”

“Just—”

“You’re so irritating—”

“I’m irritating? You—”

“You’re the worst!”

“And yet you’re in my bed with no clothes on!”

“Okay. Nope. Relationship over.” Y/N pushes Harry off of her and wraps the sheet around herself as she gets out of bed. “You blew it, Styles.”

“Y/N.” Laughter falls from Harry’s lips as he leans over the edge of the bed. “Love. Come back to bed.”

“I think a minute and thirty-seven seconds may be the record for the world’s shortest relationship.” Y/N searches her bag for some clean clothes.

“Come here!”

“Another world record for Harry Styles.” Y/N calls to him without turning around. “You must be so proud—”

Her words are cut off in a shriek as Harry picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder as he brings her back to his bed.

“Harry!” She yells, hitting his arm. “Put me down!”

Harry tosses her on the bed, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, and cages himself over her sheet-covered body. He’s still completely bare. “Take it back.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Fine. We’re still together. One less record for you.”

“Good. Now…” Harry brushes a finger over her lips. “Say you’re in love with me.”

Y/N’s laughter fades a bit as the nerves set back in. “I…”

“Please, Y/N?” Harry murmurs, leaning down to kiss her neck. “Please say it.”

“I’m—” Y/N sucks in a quick breath, and all of her protest leaves her body as she exhales. “I’m in love with you, Harry.”

She can feel Harry’s lips forming a grin against her neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Y/N tugs on his hair gently, just enough so she can pull his head back to look in his eyes. “Now you say it.”

“Y/N.” Harry says her name like it’s something precious. “I’m in love with you.”

A flush of pleasure crawls up Y/N’s spine at his words, but she does her best to keep her tone light-hearted. “So are you calling our moms, or am I?”

“I’ll do it.” Harry reaches for his phone on the bedside table. “And I’ll be sure to mention how it took us getting drunk and having sex to realize—”

“Harry!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell your mum we used a condom—”

“I’ll kill you, Styles, and I’ll make it look like an accident.” Y/N shoves his shoulder hard.

Harry grins at her. “Now that’s romantic.”

#feedback is appreciated and use a condom kids #harry styles oneshot #bestfriend!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles preference #one direction imagine #one direction preference #one direction fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction #best friend!harry sty;es #watermelon sugar #watermelon sugar music video #fine line album

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iamakiller · 4 years ago

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owl always love you

Wordcount: 2000

Notes & Warnings: It has been far too long since I shared any of my fiction with you, hasn’t it? Well, how about five unhappy memories of Valentines past, and one that went perfectly to plan (... or did it?)

As for warnings, there is no sex at all, but there is an unfortunate accident, and a hint of murder. Hmm, I must be going soft in my old age ...

Five unhappy memories ...

Charlie is four.

Today feels like a very special day. There were flowers and a card on the kitchen table this morning, and no arguments over breakfast. It was almost like last night’s fight didn’t happen.

At preschool, the classroom has been decorated with red and pink hearts because it’s Valentine’s Day. The teacher reads the class a picture book about an owl who was looking for love, and then they all do a craft based on the story. The teacher has drawn the owl’s face and body on card for everyone, but they have to color it in and try to write a message on the owl’s tummy. Charlie writes “Owl always love you Mommy” in purple crayon – his mother’s favorite color.

The next part of the craft is very hard. They have to trace the outline of their hands onto card, color it in, and then cut it out. They stick the hands onto the owl with glue, and fold them over, and it looks kind of like wings. Charlie is very proud of himself, because he did it without any help, and unlike the boy who sits next to him, he didn’t try to eat any of the glue.

At going home time, he presents the card to his mother. She glances at it, and puts it in her handbag.

“Do you like it, Mommy?” Charlie asks, but she doesn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t hear him.

The next morning, he finds it in the trash.

Oh.

Well, it wasn’t very good, he realizes. His coloring wasn’t neat enough, and one of the thumbs was missing because of a mishap he had when he was cutting it out. Maybe if he’d tried harder, she would have liked it.

Maybe if he tries harder, she’ll like him ...

Charlie is eight.

Valentine’s Day has been the main topic of conversation on the playground ever since the beginning of February. It’s not like anybody ever talks to Charlie, but there are some advantages to being invisible. He hears everything. He knows exactly who is getting a Valentine, and – most crucially – who isn’t.

On the night of February thirteenth, he stays up very late. It isn’t like anyone is checking what time he goes to bed anyway, so he pulls together the materials he’s “borrowed” from his teacher over the past few days, and works until the early hours of the morning.

The next day, everyone in the class has at least one little handmade card on their desk by the end of the day.

… except Charlie.

And that’s one of the disadvantages of being invisible.

Nobody knows he exists ...

Charlie is thirteen.

According to his research, it is puberty that has turned the majority of his classmates into mindless, giggling idiots. Thankfully, he seems to be immune to this plague, and the hours he spends staring at the long, golden hair of the girl who sits in front of him in class is perfectly normal, thank you very much.

Melissa is the prettiest girl in the class by far. Charlie thinks she looks just like an elven queen ... if Galadriel had a Midwestern accent and a mother who was the head of the PTA. She is also constantly accompanied by a group of four uglier girls, who all stare at Charlie as he makes his approach, the poem he wrote for her clutched in a hand that seems to be permanently sweaty these days.

She accepts the token of his affection with the carelessness of one who is accustomed to such things, and doesn’t even say thank you. At lunchtime, Charlie overhears her reading excerpts of it to her gaggle of friends. She tosses her lovely, blonde hair back, and laughs scornfully, before tearing it up into tiny pieces and leaving it on her lunch tray for the cafeteria staff to clear away.

And suddenly, Charlie realizes how ugly she is.

At the end of February, poor Melissa has a terrible accident. One of the teachers finds her unconscious at the bottom of the stairwell hours after school has finished for the day. She must have tripped and fallen down the stairs somehow.

She makes a full recovery, but she never remembers what happened that day ...

Charlie is seventeen.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the dance?” asks cousin Pat from where he’s leaning in the doorway of Charlie’s bedroom. He’s dressed to impress, and Charlie can smell the terrible cologne he’s wearing from all the way on the other side of the room. “I can wait for you to get changed, I don’t mind.”

“I’m too busy,” says Charlie, staring up at the ceiling. Soon, it will be time for him to turn over and stare at the wall. “And I don’t like parties.”

“I don’t like parties either,” Pat reminds him, fidgeting with the cuffs of his blue button-down. “But you’ll never meet someone special if you don’t leave your room.”

Charlie responds by making a noise like someone being sick, and turns over to show Pat his back. “Bye. Have fun at the shitty Valentine’s dance.” He can feel his cousin’s gaze on the back of his head – can picture the annoying look of concern on his face – but he doesn’t move or say anything, and finally he hears the door close, and then Pat’s footsteps lumbering down the stairs.

Fuck Valentine’s Day, Charlie thinks. Fuck parties, and fuck ever finding someone special.

Charlie is 27.

This might be his first ever Valentine’s Day in a relationship, but he’s done his research into What Women Want, and blown a small fortune on trying to make the day special. A hundred red roses, delivered to Nicole on set. Reservations at the hottest restaurant in town. A pair of Chanel earrings, so expensive he actually choked on his own saliva when they told him the price, and had to be brought a glass of water to help him recover.

At the restaurant, Nicole opens the earrings, and stares at them for a long time. Her expression is completely unreadable, which is usually the case with her. They have been dating for two and a half months, and with every day that passes, Charlie feels like he knows less about her, which should surely be impossible.

“Don’t you like them?” Charlie asks, after the silence has gone on for so long that even the people at the next table have glanced over to see what’s going on.

Nicole closes the lid of the box with a snap, and looks up at him. “So you aren’t going to propose to me, then?”

Charlie blinks. “I – Wait, what?”

And then it all goes south very quickly from there.

The next day, there’s a blind item online about it:

Which C-list celebrity currently filming a procedural drama in New York was seen arguing with an unknown male at a local celeb hotspot last night? With a string of broken engagements already behind her, it looks like this feisty young starlet is single once more after dousing her hapless companion in Veuve Clicquot!

Unknown? Hapless? How rude!

He complains at length about the injustice of it all to the cocktail waitress he brought home last night, after he had sloped off to a bar to drown his sorrows and soothe the burn of his humiliation. Naturally, she has nothing to add to the conversation – having passed away six hours or so ago – but he appreciates her presence nevertheless. So much so that before he prepares her for disposal, he takes out her fake diamond earrings, and replaces them with the Chanel ones.

“I know I’m a day late,” he tells her. “But … happy Valentine’s Day.”

It’s the thought that counts, anyway ...

And then ...

Charlie is 37.

He is awakened at 5:30 a.m. on Valentine’s Day morning by his son barging in to the master bedroom. Without saying anything, Henry climbs onto the bed next to him, and falls asleep almost instantly. Charlie throws an arm over him, in the hopes of stopping him from tossing and turning like he often does.

Behind him, there’s a rustle of sheets “What’s happening?” Kitten asks, her voice thick with sleep.

“We have our usual Sunday morning visitor,” Charlie mumbles. “It’s still early, go back to sleep.”

A leg hooks over his, an arm curls around his middle, and Kitten lets out a happy sigh before falling asleep again.

Charlie closes his eyes, but it barely seems like a moment has passed before he’s being shaken awake by a very excited Henry. “Dad. DAD! Can we give Britt the card now?”

The digital display on the clock says eight, still an ungodly hour to be awake on a Sunday, but when Charlie rolls over, Kitten is already sitting up against the headboard, with her phone out. “A card?” she says, feigning surprise, as though she wasn’t banned from the kitchen for four hours the previous day, and hadn’t noticed the layer of glitter Henry was covered in when he emerged, which necessitated a dreaded bath.

“If we must,” grumbles Charlie, astonished at the speed with which Henry scrambles out of bed and sprints out of the room. He thunders downstairs, in search of the spot where they left their work of art to dry out after its completion.

Charlie rolls over onto his back, and stares up at Kitten. “Remember last year, when we stayed in bed all day?” he asks, mournfully. “That was the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”

“Mm, same.” Kitten leans down to kiss him, probably intending it to be just a peck on the lips. But Charlie wraps his hand around the back of her head to keep her there, deepening the kiss until a gagging sound from the doorway interrupts them and they break apart to find Henry watching them from the doorway, looking slightly green.

“You guys are gross!” he scolds them, in a tone not dissimilar to Sandra when she is upset about something.

Charlie sits up, and scowls. “That’s not in keeping with the spirit of the day.”

“The spirit of the day is chocolate,” says Henry, approaching Kitten’s side of the bed, with one hand behind his back. “Ta-daaaaa!” he shouts, and pulls out the card, waving it in her face. A hefty sprinkle of glitter falls on the sheets, and Charlie winces.

“This looks very impressive,” says Kitten, glancing sideways at Charlie to check his reaction to the glitter, and stifling a smile. “Can I take a closer look?”

On closer inspection, the card is very large, and is a rather well-drawn and extremely glittery looking owl which looks to be a combination of about three different species. Its wings – which look suspiciously like the outline of Charlie’s hands – are wrapped around itself.

“Open it, open it,” says Henry, climbing onto the bed, and bouncing slightly, causing more glitter to be dislodged.

When Kitten carefully opens the wings, she finds another, smaller pair of hand-shaped wings underneath. “Yours?” she asks Henry, who nods vigorously. When she opens those, there is a ridiculously tiny pair of hands underneath. One has been colored blue, and the other pink.

“Little B,” says Henry. “We looked up online how small their hands would be. I drew them, and Dad cut them out. He said we should do one hand in each color since we don’t know whether Little b is a boy or a girl yet. And wait, there’s a message. Read the message!”

“Owl always love you,” Kitten reads, her voice trembling slightly. “From Charlie, Henry and Little B. Oh Henry, thank you! The owl, the hands, the sweet message. It’s perfect!”

She pulls Henry into a hug, which he tolerates for a moment or two before asking, “Can I go watch cartoons now?” with all the tact typical of an eight year-old boy.

“It was all Henry’s idea, of course,” says Charlie, once the young man in question has bounced out of the room. He tries to brush some of the glitter off the bed, and succeeds only in getting it stuck all over his hand. “I was but an unwitting accomplice to this madness.”

“Is that so?” asks Kitten, with a smile. She sets the card on the nightstand so she can see it, and curls against Charlie, who wraps an arm around her shoulder, and rests his other hand on her stomach. “You know, it reminds me of this book I read when I was little. About an owl who was searching for love. It was a really cute story.”

“Never heard of it,” says Charlie, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “But it sounds like a real hoot.”

“Oh god, not the owl puns.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” says Charlie, but somehow he finds himself lapsing into silence instead of releasing the string of dreadful jokes that are on the tip of his tongue. “Do you -” he begins, and then sighs, and runs his hand through his hair, inadvertently spreading multi-colored glitter quite liberally through it. He chews on the inside of his cheek before continuing. “Do you really like it?”

Is it good enough?

Am I trying hard enough?

Do you like me?

A gentle hand against his cheek brings him back to the present. “I don’t just like it, I love it,” Kitten reassures him. “And I love you very much, too. I know it’s a little rough at the moment with me working from home, but I’m still feeling very lucky. Who would have thought six months ago that we would be here? We’ve come so far, Charlie. I’m so proud of us. I’m so proud of you. Especially now you’re back in therapy again.”

Charlie holds her a little more tightly, and she tucks her head under his chin and settles her hand on his chest, over his heart, which is beating too quickly for his liking. “I’m trying, my love,” he says softly, taking slow, deep breaths to try to control the speed of his heart. “I never want to let you down again ...”

He closes his eyes, breathes in Kitten’s familiar, comforting scent, and tells himself that he’s just holding her, not clinging to her. I’m okay, he tells himself, over and over again. We’re okay.

I just have to try harder, and it will all be okay ...

#valentine's day #tw: bad parenting #tw: assault #tw: implied murder #B+C #direnightshade #tw: pregnancy #tw: angst #glitter should have a trigger warning

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mandaloriandy · 3 years ago

Note

For the fic-writing ask: 4, 5, 9, 23

4: Tell me about one of your abandoned WIPs. Why did you abandon it?

I have a completely unedited but technically complete FMA:B time travel AU from 2019’s NaNo, featuring my favorite time travel trope, where the entire world somehow gets zapped back in time but everyone retains their memories. So Ed and Al are toddlers, going with their Ishvalan mother Tirzah to go get her medical treatment from the Rockbells, since she’s sick and can’t go to an Amestrian doctor. And who do they run into as they’re entering Ishval but Tirzah’s cousin! Who is a priest. And no longer has a big scar on his face, because time travel. And does alchemy.

It needs some major rewrites before I ever let it see the light of day though, and I do not have the time or energy to do those.

5: Share a snippet that you’re proud of from an upcoming fic/chapter.

From an eventual fic in the Obi-Wan’s Horrible Life AU:

Ben opens his mouth to reply – and closes it. That, more than anything else, raises the hair on the back of her neck. Satine knows how Ben looks when he changes his mind about something he's going to say. She knows how he looks when he cuts himself off, worried of spilling too much. She knows how he looks when the situation changes, and his words change with it. Now, even over the holocomm, Ben looks like he does when he tries to speak and somebody else shuts his mouth for him. "I don't know," he says, finally, even though he knows she can read the lie in his voice. "I don't…" he trails off, looks away, closes his eyes. Satine traces the outline of his face, the set of his shoulders, the way his hair falls differently, shorter now than it had been. She burns this image into her mind, holds on to it tightly, keeps it safe and secure for the hard times to come. When she thinks she can manage it again, she speaks. "What else do I need to do?"

9: Are there any fics you’d love to see but don’t want to write yourself? What are they?

Hmmm I already answered this earlier, but I’ll answer it again with another fic I want to see but don’t want to write myself: a reincarnation AU where various Star Wars characters wake up in the universe of A:TLA, scattered around the world; all the force-sensitives are benders of various types. Shmi, a sandbender, raises airbender Anakin, but needs to find a teacher for him; they eventually find waterbender Qui-Gon, who’s a member of the White Lotus. I don’t remember all the details of it except that Ahsoka was a Kyoshi Warrior (can’t remember what kind of bender she was), and I think Rex also got to be a Kyoshi Warrior, because he deserves nice things. Obi-Wan was a firebender, and ended up as Azula’s teacher, which was a very weird situation for the both of them but did end up with Azula being... mostly less awful?

23: What’s one piece of advice you would give to anyone who wants to start writing or posting their writing online?

Make!! Friends!!!!

Make friends who will let you talk endlessly about your stupid AUs and then say “hey you know you can actually write that, right?” Make friends who will keysmash at you when you write something awful just for them. Make friends who will reblog that horrible wonderful “write three sentences” post and make you write three sentences, and then you’ll reblog it from them to make them do it, and then they’ll reblog it from you again and it’ll be a whole spiral of writing. Seriously I hadn’t written anything for months and months and then I started chatting with @willowcrowned and suddenly I have over 20k in this AU I’ve been writing.

(Fic Ask Game)

#ask game #thevoidwatches

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pain-somnia · 4 years ago

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ssm 2k20 day 10: colors of you and me Title: when eye see you Rating: T Disclaimer Day’s Notes: are y’all sick of soulmate AUs? ‘Cause i’m not! Here’s a soulmate au where everyone has heterochromia until they look their soulmate in the eye. And yes there is some inspiration from Jun’s Kitchen in this. It’s my favorite YouTube channel. Minor pairings: ItaKarin and SasoObi. I could have made this longer but I needed to make it shorter lol this fic was impossible to end it was actually meant to be shorter than it is

Sighing to himself, Sasuke brushes his hair out of his face, moving his bangs aside to reveal the vivid sea foam green eye.

Unlike his own dark gray eye, the green one has perfect vision. The optician marks the measurements for both eyes, noting that he needs a slightly stronger prescription for his own eye and a false lens for his partner eye. It was suggested that he switch to contacts so that he would wear one on the eye that truly belonged to him, but Sasuke hates putting things in his eyes.

Some thought he was lucky. The color of his soulmate’s eye is uncommon and that supposedly meant that it would be easier to find them. If he wants to, he can hire one of those people who made a living off of locating people with matching eye colors, but Sasuke doesn’t care about any of that.

Yeah, it was annoying that his eyes were unbalanced when it came to visual impairment and maybe it was ridiculous how often people told him his match had such a beautiful eye color, but Sasuke wants nothing to do with society’s obsession with soulmates.

Riding the train home, Sasuke hides his partner eye behind his bangs. The color catches attention wherever he goes and he’s tired of it. People always want to see the contrasting colors, how vivid it is against the dark colors of his eye and his hair.

It is said that green eyes are lucky, that when people meet their green eyed match that their union would be blessed with great happiness.

Sasuke doesn’t feel very lucky about it when he has relatives fussing over him about finding his match.

Walking into his family home, his nose is invaded with the stench of burnt vegetables. Slipping out of his shoes and tossing his bag next to the genkan, Sasuke opens up the screen door that opens up to the engawa and backyard.

“Karin?” He calls out towards the kitchen from across the informal sitting room. His phone chimes with the arrival of a message and he opens it, not bothering to walk into the other room to check on her. “What are you trying to do now?”

“It’s called cooking!” He heard her shout back from somewhere in the kitchen.

“Oh, gods…”

Karin is his older brother’s match. Originally just a classmate, then his friend—and now most likely his future sister-in-law—Uzumaki Karin is one of his closest friends and, truthfully, the worst cook in the world.

But that’s okay because Itachi is one of the best cooks in the world and spoils her by feeding her and her ridiculously large appetite.

When Sasuke first met Karin, he hadn’t thought anything about her russet color eye paired with a dark gray one or of it being just like the combination his brother had. It’s a common coloring pair, nothing special. But when Sasuke brought her home with two of their friends and she looked Itachi in the eye, they witnessed the moment Itachi’s partner eye shifted colors to match his actual eye and when Karin’s eyes shifted to a matching russet set.

And then they all winced when she shrieked in discomfort because Itachi's prescription for his lenses is a lot stronger than her own.

He really should have known that Karin is his brother’s match. Karin said that her mother told her she was born with her partner eye and Itachi’s had manifested when he was five years old. And then there were the anecdotes of her life that matched with some of the visions Itachi had shared with him.

The ability isn’t as common as their color pairing and it catches more attention, but it’s usually negligible as most sight sharers are not given any visions that help them locate their matches especially because it is an ability more common in children.

Karin’s line to him on their first day of high school was: “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before. But like as a kid.”

They call it sight sharing and that strong emotions are required for it to work. That is why children who are more free with their emotions and are having new experiences to react towards are able to send visions to their matches. Due to their age, most children aren’t even aware that they are sight sharing.

Sasuke has seen his own glimpses. Blurry images impeded by tears and a long fringe of pink hair. A blonde girl with a blue-green eye and one inky black eye holding out a red hair ribbon. The largest bowl of anmitsu he has ever seen in his life. A harbor with boats rocking where they were docked, the water choppy and the sails flapping wildly in the middle of a storm.

He still gets glimpses, even this late in his teens, and he’s not sure how he feels about having a match that felt so strongly, whose emotions were as vivid as fireworks on a clear night sky.

“How did you convince my mother to let you cook in her kitchen? Alone?”

“She loves me.”

And it’s the truth. Uchiha Mikoto has always been a sucker for soulmates finding each other. She showers Karin with affection whenever possible and even Sasuke’s cousin’s match—a short redhead named Sasori with hazel eyes, a curious combination of brown and gray with flecks of gold and green—is subject to her doting.

Sasuke couldn’t describe what Itachi and Karin have as love. There is a fondness his older brother has for Karin that cannot be hidden when he’s giving her soft smiles and treating her gently. It could be love with time, but Sasuke can’t help but wonder if Itachi would have opened up to a relationship with Karin even if she wasn’t his match, or was the opportunity to become more only presented because the universe had forced them into it.

He is told he is lucky because of the color of his match’s eye being uncommon and thus easier to find. He’s lucky because his soulmate is close to him in age, his partner eye not having formed until he was still a baby of only eight months. But Sasuke believes the truly lucky ones are his parents who share the same eye coloring and are in love. They could be soulmates or maybe not. But they love each other despite the odds and it’s not something the universe can say it had a hand in.

Universe or not, Sasuke wanted more of a choice.

Blinking her eyes, Sakura waits for her contact to settle in her partner eye. It was unfortunate that she had needed to adjust the prescription, but at least she saved money by only needing a contact for a single eye.

Grabbing her eyeliner, Sakura traces her lash line delicately, first over one green eye like seaglass and then over the eye with the color reminiscent of storm clouds. Her partner eye has always reminded her of those clouds, fat and heavy with rain, rolling over the sea and waiting to unleash over her harbor hometown.

It’s a beautiful eye, but Sakura had the misfortune of being born with her partner eye. It made it impossible to age her match. They could be someone only a bit older or a grown adult. With the state of their visual impairment, Sakura wonders if her soulmate is someone that is elderly.

It’s something that she perhaps will never know. She isn’t as lucky as her cousin who found his soulmate while he was bar hopping so Sakura’s decided that it’s probably best that she doesn’t search for her soulmate, not to put her hopes on someone she may never find.

It makes it easier to forget them considering she’s so sure she’s in love with her online friend.

It’s strange but she loves him, she really does. She’s never seen his face because they agreed that it would put a strain on their relationship if they knew about each other’s eyes. What had started as a simple exchange with a boy from Tokyo about a photo she had posted to her blog ended up becoming so much more.

His name is Sasuke but he went online by Taka. He wouldn’t give Sakura his last name and asked that she didn’t give him hers so that they wouldn’t be tempted to search for each other online. He had just turned eighteen in July and was planning on going to Handai for university not even an hour from Tsuji Culinary Institute.

Sasuke is going to be so close.

The two of them had been talking to each other ever since they had entered their respective high schools and after two and a half years of conversation they had decided that the time to meet in person was approaching. Sasuke was going to visit with his cousin and his cousin’s soulmate during winter vacation to look into apartments and the area that Sasuke would make his new home after he graduated high school. It was presumptuous that he would pass the entrance exam and be accepted but she knew how confident Sasuke is and about his test scores. Sakura is supposed to meet with him when he is able to shake off his cousin and his soulmate. They played games together and streamed shows and movies but mostly they streamed the same music and listened together sending messages or talking softly on the phone, but they didn’t call them dates so that their first official date would be one where they were face to face.

More often than not, Sakura falls asleep listening to Sasuke talk over the phone. She is an early riser and he is a night owl so she tends to drift off in the middle of their hours-long LINE calls. She enjoys listening to his voice, the deep timbre of it is soothing.

She can’t wait to hear it and see if his face matches the wonderful sound.

He found her through a video his brother had been watching to learn a new recipe.

Sasuke had found it unusual that Sakura━or “Cherry” as she went by online━didn’t show her face. It’s easier to find one’s soulmate if one’s eyes are exposed, but she never showed her face. Even in her social media accounts she never posts selfies. Sakura’s photos are always of locations or foods she made or of food spots she visited.

She had told him she didn’t want to be bombarded with messages from people claiming she was their match. She didn’t want strangers bothering her and raising her hopes up for nothing and that the only thing they cared about was her eyes.

Sasuke doesn’t care if it’s abnormal to feel affection for someone that he’s never seen. It started with a curiosity that led him to looking through her blog and then he saw it. He saw a photo of the sea before a storm hit over a harbor and it looked just like the glimpse he received a few years ago.

All he wanted to know was where the photo was taken.

And now he’s in a relationship with the person that took the photo.

Sasuke knows the odds of finding his soulmate are low and there’s no guarantee that he would even like them. His cousin Obito had gotten lucky and even Itachi who is fond of Karin despite their differences and Karin’s comparatively high energy levels. It is a gamble and he doesn’t care for the odds. He would rather grow to love a stranger that isn’t his match and be like his great-uncle Madara who never found his soulmate and when his soulmate died, his partner eye turned milky white and blind.

It is much preferable to be blind in one eye and happy than perpetually alone simply because he couldn’t be with his soulmate.

“Here you go.” His older brother interrupts his and Karin’s study session and offers her a small tray with a glass bowl that was leaking a cool mist. Karin squeals and takes out her phone, taking a video as she reveals the smaller bowl inside with a chocolate lid that is cutely decorated with flowers made with icing and berries.

“Did...did you really use dry ice for this?” Sasuke looks on as Karin takes a bunch of photos before digging into her sweet treat.

Itachi shrugs and hands Karin a spoon. “Cherry posted a video about a blueberry cheesecake made with homemade yogurt, so I had to recreate it.”

“I’ll tag her on Instagram when I post these photos.” Karin shoves her books away and pulls the cheesecake closer so that she could dig in. “Ohmygawd this is so good.”

Of course it is. Sasuke looks over Karin’s study materials for Todai. His parents want him to go there, but he made his decision to be closer to Sakura.

She wonders how he would feel about her accent. The Kansai dialect would be something Sasuke has to get used to if he is going to live in the area. Her cousin is still thrown off at times when he hears the dialect.

Sakura has invited him out to eat some tecchiri at Zubora-ya in Dōtonbori because it’s the best place for fugu despite it being almost an hour by train from Handai. Luckily his cousin has a car and is able to drive them around just so she doesn’t cause Sasuke any trouble before he even gets to meet her.

Snow is swirling around her, flurries landing in her long lashes as she waits under the giant blowfish lantern. She’s never been good with the cold but it’s keeping her grounded as her stomach tumbles with anxiety.

Would Sasuke see her and decide he would prefer to wait for his soulmate?

Will three years of conversations come to a halt when they sit across from each other and are unable to carry on the conversation in person?

Sakura is tempted to walk over to the Lawson and grab something hot to drink and use the walk to calm her nerves. She’s just about to make a break for it when she spots a trio heading towards her. The person standing in the middle is roughly the same height as her with rusty red hair—the red Sasuke had told her to expect from his cousin’s soulmate. Red that belongs to—Sasori?

What was he doing here? Her cousin hadn’t mentioned anything about traveling to Osaka. And now he was walking towards her with his boyfriend, Obito, and a pretty boy she has never seen before.

For a moment Sakura can’t breathe properly and it takes her a few seconds to realize it’s because her inhales and exhales are at too fast of a rhythm for her to actually be intaking oxygen. Hyperventilating will have her passing out right when she’s supposed to meet Sasuke—right when he’s potentially in front of her.

Her hair is pink, a soft shade he couldn’t miss, so when the attractive boy makes his way to stand in front of her, Sakura knows that it’s Sasuke.

Inky black hair frames his angular face. Why hadn’t he warned her that he was pretty? Sakura’s eyes rove his face, taking note of the curve of his lips, the point of his nose, and his high cheekbones that are kissed by eyelashes just as inky black as his hair when he blinks.

Those eyelashes frame one visible eye—the other hidden by hair—and what a beautiful eye it is. Shielded by a pair of glasses, his eye is gray and stormy and oh so familiar.

And the moment she looks at it directly, her left eye stings in discomfort.

“Shit!”

Sasuke’s eyes widen as the pink haired girl clutches her left eye. She’s cursing as she messes with her eye and throws something on the ground.

A contact.

His feet had moved and his hands had raised to steady her and help in any way he could before he had even processed what just happened.

“Ow…” She grumbles as Sasuke examines her red rimmed eye. His hands freeze from where he’s cupping her face as he looks into a matching pair of seafoam green eyes.

It’s at that moment that he realizes his left eye’s vision is blurry behind its false lens.

“Are you Sasuke-kun?” Sakura asks—because of course she’s Sakura, how many pink haired girls would be waiting under a giant blowfish and asking for someone with his old fashioned name?

“Sakura?”

“Well, that’s a little forward,” Sasori scolds him, attempting to shove him out of the way. “No honorific? Already getting handsy? Tsk, tsk.”

“Sasori-niisan?” Sakura’s attention is stolen for a moment and she turns her focus on Obito’s boyfriend despite the fact that Sasuke is holding her face in his hands. “What are you doing here?”

“Fugu. Why else?” Sasori snaps his fingers and gestures to Obito who is pulling eye drops from his messenger bag and ready to play nurse.

“What were the fucking odds?” Sasuke mutters under his breath, taking the saline solution from his cousin and dropping it into Sakura’s irritated eye. Fortunately, all of her poking hadn’t done much damage.

She’s crying, but with how she’s smiling it can’t be anything bad and he always knew his soulmate was an emotional person. Sakura’s brushing his hair away from his left eye and letting out a watery giggle at what she sees before covering her mouth with her hands to suppress the sob that leaked between her laughter.

“You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you.” Sakura looks up at him in awe but then her eyebrows draw down into a frown. She was going to make him dizzy with how quickly she flickered through emotions. “Gosh you’re tall.”

“Good thing your hair’s pink.” Sasuke cards his fingers through her hair and teases her. “With your height, I might have never found you.”

Sakura pouts, narrowing pretty green eyes at him, and it makes the moment all the sweeter. A small part of him cheers at how lucky he got that Sakura ended up being so cute but mostly he’s still in shock at the discovery that his online girlfriend ended up being his soulmate. He had given up on the idea of finding his soulmate just for them to be the person he chose over the idea of the universe’s match for him.

But, with the coincidences, did the universe actually have a hand in their connection? His older brother was a fan of her cooking vlog and his cousin was paired up with hers.

And speaking of her cousin...

“Are we getting fugu or what?”

“We’re having a moment here.” Sasuke should have just asked his older brother to come with him on his apartment scouting trip. He had no one else but himself to blame for letting Obito and Sasori come along. He should have known better.

“Have your moment inside.” Sasori pushes at the back of Sasuke’s knee with his heeled boot. “It’s cold and I want the fugu I was promised.”

“Wait a minute…” Sakura’s voice is low, and she eyes her cousin suspiciously. “You knew Sasuke-kun this whole time, Sasori-nii?”

Straightening up, Sasuke turns to glare at Sasori as well. He has been dating Sasuke’s cousin for five years and not once had he mentioned having a cousin with the exact eye pairing that Sasuke has—had.

A rare color pairing that’s supposed to be lucky. Sneaking a glance at Sakura with her green eyes and with the knowledge that she’s the person he’s been growing attached to all of these years, Sasuke’s ready to admit—if only a little—that maybe he is lucky.

No one let his family know that he had that thought.

“You guys didn’t want to know,” Sasori answers, opening up the door to the restaurant. “So, fugu?”

Sasuke and Sakura exchange a look and she smiles up at him encouragingly. Sasuke didn’t come here looking for his soulmate. He came to meet Sakura—just Sakura. He now had a matching set of eyes but it didn’t change anything, not really.

He had already made his choice and it was just luck that the universe had dealt him a winning hand.

“Let’s go find out why this place is so great.”

“Well, have you ever had blowfish before?” Sakura asks, allowing him to guide her inside the restaurant with his hand on the small of her back.

“No, but I kind of like not being potentially poisoned.”

“It makes me feel alive,” Sasori interjects, raising four fingers at a server to signal how many are in their party.

“You’re going to have to be more adventurous.” Sakura flashes a mischievous smile in his direction as they follow their cousins to a table. “I’m going to drag you everywhere and make you try lots of different food.”

“Tough talk from someone that can’t eat spicy food.”

Sakura splutters, cheeks burning red. She hides behind a menu and mutters something about “an abnormal dislike of sweets.”

He’s only seen her face for less than twenty minutes, but he’s decided that he likes how easily her feelings come across it, especially when she flushes from embarrassment.

“It will be nice to video call you from now on,” he casually mentions from over his own menu, watching from his peripheral as her fingers tighten around her menu.

“Your weird flirting is going to spoil the taste of the fugu.” Sasori glares at him over his tea, taking a prim sip.

“You don’t even have taste buds,” Sasuke mutters, wishing even more now that he hadn’t asked Obito to drop him off. “You shouldn’t even have any fugu rights. How could you not know that we were meeting your cousin?”

“Sakura is a common name, don’t try to come for me. I still haven’t given my blessing to this union.”

Sakura snorts from behind her menu and says, “Okay, sure dad.”

She sets her menu down and smiles so sweetly that Sasuke’s tempted to stand up and make a run for it with her, just completely abandon their cousins. Sasori is distracted by the promise of raw blowfish and he’s sure whatever punishment Sasori could come up with would be worth it.

“Video calls would be nice,” Sakura offers, ignoring Sasori’s forced gagging sounds. “But maybe tomorrow we could go out and fix your glasses situation?”

“Yeah,” Sasuke clears his throat and adjusts the pair he’s wearing with only one true lens, “that would be helpful.”

“Then it’s a date!” She chirps. Her eyes gleam when she’s happy and green really is such a nice color, especially on her and not in his reflection.

“Awwww,” Obito coos, pinching Sasuke’s cheek. “You two are adorable.”

“We’re leaving Obito and Sasori behind tomorrow,” Sasuke snaps, slapping Obito’s hand away.

“I don’t care,” Sasori waves a hand dismissively at him, “just let me eat my fugu and you can keep my cousin for the day. Just return her how you leave with her.”

“You’re incorrigible, Sasori-nii.” Sakura rolls her eyes but she smiles fondly at her older cousin as he steals slices of blowfish from Obito’s artfully decorated plate.

Sakura chats cheerfully with his cousin and talks about how one of the things she wants to do in the future is learn how to prepare fugu properly. Sasuke’s seen the stuff she’s made for her vlog and he doesn’t doubt that one day she’ll be able to prepare it and even make the slices of blowfish into the flower shapes the restaurant forms for their plating.

It’s then that Sasuke is hit with the fact that in a few months that he won’t be watching her from a monitor, that he could be in the kitchen with her if he asked and she was okay with it. He’ll get to spend afternoons with her the same way Karin and Itachi do and go on day trips like Obito and Sasori.

And he made that happen. It was his decision to message her. It was his decision to continue talking to her and get to know her.

Maybe the universe had a hand with all of the coincidences, but it was Sasuke that Sakura wanted. Not his eye but him.

“What’s up?” Sakura asks him as she polishes off the last bit of her serving of tecchiri.

Just thinking about how the universe works.

“Were you ever told that green eyes were lucky?”

Sakura’s eyes widen at the question. Her lips part in shock but she quickly closes them when Sasori snorts behind his napkin. Leave it to Sasori to find a way to snort primly. Even his chuckling has an air of superiority to it. It’s no wonder he didn’t link him and Sakura as familial relations.

Sakura elbows her cousin in the arm to silence him and he throws a glare in her direction.

“Actually,” Sakura’s face flushes once again, “in my family the superstition is that gray eyes are the lucky ones.”

Heat travels up Sasuke’s neck, and the pleasant feeling in his chest can’t be stifled even with Sasori’s smug expression—probably brought on by the fact that his eyes have splashes of gray in them.

“But if it’s green in your family, I guess that means we’re doubly lucky, huh?”

Sakura’s eyes are bright and with the way they sparkle when she’s feeling so fantastically happy, he can’t help but think once again that her left eye was definitely wasted on him.

Sasuke smiles fondly at her cheerful expression and has to suppress the desire to roll his eyes at his own thoughts when he remembers his mother’s stories about green eyes bringing joy.

“Guess that makes us triply happy then, Obito,” Sasori interjects yet again. “I’ve got green and gray in my eyes and you have gray eyes.”

“I guess we are,” Obito cheers, tapping his pint of beer against Sasori’s glass.

“We were having a moment here,” Sasuke grumbles over his cousin’s chortles.

He’s definitely ditching them tomorrow.

#ssm20 #ssm20d10 #sasusaku #day!fics

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pyrodarknessanny · 4 years ago

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Whilst the topic of treating women with respect is a hot button issue at the moment it got me thinking about my own experiences in life. and whilst I can say that I am one of the lucky ones who’s not been assaulted things have happened around me that had they gone differently my story would be very different indeed. it also saddens me that I know so many close friends and family who were not so lucky , many of them were children when they were first abused. and yes I do know “not all men” but as the brothers , fathers , uncles , cousins ,friends and co-workers the weight of this falls on you to call out the unacceptable behaviour of your peers. I’m going to list this instances in chronological order. and keep in mind that I am a goblin , short, weird , don’t care for looking nice and makeup and such but still ive been put on the spot numerus times in the past by “nice guys”™ high school , senior years . met some one I thought was decent online . we had an on again off again video call thing going it spanned years and started innocently enough however in the latter years when I was super depressed it turned quite toxic and manipulative where he would refuse to pay attention to me, controlling the calls , there was a time zone difference so I was up till 4am most nights hoping that this person would be around. When we did get into calls he had me doing increasingly dangerous things . he’d even convinced me to send him a substantial amount of money of the last 12 months of our contact. I’ve since cut them off cold some years ago now but they’ve certainly had an impact on me

In between this on again off again online thing when I was single I’ve and no less than 3 older male friends try to hit me up because their partners at the time were out of town. one even messaged me one night when I was high and tried very hard to convince me that it would be a good idea to drop round. I don’t talk to any of them now but each one I told to stay faithful to their partners and denied their offers.

Also in high school - this happened at my part time job. boss had a mate who would often sell him stuff for the store , bit of a flipper. one of the other senior staff thought it was FUNNY to tell him that I was fair game. so this guy who is well in his 40’s would seek me out at work and harass me. usually when I was at the back of the shop bagging the bulk produce into smaller retail portions. mind you I’m an 18 yr old autistic person . had to find excuses to avoid this person make it look like im working in the areas that had security cameras on them or hope that there were customers so he couldn’t talk to me. I had spoken out about this to the boss and the owner of the business ( as it was one of his friends) but they all thought it was a harmless game. guy bailed me up at the back of the store one afternoon as im bagging up animal feed. Store was dead quiet so not a lot of escape options I had had enough of it by that point and put him in his place. Fortunately for me he was a little old Asian man had he of been some one of my dad’s stature that scenario would have played out MUCH differently.

Hey now speaking of family! growing up in an abusive household sure dose wounders for building character huh? im on good talking terms with my family now but growing up was interesting.

Our house hold was one of hard disciplines. We didn’t just get smacked we got absolutely belted.

Or our things were broken… actually it was only ever MY things that got trashed out of discipline. my 4 brothers always got off Scott free. Whenever there was a fight or argument ? it was always me that was in trouble regardless of the circumstance.

Good lessons to teach the kids eh’

My real dad was off the sceen, we were more or less raised by our step dad but when he got an upper management job at his place of work , shit at home got bad. The abuse turned from physical to psychological . nothing was ever good enough. You were always trash or a disgrace. and praise was only ever given to the brothers. So yeah more good lessons for impressionable teens. shitty ex #1 - met them at a convention , seamed like a reasonable kind of guy we hit it off and it was great. Very quickly realised something was off about them. tried very hard to control me . would say one thing and then do something else entirely. caught them out on numerous lies and on more than one occasion said some very concerning things about minors. Moments that stand out the most . was staying at my place for a party , either a birthday or Halloween . at my house with my family and close friends , had the gall to try and control my behaviour because he thought I was being too weird , he did this in front of my mother and best friend. Another time , it was my birthday and he promised to buy dinner out . started out as we would go to this fancy casino restaurant . ended at a Mc Donald’s with me catching the train home by my self fuming. I should have ended that one much sooner than I did but I didn’t want to come across as “mean” or unreasonable so it let it drag out for another 6 months before I told him to fuck off.

Dude then proceeded to cyber stalk me and several friends there after. he was super bad at this and finaly backed off when I threatened to call the cops. YEET!

Shitty ex #2 - technically we only dated for a few weeks decided that it didn’t work for either of us but stayed good friends . had to tell them frequently about what things were and weren’t appropriate for the friendship afterwards , eneded turning into one of the biggest narcicists ive ever seen.

Miscellaneous things. Im mentioned before about peer pressure and that its on the boys to call this shit out when they see it. I’ve had to be the voice of reason for a number of male friends when they were getting a bit too obsessed over girls who had zero interest in them. One guy in particular could not leave it alone , this girl he was white knighting for was a friend from school , she had a partner but he swore black and blue that he could “save her” from making shitty decisions. I think he eventually gave up on her when she ripped him off over some digital art that was a trace job and he lost a good sum of money but it was disturbing to hear just how obsessed he was with her.

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jebentnietalleen · 5 years ago

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If ur serious about wanting things to do, I can oblige with a v specific request lol, could you headcanon Elu at a relatives’ wedding and them being all cute and dressed up and heart eyes and hot for one another

It startedas a joke: Lucas informed Eliott that he got an invitation to his cousin’swedding and that it said he was allowed to take a plus one. He had smirked andsaid ‘Finally I get to show off my hot boyfriend in a tux’, wiggling hiseyebrows as he put the card down on the kitchen counter, returning hisattention back to the curry he was trying to make. Eliott put his arms around his waist, leaning into his back as he whispered inhis ear ‘I can’t wait. Although I’m not a tux kind of guy, just a regular suitwill do’ Startled and a little confused, Lucas whipped his head around so quicklythat Eliott had to duck in order to prevent a concussion. ‘Eliott, I wasn’tserious. I haven’t spoken to this girl in years and I am pretty sure she isonly inviting me out of familiar obligation. I don’t think she expects me tocome, let alone take my boyfriend with me. I can see the scandalized faces now.Oh lord, is Lucas really with a boy? Ihope they don’t slow dance, or god forbid, kiss’ his face scrunched up ashe mimicked what could be one of many of his family members.

Eliott frowns at him, turning him around in his arms so that they were facingeach other completely. ‘Hey, she invited you even if she didn’t want to, it’s your right to go andhave a good time with your boyfriend, and if anybody is offended by that, fuckthem. I say we go, we eat and we drink and we dance the night away. Let themlook. Unless you aren’t ready, of course. I’d understand if that’s the case’ Lucas wraps his arms around Eliott’s neck and says: ‘I am more than ready, andyou are right. Who cares what they think. It’s not like I will see any of themany time soon after that anyway. Let’s do it’ And so he rsvp’s late that night, after they ate some curry and cuddles up onthe couch, giggling as Eliott suggests to start looking for fancy yet danceableshoes asap.

~ ~ ~

He almostforgets about it, until he gets a text from Eliott around a month after hereceived the invitation, while he is hanging out with Yann: I’ve found the perfect suit for the wedding.Can’t wait for you to see it, although I think I am in fact going to make youwait. He blinks at his phone a couple of times and can feel his cheeks turn redat the thought of Eliott in a suit. ‘Hello, earth to Lucas? What happened, did Eliott text you a sexy picture?’Yann laughs at him, a suggestive look on his face as he tries to sneak a peekat his phone. Lucas instinctively pulls his phone to his chest: ‘If he did I wouldn’t wantyou to see that, Yann, and no. He did paint a pretty sexy picture for methough. He found a suit for that wedding I told you about. I completely forgotabout that. Now I’m going to have to do some shopping this weekend’. Yann slings his arm around his shoulders and starts walking: ‘Why wait untilthis weekend? Let’s gather the boys and get you a sharp looking suit. Eliottisn’t the only one who will look great at that wedding, not on my watch’.

Yann keepshis promise and texts the gang, who all show up within an hour. It takes them 3stores and 6 different suits, but he finds one that looks pretty good on him,if he does say so himself. It’s dark blue, so dark that it could be mistakenfor black from a distant. He gets a baby blue dress shirt and silver-grey tieat the advice of the saleswoman, to make the look complete. Arthur nods approvingly while Yann looks like he’s proud, somehow. He has theweirdest friends, but at least he doesn’t have to go shopping by himself.Basile asks if they need to go look for shoes, but Lucas is done with walkingthrough the city and decides to buy some online that night.

~ ~ ~

Eliottkeeps teasing him about seeing each other in a suit, saying he hopes Lucas cancontrol himself in front of his family. Lucas just rolls his eyes and decidesthat two can play that game. He pretends that he isn’t all that happy with thesuit he managed to buy, but that he bought it because he couldn’t findsomething better. It’s not like he thinks he will wow Eliott with his suit, butit would be fun to see the surprise on his face when they see each other thatnight. Besides, it’s a good way to distract himself from thinking about Eliottin a suit, because even though he’ll never admit it, Eliott is right, it’sgoing to be really hard to control himself and he already knows it.

~ ~ ~

The day ofthe wedding, Lucas gets cold feet. And it isn’t even his wedding. All of the sudden, the baby blue dress shirt seems like a stupid idea, way toobright to wear, and when Mika tells him it brings out his eyes it doesn’tchange his mind. He’s about to take it all off, searching his closet for a simple white shirt,when the bell rings. Shit. Eliott is already here. He grabs the nearest white shirt he can find and locks himself up in thebathroom, shaking his head because he knows he is being stupid.

He hearssome murmurs on the other side of the door before he hears a familiar knock. ‘Lucas? Please don’t change your shirt, I heard great things about it. Let mesee’ and maybe that’s all the encouragement he needed in the end, because hislegs are drawn to the door, and he does want to see Eliott.He twists the lock and lets him in, and to be honest it’s just what he neededright now: seeing Eliott look absolutely devastatingly handsome in a grey suitthat looks like it was made for him, with a matching dark grey tie. Seeing himlook like that while he looks atLucas like he can’t believe his eyes. ‘Lucas…. Wow. You look… so beautiful. You always do, but this. It really suitsyou’ Eliott walks on over to him, cupping his face with his hands, tracing hischeekbones with his thumbs. His face feels warm again, but maybe that’s because he feels warm all over. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to Eliott looking at him like that andsaying such nice things about him. His hands are at Eliott’s waist, pulling him closer and in for a kiss. It’s dizzying in the best way possible, making him feel lightheaded and on fireat the same time.

They breakapart but stay close, lips still nearly touching, when Eliott says: ‘If wedon’t leave now, I’m going to have a really hard time convincing myself to goat all. Lead the way, Mr. Lallemant.’ Lucas grins up at him, taking his hand and walking backwards out of thebathroom and towards the front door. ‘If you say so, Mr. Demaury. Oh, and bythe way? I am going to need you to wear a suit more often. I can’t believeyou’ve been depriving me for 6 months’ He turns around while biting back a grin,knowing that Eliott loves it whenever Lucas openly compliments him like this. Eliott catches up with him when they walk down the stairs, leaning over towhisper in his ear: ‘You’re not going to make tonight easy for me, are you?’

~ ~ ~

He’s glad Eliottcould borrow his dad’s car for the occasion, because he can’t imagine having totake the bus whilst wearing suits, but also because the car ride over to thewedding gave Lucas the opportunity to look at Eliott as much as he wanted to. Of course, he has always been aware of Eliott’s model good looks, but over timeit’s something that just drifts to the back of his mind. There is so much to love about Eliott, his kindness, the way he cares about somany things and so many people, his blinding smile. The fact that his isgorgeous is hardly the best thing about him. This outfit… this outfit really brought it back to his attention. Eliottglances at him, a grin spreading from ear to ear: ‘You are checking me out.Admit it.’ Lucas huffs but doesn’t deny it: ‘Well duh, look at you. I can’t believe I amgoing to arrive with the most attractive person at that wedding. My cousin isgoing to kill me for stealing her thunder.’ Eliott laughs loud and genuine, almost doubling over behind the wheel. His handlands on Lucas’ knee, squeezing it softly before resting it right there.

‘I’m prettysure you will turn over some heads yourself. I mean it, Lucas. You areglowing.’ Lucas spreads his own hand on top of his: ‘That’s because you bring out thebest in me.’ He can’t believe he is being this cheesy, and he doesn’t even hateit. ‘and the worst, apparently, when did we become this couple? The one who is so lovey dovey the whole time?’ Eliott shakes his head at that: ‘We’ve always been that couple, Lucas. It’stime to embrace it.’ Lucas thinks he probably has embraced it, for a long longtime now. Ever since they decided to take it minute by minute, maybe evenbefore that.

~ ~ ~

It turnsout, his cousin is way too busy with getting married to pay attention to thefact that Lucas brought Eliott as his date, or to ask him about his life ingeneral, really. He doesn’t mind, he likes the fact that they can sort of pretend to be on afancy date instead of a wedding where he can run into family members every coupleof meters.

He doesn’trecognize most of them, and because it’s been so long since he last seen them,they don’t recognize him either. Has dad cancelled last minute, because ofcourse he did, and because his dad was supposed to be there his mother decidednot to come to the wedding.

There’s adistant relative here and there with whom he exchanges pleasantries, and it’ssurprisingly thrilling to introduce Eliott as his boyfriend to every one ofthem. He’s just so proud of Eliott. Not just that he is there with Eliott, whobrightens up any room he is in, but of who Eliott is as a person. It’s one ofthe things he never anticipated when he used to think about falling in love,but it’s arguably one of the best things about it.

They getsome drinks, red wine for Lucas and orange juice for Eliott. Most of the partytakes place in a big courtyard, decorated with fairy lights that are switchedon once the sun has gone under. The setting makes it look otherworldly, magical in a way, it creates a weirdbubble around them, even more than usual.

The wine ishitting Lucas harder than it should, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s beensurrounded by Eliott all night that makes his head spin slightly. Eliott, whokeeps looking at him like he won the jackpot. Eliott, who charms everybody whointroduces themselves to him. Eliott, who is currently leading him to thedancefloor, never taking his eyes off him. The music is playing softly in thebackground, Lucas doesn’t recognize the song. He can’t be bothered to wreck hisbrain over it because right now the only thing that matters is Eliott and theway he gently pulls Lucas towards him by the waist until their bodies are flushagainst each other. His arms encircle Eliott’s neck and all he can think is home, this is home. ‘Lucas’ Eliott whispers softly, their foreheads touching ever so slightly, ‘canI confess something?’ Lucas nods, ‘Always’ Eliott bites his lip: ‘Days like this really make me think about the future.Weddings always kind of freaked me out a bit. I guess I didn’t like to thinkabout the future, for a long time. But right now, with you here? It doesn’tseem so scary anymore. To think about a future with you.’ Lucas pulls Eliott closer, close enough to kiss him. He tries to poureverything he is feeling into the kiss. Ilove you, I want you, I feel the same. Our future is going to be so bright. Whenhe pulls away and looks into Eliott’s eyes that are glistening with tears, heknows that his message is clear.

#skam france #elu fic #my fic #elu headcanon #this is super late and probably not what you wanted but...sksks hope you like it anyway #alsoooo meg if you are reading this: i am dedicating this to you babe! <333

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ks-caster · 5 years ago

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Starcrossed

Fandom(s): The Vampire Diaries, The 100

Characters: Caroline, Klaus, Murphy, the Delinquents

Premise: 100 years after the apocalypse, Klaus believes Caroline to have died in primefiya. Caroline, for her part, happened to be on a space station when the bombs went off, and has spent the last century on the Arc, not knowinf if any of her friends or family are alive - except for Klaus, because if he’d died, she would have died too (we’re just pretending the unsiring thingy never happened, okay?)

Chapters 1 and 2 and my outline are available under the cut.

Moonrise

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Caroline smiled without looking away from the window.

“It’s not exactly rocket science,” she laughed, taking a sip of her coffee.

“C’mon, Forbes,” Dr. Murphy laughed, sitting down beside her. “That joke hasn’t gotten old yet?”

“I’ve only been on Alpha for a month, Murph,” she reminded him, still gazing out into the vacuum of space. Behind the earth—a fantastic sight on its own from the Alpha Space Station—the moon was rising in a shimmering, silvery crescent. It had become one of Caroline’s favorite sights in the year and a half she’d spent in orbit. Polaris had been more enclosed; their largest window was smaller than the average ones on Alpha, but that was to be expected of a research station versus a strategic one. Polaris needed their environment controllable, while Alpha was structured for high visibility, with a combination of missile-proof windows and high-efficiency sensors. It had been years since Shenzhen had tried anything, but everyone knew that relations between America and China weren’t improving.

“You haven’t memorized what the moon looks like yet?” Dr. Murphy quipped.

“You haven’t memorized what Angelii Reyes looks like?” she shot back, quirking an eyebrow. Dr. Murphy opened his mouth to defend himself, then shut it. Everyone on the ship knew about the missile specialist’s massive crush on his coworker—and everyone had been warned when Caroline’s shuttle first docked that lying to a professional mediator wasn’t going to go particularly well.

“Didn’t know that matchmaker was part of your job description,” he grumbled.

“I’m multitasking,” she responded, finishing her coffee. When her contract with Polaris was up last month she’d been intending to return to Virginia, but Alpha had practically begged her to come aboard for a three month period and help resolve a communication crisis among their command team. She’d found herself jumping at the chance to stay away for just a little bit longer.

The year was 2050 when she’d first decided to take a temporary job in space. Her daughters were in their thirties, her school had four campuses, and she was on her third identity; it was a good time to vanish from view for a little while.

At least, that were the reason she gave when people asked her. The truth was, there was one more thing she wanted the chance to get away from for a while; well, one more person.

Once his daughter had begun attending her school, Klaus had become an unavoidable part of her life. At thirty, she’d been much warmer to the idea of him turning up on occasion than she had at nineteen when he’d sworn never to enter her life again. He’d toned the flirting farther down than she’d though him capable—an act of respect for her as a widow, and she’d appreciated it. For a while.

A few years passed, and things began to rekindle between them. It hadn’t been simple, it hadn’t been fast; he’d been mourning Camille and she’d been mourning Stefan. They’d had their issues and their steps back and their makeups and breakups. After a few decades of on-again, off-again, Caroline reached the conclusion that she needed to pick a lane—either pursue a real, healthy relationship with him, or set them both free to find greener pastures. But it was difficult to think straight when he was lying in bed next to her, tracing abstract patterns into her skin with his fingertips, or worse, when she was lying in her bed alone, hyperaware of the space he’d occupy if he was there. Most of the times that she’d traveled, he’d been there in some form or another, so there was nowhere in the world she could run to where she wasn’t reminded of him.

Nowhere on earth, anyway.

Over the years and identities, she’d earned several degrees. Turned out, having all sorts of contracts between her school and various colleges paid off; she could take a wide variety of online courses for virtually nothing, or take sabbaticals to attend various schools. Her current identity—Tasha Forbes, her own second cousin and godchild—had a masters in conflict mediation, and received an invitation to do a study on conflict resolution among the diverse scientific and military teams crewing the Polaris space station. An eighteen-month contract during which she would be entirely focused on work and uninterrupted by Klaus or anyone else from back home had struck her as the perfect opportunity to decide exactly what—and who—she wanted.

And it had worked—she knew it had worked when she hadn’t stopped missing Klaus, and had developed the habit of watching the moon rise from behind the earth because it reminded her of him in the most beautiful way. She made up her mind by the end of her third month that when she set foot on solid ground again, she was going to get into an interstate shuttle direct to Klaus’s current abode in California and tell him definitively that she wanted to be together, for real. She had a plan. She’d rehearsed the conversation.

And then she had nine more months to over-analyze and second-guess herself—not her plan; she was confident that she wanted a relationship with Klaus—but her delivery. Suddenly a simple “I love you and I want to be with you” was the most complicated thing in human history to try to express.

All in all, the emergency summons to Alpha station had been a welcome relief from the pressure she placed on herself.

“If you’re that interested,” Dr. Murphy was saying, bringing Caroline back to the more immediate romantic conundrum, “do you think you could put in a good word for me? I was actually thinking of maybe asking her to dinner next week, when we dock with the Paradise to resupply.” He scratched his nose—an awkward habit he always did when he was nervous or stressed.

“Girls always know when their friends have been enlisted to improve a guy’s chances,” Caroline scolded. “What I can do is talk you through the process so that you can present the idea as appealingly as possible.”

Murphy stared out the window, a frown on his face, and Caroline laughed a little. God, he was shy in romance for someone so confident in actual, legitimate rocket science.

It was when he slowly rose to his feet and walked to the window, the color draining from his already pale face, that she realized something was wrong.

“Those are…” he whispered, and her eyes were drawn to what had distracted him. Six trails of golden fire were making their way across the blue background of the pacific ocean.

“Shuttlecraft?” Caroline suggested hesitantly, but she knew she was dead wrong before the words had left her mouth. They were traveling too fast for shuttlecraft—and much too close together to conform to safety regulations.

“Missiles,” Murphy breathed, and then took off towards the bridge, Caroline hot on his heels, cursing the fact that she had to run so slowly due to all the security cameras that could catch her vamp speed.

Command was in chaos—alarms blared, people were shouting orders while red lights flashed. Caroline vaguely remembered that as a civilian, she was supposed to return to her quarters during a red alert, but she doubted anyone was going to notice her.

“Status?” Murphy demanded, dashing to his post.

“Six 100-megaton nuclear warheads, heading from China towards the United States,” Angelii reported immediately. “Trajectories suggest Langley, Chicago, Atlanta, Austin, Denver and Portland are the targets.”

“An even spread,” Dr. Murphy murmured darkly. “ETA to detonation?”

“Thirty-two minutes,” an ensign whose name Caroline could never remember responded. Her heart stuttered. She couldn’t feel her feet. Someone was talking—murmuring to her in a low, calming voice… she wasn’t screaming, or crying, or doing anything to warrant a Low, Calming Voice™; actually it was her job to do that sort of thing, wasn’t it?

“Miss,” he was asking, possibly for the third time. “Miss, is there anyone you would like me to contact?” Caroline swallowed, the rush of sound from the last thirty seconds computing at vampire speed. Angelii was trying to break into the missiles’ targeting software to redirect them into space. The speed of her heartrate and the tone in her voice said she already knew she wouldn’t manage it in time.

“Girls,” Caroline finally go out. “I have two girls. One’s in Canada.” She struggled to meet his gaze. “Josie was in Portland. She… might still be there. I don’t remember how long she was staying.” There was no strength to her voice—it sounded thin and unnatural. Shouldn’t she remember her own daughter’s lecture tour itinerary? She stumbled to the communications console as the man with the infuriating calming voice punched in a code, and she dialed Josie’s number.

“Hi, this is Josephine Saltzman,” her voicemail announced cheerfully. “Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Jose, it’s mom,” Caroline said, forcing the edge of panic out of her voice. “There’s a nuclear bomb headed for Portland in less than half an hour. If you’re still there…” she choked momentarily. “Honey, I love you—and you need to get out of the city, whatever you gotta do…” had the twins ever gotten the hang of the whole teleportation thing? They’d found the spell in some old grimoires Alaric had been researching a few years back, but it had been tricky, and the last she’d heard of it, they still hadn’t managed to travel more than a few hundred meters. “Call me,” she finally managed, then hung up, immediately dialing Elizabeth.

“Hey there, mama bear,” Lizzie’s husband greeted her as he always did.

“Carlisle, I need you to put Lizzie on the phone right now, it’s an emergency,” she demanded, all in a rush.

“Sure thing—what’s happening?” he asked. She heard him shuffle to his feet, then footsteps announced he was traveling through the house to find his wife.

“The world’s ending,” Caroline murmured numbly as, out of the corner of her eyes, she saw eight trails of fire heading the opposite direction. America was firing back while they still could, apparently. Hopefully no one would shoot anything towards Canada… everyone liked Canada, right?

“It’s your mother,” Carlisle announced, and then the sound quality changed, indicating that she was on speaker.

“China just fired nuclear bombs at the U.S.,” Caroline explained without preamble. “Have you heard from your sister lately—is she still in Oregon?”

“Oh my god,” Lizzie breathed, and even through the phone Caroline could faintly hear her heart speed up. “Last I heard, she was still there until the end of the month. I’ll try and send a message… hang on.” The sound of paper ripping and a pen scratching frantically against it ended with a quickly whispered spell and a ‘whoosh’ of flame.

“I don’t think anyone’s shooting far north enough for you guys to get hit. Yet,” she added as another few missiles appeared on the view screens. Russia had joined in the fight. What was the blast radius on a nuke of that size? There were different colored rings on a large, interactive map of the world. They encompassed a frighteningly huge area.

“Try her phone again,” Lizzie suggested. “I’ll let you know if she gets back to me, okay? I’m gonna call dad.”

“Okay,” Caroline whispered. “I love you both.”

Elena didn’t pick up the phone, but Steve, her ever-friendly middle child, answered on the first ring.

Bonnie didn’t answer at first, but called back right away. She was in Arizona. Inside two of the threatening circles on the map. Caroline’s brain wouldn’t function right—wouldn’t figure out for her whether that meant instant death, slow horrible death, or just increased chances of cancer.

With two minutes left on the clock, she was dialing Klaus’s number. Could a nuclear blast kill an Original? Would Klaus even know? She swallowed as the line rang. The whole reason she was seeing all this from the aliens’-eye-view was because she didn’t know how to tell him how she felt about him.

Now the world was ending beneath her feet, and she had less than 100 seconds to figure it out.

“Hello, love.” Klaus’s voice was warm and smooth and full of the particular joy that he seemed to reserve just for her. This, out of everything, brought tears to her eyes, and for a moment she couldn’t speak—couldn’t force a single sound past the agonizing pain in her throat, and the crippling ache in hear heart when she thought that this could be the last time she ever heard it.

“Klaus,” she sobbed faintly, clutching at the nearest console for support.

“What’s the matter, darling?” he asked. No, he demanded. His demeanor had changed instantly, and she imagined the way his eyes had gone hard, the way his spine straightened and his brow furrowed as he waited to hear who he needed to kill.

“Um, the nuclear arsenal of mankind is being launched,” she summarized. Numbly, she counted 48 total bombs being tracked. Around her, a few soldiers were still frantically working, but most were leaning into their personal comm links, exchanging last words with their loved ones below. No one was trying to stop them. Angelii sat back from the screen, shaking her head helplessly.

“Where are you?” Klaus’s voice had a bit of a growl in it, and she recognized the fear for what it was, although anyone else would have thought it was hostility.

“I’m on a military base,” she whispered. “I’m watching the whole thing in real time… are you still in California?”

“Chicago,” he corrected immediately. “Where…”

“Chicago,” she echoed in muted horror. “There’s one right on top of you… oh my god…”

“Caroline, where are you—are you in danger?” his voice was impatient. She’d heard that particular tone before—it meant he was worried about her, terrified, even, and why on earth wasn’t her first priority saving herself?

“I’m fine, I’m…” but a sudden buzz of static cut her off. “Klaus? Klaus can you still hear me?” a quick glance around the room showed everyone else experiencing the same thing. Her eyes found Dr. Murphy’s.

“The warheads have started to detonate,” he explained quietly. “Most of the U.S’s electronics just shut off. I’m sorry,” he added. Caroline had heard him, and understood the words, but her fingers were in denial and she dialed first Josie’s number, then Lizzy’s. Neither of them rang.

Slowly, dream-like, Caroline made her way to the main window, abandoning the analysis screens in favor of looking directly down at the carnage. She watched as first the Chinese bombs and then the American ones, followed by sundry others, reached their targets and exploded in deceptively tiny eruptions of orange and red. Thick black smoke rose up and began to cover the sky, concealing the planet below in round patches. Within thirty minutes, the planet she knew so well looked like it had contracted some horrible disease.

World War III had taken less than 2 hours, from start to bloody finish.

Freefall

“So, what’re you in for?”

Caroline glanced up from her meagre, bland food, critically evaluating the speaker. His pale skin, prominent forehead and sardonic smirk told him his name without a shadow of a doubt. This boy was unquestionably one of Dr. Murphy’s direct descendants. She wondered vaguely why they’d never met, but then, the Ark was a pretty big ship.

“Vandalism,” she responded simply, skewering an unappetizing piece of something and shoveling it into her mouth. “I set the art gallery on fire,” she elaborated through the edible substance filling her mouth. She’d worked hard to make her newest teenage persona as laid back as possible; someone of whom no one would have any particular expectations. With each generation and each new set of draconian laws, adulthood on the Ark had transitioned from irksome to deeply detestable.

“Nice,” Murphy snorted in appreciation.

“Hey, what do you have against art galleries?” a boy with an honest, innocent face and a beanie over his shaggy hair demanded.

“I dunno,” she shrugged, leaning back in her seat. “Put me in a weird mood, I guess. Honestly though, I think maybe the moonshine might have been more at fault.”

“Cause you drank it or cause you used it as accelerant?” the boy checked with a grin.

“Both,” she admitted freely, to a general, appreciative snicker.

“Well, it’s a dumb crime, but as long as nobody got hurt you might have a shot at your review,” a girl she thought was called Monroe commented quietly from the next table over.

“The last paintings in all of humanity,” Wells Jaha spoke up sadly, but fell silent when Monroe turned a frosty glare on him. He’d only been in the skybox for three days—the newest juvenile detainee besides herself. The way he carried himself, some of the things he said… Caroline got the impression they’d received the same information, and had the same idea. Of course, his motivation was fairly obvious; his massive crush on Clarke Griffin who’d been in solitary for the last six months had spurred him to ensure that when she was sent to the earth to be a human radiation canary, he’d be by her side.

‘Young love,’ she scoffed internally, then grimaced by how old she sounded. 157 was entirely too young to be so disparaging of youth or love.

Of course, she was on her way down because of love too—but as a vampire she at least had a significantly higher chance of survival than he did; the little human fool.

“Back to your cells,” a guard shouted, hitting a button on the wall which sounded a nasty digital whistle that never failed to give Caroline a splitting headache. She stumbled to her feet, balance compromised until her head stopped echoing.

“Um, do you need help?” an unfamiliar voice asked hesitantly. She looked up blearily and met a completely new pair of brown eyes. She knew vaguely that she’d run across every single person on the Ark at one point or another—even Murphy, first name John she finally recalled—but this girl was entirely foreign to her.

“I’m good—thanks,” she finally responded, straightening up with a little difficulty. “Carrie Forbes,” she added, sticking a hand out. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“O-Octavia,” she girl nearly squeaked, falteringly extending her hand but looking a bit confused by what she was supposed to do with it. Caroline shook it gently. “Octavia Blake.”

As it turned out, Octavia Blake was to be her roommate—at least, that was what was on the official docket. They’d barely made it into the room before two guards were following them, binders and syringes in hand. Caroline heard Octavia starting to hyperventilate, and as the men approached, demanding that they hold out their hands, she looked over at her.

“Octavia, they can’t kill you twice,” she reasoned quietly, not wanting to admit what she knew, but also wanting to help in some way. “Think about it—what more do you have to be afraid of?” the smaller girl looked her way, gulped, and squared her shoulders.

“At the end of the day, no matter how this goes,” Caroline murmured as the men pulled the caps off the syringes, “you’ll be free.”

More so than she could possibly know.

Octavia passed out but Caroline was immune to whatever they were using and had to let herself go limp, eyes closed enough that the casual observer wouldn’t notice them cracked open, but still open enough that she could sort of see what was going on. They were carried along with the other drugged juvenile offenders down dark hallways by silent men, the whole operation a complete secret from the Ark’s residents.

She let them strap her into a seat, listened as they did the same to her neighbors, then as soon as the last guard departed, she opened her eyes, scanning the area. Every other passenger was still unconscious except for one—slightly older by the smell of him, with his heart pounding out a staccato sprint. A stowaway, apparently.

‘The plot thickens,’ was the only thing she had time to think before the clamps were releasing and the thrusters were firing and the rough movements had startled the other passengers into varying stages of wakefulness. A recording of Chancellor Jaha started to play on the view screens and Caroline cursed under her breath, wishing one of them had a picture of the planet they were now rapidly falling towards.

“Did you know this was going to happen?” Octavia whispered from beside her. Caroline glanced over and nodded subtly.

“Mm-hm,” she hummed quietly. “Like I said,” she breathed back with a hint of a smile, “one way or another—free.”

“Yeah, if we don’t burn to death from the radiation,” Octavia hissed back.

“We’ll see,” Caroline responded, remembering the Great Solar Radiation Debate 12 years ago, and the way neither side had been able to definitively prove themselves right. She’d always been rather in favor of the idea that space-born humans had a higher ability to metabolize radiation than their earth-dwelling ancestors, but she wasn’t a scientist, so she couldn’t really speak authoritatively on the subject.

Anyway, they were about to find out.

Notes:

Caroline and Klaus get back in touch a few years after she opens the school—what with Hope attending—and they become cordial, perhaps even flirtatious. However, Caroline is afraid to jump back in so quickly after becoming a widow. She feels like her immortal life is rushing into too much, too quickly. So she and Klaus don’t get serious, although when she takes a sabbatical every couple of years, sometimes he’ll meet her abroad. They have an on-again, off-again thing going on for a few decades, because she can’t commit and he won’t push her.

In the year 2050, Caroline accepts a job to work on a space station for a few years, studying group psychology among the scientists working there. It seems like a fun adventure.

While she’s up there, cut off from everyone she knows, she makes the decision to take The Plunge and tell Klaus when she gets back that she’s ready for a real relationship with him. Then ALIE launches the nuclear arsenal of mankind, and the world burns beneath her.

The Ark forms, and Caroline mourns. She mourns for her daughters, for Rick, and she believes for Klaus. (Remember, in TO Season 3, his sire line was cut off.) She thinks that he must’ve been destroyed—and if he lived, then he was burning in radiation and desiccating from the total lack of humans to feed on. She prefers to think he’s dead, when she imagines this.

97 years pass. It’s hard to reinvent yourself every decade or so, but compulsion is a wonderful thing, and there isn’t a scrap of vervain on the station, so no one can resist her. Unbeknownst to her, Aurora Blake had told stories about her old school friend Caroline, and then after she compelled everyone she knew on the ship, Bellamy Blake started to mention her as well, so Octavia, who she doesn’t know exists, thinks something seems a little off.

Caroline always begins as young as she can get away with—usually 14 or 15—and she’s in Clarke’s class at school. Everyone thinks she’s extremely weird; honestly she lost the desire to get close to people after her a few generations of her friends died. The fact that there are no immortals left for her to get close to is a living nightmare, but she can’t turn anyone because she doesn’t have the means to make a daylight ring, and all the witches who ever lived are dead.

She drinks or drugs herself into oblivion whenever she gets the opportunity; has been jailed and had to compel herself out of the death sentence three times so far. Everyone thinks she’s the weird, anti-social stoner kid. Aren’t junkies supposed to be loose and friendly? She realizes that the delinquents are going to be sent to the ground, so she sets fire to a priceless Earth painting so that she can join them. She figures that even if she burns up and dies, it might be worth it just to escape this lonely eternity.

The 100—including Caroline—land and survive. She keeps her secret under wraps, although it’s tricky as she has to dry out from everything she’s been on for the last century. She doesn’t reveal herself to anyone, and doesn’t interfere much in anyone’s affairs, but she does once single-handedly rescue someone from a horde of reapers.

She gets her neck broken during the final battle and is assumed dead, so the mountain men don’t take her.

Meanwhile, the Originals have survived the apocalypse; Hope and Freya had to go into a magical sleep for twenty years, but they got through it. The Originals rule a large portion of what was once the Western United States. Klaus is called the King of the West and is feared across the continent. He learns that a star fell to the east—bringing strange people with it. He sets out on a journey on a prayer that Caroline might have been on it.

When things start to go badly wrong, Caroline sneaks into the mountain, intending to help. However, the government was vaguely aware of vampires, and the residents have been consuming vervain in their water, for 100 years, so she can’t use compulsion. If she uses violence she could save everyone, but it would likely be at the cost of tons of collateral damage, and she’s pretty against harming children, especially after having lost a couple of her own.

When the King of the West arrives with soldiers and spears demanding to be taken to the Sky People immediately, at first everyone is afraid. But when he begins describing the woman he’s looking for, Octavia pipes up and says that’s Caroline he’s describing. Caroline had once drunkenly described Klaus to Octavia—including the detail of the moles on his neck, so she knows it’s the same guy. She says that Caroline was taken by the mountain men, and if he wants her back, he’ll have to go in and get her. Klaus offers (in a you-can’t-refuse sort of way) his aid to those attempting to get the prisoners out of the mountain.

Caroline has to come with a way that the children survive—it’s in her character to do so. When the prisoners come marching out, it’s not because the mountain releases them—it’s because she did something clever.

When Caroline sees Klaus, she immediately runs into his arms, bursts into tears and kisses him like—well, like she hadn’t seen him into a century. He absolutely doesn’t care that anyone’s watching and sweeps her off her feet, to everyone’s general shock.

#Beth's New Year's Cleaning Queue #free to a good home #Any and all parts available for general use with credit #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #the vampire diaries #the 100 #klaroline

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bangbangchanie · 6 years ago

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Thankful For you~ Han Jisung

Summary: Were your parents and family met Jisung on Thanksgiving

Pairing: Han Jisung × Reader

Warning: cute fluff with slight angst? Kinda? Also long.

"Okay, but are you sure they'll like me? I can bearly keep up with English sometimes an-and I showed up a day later than planned...babe stop laughing!" Jisung whined in the passenger seat of your car, your eyes were watching the road as you peeled out of the airport traffic onto the freeway.

"Baby, they'll love you. You've technically met them before, you know face time?" You said as you switched land, your eyes glancing over at the Ash-blonde boy you fell in love with over a year ago. He was visiting America for some trip for school when he literally ran right into you. After that the rest was pretty much history, skype calls and snapchats were your life. You had met his parents six months after dating, traveling halfway across the world to jump into his arms. Then awkwardly wave at his mom and dad who watched the whole tear and laughter filled hug.

That was the trip he told you about the boys, he spoke of training with them and how they all clicked. He spoke of the show they were gonna do, to prove to JYP they could do anything. Now a year later here he was, dyed hair, earrings, and a nervous mind rushing in the thought of your parents hate him.

"But that doesn't count, it was nearly five minutes and you pushed them out. I was also not an idol yet, I'm..I'm just a bit nervous." His voice drifted into a whisper making you smile as you took one hand off the wheel and placed it onto his thigh, giving it a small squeeze you looked over and gave him a smile before your eyes trailed back to the light traffic of the road.

"They'll love you, I know they will babe." You said making him huff as he grabbed you hand off of his thigh and laced his fingers into yours. His eyes looked at your interlocked hand with a large smile spreading across his face. How he had missed you, several months after debut, promotion, and comebacks had to lead up to the ache in his heart. Short and sweet skype calls, where'd he only see your face for what felt like five seconds, late-night phone calls where one of you always fell asleep halfway through. It was short to no reply messages on his end, and it killed him not speeding as much time as he did before debut talking and loving you.

"I missed you." He blurted out making you blush as you squeezed his hand that was locked with yours as you turned off of the freeway, the houses slowly filling the empty space. Your eyes look over to him as you stop st a red light.

"I've missed you too, do you know how much I missed the simple act of you holding my hand?" Your words made him chuckle as he curled slightly into himself, his cheek dusting a light pink making you smile as you quickly lean over and press your lips the burning skin.

"The lights green!" He jolted out making you chuckle as you press on the gas and turn. "So what..what is Thanksgiving? Like I kinds know but I don't at the same time."

"Its a celebration of the programs and Native Americans had when the Native helped them, showed them how to grow crops and use the land productively. It was shown thanks between the tribe and Colony. Now its a day where we Americans go into a food coma, Turkey, stuffing, potato and so much more. We eat till we fill like well pass out." You Chile turning down your road, "Its a day to be thankful, thankful for the roof over your head, the food on your plate and the people in your life. A day for family and friends to come together eat some food and tell stories. Aunt judge and uncle drink beers. It crazy, and different for every family." You finish off as you pull into your driveway. "Now, look at me real fast baby." You mumble turning in your seat. His brown eyes were wide, the cars of the family outside your home making him slightly panic as you reached over and grabbed his hand.

"I'm I that nervous looking?" He whispered, finally slipping into his English. You chuckle as you reach over and cup his cheek making him closing his eyes as he took a deep breath.

"So the first level, my mom and dad." You say making him nod as his eyes snap open, you'll walk in with your bags and wave. My mom will most likely come over and greet you with a high, my dad will wait till you bags are in my room. Which took me a month to convince them to let you sleep in there, door open at all times." Your words had him laugh as he grabbed the hand on his cheek a played with your fingers. "My dad probably won't say hi, or hold a conversation with you. It doesn't mean he doesn't like you. He watches body language, he watches you interact with his girls, he watches before he speaks. But still say hi, he believes in respect." Your word made him nod as you pause, letting his brain process your words, you lean forward and press a small kiss to his lips.

"Okay, so say hi put my stuff in your room, and say hi again?"

"Yep, exactly."

"Okay, I can do that."

"Okay next, my Great gran, she will pinch your cheeks and hold your hand while the two of you talk. She's the easiest person in the family to get to, shell loves you as soon as I introduce you as my boyfriend...but then there my Grandma. She will be a bit harsh, you'll question how my mom is hers. But shes just protective. My aunts and uncles will be a bit gossipy, they'll whisper about you. But ignore them, they're options to me don't matter, just mom, dad, Gan and Grandma matter. And all the cousins will see you as a new jungle gym."

"Okay..okay I see...shall we go in?" He mumbled making you nod as you open your car door. His body following, grabbing his duffle and backpack he grabbed his two suitcases. The next two months' worth of close trapped between the fabric. "I'm scared." He whispers as you move to the open front door, unlocked screen door trapping the wagging dog that heard your car.

"Don't be, this is Mags." You say as the two of you walk into your warm house, the smell of Thanksgiving surrounding the two of you as you hear loud laughter and children giggling. "Mom, dad!" You called out leading Jisung through the house to the kitchen, the family talking as your mother chopped up some carrots. Her eyes looked up, seeing you standing there, a shy boy somewhat hiding behind you.

"Y/n, Jisung-Dude your daughter's boyfriends here." Your mom said, her hand slapping his arm. As your father head turned, you could feel Jisung grow tight ss you saw his hand wave. Your father just looks at him a grunt out a hello and goes back laughing with your uncle. "Oh, that man." Your mother says walking over and pulling your boyfriend into a hug.

"I'm thankful your flight was safe, I'm sorry it was canceled yesterday must've been a really bad rainstorm." She said making him nodding as he scratched at the back his head. You could see his gears in his head turning as his mouth moved.

"Yeah, the lighting was bad." She gave him a smile as she pulls back and rubs his arms. "Well go get your stuff to her room, and settle in before you throw yourself to the wolves." Her analogy made you groan as you shook your head and gave her a glare as you nodded for Jisung to walk to the hall.

"Don't scare him."

"You're lucky he wasn't free during Halloween. He would've been pumbled with pumpkin guts." You chuckle as you follow after the ash-blonde you hand leading him to the open door of your room. Pacing his bags down you kick your shoes off and fall into a lounge chair you had in your room.

"Welcome to the magical place!" You giggle, photos of Jisung and you pressed into a poster broad, as well as their first-ever Group photo, and any cute photos you could find of him online. He smiles at the small support as he saw their mini albums you had bought on your desk. His hand traced the wall, where your parents aloud you to draw. There a large oak tree, with Winnie the Pooh and Piglet at the base were a jar of honey in Pooh's hands. It made your boyfriend chuckle as he took his shoes off.

"I like it, very... you." You chuckle and nod as he's moving to sit on the arm of the chairman "I see you clearly like my bad."

"Day6 is way better." You mumble peeking up from the screen of your phone you were on. You say his jaw go slack as he slowly turned his head to glare at you.

"Oh really?"

"Yep, amazing. Iconic and so different. I love Jae and Wonpil." You laugh as he jumps you slightly his hands gripping your sides as you let out a loud laugh. His future ger pricing against the flesh under your shirt. "Ji-jisung!" you laughed he pulled away and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

"Okay, I'm ready." He mumbled making you nod, as the two of you stood up, your hand lacing with his as you ran down the hall the attempted to slid into the kitchen.

"Hello family, this is Jisung, my boyfriend!" At the mention of your boyfriend, you Grest Gram gasps and clapped her hands.

"Let me see him!" You laugh you see JIsung cheeks grow red. "Come to her boy, let me look at you." He left you hand and walked to the sitting woman, he grabs a free chair and sat next to her. Her wrinkled shakey hand moved to his cheeks and gave him a look over as you moved to the counter reaching over to steal an olive as you listened in on the conversation.

"Hello Ma'am." He mumbled making her laugh as she pinched at the chubby cheek of your boyfriend making him slight wince as she parted it afterward.

"Handsome, just like I thought. I hear you sing? I would love maybe after dinner to play piano and you sing for us." Her words made her boyfriend pink cheeks turn scarlet as he looked down at his hands.

"Id... I'd love to." She smiled as she grabbed his hand and nodded.

"You're English is good, I know it's not easy. I didn't go to school half my life so mine sucks and all come from that little girl shoving olives into her cheeks." Her words made you look up and playful glare as Jisung chuckles.

"You..you didn't go to school?"

"Nope, I left in the being of my eighth-grade year, when my dad fell ill. My brothers, sister and I helped run the farm, we all left school at a young age. We lived in Iowa, Stormlake. I remember the days where I longed to go to school, but life doesn't always work out like that. You do what you have to. You do what you need to do for your family, that family is what matters you know? Cause sometimes it all you got." He gives him nods, taking in her words as you moved over. Your body slipping into his lap as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Tell him about the corn ." You say, as she smiles, Jisung swears he saw the memory of her life flash in her eyes as she presses her hands to her lips.

"Oh, that cornfield! Wed pull pounds of corn every year and take the best pick for ourselves, wed spend a week shucking corn, cutting and taking it off the cob. We made out own popcorn so we, of course, had to dry it out. God, it was a system. You know back then you couldn't just have one kid, you had to have a cluster, five to seven. It kept the house running." For the next house, Jisung and you listened to your Great Grans stories, how she lived at your age. How her life had changed and how she misses her farm, her childhood home and her family of course.

"Hey, guys time for dinner!" Your father says making you stand up as your Grandmother helps your gran move to the other table. As you walked out, you father called to Jisung making you freeze as you swear you watch the boy pale. "Have you ever craved a Turkey?" He asks making the boy shake his head, your father smiles and waved him over. "Let me show you, kid." A smile lifting on your lips as you let go of his hand and walked to the table.

"Dad get ahold of him?" Your mother asked making you nod.

"I knew he would."

"He liked the way he listens to Gran. You know most of your aunts won't even spend time talking or listening to her. They act like she a child, and not a women." She said making you nod and you look to said people, clearly gossiping about the boy in your kitchen. "You know, their option doesn't matter." Your mother whispers making you nod as the two of you help set up the children's table.

"I know."

Soon Jisung and your dad walked into the dining room the final piece of the table setting down on two plates, his body moved quickly to sit next to you. A large smile on his face as he grabbed your hand and kissed it.

"I love you." His words caught you off, not the two of you haven't said. No, it was how fast he said with without context, something new.

"I love you too."

"I approve." Your father said moving behind you to sit next to your mother. Soon you said you thanks and began to eat, chatter spreading in your house.

"So Jisung. What exactly do you do?" One of your aunts asked taking a sip of wine.

"Oh um, I'm a rat of a kpop group, as a band? Um I rap and sing. I help compose the music, and produce, we work very hard and I love doing it." He said, as if he had practiced it off a scrip, his eyes look to you then to her as you squeeze his hand. Your aunt nodded and look to the other making him tighten his grip in your hand.

"Do you have a problem with that?" You snap, as they begin to whisper and laugh, Jisung head slightly falling as he picks at your food. Your aunt's eyes widen as she looks at you, surprise written across her face.

"Well, it just...just doesn't seem practical. Like he's what 18, my dream when I was 18 never happe-"

"So you do have a problem with it?"

"Wel-"

"Cause if you do, keep it to yourself. I don't see you chasing your dreams, hell you didn't when you were his age. He did and he made it. They won rookies of the year, which mean the big people noticed them. They went to K-kon New York, all nine can somewhat speak two to three languages and are spreading about honest things that youth suffer from, that idols suffer from in the industry. You don't know him. You don't know how passionate he and his members are, you don't know his job. And until you do, you shouldn't be able to judge him on it." You finish with a nod as you take a sip of the soda next to your plate. You give her a fake smile and turn to a smiling Jisung his head turns to face you as you peck him on the lips. "I'm thankful for you." You mumble looking at him, his eyes gleam as he looks back down at the ever filling plate in front of him.

"I'm thankful for you too."

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grandthorkiday · 6 years ago

Text

Mob AU “Playthings” Part 19

[Link to mob!au anon’s “Playthings" fic tag]

[Start at Part 1]*

(*Note: Link is editable for other parts, just change the number. For mobile users, tag is “playthings part1”)

~2011~

Ashley was a sweet girl, if a tad annoying. She had a laugh that was a little too high and made her sound like she was going down a bumpy road. She wore too much jewelry, make up, and perfume, and when she talked in her thick Jersey accent she had tendency to smack her lips and talk with exaggerated gestures. But Mario didn’t keep her around for her conversational skills, as he was fond of saying when he smacked her large bottom as she walked by. Of the frequent hanger ons who came and went from the penthouse, she was Thor’s favorite.

“I brought yah something!” She called as he returned from working out in the hotel gym.

“You really didn’t have to,” he said, but was still excited to see what it was. He looked around. “Where’s Loki?”

“Oh he went with Gast somewhere. Focus!” She snapped her fingers and her rings clanged together. She tossed her overly large purse on the table and pulled out two large books. “Told yah my cousin went to college for this crap. Never finished, and tell him, Jay if you don’t finish sell yah books. Nah, Ash, I’m gonna finish. My ass he’s going to finish. He’s making enough doing the rackets. But here, you take ‘em!”

Thor took the books like they were precious treasure. ‘Medieval European History: An Introduction’ and 'The Viking and Their Legacy on the Early Modern World’ were heavy volumes. But there was art within the pages and most of all, it had nothing to with his current circumstances. He opened the page of one of the books to a picture of a war hammer and spear being laid out on a table by an anthropologist, showing the ceremonial markings and and decoration on both.

“This has some examples of actual art, right?” he asked, feeling a twinge of guilt at being so greedy with his desire.

Ashley didn’t seen to care. “'Course it does! You know, you can go to a bookstore and get a book on that! You already go and get your art stuff there.”

“I-I don’t want to ask,” he said, placing the book down. Asking was not the right word. Gast would want him to beg, for every cent and dollar. To leave the penthouse and get a book from the chain store two blocks away. He would have to debase himself. He already did that for art supplies, he didn’t think he could do it for a book. Maybe, if he was good, he could simply ask for a few books. If he was really good, Grandmaster would just shower him with whatever he asked for. He had to be good.

[read more cut]

“You draw anything new?”

He blinked a few times before answering. “Oh, uh, yeah. One moment.” He never left his sketchbook too far away from him. The penthouse crew had a 'habit’ of going through it and doodling over some of his sketches if he left it out of field of vision. Sometimes, Gast would have them punished if he caught them. Sometimes he would ask for a pen and make his own drawings. Thor really didn’t want to risk it.

He handed the sketchbook to Ashley who greedily snapped it up and opened it. She squealed in delight. “These are amazing!! Seriously, this hand and flower! I would totally get this done! Well, if Max let me get a new tattoo. But,” she turned the page and sighed, “oh this is just fucking gorgeous. You drew a cat and it looks so cute I wanna eat it up!”

“It’s Paul’s cat.”

“I know! And you should show him! He loves that thing. You never considered going into making tattoo art?”

Thor shook his head, trying not to laugh. Before he and Loki were kidnapped, he was an Econ major, desperately wanting to change his major to Medieval History. His Father would never expect anything less than him, though. Sketching and drawing was a hobby done behind closed doors, never encouraged except by his brother. He couldn’t even tell his mother that most of his drawings were tattoo inspired.

After they were taken, his education had stopped. Gast had floated the idea of letting them take online courses, but that was snatched away during one of their 'bad’ periods. Drawing became an escape. Grandmaster was his gentlest when he found him drawing and most people in the penthouse wanted a sketch, either for a tattoo or to just keep. Mario even turned one sketch into a shirt that he wore fondly during football season. Thor doubted Gast, however, would see the use or have the desire to put him through the training needed to be an artist.

As though summoned by the mere thought of him, Gast appeared with Mario at his side. Mario had a strange look of barely contained rage. Thor shrank instantly onto himself, gathering his new books closer to him. Suddenly Ashley having his sketchbook felt dangerous and he wanted to reach out and snatch it back. But he didn’t dare do that. That would bring attention to himself, and he wasn’t the one Mario was angry at.

“Hey, Ash!” the thug in question barked out, flexing his muscles as he crossed his arms. “Gotta sec to talk about the 'girl’?” They talked like this, even in the safety of the penthouse, most often. This vague way of speaking about their dealings. There were times, late in the evening and the dead of night when they would be specific. Old superstition someone once explained to him: the dark remains in the dark.

Ashley barely glanced up at him. “What about her?”

“She didn’t make it to the 'drop’. She and her 'merchandise’ are fucking gone.”

“Well she was on her way when I put her and the baby in the cab this morning.”

Mario rolled his neck in irritation and Gast chuckled darkly. “You didn’t go with her?”

The woman frowned and finally passed back the sketchbook who Thor nearly all but hugged when it was returned. “I ain’t going to see a kid sell a baby! I got betta things to do!”

“Like what?!”

“My hair for one!” She flicked her fire red curls over her shoulder. “And my nails! You want me pretty don’t yah baby?”

“I WANNA BE PAID TOO SWEET FUCKING HEART!”

“What you got there, Sparkles?” Gast asked. Naturally, this was directed at Thor and was said conversationally. Like there wasn’t a feeling of apprehension in the air.

Thor nervously showed his new books and sketchbook. Grandmaster waved him over and plucked them from his arms to examine them from his arms. He thumbed through one book before return them with a hum of mild interest. “You like this stuff?”

“Y-yeah,” he waited to see what happened. He ignored Ashley and Mario having a stare off.

“You know, there’s going to be a Medieval exhibit at one of the museums uptown. Forget which ones, but they want me to come by and throw some razzle dazzle on it. Maybe if you’re good, we’ll go.”

“Really?”

“Sure! Hey, sugar,” Gast leaned over and spoke to him like he was speaking to a child, trying to distract him, “how about you go to my bedroom and hang out with Lo Lo. I bet he could use the company.”

Maybe it was the idea that Thor was leaving that finally made it click in Ashley’s mind that she was in trouble. “Hey, he and I were talkin’!”

Thor was slowly already moving to the bedroom, however. There was still a morbid curiosity that made him want to turn back as Ashley called after him and Mario shouted her down. There was a human emotion to turn around and take one last solid look at what had been a friend and occasional ally. But if he looked back, would he still be good? No, it was better to be good and do as Grandmaster suggested.

The bedroom was large with a king sized bed and huge television built into the wall. Loki was laying on the bed in one of Gast’s robes, watching a period piece half-heartedly. He brightened though when Thor entered.

“Hey, how long have you been back?”

“Fifteen minutes. I got caught up talking to….someone.”

There was a sound of two people shouting from out in the living room.

“O-oh.”

“Hey, I got something.” He sat down on the bed and handed the books over to Loki. The younger man took them and began to thumb through them, smiling more with each page that turned. “I already got some ideas for sketches, but the information also looks really interesting.”

“Yeah,” the other replied, having to tear his eyes away from a sub chapter on the order of succession.

Thor took one of the books again and thumbed to the page with the hammer and spear. “I was thinking of sketching these two first. Make it look like heraldry.”

“Heraldry! Already talking like a professor!” Loki giggled.

“I was thinking of designing it as a tattoo…for you.”

The younger man blinked at him, taken aback. “For me? A tattoo? I don’t…”

He uncovered Loki’s left thigh. There were faded pink lines and crosshatches. One still looked red and recent. He reached out and touched the cut before the robe was yanked back into place. “I doubt it hasn’t crossed his mind the reason why you-”

“I don’t want to hear about-”

“I understand. I know. I know. Trust me…I can still feel where he touched me on the back the first time… in the shower….. But this,” he waved a hand to the scars under the robe, “This will not help.”

Loki laughed bitterly, “And a tattoo will?”

“Maybe. Think about it like this…he touches us now. It’s okay now, we’re used to it. We’re good. We…enjoy it now.” Admitting it out loud made him want vomit out every last trace of bile. But his brother was showing understanding and sympathy, so he pressed on. “But that first time. That first time was awful. Wouldn’t be easier to….edit what happened?”

“Edit?”

“He didn’t touch you here, Loki.” He gripped the other’s thigh. Green eyes began to tear up and he realized a little belatedly he had gripped too hard. He hoped the cut hadn’t opened and was bleeding in the Grandmaster’s bed.

“But he di-”

“No. Don’t think like that. Thinking like that makes it harder, doesn’t it? He touched your tattoo.”

“My-”

“Yes, your tattoo. I designed you an amazing tattoo and you have it and that’s what he touched.”

Loki looked at him for a moment with doubt before there was a female scream from the living room. He recoiled, his face looking full of terror. Thor gathered him in his arms and laid them back onto the bed, shushing his noises of distress. He found the remote and switched the television to something else, a random cartoon show. He turned the volume up and rocked the younger gently.

A few hours later, when Grandmaster would return, he would find his boys with the television still on to cartoons. Loki would be asleep using the robe as part blanket part teddy bear and Thor would be drawing the first draft of Loki’s new tattoo.

~2019~

“I know it’s stupid, and I never realized how much he took it to heart, but he was happy when I finally got it done. We saved so much money to get it,” Thor looked nostalgic for a moment.

“What happened to Ashley?” Tony asked, writing down a few things on his notepad.

“Well, once her hair grew back and her fingers healed, I think Mario sent her to one of the brotels. I mean,” he shrugged, “it was either that or she’s fish food.”

It was the casualness of how it was said that haunted Val for days after that.

#thorki #frostmaster #thorloki #thor #loki #GrandthorkiB #sfw #fic #cw noncon implied #cw self harm #cw mental illness #playthings #submission #playthings part19

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luckywildrover · 6 years ago

Text

ABOUT

Name: Jamie Murphy

Alias: Rover (or ‘Lucky Rover’)

Birthday: July 10th, 1992

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Job: IT Specialist // Face and Brains of LuckyWildRover, a large social media channel that predominantly focuses on video content. However, since the latter is linked to the online persona, it’s not common knowledge.

Skills: Can quickly learn how to use computer programs, coding. Parkour and good agility. Has a strong, accurate gut feeling

Struggles: Has unharnessed electrical powers: will give static shocks when stressed, and has shot out electricity when overwhelmed with an emotion. Photosensitivity: has to wear special glasses to prevent him from getting eye strain or headaches while surrounded by artificial lights.

Distinguishing features: Large lightning scar on his back, stretching from his right shoulder, down his spine, to his left hip. It would give a faint glow when his electricity is active, but it’s only noticed when the scar can be seen.

Positives - Energetic, Optimistic, Friendly, Bubbly

Negatives - Stubborn, Prone to over-work, Can mask own problems,

Jamie Murphy was born and raised in a rural community in Ireland. His family was large and closely-knit, with his family home being built on the land his grandparents owned. There was always something going on, a new adventure to be found in the nearby fields, jobs to do on the farms, games to play with cousins and lessons to be learned.

One of his favourite lessons was when he learned about the Irish culture and traditions. His grandfather was a famous storyteller in the community, and could regale tales of Celtic mythology and local legends with such skill that Jamie would go to bed with images spinning in his mind. He grew up convinced there was more beyond what we could see - the fae were experts in hiding, after all. There was magic hidden everywhere if you looked hard enough! Imagine - a world where a chance encounter could lead to something wonderful and unforgettable! This outward view of looking at the world with curiosity stayed with him, as he graduated with a honours degree in Computer Science and travelled to America to pursue his dreams. Magic might not be a thing, but technology was a magic all its own.

Once there, he moved to the city to catch up with Cormac. Cormac was his cousin, and undoubtedly his closest friend growing up.The two were similar in age and looks to the point of there being a running joke in the family that they were secretly twins. Cormac had moved to America after finishing school and hit it big once he graduated university. He founded a social media channel - LuckyWildRover - that became very popular in a short amount of time. While Jamie didn’t quite understand how it happened, he was happy to spend time with his cousin while settling to life in the city. His own job focused on temporary contract work, so Cormac helped him find his feet in a little rented space.

It was a strange life, but Jamie couldn’t complain. He was happy, had a sense of security, and had good company. Life was starting to turn into something good, but this is only the start of the story.

A late-night walk home turned into a threat when a man approached him. His hood was up, and there was no trace of a face underneath. Even when the light should have given a hint, it was like the stranger was made of shadows. A knife was pulled out as the stranger pounced. Jamie’s training in parkour meant his reflexes were sharp, and he dodge the initial attack and run. He hadn’t gotten far before he was grabbed from behind and slammed into an electrical box. The knife was plunged into his shoulder with such force that it tore through and damaged the electrical box. A powerful surge of electricity shot through Jamie’s body, and the force of the knife being pulled out of his body had him drop like lead to the ground. He watched the other raise his knife again with fearful eyes… But a third figure approached.

“You have failed your task,” the third said to the attacker, “This is not who we want.” Without so much as an apology, the pair walked out of sight as Jamie passed out.

He woke up in hospital, with one arm bound in a sling and an IV drip attached to his other arm. Cormac had been pacing the length and breadth of the ward, relief as clear as day as he hurried over. However, it switched to panic as Jamie attempted to explain what happened to him. At that moment, it was decided that Jamie would be hired by Cormac while his arm recovered.

The following months found Jamie in a rather unusual setting. Not only was he going through a slow recovery process and adjusting to a new job, he also was adjusting to being more prone to static shocks and seeing little sparks shoot out of his hands. All he could hope was learning the ropes of the LuckyWildRover channel would be easy. Thanks to social media, he had an idea of how the life of someone like Cormac ought to work… Except it didn’t apply. Despite his face being on the camera and the channel’s focus on him, very little of Cormac himself was known. Fans, and even those who worked for and with him, only knew Cormac by Rover, his screen name. No video update mentioned Jamie being around or what happened. Even Jamie’s joke of the two doing a ‘spot the difference’ video between the nearly identical cousins was shot down. “Everything runs as it ought to, Jamie. No better way to do it”. Despite this, the pair worked rather well together, and the arrangements that had been set up continued long after the doctor gave Jamie the all-clear. While he did have some small jobs here and there, Jamie’ primary job was to be someone Cormac could bounce ideas off while he worked, and help out where he could. He had a chance to learn how to set videos up, how to prepare a script if it was needed, how the system worked to record screens, video game footage, whatever might be required. But when Jamie asked why he was learning all of this, Cormac shrugged and admitted that it was nice to talk to someone he knew about his job, rather than being known as just the stage name. The joke of Jamie being the substitute while Cormac went on a sneaky holiday didn’t go down so well.

This continued for a year, until one night Jamie had spent the night playing video games and chatting with his cousin in the latter’s house. He crashed on the couch, and woke up the next morning to discover that Cormac had vanished from existence.

Not in a ‘he fled the country’ manner, but more so that Cormac had literally been erased from existence. In a panic, he searched the entire house, the recording setup at the bottom of the garden, all the familiar settings, but to no avail. It was only when Jamie knocked a childhood photo while scrambling to find the phone did he realise this wasn’t a matter for the police. It was a photo taken at their grandparents’ 40th wedding anniversary, where all the cousins were crammed into the tiny sitting room for a photo. Even though the photo was ten years old, Cormac wasn’t there. He had stood beside Jamie that day. Any photo Jamie had was intact, but all other traces of the streamer vanished. Online social media statuses didn’t include him in the family groups, photos had him absent… It was like he was never there.

For two days, Jamie was at a loss, mourning the disappearance of a man no one could remember. But why could he remember? What happened? It was like the stories his grandfather had told them back in rural Ireland, where people would make a mistake and be vanished away by something like the fae. It seemed so improbable, but it was all his frantic mind could conclude.

Then… A phone call.

The editor of LuckyWildRover called, wondering where Rover was and if Jamie knew anything. At first, he was delighted that someone remembered, but the joy sunk to his stomach when he remembered the editor only knew the channel persona. The mood quickly flipped as he learned that fans were asking about Rover, wondering why the streamer had disappeared.

All at once, Jamie realised that Cormac’s strange approach to business was deliberate. If there was magic afoot which erased his identity, his legacy would remain since the channel wasn’t about Cormac. He promised he’d look into getting an update, and hurried back to the studio at the bottom of the garden. A proper search of the desk revealed a notebook addressed to Jamie.

“If you’re reading this, things have gone to shit. Everything runs as it ought to, and no one can know what happened to me. I’m sure you understand why I can’t tell you what’s happening, but you need to keep this going. Everything you’ve learned was for this, everything you need to help you is here. All I’ve worked for is my loophole. I’ve made sure everything I own also has your name attached to it. Don’t let it vanish like I did. Rover.”

The channel and the house were all Jamie had left of his cousin, and he would be damned if he’d let it all disappear. Until he figured out a way to bring his cousin back, he’d have to man the channel and try to find answers.

Everything runs as it ought to. No better way to do it.

This is Rover. Welcome to the show.

#roverinfo

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mywinestainedheart · 6 years ago

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Depression, Anxiety and … Cigarettes?

I’m not a smoker.

I know this because I take three drags then let it burn to the butt between my fingers. Sometimes it dies before I even take those three drags because I’m not pulling hard enough. Other times I put it out myself and get back to that same stick a week later.

I hate the taste. I usually eat something or wash my mouth out with toothpaste to get rid of it. I hate the smell. I wash my hands three times, toss my jerseys into the washing machine and hang my head over the bathtub for a conditioner-rinse to douse all traces of the scent.

I’m not a smoker.

What I am is a heartbroken, social media stalking, recently-diagnosed-with-depression twenty-eight year old woman trying to quell the anxiety she’s, apparently, been living with since her teenage years. Childhood bullying and molestation sob-stories aside, I always knew there was something functionally wrong with me.

Online descriptions of depression will detail a broad list of symptoms that essentially claim everyone in the world to be depressed. Sleep disorderliness, apathy, agitation, lack of concentration, poor appetite etc., etc. By that standard, my whole first year class at uni was depressed, so I never thought much of it. Besides, this would happen in bouts. It was never consistent. I’d experience an odd wave of anxiety that would come out of nowhere, but hang out with my smoker friends and feel fine for the next five to ten minutes. The next day, that anxiety might even be gone. I would have breakdowns and cry about feeling ugly, vapid and worthless, then eventually sober to no sense of feelings at all. I tend to overthink and get angry very easily. Someone cutting me off in traffic can have me ruminating over it for the rest of the day. I prefer to keep to myself, yet I’m constantly seeking distractions. In childhood it was imaginary worlds through Barbie dolls, in adulthood it was sex. Happiness would come and go, but pessimistic thoughts about myself, my life and my chances of finding love in a partner the way it seemed so easy for all my prettier friends were an ever-present influence on my psyche.

People will tell you “just snap out of it”, “think positive”, “thoughts become things” and, my personal favourite, “choose to be happy”. Well, gee! I never thought of that, clueless Life Orientation teacher who has probably never stepped out of her comfort zone within the northern suburbs of Johannesburg. Imma just wake up tomorrow and tell myself to be in a better mood.

I had learned to exist in this way: Feeling empty and, fittingly, not having a name for it. Feeling sad and not having a reason for it. Overthinking and comparing myself to every girl who walked into the room because I believed that everyone else could see how much lesser than I was compared to her too. I would come up after brushing my teeth to stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and wonder what it would be like to just not exist anymore.

We used to live in an upmarket housing complex in Johannesburg. People who lived in this area are usually well off. They aren’t thought to have problems, and yet, we had a neighbour whose husband shot himself in the complex park. Years later, I heard of a former high school classmate of mine who shot himself in the middle of the street in the same area.

It got me thinking: People who are only occasionally sad, like me, don’t frequently envy people who had the gall to commit suicide, do they?

The first time I went to a psychiatrist was because I broke down in front of my mother the night before. My heart was bleeding from a breakup I hated that I was going through. This man insisted that I “didn’t deserve him”, but the twenty-four-year-old yuppie he used to go to school with, for some reason, did. He picked her over me and he’s happy with his choice. Put that on top of an entire existence of feeling lesser than, and I realised I was a ticking timebomb.

I was toying with the idea of suicide and noticed that the only thing holding me back was a fear of the unknown.

These thoughts are not new, by the way. I’d been having them since childhood. The one I entertained the most was standing behind the kitchen door with a knife to my chest, so that when someone swung the door open, the blade would push through my ribcage. Obviously, this would not be as simple in execution, but I was nine and it was a fantasy. Give me a break.

Upon hearing that I was thinking of killing myself, my mother chortled and told me “you’re behaving like a teenager”. That response would be the number one reason I have never spoken about my deeper feelings with my mom before this. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to love, it was that she didn’t understand that someone like me required a different type of love. A child might not say so because they themselves don’t know what it is, but there will always be subtle signs of a mood disorder. In hindsight, I’d displayed a number of them, but I was dismissed as being anti-social, sullen or attention-seeking.

“I’m just so tired,” I remember saying, choking on my own tears.

“Of what?” My mother demanded. She couldn’t understand what I could possibly be talking about. You’re only twenty-eight, you have a roof over your head and both parents that love you. You have a job. We’ve given you a car. You have freedom. You have friends. What on earth could have you crying like the world was coming to an end?

“Everything,” I said. Because that was the truth. I was tired of everything. I was tired of waking up every morning and remembering that the man I loved had chosen someone else over me. I was tired of driving for an hour every day to get into town, passing everything that reminded me of him and the breakup (including him and his new girlfriend in the middle of traffic). I was tired of going to a job that was adding nothing to my career, tired of budgeting a pathetic salary. Tired of waiting on my father and his promises that he was setting me up on a different career path, tired of eating the same food everyday (if I even remembered to eat). Tired of smoking cigarettes with my cousins cause I felt like if I was failing this badly at life then I may as well smoke up and hope for cancer, and I was absolutely exhausted with the idea that I had lost my twenty-four-year-old niece; a bodacious lover of life who’d existed on a seemingly never-ending vibration of confidence and positivity, to a senseless car accident, but here I was, still breathing.

Someone who deserved life was cemented in the ground. I woke up every morning wishing we could trade places.

The psychiatrist let me talk for a few minutes before diagnosing me as depressed and suicidal. Considering multiple factors and incidences I’d described in session, she said the depression has been there my whole life and that my break up was the lit cigarette that rolled too close to the leaky-gas pipe in my identity, causing this implosion.

Note, I’m not blaming my ex for my mental instability. How could he have known if I didn’t know? I’d had my suspicions, but, like my mother; telling him would have likely amounted to him (initially) dismissing me as being dramatic. What he saw as a “crazy” display of raw insecurity was probably the starter flames of this inferno. Again, not his fault, but he was certainly a contributor, and I find myself struggling not to resent him for that. But that’s a blog post for another time.

The psychiatrist prescribes me anti-depressants, some other drug that causes drowsiness, and orders to me to eight months of therapy with a nice woman she recommends in the area I live now. All I’m hearing is money, money and more money. I can’t afford any of this on what I make, and my dad is a businessman whose entire income is dependent on deals. Sometimes we have more money than we know what to do with, other times we’re so broke that there’s a negotiation between toilet paper and breakfast cereal. At twenty-eight, I’m officially jaded with the financial instability I grew up in, so I dismiss the idea of therapy entirely. Why start something only to stop because we can’t afford it anymore? Besides, I’d apparently been living with this raging beast my whole life. Surely, we could find a way to co-exist once again? Like Venom and Eddie Brock.

I say thanks but no thanks to the medication and go home with a mother who suddenly has a whole new understanding of me. She’s attentive when she talks now, and says ‘I love you’ before she hangs up the phone. Confessing my diagnosis to my father shouldn’t have felt embarrassing, but it did. I hated that he might now see me as weak. I was the one child he didn’t have to worry about. I had a sassy attitude and a smart mouth. I was assertive in my speech and tolerated no bullshit. I could hold my own against anyone, and I knew he was proud of me for that. How would he perceive me after I admitted that I’m not as strong as I pretend to be?

The truth? No different. I was still his daughter. The only change I noticed is that he looks at me when he talks to me (more attentive, like my mother) and makes a point of using my family nickname when he says good morning, hello or goodbye. He’s also trying harder to make sure his planned career path for me falls into place, but I’m no longer holding my breath.

As for me and my revelation of my diagnosis? Like I said, I always knew that there was something functionally wrong with me. I just have a name for it now. I’m still battling with the ideas of death and how I would do it. The running fantasy now is one I usually entertain before bed about slitting my wrists and sliding into a bathtub. Morbid, I know, but it’s the only way I can seem to find sleep these days: Thinking of no longer existing helps me transition into a state where I no longer exist for a little while. I’m not about to slit my wrists any time soon (besides, my pain threshold has a limit. If I were going to kill myself I wouldn’t pick a method quite so agonising and messy), but I recognise that these are not healthy thought processes. I do think I need therapy. After all, you have to learn how to love yourself before anyone else can love you and all that, right? I want to overcome this. I want to see progression in my life and my career. I don’t want my ex to believe he dodged a stagnant bullet the next time he bumps into me—or give him the satisfaction of knowing he was the catalyst of my failure.

I want to be happy.

So as I take my third drag of my last cigarette of 2019, I pray to a Deity I have a shaky belief in and tell myself that this is my rock bottom. It can’t possibly get any worse from here.

Or can it?

I suppose only my next move, and time, will tell.

#Depression Anxiety MentalHealth Scared Heartbroken

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gigilberry-wips · 6 years ago

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20 Facts About Charlotte (and family) That The Readers Will Not Be Given In The Story

So here I am trying to organize my thoughts and do some character building in order to answer some questions about my oc that someone was very nice to ask and which I still need to come up with answers for, carry on with your business don’t mind me

(for those who’re sticking around to read this, a warning: this is long as heck)

1. Charlie was known as that kid who’d always be full of questions and giving the adults a run for their money “Why do crocodiles have big noses?” “Where does the moon go?” “Why don’t humans have claws? Aren’t they more useful than fingernails?” “Why do people sleep?” “Why are we supposed to do this? Why can’t we do that?” “Why can’t we ask questions? How would anyone learn things if they don’t ask questions??”

2. In her family she’s closest to her older brother. She doesn’t always share her concerns with him but when she comes to him with her thoughts and questions she trusts his words.

3. One time she read in a book where a meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup was described so delectably that for one entire month she insisted on having that at least once a day (it’s like what happened with me and when I read about the ‘bread and butterflies’ from “Through The Looking Glass” and now if anyone ever offered me a towering stack of heavily buttered toast with an ocean of horrifically sugary milk tea I swear I will devour the whole thing no hesitation). She stopped being so vocally fussed with them after that but she never really got over it. So if, whenever she might see either one of those two (or both!!) in the wilds, be it in person or on television or if she just catches the smell of it, and if you happen to be looking at her already then you just might catch her making The. Biggest. Heart Eyes. Like the love of her life has appeared before her and she is going to run into their arms and both of them will head off into the sunset.

4. Her favorite things to get on Christmas and her birthday are “fun science projects for kids”, or puzzle and strategy games, or books that had riddles, secret codes, recipes, more experiments, and especially made-up languages in them. She’s filled entire notebooks with the languages that she’s learnt from books, from Morse Code to Tolkien elvish, and she can easily recall many of them from memory. She knows a lot of the most common kinds of numerical puzzles and algorithms that have been used, and partially due to that and partially because of how good she is in math she frequently makes computer related jokes about herself.

5. Charlie’s brother is doing an internship at a nearby aerospace museum and planetarium. He’s currently studying for a degree in astronomy and engineering and works as one of the technicians there, and about once a month Charlie’s family goes to visit and have a picnic nearby and spend the day there. Since it’s so close, her brother is able to go from home and usually drops her and her friends off to school in the mornings in his old, beat-up car because he’s a good brother and he loves his sister.

6. One time when Charlotte was little (about 7-8) she was loaned a textbook from her school about famous people that she had to do her homework from. Her brother caught her scribbling in it with a pencil one time and found out that she was replacing all the pronouns of the historical figures in it (Mr. Miss Alexander Graham Bell, he she invented, Mr. Miss Albert Einstein, he she discovered, etc.).

(She didn’t really have the words for it back then but essentially she was doing this because all of these Oh So Important People Of History(TM) Who Did Oh So Important Things(TM) were different from her and she was very strongly aware of that and it made her really, really angry. She thought that if the only thing anyone was ever going to teach her was White Man History(TM) and that’s the only thing that ever existed since the dawn of time and that’s the only thing she’d ever learn then she wasn’t just gonna sit there and swallow that like the rest of her classmates, thank you.)

The next day he bought her a book about famous women in history from all around the world. She read it cover to cover and has kept that book with her to this very day. It’s got pictures like this in it too :D -

[image description] Three women (left to right: Indian, Japanese, and Syrian) who graduated from the Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania in 1886

This is also one of the reasons why she likes Star Trek so much, and why she wants to learn so many languages.

[Edit: if anyone’s wondering, her brother’s the one who erased the pencil marks from her textbook. He told her since she’s the one who did it then she should be the one to remove it. But she refused to do it and she did not say sorry either. He knew she’d get in trouble if he told his parents or anyone about it, or if it was left alone, so he sat down with an eraser and methodically went through the book with it himself.

Charlie neither offered to help nor stopped him (she could’ve if she’d wanted to, she had cheeto crumbs on her fingers and she could’ve smeared them in the book or poked her brother with them but she didn’t); she just attached herself to his side and quietly glared because that textbook is Enemy #1 and no one should touch it as his hand patiently went through page after page and removed all traces of her vandalism]

7. Charlie loves her hair. When she was little one of her favorite shows was My Little Pony (don’t tell anyone but she still has a soft spot for it) and she wanted to have bright, colorful hair just like the other ponies did. One of her cousins was very fashion savvy and when she told her this, her cousin showed her all the fun hairstyles she could do with her own hair instead. She’s been growing out her hair ever since. Now Charlie and her brother are Long Hair Siblings(TM). :D

8. On the other hand, Charlie despises make up. When she was little she noticed that almost the only people that were on make up advertisements were white women, so in her head she thought that meant those pretty women owned the make up companies, right? Well, she looked it up and learned that the people who really owned the companies were not those women but instead ugly old men and that was when she came to the conclusion that advertisements are all full of lies and not to be trusted (also she learnt later that silicone rubber is used in making water proof mascara and her brain is forever scarred with that knowledge and now so is yours :DD)

9. When she got her first loose tooth she heard about the tooth fairy and how she takes teeth and leaves money. So her natural course of action was to look up the price of human teeth online. Then she took the case up with her father and told him all about her findings and how the tooth fairy was basically scamming everybody and should not be trusted. He found this entertaining enough that the morning after she lost her tooth she found a 2 dollar bill under her pillow. She kept it away safely and once she had enough “tooth money” she bought a whole set of glitter gel pens with it.

10. The number of times Charlie’s gone to a party can be counted on one hand, and that’s only because she was forced to go. One such house she’s frequented is one of her aunt’s and after all these years the only name she knows from there is the cat’s, whose name is Toast but she thought that was boring so in her head she renamed her as Clementine. She hasn’t told anyone else that she’s never learnt anyone else’s name but she has the feeling her brother knows.

11. She loves cats. She loves them so much. She was always such a solemn and serious little girl but the moment she saw a cat it’s like watching a toddler wandering after a butterfly. Abso-lutely adorable. She has these knitted cat socks and 2 cat plushies (one more worn than the other) and when she was 11 her parents let her and her brother adopt an orange kitten and she got to name it Tigger after one of her favorite childhood characters. In her friend group there are so many cat puns surrounding her. So many. (half of them are her own btw)

12. Charlotte is bisexual. I remember reading somewhere that it’s unrealistic to just have one lgbt kid all by their lonesome in any story worth telling and I agreed with that. I’ve also heard about the “disaster bisexual” troupe. In my cast of characters the one that fits it the most is Josie, so me being myself I flipped that troupe and instead made the most calm and collected one the bisexual kid (so instead of a disaster bisexual(TM) what we have is a distinguished bisexual(TM), thank you and good night). It’s not mentioned in the story because this story is told from Laila’s point of view and Charlie hasn’t told anyone about her sexuality, not her friends, not her family, not anyone. She learnt about it earlier than Laila did (when she was 13), but like it’s said in her intro she’s a very cautious and private person and it’ll take her a long time to think about something so personal openly let alone talk about it with anyone. I want to talk about this more in a separate post, and I’ve got a one shot planned that’ll focus on this too.

(Edit: so it turns out Charlie is in fact a bit of a disaster human and when I told her she comes off as smart and polished and good at judging people’s intentions she turned around and told me she also hisses under her breath at things she doesn’t like, lives in her room like it’s one giant nest, and sometimes forgets to eat and i find it too annoying to argue with my strong willed daughter so here we are goddamn)

13. For Charlie, feelings are ... awkward. They’re messy and confusing, and when she’s feeling too many things she needs a lot of alone time to sort through them and understand them. It’s not that she doesn’t feel anything, it’s just that she can’t usually identify what she feels from the whirlwind in her head in any proper way. And when people need comforting she doesn’t feel like she’s the best person for the job. But that’s not going to stop her from trying to help; if one of her friends comes to her with a problem then she’s going to help them find logical solutions to those problems. She knows her strengths and she tries her best to use them.

14. She finds it hard to cry. Even when she’s feeling too many things and she really wants to cry (because she thinks maybe that’ll help her, at least it’s scientifically proven to help) the tears won’t always come. Aside from early childhood, she can count on one hand the number of times she’s cried, and half of them are from when she was exhausted or shocked with sudden feelings. The other times feel random to her and often at odds with each other. (She can’t force herself to cry, she can’t fake her own emotions.)

15. One of the few times she remembers crying was the first time she saw the Aurora Borealis. She saw it in a movie theater, not in person, but to her it was like seeing the real thing. She was little at the time and when she saw it she was just - she was overwhelmed. She was overwhelmed with so many feelings, like happiness and beauty and wonderment. When they came out of the theater and her family saw her still crying they all started freaking out, until she tried to explain it to them (she was really choked up but she tried). She remembered describing it something like, “It’s like seeing music ... Mama, I think I saw music.” she counts this as the one time she expressed her words so artistically she doesn’t know how but she did. it was also one of those rare times she was envious of artistic people for being able to express human emotions so well (there’s that part in The Tale of Despereaux when he said that he “heard honey” when what he’d really heard was music that comes to my mind). Later, she was told what the lights were called and she decided then and there that if she ever had a daughter then she’d name her Aurora (no papa, not from Sleeping Beauty, this is different!). It was also around this time that she really got into learning about space.

16. Charlie’s a night owl. She loves being awake when all the world is asleep. She loves the silence and the clarity she feels in her thoughts when there is no one else around.

17. Charlotte has an “all things pink and glitter” obsession that she never quite grew out of and never really plans to. Her room is pink, her glasses are pink, her stationary is pink, most of her clothes are pink, and her favorite Care Bear and My Little Pony characters are also pink.

18. She got her glasses when she was around 10, and she even got to choose them herself. :D The sad thing was that she was only one of 2 kids in her grade who had glasses and the other one was who she considered to be an annoying prat, but the good news was that at least 3 girls in her year got braces and one of them was nice and called her glasses pretty and also she was the only one who’d done her braces sparkly so there.

19. Most her life she never had close friends. She was always considered too smart and aloof for them. She had her nose stuck in books and she always got the best grades in her year. She was also really good at chess and strategy games and not to brag but she’s even one a few awards for this and this quality was always something that alarmed and frustrated people to no end (read: boys who wanted to prank her and various arrogant, would-be bullies) when she would know all sorts of things about them that they never remembered telling her. What they didn’t know was that she gathered all that information just from observing them and listening to what they said. She’s a strategist and a planner and she delights in knowing more than everybody else, making it so that when she wasn’t purposefully faded into the background, she came off as intimidating and scary, and rightly so. You cross her or try to pull any nonsense around her and she’ll make you regret it.

20. Contrary to what I feel might be predictable for her, it wasn’t Hailey (the friendly and cheerful one) or Josie (the smart and sociable one) that pulled Charlie into Laila’s friend group, but instead it was Laila herself. Charlie might not be good when it comes to feelings, both hers and other people’s, but she’s an excellent judge of character. She doesn’t talk to her peers because she’s categorized them as not being her “type”. She sees them and thinks they’re silly and petty and loud and annoying. She gets impatient with how childish and flighty and apparently short of memory they are, how they haven’t yet decided what they want with their life, how they’re all sooooo fussed about what other people want them to be and how they haven’t made up their minds about who they want to be. Dealing with them is boring and somehow oddly exhausting, so she doesn’t waste her time with them.

She and Laila met through circumstance. And what she immediately got from Laila was that she was someone who was filled with something akin to gentle warmth. She saw someone who didn’t judge or expect things from her. Someone who didn’t raise her hackles or crowd her space, both physically and mentally. She saw a person who didn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t, who didn’t really have anything to hide. Most of all, she saw in Laila someone who went about her day with honesty and good will in her actions towards others, who was genuine and caring. Those are things she’s not often found in other people, no matter their age. It’s something that she’s come to appreciate and respect in the rare, rare instances when she does find it. It took a while, but as she got to know Laila and her other friends better and hung out with them more often, she saw that she found a place where she felt like she could breathe.

#tfal: charlie #thrown for a loop #important #character building #oomph #how many hours did i spend on this?#my brain is mush #and i don't even care lol #i've had all these thoughts spinning around in my head for so many weeks now #so like not to be dramatic but i felt like i would l i t e r a l l y c o m b u s t if i didn't get all of this down in print #this was cathartic #and now i don't want to do any thinking for the rest of this evening #(btw the origin of this post is one friendly writer i know and i hope she knows this is all because of her)#aside from that i have one burning question #DO I TAG PEOPLE IN THINGS LIKE THIS? WOULD PEOPLE BE HAPPY TO SEE THINGS LIKE THIS??#I DON'T KNOW AND I'M WAY BEHIND IN FINDING OUT #heck #i really need to make that tagging post

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not-just-any-fangirl · 7 years ago

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I just watched my friend twerk aggressively during just dance and it reminded me of your deaf!Natsu au for some reason

Twerk and Grind

Word Count; 1795

A/N; I’m sorry this took so long to get to but!! It’s here!! And I’m done school! for now lmao

So this started out in one way and then… turned into… soft grinding?? sexy party time?? Lucy’s gonna be gross and fuck on a dudes bed like true college trash? Natsu doesn’t give a shit either way lmao

Also! I’ve been reading up more on how to write ASL so hopefully that will be coing across in future pieces! I’ll prob never stop learning how to better convey Natsu’s story and the experience of deaf people/those around them, and anything y’all can say is a huge help

All of my content about Deaf Natsu can be found under the deaf natsu au tag, and the main writing pieces under deaf!natsu

Lucy stood next to Natsu, her pink lemonade cooler in one hand and a red solo cup of whatever horrible beer mix was cheapest at the liquor store the men’s soccer team had raided for their ‘We Made It To The First Round Of Finals Which Frankly No One Expected’ house party in the other. Natsu dropped the arms he had crossed over his chest at Lucy’s approach, not looking at her even as he pulled her into his side. Not that Lucy could blame him, seeing as how she too was unable to tear away from the scene before her.

It had that kind of car-wreck feeling, the one with no ambulances but pieces of blue metal four lanes across so that people didn’t feel as bad gawking at it. It also had the same number of cell phones out to record it and post it online to last until one world leader pissed off another equally crazy one on Twitter and sent them all into a nuclear winter, but that just might be Lucy’s Current Politics 400 and the three jello shots she had done with Cana in the kitchen a half hour ago talking.

“What in God’s name is happening here,” Lucy said flatly. Natsu took his beer from Lucy and sipped it, head cocked in confusion as he continued to watch.

Cobra looked at her from the corner of his eye from her other side, answering her kinda-serious question just as tonelessly.

“Loke challenged Gray to a dance contest and then this happened.”

“Okay, but why is Juvia twerking?”

“You’re the one who brought her to a frat party,” Cobra shrugged, as unhelpful as ever.

“As if I would come to Nick’s party without at least seven people to act as a buffer,” Lucy scoffed. Lucy had reluctantly allowed the lacrosse girls to drag her out tonight, despite the fact that Nick, the captain of the men’s soccer team, was the one hosting it. And had hit on Lucy everytime they crossed paths, sometimes in front of Natsu.

So she brought a crowd, both to piss him off and keep him at arms length. Not that most of the people that had come with Lucy had been invited, but at this point it wasn’t a surprise to see Lucy amidst a swarm of loud and energetic college students. “Why are you here anyway, don’t you always say you’d rather put your head in a viper’s mouth than go to a jock frat?”

“Laxus begged me to, one of the dicks in his advanced electrical physics class is on the team.” Cobra said. Lucy nodded like she believed him, taking a sip of her drink.

Cobra growled something under his breath before he slipped away, leaving Lucy to consider all the ways she could stop the slowly worsening dancing in front of her. Juvia was white-girl-wasted, and was dancing like one. Which, to be fair, she was as well as Lucy. Levy was supposed to be watching her, but seeing as how she was the permanent DD/babysitter Lucy could understand not dealing with a drunk Juvia trying to impress a drunk Gray. Who was no longer in the room.

She felt the weight of Natsu’s gaze on the side of her face, turning to him with a questioning look. “She is not even on the beat.” he signed, eyebrows pinched and more confused than anything. “I can dance on the beat and I have no hearing.”

Lucy choked on her sip, whining as the fizz and vodka of her drink burned her nose. Natsu cackled, head thrown back at Lucy’s pain. She dug her elbow into his side sharply, returning the glaring pout he shot her. Rolling her eyes, Lucy gave him a gentler elbow in a different spot, allowing Natsu to pull her closer to his chest.

“We should stop this,” Lucy signed, gesturing in the general vicinity of where Juvia was dancing with her hands on her knees, hair half covering her flushed face, hips moving in what Lucy thought was supposed to be twerking. It wasn’t that Juvia was flat, it was just that she had all the coordination of a newborn deer when she wasn’t in the water.

“We should,” Natsu agreed, making absolutely no movement to do any such thing.

“Or…” Lucy let her hand waver in the air from side to side, leaning more towards the door.

“Gray can handle it,” Natsu smiled at her, bright and cheery as he shook a tightly closed fist before making a releasing motion. Lucy ignored the direct translation of one of Natsu’s many names for Gray -cold jack off. They wandered away from the crowd just in time to see Erza step into the circle and through an entire blanket over Juvia, the music changing to a pop song rather than the ten minute EDM one that Lucy was pretty sure had been put on repeat.

Lucy smiled and waved at people she knew as they walked through the house, giggling and tapping the neck of her bottle with one her goalie, who was sitting on the lap of the redheaded scorekeeper with the eyebrow piercing and bold lipstick choices. Lucy wondered how long the coffee brown make-up would take to wash off, or if the team would be teasing Kiki about it during tomorrow’s afternoon practice.

She let Natsu lead them, her head already a little spinny and her feet not working as well as they should be. Looked like those shots were hitting full force now. They passed through the patio/shack room off the kitchen, Natsu grunting a nod at Laxus who was sitting with Freed, Bixlow, Cobra, and several people she didn’t know the names off, a couple blunts and a pipe being passed around the group. She crinkled her nose at the smell of pot, strong in the smaller room. She stuck her tongue out at Cobra’s smirk and held her middle finger behind her back at her stoner cousin as she followed Natsu up the steps that led to the second floor.

Lucy tripped over the last step, giggling as she fell into Natsu’s chest. She beamed under his fond look, wrapping her arm around his waist and falling into step beside him. Big crowds could get a bit much for Natsu, and Lucy loved that he always wanted to bring her with him when he needed to get away.

Lucy raised an eyebrow when Natsu led them into Nick’s room, sitting on the bed a sober Lucy couldn’t be payed to touch. Her eyebrows rose higher when Natsu locked the door, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other as she waited for Natsu to turn to her.

“Figured we could cock block that dick and get away from the party at the same time,” Natsu grinned at her, voice low and gravelly and pulling a shiver from Lucy.

“Why’d you wanna get away?”

The words left her before her brain caught them, but almost-drunk Lucy didn’t care. She swung her leg subtly, watching Natsu trace the line of her shin and thigh, his eyes hooded low and a different energy from before making Lucy shiver a second time. He walked the several steps to her, hand warm and rough on her knee. His fingers shifted as he gave her a gentle squeeze, leaving trails of goosebumps in his wake.

“You laughed when I said I could dance,” Natsu murmured, hand leaving her knee to run down her bicep, Lucy allowing him to pull her arm to him, her fingers small in his palm where they settled. He pulled her up, Lucy entranced as Natsu guided her to her feet, and then to the middle of the room. “I wanna show ya how good I can dance.”

“Okay,” Lucy breathed, not really knowing what else to do. The lighting of the room made all of Natsu’s features sharper, piercings glinting in the light from the open window, dark look in his eyes hungry and intoxicating, pink hair wild and dangerous. His hand on her back was heavy, pulling her close to him so their chests touched. Lucy leaned in even closer when his hand dropped low, squeezing her ass as Lucy pushed into his fist. They started to move side to side, swaying with the beat Lucy could feel reverberate through the floorboards and up into her bones. She knew Natsu could feel it too, his lead confident as he moved their hips together. It was lewd and dirty and hot, grinding with Natsu in the dark.

Natsu grinned at her, sharp teeth showing off his smugness as Lucy moved her hands from his chest. She held onto one of his arms, strong bicep and tricep flexing under her fingers and making her mouth water, other holding onto the back of his neck as she pulled herself even closer to him.

“Told ya I could dance,” Natsu purred.

“I like your voice,” Lucy said, lost as she stared into his emerald eyes and felt his body move against hers to the pounding bass and drums of the music. Natsu blinked at the random comment, grin soft as he leaned down and brushed his nose against hers.

“I like your face,” he said, gripping her ass even tighter and leading her against his steady rolls, thick thigh slipping between her own. She kissed him, unable to hold back any longer. The hand on his neck moved higher and pushing against the grain of his spikes, hairs soft between her fingers. His tongue brushed on her lower lip, eagerly moving against her own after she let him in. Natsu pushed into her, holding Lucy tight despite leaning over her, making her hold her weight to stop from falling. Lucy trusted him though, and clung to him as she ground against the growing hardness she felt forming where their hips met.

“You keep this up and I’m gonna have to fuck you in this gross frat house,” Lucy groaned, pulling back and holding Natsu’s wolfish gaze. She bit her lip, whine caught in her throat when Natsu lifted her leg to hook on his hip, crushing them together, all pretense of dancing gone.

“You’re so hot when you dirty talk,” Natsu growled. He picked her up, Lucy squeaking at the sudden lift but quickly readjusting. She claimed Natsu’s mouth in a heated kiss, burying both hands in his hair as he carried her to Nick’s bed. His hand slipped under the short hem of her jean shorts, riding the denim high and tight against her core as he groped her ass.

At least Nick’s bed was going to be getting a decent fuck tonight. Especially since Natsu was a giver in the sack.

#deaf!Natsu #deaf natsu au #nalu #fairy tail #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #cobra #cobraxus #alcohol #drugs #just any writing #requests #Anon #just any answers #this started as a shit post turned smut LMAO #Levy is muslim tbh that's why shes perma dd babysitter #cus she doesn't drink #I'd die for this au btdubs

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amaralanegra · 6 years ago

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Into the Abyss (and back into you)

ao3 link

Chapter 1: First Day

Pairings: A LOT

Warnings: none atm

Summary: After being rescued, child soldier survivor Bucky Barnes tries his hardest to have a normal, ordinary high school life despite the terrors that still haunt him. One day, he receives an email that he thought would never come -- the private investigator he had hired found his mother. He has to make a plan and act quick if he doesn't want to lose her again. Sam Wilson, aspiring therapist, loves his family and his friends. After his best friend Bucky cuts off communication from their friend group, his sister goes missing. A hashtag, a social media movement, a nationwide search. But there's no trace of her. After finishing high school, Bucky contacts him once more, telling him that he knows where to find his sister. With the help of his friends, they all travel throughout the United States to find Sam's sister and Bucky's mother. And perhaps love in the way, too.

A/N: DONT FORGET TO LIKE COMMENT AND SUBSCRIBE

Steve♢ is online

Erik ( ಠ ಠ) is online

Bucky ( ˘-___-) is online

Sammy is online

Steve ♢: first day of school o(*^▽^*)o

Steve ♢: you guys excited?

Erik ( ಠ ಠ): of course

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): i cant wait to finally step into that hellhole we call school

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): and die.

Bucky ( ˘-__-): ^

Sammy: facts

Steve ♢: you guys…

Steve ♢: we only have this year together!

Steve ♢: we gotta enjoy it!

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): oh ill enjoy it alright

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): im always happy whenever i get home from school u know

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): its a good change from the crippling depression i feel whenever i step into those shitty gates of hell

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): did i also mention i get diabetes type fuck-school whenever i enter school

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): its life-threatening steve

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): i could die

Sammy: tick tock then bitch

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): shut up sam

Steve ♢: come ooooon

Steve ♢: you'll be ok! You have me, Sam and Bucky!

Steve ♢: i honestly think this year will be great! Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): yeah

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): i hope so too

Sammy: Alright Steve we'll see you at school

Sammy: I’m about to start driving now

Steve ♢: ok, see you guys! Bucky ( ˘-___-): Oh hey btw

Bucky ( ˘-___-): Don't forget to eat

Bucky ( ˘-___-): You always skip breakfast...

Bucky ( ˘-___-): At least drink orange juice

Bucky ( ˘-___-): That should help a bit

Steve ♢: yep!

Steve ♢: i won’t forget (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ

Bucky ( ˘-___-): Good!

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): gay

Bucky ( ˘-___-): I meant that in the most heterosexual way possible

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): when do you ever

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): remember that time you pulled down Steve’s pants while we were at the pool high af

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): because i do

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): and his ass...

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): it haunts me

Steve ♢: i tend to have that effect on people.

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): i haven’t been able to sleep since then Steve

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): you monster

Bucky ( ˘-___-): Erik hurry up we’re already waiting outside

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): dont you fucking try to change the subject

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): remember that time you pole danced and strip teased when you were drunk out of your mind

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): because i do

Steve ♢: but that happened last month

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): and yet it feels like an eternity

Bucky ( ˘-___-): Why can’t you guys forget the embarrassing shit I do for like once in your lives.

Sammy: cuz it was fucking hilarious thats why LMFAO I think I still have those polaroid pics somewhere

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): n cuz that’s what friends do

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): and apparently for you friendship is also traumatizing me with steves bare ass and your slutty pole dancing

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): i’ve had night terrors ever since

Steve ♢: lol

Bucky ( ˘-___-): Erik. hurry up. before I go in there. and beat you. in the face and ass.

Bucky ( ˘-___-): We’re already late. Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): aw

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): come on you know that my hair takes long

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): shit i should be a model for l'oreal

Sammy: we’re leaving

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): okokokok im going out

Steve ♢: lol be careful

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): we will try

Bucky ( ˘-___-): See you Steve!

Steve ♢: byeee

Steve ♢ is offline

Bucky ( ˘-___-) is offline

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ) is offline

Sammy is offline

“About time,” Bucky says as he reclines in his seat and pulls down his beanie with a huff, almost fully covering his eyebrows. Sam looks at the backseat through the rearview mirror as Erik lazily opens the door and sits on the middle of the backseat with a groan, his black hoodie still pulled up and hiding half his face.

“Sorry.” Erik says, sounding annoyed and not sorry at all. Both boys can hear the loud trap music coming from one bud of his gold earphones while the other hangs low down his neck. He leans back and closes his eyes, already looking drained of energy before the day even starts. “There was a problem.”

Sam starts his car while keeping both of his hands on the steering wheel, “What happened?” he asks.

“Is Valentina okay?” Bucky also asks, peeking at him over his shoulder.

Erik rolls his eyes at him. “The goddamn cat is fine.” He sighs and sinks further into his seat. “Nah. Do y'all remember my cousin?” Erik taps Bucky’s shoulder to make him fully turn around, as though he wants him to see the pain in his eyes as he speaks. “The one in Wakanda? Annoying, quiet, and thinks he’s better than everybody else?”

Bucky wrinkles his nose in confusion and looks to the side as he tries to remember, but comes up empty. He shrugs.

“Ah,” Sam says, nodding. “Yes, I remember you fondly telling us about him.”

“Well,” Erik says, putting extra emphasis on the word by rolling his eyes once again. “He moved here. Has been at my house all summer. And I have to share my room with him.”

Bucky nods in silent understanding and Sam keeps driving in silence, expecting Erik to continue talking about how his life is full of struggles. But instead Erik sits there with his arms crossed, his eyebrows knitted together and his lips forming a pout like a child. Bucky would call him cute, but starting his morning with a black eye isn’t on his to-do list.

“And um,” Bucky starts, uncertainty in his voice. “That's it?”

“That is it.” Erik scoffs, sliding further into his seat. “I don't want to share my room with him. Shit, I don't want to share it with anyone! Both him and my little cousin, Shuri, are here. They are filthy fucking rich, I don’t get why they gotta live with us.”

Bucky frowns and nods, trying to understand his unique situation. Sam instead feels the need to nervously scratch the back of his neck, but he doesn't want to let go of the steering wheel thanks to his road anxiety preventing him from even looking away. They know that Erik’s mom has been in a… feud of sorts with Erik’s paternal uncle. Erik wasn’t too specific of course, but they remember it made him upset enough to cry. And while they know he’s a soft guy under all the tough facade he puts on – he can’t say he doesn’t cry when watching the pet adoption commercials (“they are all alone, and sad, and the music doesn’t help, you assholes! Stop laughing!”) or that he doesn’t sing his heart out to the opening of his favorite anime – they also know that Erik loves his father, and he loves his mother, but one of them is gone and he has been too overprotective over the only one left. Erik’s hatred for his uncle has not stopped growing since that fight with his mom.

Remembering this, both boys feel an ache in their chest for their friend, wanting nothing more but to make him smile again.

Bucky is not much of a touchy person, so when he stretches to place his hand on Erik’s knee and shakes it in silent comfort, it doesn’t go overlooked. Erik smiles at him, and when he looks to the side of Bucky he sees Sam looking at him intensely.

“What?” He spats out on impulse under the sharp scrutiny.

Sam blinks once, twice, and finally he speaks. “You’re a better person than that old man is, you know.” He slowly says in that therapeutic, soothing voice of his, causing Erik to pause. “You’re a better person than your cousin, who didn’t stand up for you or your dad. You're kind, and you care so much. You— you're not afraid to fight for what's right. You’re way better than them, Erik, don’t you forget that, okay?”

Looking at him with wide eyes, Erik then slowly smiles, thankful for his best friend’s words. It might not fix it all, but it helps, even if just a little bit. He will be caught dead before he ever admits that, though, so instead he says ‘that’s kinda gay’ and laughs when Sam tells him to get the hell out of his car.

“We're here anyways!” He yells out, laughter still present in his voice.

Sam frantically locks his car and rushes to catch up with Erik and Bucky as both argue excitedly about an anime episode that streamed the night before. “Can one of y’all speak English, please?” He pushes them apart to be in the middle of them. “Or Patwah? Me kno ou to speak dat at least.”

Erik playfully elbows him and answers him with that smugness his teachers hate. “Amabini anokudlala oko umdlalo, uyazi,” he answers back, which makes Sam smile brightly and whisper ‘alright, okay, alright’ while elbowing him back.

Bucky, though, smiles and just watches their friendly bickering, finally feeling at home. He missed this feeling. He missed them both so much.

Somehow, they're already in front of their lockers, all three of them stopping together in order starting from Bucky to Sam to Erik. In fact, that’s how they met in middle school. They happened to have been assigned lockers right next to each other when school first started; Erik arrived first and mistook his locker for Sam’s, and when Sam got there Erik wouldn’t let him get close to it. They almost got into a fistfight until they both saw Bucky trying to open the locker they were both fighting for.

Of course, after all three of them were sent to the principal's office, they’ve been best friends ever since.

Erik starts to fumble with his lock, reciting the combination under his breath like he always does with important things he has to remember, until he hears Bucky whisper to Sam to turn around and look.

“Okoye! Koko!” The voice of some girl catches their attention. They turn their eyes to the row of lockers in front of them to see Okoye ‘Koko’ Milaje turn to her girlfriend just in time to catch her as she throws herself at her. Her girlfriend, Nakia, excitedly throws her arms around her middle, burying her face in her girlfriend’s chest. She says something that only Okoye can hear because she laughs brightly, leans down, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

Sam smiles at Bucky, who smiles back at him and says “girls” as though that explains everything and turns to focus on opening his locker. From the corner of his eye he quickly realizes that only two people stop to stare at the couple, and only one looks like they’re disgusted… though they don’t do anything about it, instead opting to turn away from them. Good, Sam thinks. He doesn't have the time for that bullshit so early in the morning. He turns to mention it to Erik, and his friend’s expression is not the annoyed one he expected for witnessing the kiss since he says to hate ‘corny romantic bullshit’ (which is a lie, because he once caught him intensely watching a telenovela in the middle of history class) but instead his expression is just one of...pain.

Sam frowns, confused. Pain...?

“So that’s why he’s here…” Erik whispers, looking away from them.

Bucky peeks over his shoulder and turns to Erik while Sam orderly puts his belongings inside his locker, who is still looking at Erik from the corner of his eye. “Who?” Bucky asks.

“Huh?” Erik stops harshly throwing his books inside his locker to look at him askew. He comes back to himself soon enough though, and he quickly closes his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. “No, nothing. I was just talking to myself.”

Both Bucky and Sam look at each other, and suddenly, they feel the need to ask him about it again because the troubled look on their friend’s face bothers them, but the ring of the school bell interrupts before either of them can say anything.

“Well, gotta go.” Erik sighs irritably, slamming his locker door closed. “See y’all later – ah, wait. Both of you have art first period, right? With, uh, Ms. Minako?” He asks.

Sam nods. “Yeah, why?”

“Okay, so, my cousin.” Erik says, adding an eyeroll for extra measure. “He’s coming to our school.” Sam and Bucky both raise their eyebrows in surprise, and Erik nods. “Yeah, he’s gonna come to school here, sadly. For some fucking reason. Anyways, he’s probably going to be late since his dumb ass didn’t wake up on time ‘cuz he was busy moping around and I wasn't going to wait for him. He’s in the same class as y’all, I believe, so if y'all could, you know, show him around… or whatever… I’d be… uh,” he coughs into his fist. “I, uh, I’d appreciate it. Seriously.” His voice turns quieter and softer as he finishes, eyes cast away. He leans from one side to another on his heels like he always does when he’s impatient or nervous.

Bucky raises an eyebrow and decides to tease him. “Hold up,” he quickly leans over him, causing Erik to step back. “You’re asking us for a favor?”

“And does that mean you actually care about your cousin?” Sam asks, wrapping his arm around Erik’s shoulder to join in on teasing him too.

Of course, it’s a trick question. Both Bucky and Sam already know that Erik cares a lot about his family (except for his uncle) and that includes his so called ‘frigid ass cousin’, despite… current events. Erik is simply not an openly affectionate person and he would never admit that he’s not the ‘cold-hearted ass bitch’ he claims to be. He would rather dump all of his anime-inspired clothing than admit to having any sort of normal human feelings whatsoever.

“Fuck off!” He yells, pushing Sam off him as Sam laughs at his little tantrum, and Erik is suddenly thankful that his brown skin masks the heat rising to his cheeks. “Just – will you do it or not?!”

“Sure,” Bucky smiles. “He’s uh, quiet—”

“Full of himself—” Sam adds.

“Aaaand he’s annoying. Not hard to spot.” Erik scoffs.

Sam laughs and waves him goodbye. “Okay, you should go before you’re late.”

The smaller teen nods and turns around to head to his class, the sound of his boot heels echoing in the empty halls. While they walk towards their art class, Sam wonders what kind of person Erik’s cousin is and if he's as much of a jerk as Erik makes him out to be. Is he just as grumpy as Erik? Just as smart? Does he also say what’s on his mind without a filter? Does he smile? Is he just as direct? Does he care as deeply, but doesn’t show it? Is he just as soft when he wants to be?

… And is he straight?

“Good morning, Sam! Hello, James!” Ms. Minako welcomes them as they enter her room. “You guys are late.” She’s sitting on the same table as the rest of the students there, with a bunch of different colorful objects laid on it.

“Good morning, ma’am.” Sam greets her, Bucky greeting her too with a wave of his own as they make their way to the farthest seats at the other end of the table. Sam sets his backpack to his right with a pleased hum, while his best friend sits to his left and he takes comfort in the fact that nobody will sit by his right side. There’s plenty of other empty seats around so maybe he’ll have some peace of mind this year (last year he had the misfortune of being seated next to Tony fucking Stark). Besides, it’s not like anyone would decide to sit next to Bucky either, because last year the girl that did so ended up being his designated art partner… and let’s just say… not that many people can handle Bucky’s emotional outbursts. So, it’s a win-win that he gets to be with his best friend. Bucky can be a little weird, he won’t lie. But he knows his friend, he knows who he is, he knows his life and he knows what really happened during those years (news media be damned), so he's more than happy to deal with this so called 'trouble kid’ of the school. They don't know him like he does.

Ms. Minako checks them off the attendance list with a smile and counts the class again. It seems there’s students missing, judging from her confused face and her nervous pencil tapping. “Well, I guess most of you are here. Only two students are absent—”

As if on cue there’s a knock on the door, suddenly halting all talk.

“Oh! Must be the new student!” Ms. Minako declares cheerfully. Sam twists anxiously in his seat, leaning over to see who it is. Is it him…? “Open the door for him, please.”

One of the students next to her stands up and opens the door, returning to her seat quietly. From his spot, Sam can see him stride in.

The first thing he notices is his hair, his short fro perfectly shaped and adorning his face like a crown. His clothes look like they are from a quality brand -- elegant, but simple. Sam’s eyes go back up to his face and he finds warm brown eyes staring right back at him. He jumps slightly in his seat and feels his face warm up at getting caught staring, but Erik’s cousin doesn’t seem to mind because he smiles instead, winking at Sam with a tilt of his head.

Sam swiftly turns his eyes to his lap, repeating in his mind ‘STARE AT THE TABLE STARE AT THE TABLE STARE AT THE TABLE’ as he fidgets with a strand of his shirt. This definitely wasn’t on his to-do list either.

He winked at me?!

“Yo,” Bucky whispers to him. “Was it just me or did he wink at me?”

Sam blinks. “I thought he winked at me,” he whispers back.

“... Maybe at both of us? Probably you, though. I’m a mess.” He sighs, laying his head down on the table.

Sam snickers, playfully dragging Bucky’s long wavy hair to cover his face. “You wouldn’t look a mess if you used a damn brush, you lightskin 2-b Rapunzel.”

Bucky flips him off.

From across their seats he hears a couple of girls commenting on the new student’s appearance, one in particular making colorful comments in Spanish to her twin. Sam can recognize her voice without looking. Her name’s Chal, and her sister’s name is Ime. They all hang out together occasionally since their mom is good friends with his mom. They usually play video games when good ones come out and sometimes decide to have some impromptu language classes – the twins teach him Spanish, and Sam tries to teach them Patois, and they more or less manage to learn a couple of words since they use most of their learning time laughing hysterically at each other’s accents instead.

“El diablo,” Chal whispers to Ime. “Papasito… que guapo, no?”

Handsome. Sam hates that he understood that. Seems like those Spanish classes they gave him paid off.

Ime laughs and nods, saying something else to her sister’s ear. Chal giggles in response, patting Ime’s puffy hair bun until her sister pushes her hands away with a smile. Suddenly, Sam wishes he had a close relationship like that with his own sister, but he shakes the thought off as soon as the teacher speaks. Let’s not start the day with a gloomy thought.

“Hi!” Ms. Minako says. “You’re T.… challa... Uda… koh…?”

“T’Challa Udaku.” T'Challa smiles. “It’s okay. Just T’Challa is fine.”

“T’Challa?” Ms. Minako tries again, with a concentrated face.

T'Challa smiles again, and nods. “That’s right.”

Chal elbows her sister, whispering loud enough for Sam to hear. “Suena Africano, no? O quizás del caribe?”

“Africano, me parece.” Ime whispers back.

“Nah, es caribeño.” Chal shakes her head.

“Africano.”

“Caribeño, coño.”

“You have a slight accent.” Ms. Minako asks T'Challa, interested. “Where are you from?”

“I am from Wakanda.” He answers.

A tiny ‘fuck!’ is heard from Chal, but only Ime and Sam seem to notice. He tries not to laugh as Ime elbows her sister in the stomach. These girls.

“New to the country or the town?”

“Both.” T'Challa laughs. “It’s a lovely town.”

If only you knew, Sam thinks, you wouldn’t be saying that. But he shakes the thought off, again, trying not to be negative… again. It’s hard to not to be a pessimist. But enough is enough. He wants to be a therapist when he grows up, goddamn it, so he needs to get it together.

“Well, T'Challa, welcome to the country! Come on, choose a seat. Let’s start the class!” Ms. Minako gestures towards all the empty seats as she checks him off the attendance sheet. T'Challa turns over where a group of loud white boys are seated together, but his eyes pass right over them. He looks at the seat next to Ime and Chal (the latter batting her eyelashes dramatically, making T'Challa smile) and considers it, until he looks over at the end of the table where Sam is.

There’s one empty seat right next to his.

He looks decided then, walking past everyone and stopping right next to Sam with a click of his heels. Not quite believing what’s happening, Sam can only stare at his own hands and ask to whichever god is listening to make T'Challa sit somewhere else. Next to Bucky, even. He’ll do anything. Hell, he’ll stop eating his gran’s mac and cheese! But please, god, don’t let him sit next to him. T'Challa’s too… too…

“Is this seat taken?” T'Challa’s soft voice comes from his right, and Sam makes the mistake of turning his head towards him.

… Too pretty.

T'Challa’s eyes shine like the sun, his hand resting on the table. Sam’s breath hitches as dark brown eyes lock on his. His face is a little too close for his comfort, so Sam scoots back. T’Challa tilts his head to one side in confusion, waiting for him to answer but Sam can only focus on those lovely brown eyes of his, not even caring that the silence is getting a little bit too awkward, but he just doesn’t know what to say because T'Challa’s way too close and—

Bucky elbows him in the ribs, bringing him back to earth.

“Are you feeling alright?” T'Challa’s face turns to one of worry, somehow inching even closer to Sam. “You look—”

“I’m okay!” He blurts out, laughing nervously. He looks at Bucky from the corner of his eye and sees the bastard stifling a smile. Fucker.

T'Challa’s eyes widen in surprise, waiting for him to continue. “I’m—um, the seat isn’t taken, so…” Sam's eyes slide down to the empty chair while fake coughing and pressing his lips into a thin line, trying to play it cool. Oh my god this is too embarrassing why am I acting like this.

“Alright, thank you.” T'Challa’s face lights up and Sam can’t help but smile as well, despite how nervous he feels. T'Challa drops his bag to his side and sits down gracefully on the chair with a smile. “Nice to meet you,” he says with a radiant smile, while offering his hand to him like a proper gentleman.

Sam’s brain has the decency to remember to dry his anxiously-damp hand on his jeans before he shakes T’Challa’s with an equally anxious smile. It’s kind of odd, it almost feels like they’re finishing a business meeting. Why yes, sir, I’m glad we’ve come to the mutual agreement that I’m awkward as hell, let’s shake on it. But it could be a Wakandan thing, who knows. T'Challa has a strong grip on his hand as soon as they touch, and he shakes Sam’s hand with confidence, taking Sam by surprise as the strong shake dips him forward. He has no time to be embarrassed because T'Challa smiles at him and the guy giggles as though stumbling into someone else’s personal space is charming. He lets go of Sam and instead rests his face on his hand, two fingers up to support the crown of his head.

“What’s your name?” T'Challa asks, eyes filled with curiosity.

And it’s at this moment when there’s another knock on the door, catching everyone’s attention.

“Oh!” The teacher exclaims. “Must be the other missing student.” This time it’s her who stands up to open the door, blocking the view of Sam’s eyes to see who it is.

“You’re a bit late, mister.” She reprimands the student. “But it’s the first day, so I’ll let it slide this time, alright?”

“I appreciate it.” Says a deep, and… quite attractive masculine voice.

Ms. Minako stands to the side and shows him the way. “Come on in!”

As soon as the student enters the room he can see exactly who it is. M’Baku walks into the classroom with that confidence Sam is so jealous of, looking as handsome as ever. His dark brown skin glows despite the unflattering light of the classroom, as though M’Baku is the exception to little things like physics. His clothes, of course, always carry a Wakandan theme, showing off the beautiful African patterns and combination of colors.

Sam looks over to the twins and finds Chal fanning herself while looking at M’Baku, who suddenly has a distasteful look on his face when his eyes fall on the only acceptable empty seats in the room. The one next to Bucky, and the one next to the twins. His eyes soon fall on T’Challa, and he falters. He recovers quickly though and walks around the table to sit down right across from him – next to Bucky’s seat.

Sam’s eyes go back to T’Challa, who seems to be… frozen in place while looking at M’Baku. He gets it though. One time, he got to seat behind him in math class and every time the teacher called M’Baku’s name to mark him present, he would stand up and give Sam a great first row view of that—

“So, uh,” Bucky’s voice brings him back to earth. He turns his head towards him and sees him talking to M’Baku, who can’t look less interested. “Guess we’re art partners now, huh?”

M’Baku finally looks at him with a neutral look on his face and says, “I am lactose intolerant.”

Bucky freezes.

Sam completely loses it. He can’t help but laugh out loud, making a spectacle even though he tries his damn best to keep it in. Naturally, he attracts some of his classmates’ eyes, but he just can’t stop. He’s trying so hard, but Jesus. The look on Bucky’s face, he keeps remembering it and can’t help but laugh again.

“Mhm, keep on laughing, man. Just let it all out, you dick.” Bucky tell him as he claps Sam on the back, which only makes it worse.

Ms. Minako finally looks over at him, looking confused and quite annoyed at the noise. “Excuse me, Sam? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, Sam, are you alright?” Bucky repeats, faking the worrying tone in his voice as he scoots closer to Sam to look him right in the eye.

“Y-Yes, miss, I’m— I’m fine,” Sam tries to tell her while desperately trying to ignore Bucky’s stupid face. “Thank you. Sorry about—” and he laughs again.

“Do you need to go to the nurse, Sam?” she asks, sounding annoyed.

“Yeah, Sam, do you need to go to the nurse?” Bucky repeats again with that dumb look on his face and it makes it harder for Sam to stop laughing.

“No! N-No, I’m alright. I’m so sorry, miss, please uh, please carry on.” He coughs and bites his lip, mustering all his energy into having a poker face. It doesn’t work, it just makes him look weird with his bulging eyes, tight lips and puffy cheeks… but the teacher is satisfied enough with it to let it go.

“So, uh,” Sam turns to Bucky, a smile threatening to slip past his lips but still desperately trying to look neutral. “Wanna change seats?”

Bucky licks his lips, also trying not to smile, and nods. “Yeah, that’s— yeah, let’s change seats, man.”

Once they’re at their new seats, Bucky turns to T’Challa. “Soooo, guess we’re—”

“I’m also lactose intolerant.” He tells him with a mastered poker face.

Sam lays his head down and covers his head with his arms to tone down his loud laughter, shaking and softly smacking the table with his first a couple times. Bucky can’t hold it in either, leaning forward on the table and shaking his head as he laughs with Sam. M’Baku joins in with a loud and deep ‘HAH!’ and nothing else. T’Challa smiles ever so slightly, and the sight almost makes Bucky stop, feeling charmed by his smile and the soft crinkles at the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t quite get a look at him at first, but now he understands why Sam froze when T’Challa talked to him.

Sam coughs, and looks towards T’Challa, trying to frown in order to cancel out the dumb smile on his face. “Hey man, um, do you— uh, do you… wanna change seats?” He fake coughs into his fist, and Bucky feel his lips twitch. “Or, uh, or something?” Sam bites his lip again, praying to any god that is listening to make him stop laughing.

“I don’t see why not.” T’Challa calmly answers, picking up his stuff and changing his seat with Sam.

Once they’re finally seated, Sam speaks. “Don’t worry, Buck, I got you man. I, uh, you know, I take them lactaid tablets—”

Bucky whizzes out a small laugh, and nods. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” Sam nods as well, patting him on the back. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, you ain’t gotta worry about that.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Bucky says, smiling at him. “I know I can always count on you.”

“Nuh-uh, uh!” Sam shakes his finger on his face. “Only as long as I got my lactaid tablets,” he adds, and after a second of dead silence they both laugh loud and hard, Sam leaning on Bucky and Bucky flinching for half a second but relaxing quickly enough against Sam’s warmth.

Sam looks up at him from his shoulder. “Stop making me laugh, man, fuck. My face hurts.”

Bucky shrugs, Sam’s head moving with it. “That’s karma, asshole.”

Sam shakes his head, and closes his eyes, smiling softly. “I hate you.”

Bucky snorts. “And I hate you too, sweetheart.” Sam smacks him for that, whispering ‘gross!’ to which Bucky replies ‘but you like it!’ to which the teacher replies ‘both of you boys better shut up unless you want to be sent to the principal’s office’.

Half way through the class, their phones both vibrate at the same time, and they instantly look at each other. After making sure the teacher isn’t looking at them, they look down to check who texted them from under the table.

Steve♢ is online

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ) is online

Bucky ( ˘-___-) is online

Sammy is online

Steve ♢: hey hey hey

Steve ♢: Erik told me about his cousin!

Steve ♢: is he cool?

Sammy: …….maybe

Steve ♢: ヽ(　･∀･)ﾉ i’ll get his number then!

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): steve

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): steve im begging you here

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): please dont fuck my cousin

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): p l e a s e

Steve ♢: you know, i wasn’t thinking about that

Steve ♢: but now that you mention it…

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): steve

Sammy: oh btw Erik your middle school crush is in our class

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): my middle school what now

Bucky ( ˘-___-): M’Baku. or did you forget about him already?

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): fuck off bucks

Steve ♢: wait what

Bucky ( ˘-___-): Erik had like… the biggest crush on him back in middle school

Sammy: it was kinda cute tbh he would like… talk to him about this anime he really liked. which he got m’baku to watch somehow someway

Bucky ( ˘-___-): And there was this couple in the show. Real romantic shit you know? Erik would say how M’Baku is so much like the romantic interest of the hero

Sammy: and also how Erik was so much like the hero himself

Bucky ( ˘-___-): M’Baku never got the hint though. But it was cute to watch. A bit pathetic, sure, but cute!

Sammy: and of course a funny story to tell every person he dates lmao

Steve ♢: aww Erik you sweet thing you!

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): this

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): is the worst day of my life

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): ever

Bucky ( ˘-___-): Hey do you remember that stupid song?

Sammy: which one Sammy: “M’baku and Erik sitting under a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G watching A-N-I-M-E”

Sammy: is it that one

Bucky ( ˘-___-): yeah! cute isn't he?

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): IM BLOCKING YOU

Steve ♢: lol erik that’s so cute

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): IM BLOCKING BOTH OF YOU

Steve ♢: cute cute cute

Sammy: cute lol

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ) is offline

Steve ♢: omg

Sammy: HE ACTUALLY LEFT LMFAOOOO

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ) is online

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): i forgot to say something :)

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ): FUCK YOU ALL

Bucky ( ˘-___-): Damn that’s hot

Steve ♢: i didn't know Erik was this adorable

Sammy: he aight i guess

Erik ( ಠ ಠ ) is offline

This year is going to be fun.

#stucky #winterfalcon #t'challa x m'baku #t'chucky #erik killmonger x m'baku #nakia x okoye #sam Wilson x t'challa #black panther #black panther fanfiction #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #captain america #my writing #my writings #my fics #yeah.

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