#and I intend to drag everybody who crosses my blog down with me!

[primal-con]

I’m blaming you for my inevitable Jazzwave brainrot just fyi

Yes!!! My evil plan is working >:DDD

Jazzwave be upon ye!

[perksofbeingaharrie]

PICTURE THIS - part:1

FRIENDS TO LOVERS FIC 

Hello everyone!

Heeeere is the new fic as requested by:

So this was requested really really long back and I had promised @wonderland-ish that I would start writing it as soon as I was ready. So here we are, I hope you stuck around love!

Enjoy my first ever fic. It’ll be a 5 part one - fluff and angst (ig you can now tell its my favourite genre) and a little seeexx bc we love mmhmm.

Keep safe my dear people and enjoy the fics at home, in your safe haven with some tea and biscuits. Keep warm too!

Like/rebolg and write to me as to how you liked my work! I’ll be posting part 2 tomorrow so look out for it! Lesss gooooo

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut

PICTURE THIS - part:1

©️perksofbeingaharrie

——

Life has been surreal since what she can remember. It began with how her father agreed to send to study photography which for years he had thrashed her about as being just a mere hobby. 3 years in college and now here at the O2 and shooting for the worldwide sensation – Harry Styles. Was she even allowed to feel this content with life ever? What was to go wrong?

She often hitched her breath thinking of such questions. But here she was, previewing her pictures on slide show mode to Helene, who sat beside her on the couch at the corner of the backstage room.

She blinks twice, thrice looking at Helene going through her pictures so concentratedly. It was all here before her in the present, truly.

“I think we can select a few from here.” Helene pops her bubble of thought that very instance. “I like this one a lot. Harry could use this for his Instagram.”

“His Instagram?” She gulps, pulling her laptop to her lap.

Helene looks up at her and smiles, matching eyes who know the feeling. “Yes. You are very good, darling. I am glad to have you on the team.”

Shuffling to pack her stuff and head home, she gets up from the couch and pulls her bag to her.

“You should come to this party Harry’s having for us.” Helene says as she gets up to her feet.

Still trying to put away her things quickly and leaving to be in the warmth of her home, Y/N looks up absolutely unprepared for such a proposal.

“Yeah, you should.” Helene insists.

“Uh, but, I don’t have an invite or anything-“

“Oh, no. Harry’s actually been wanting to meet the new photographer anyway. And it’s a small gathering, you’ll get to network well.”

Her chest swells up on hearing Helene’s words. She thinks she has some time to contemplate and then answer but Helene’s already putting away her stuff in haste and has grabbed her wrist, dragging her out of the room.

--

And it was indeed a small gathering. In fact, it was something more better termed as an ‘intimate gathering’.  The terrace top of the most expensive hotels spanning the skyline of the city hosted tonight just for the 10-15 people of the close-knit Harry Styles’s team. She definitely felt out of place a little.

Conversations died down a few drinks later and presently everybody had found each other hip to hip, swaying to the light music in the background. There were laughs and giggle around, but none of them were sincere and all in lieu of the alcohol coursing through the air.

She smiled about a little here and there, and finally with a little resolute, found her place by the bar on one of the stools, watching everyone from a distance. The one drink in her hand stayed whirling in the glass itself only. At one point she felt that the alcohol in it must have evaporated into air because she just could not feel its effect. She just could not feel its effect enough to want to let loose and join them.

She is happy anyway, watching and indulging for a while tonight amongst people she doesn’t think she’ll meet any before a year from now. She is content with the fact that after tonight she’ll be back to her daily routine, from going back and forth to her daily tid bit photography to editing and blogging and everything that she has been doing for what seems like forever.

Her mind is distant in thoughts of her home and known and she never notices when he – he, Harry Styles – comes up to stand beside her at the bar.

His deep voice drops the loudest rung in her ear as he orders his drink, and she looks up, flushed, half from the alcohol and half from an unknown embarrassment.

“You are the new photographer, aren’t you?” He says, at the same time accepting his drink from the bartender with his signature smile.

She nods, unsure of what else she could reply with so somehow they get to conversing more.

“Well, you’ve done a really good work. I liked the pictures from your camera.”

She gives a genuine smile for his genuine compliment. “Thank you. These two days have been really really wonderful for me too. I am glad I could do my work nicely.”

They silently enjoy their drinks for a while, looking across them at the night and nobody intends to break the silence. It’s awkward, but somehow, nobody says a word. She gulps the last sip of her drink not a moment later and feels the need to break away from the proximity they both stand at.

As she slides out of her seat and stands to her feet, he turns to her abruptly and gulps away the reminder of his own drink harshly.

“Do you feel like getting away from here?” He says, looking at her. “Because I really need to.”

She parts her mouth, breathing out in astonishment. “Uhm, but, this is your party? How can you leave like that?”

He points his finger towards his group at a distance. “It clearly is not the party for me. I just needed something to fill up the loneliness I feel after every concert.”

She dares to make an eye contact with him; and his green eyes look the prettiest when honest.

He leans in closer and completes his line against her ear. “And honestly, this scene just does not do.”

He begins walking backward towards the exit, his eyebrows shooting up at her as if challenging her to give in. She feels this exhilarating rush at his nab. Looking around, she does not have time to think twice or thrice and she eventually does give in.

She jogs down the stairs in a child-like haste, a sudden fear erupting in her heart that she has missed him. But as she reaches the end of the staircase, she finds him putting on a grey beanie over his lousy hair and a coat that almost covers up his chin.

“Can’t let nobody know I’m wilding out tonight.” He chuckles at his own words. She smiles, pleased, grabbing her coat from the hanger as well.

He is trudging away even before she has tied the coat around her waist and she is on the run after him.

“What are we even doing by the way?” She asks over his shoulder.

“I was thinking of some ice-cream? Let’s start from there.”

She nods earnestly, following his lead. Her clock tells her that it is almost 12 and so she doubts if there would be any ice-cream outlets open nearby. But the way his broad shoulders and long legs take on the road so knowingly, she cannot think about hesitating now.

They arrive at a cross section and wait for the signals to turn red so they can walk over to the other side. In a blink, the lights do change and she jumps forward to cross the road. A hand comes clasping around her wrist and pulls her back.

“Careful.” He says, entwining their fingers together. “Just so we are safer.”

The giddy smiles they share lightens up the night like no other.

They are walking for a long time, careful of the crowd, traffic and recognizable faces. Harry walks majority of the while with his head ducked low. He keeps a tight grip around her fingers nevertheless, tugging at places where he wants her to walk fast and constantly squeezing it too to remind her of their interlocked hands. It’s good it has happened to be winter in London or she would have sweaty palms by now and that would have been embarrassing.

They finally stop by a little tucked in shop by the roadside, and they have walked quite some distance now. She hardly looks around to be able to recognize the place before he pulls her into the shop. The little wooden doors are shut and they enter a warm, little cafeteria scarcely littered with tables and small chairs.

“I’ll take my usual, please.” His voice comes distinct in the peaceful room that she is still scanning around. “And, she would like to select.”

She looks up at him and then at the man behind the ice-cream counter. “And what is the usual?”

“Mint and chocolate.” Harry tells her, leaning his body against the cold screen.

“I think I’d like that too.”

“Right away.” The ice-cream man smiles. “Waffle cone or a cup?”

“Cone.” They say in unison.

--

“So, why photography?”

They are sitting on cold railings by a quiet parking lot, hardly any cars seen nearby. She feels like the reckless teenager again with him, running about in the city at midnight, eating ice cream when it is about to snow and hanging out in parking lots. She feels younger and much calmer than she ever would have.

She chuckles lowly, looking at her feet. “I think my answer would be the same to yours if I asked you – ‘why music?’”

He looks at her longingly for a moment, then nods and chuckles like her before. “Right.” He finishes the last of his cone and brushes his hands against his pants. “You do not enjoy talking as much, I see.”

She shakes her head, finishing her bite as well. “Not really. I just do not like making small talk. That’s the lousiest concept ever. It even more awkward than just staying quiet.”

He nods again, agreeing. “Right. I feel the same way too.”

They breathe deeply the cold air in through their nostrils.

“It kind of gets too loud sometimes where I am, you know? Even I like some silence sometimes.”

She nods, smiling. “You mean, your friends?”

He makes a face as if taking some time to think before answer. Only at the end, he chuckles and shakes his head. “Everything actually. Even the music I make.”

“I understand. Even my eyes hurt sometimes from looking at the same thing, trying to find inspiration.  I think it’s common for the creative brains.”

“True.” He nods. “But I don’t think you’ll disagree with me when I say that my friends and team are pretty loud. I mean, you didn’t look pretty interested in knowing them either. I needed a little break from that too.”

She hides her mouth as she gives a suppressed chuckle. “I am sure your friends aren’t that bad. In fact, they are really nice – they let me into the group even for a while. I just thought it might be useless to try to fit in if I am only going to be seeing them the last time tonight.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” He sighs. “But what if you were to see them more often?”

“Then, I might take some time but I’ll blend in too I guess.”

They look at one another and smile with their eyes.

“And what about the loneliness you talked about earlier? Why is that?”

He bites his lower lip, looking away in a distance. “I feel the fullest and at my best on stage. I am so energetic, so careless, so carefree performing. There’s people just loving how I am, accepting me as I am and just letting me be. When it’s all over, I am back with people who will tell me what I did, how I performed; they’ll tell me if I was good, if I was bad. I just miss being that free in real life too, y’know. I miss that feeling with all the people around. I feel-“

“-lonely in a room full of people.” She completes for him.

They share knowing smiles. His heart feels full looking over at her lips curve up. She feels the familiar warmth spread inside her.

“How about some nice hot-pot dinner to end the night?” He gets up to his full height.

She nods.

“And I think we can talk some more too.”

“Definitely.”

--

She is called in for work early the next morning. Still gorgy with sleeping only after 3 last night, she could not bother to go through the trouble to making breakfast and only grabs a bagel from the cafeteria downstairs.

She walks into the studio she was called in for, and is greeted with Helene standing at one corner setting up her camera on the pod.

“Oh, hey. Come on in.” She smiles, pulling out a folder from the corner desk and walks over to her.

“Hi, yeah, you called in so suddenly?”

“So, uhm,” She opens the folder and flips through a few pages. “We were hoping if you would like to join us for the tour?”

“Wha-“ She feels the folder on her palms. It is a contract that would sign in her in as Harry’s team for the entirety of the year round tour. She looks up from the contract at Helene and then back at the contract.

The door behind her chimes again and enters Harry, rubbing his palms together for warmth.

“So,” he says. “Is she joining us for the tour or not?”

Her eyes widen. He grins at her reaction, raising his eyebrows at her in the challenging stance he would do. She bites her lower lip and suppresses a grin but it is hard when she feels her heart could burst at the very moment.

---------

PART 2   o    MASTERLIST   o  PART 3  o  PART 4

[sebbytrash]

желание - The End

Longing: A yielding desire

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings - Swear words. I’m Scottish, I can’t help it.  A little angst, I’m sorry. Some kissing. Bucky needs a hug. Everybody needs a hug.

A/N: REPOSTING BECAUSE OF BLOG MOVE

желание Masterlist

Bucky’s date.

The phrase plays like a broken record, orbiting around your brain, waving it’s neon sign and tapping impatiently against your skull.

You fumble your way through dinner with Sam and Steve, fake smiles and slow blinks until you can escape to your room but even then, that doesn't help at all. He’s everywhere, the soft lingering scent of him on your sheets, the grey t-shirt you’d borrowed but never actually returned balled up on your bed from where you’d worn it last night, the knife sheath on your side table that contains his favorite knife, that phrase always making you smile despite yourself because of course he has a favorite knife.

Logically, you know there’s a bountiful of reasons to explain Julia and most of them don’t contain the word date, but it’s there now, demanding attention until you’ve got them shacked up together and happy, 2.5 kiddies and leaving you in the dust.

He always was really great at kissing, wasn’t he? Should a man who’s gone without a girl for damn near a lifetime be able to liquify your bones with his lips? A few years, yeah maybe it would easy to get back on that bike but 70? Shit. The nagging little voice that you buried a long time ago creeps in, whispers that maybe you're not good enough, maybe you're not enough to keep him. The voice birthed by teenage girls and high school rearing its ugly head in such a vehement fashion that you can’t help but listen.

Now your pacing the room, burning holes in the carpet with your furious shuffling and mapping out your options in your head. He’ll come back here, you’d made those plans already when he’d avoided dinner with you for-  yeah...so, it’s just a matter of if you’ll be here when he does. You could confront him, straight out ask him who Julia is but that feels a little too bunny-boiler-esque since you’d never given yourself a label and neither had he. And maybe, just maybe you were a smidge terrified of what he would say. Denial, denial.

A thought pushes its way to the front, the one you’d been nervously skirting around and you finally give in. Feeling like a complete skeeve, you ask, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. who is Bucky’s friend, Julia?”

“Mr Barnes has flagged that as classified.” She answers, somehow conveying just how much the system is judging you for even asking.

Your stomach was already half sunk, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s confirmation providing the final anchor that pits it to your toes. Seconding guessing now, you think over the weeks you’ve spent together, the touches, the looks, every second over analyzed now like you’ve tried not to do before. Did the tilt of his face mean more? Did the tightening of his mouth say more than words? Hopeless. And hopelessly hoping for more.

Sleep evades, taunts you from the dark corners it’s hiding in, a nervous energy keeps your fingers twitching and tugging till you unhemmed the sleeves of your top and secured it’s place in the ruined-but-still-comfortable-so-PJ’s pile of clothes that’s always growing. Grabbing you gym bag from the corner, you head off to the gym to train some of the excess energy off and maybe, just maybe, come up with an idea on how to handle this whole mess.

Thwack, thwack, thump. You keep a steady rhythm, jab, jab, cross. Sweat drips off you, soaking through the support top, slipping over the skin on your stomach and into the band of your shorts. It fuels you, the physical evidence of the effort provides some satisfaction to counteract the aching muscles and bloody knuckles your now sporting. You lost minutes to hours long ago, and somehow you were no further forward. Still lost to the thoughts, still unsure on how to proceed but mostly because the logical side of your brain was being constantly silenced by your denial. Hopeless.

“What did that bag ever do to you?” You flinch at the sound of his voice, catch yourself before you show it and search the room till you find him, tilted against wall, still enough to suggest he’s been there a while.

You grunt, not nothing but not an answer and continue, seeing him, knowing where he’s been, provides you with a renewed energy and your fists hit with a little more force. Each hit sounding off the walls and back at you. The hair on your neck stands to attention under his gaze, his eyes seeing too much and somehow not enough.

“You okay?” He asks, taking a few tentative steps towards you, wearing the smile, your smile, like he wasn’t out offering the same smile to other faces.

It pushes you over the edge and Logical Brain wakes up, rattles around in the space and gives you something to use, “I...no. I don’t think I can do this.” The words drag out of you, shoved by the need to say it but stalled by the hope to want.

“Do what?” He asks it but he knows, you can tell he knows and is making you say it.

You strip the wraps off your knuckles, wincing at the sight of the torn, bloody skin, “This…” you say, gesture between you, “Whatever this is.” Everything, you think, it’s everything.

He nods, like he knew, nods and then tilts his head down, the angle shielding his face from you, drawing all the breath from your lungs at how final it suddenly seems. He says nothing for minute, then two, you imagine him mildly disappointed his booty call has grown a backbone or perhaps even relieved when he speaks, “I uh- I thought we were- I thought this was working?”

There’s something about his tone, the way he says it, the hope the flares makes you angry, “Shit, Bucky. So did I.” He hears it, the infliction, the accusation in the last bit, finally hears what you're not saying. You turn your back to him, make your way to the bag and use the water bottle to rinse your hands off.    

“Wait, Y/N. What’s this really about?” He steps closer to you.

“I’m just…” You chew your words, thinking on how to explain that doesn’t remove every ounce of pride you have left, “I’m all in, okay? And you’re not.”

“I’m not?” His forehead creases, another step towards you and it’s too much.

“No, you’re not!. You have a Julia and I only had you.” You voice climbs higher with each word, more heat than you intended but it serves it’s purpose. You see it, see when it all clicks in his head, watch him sort through his thoughts till finds his place, looks you right in the eye and fucking smiles. Bastard.

“Shit, doll, you had me worried.” He laughs like it’s no big deal, takes another few steps till he’s there, within touching distance, “Julia is not...that.”

You roll your eyes at the non-explanation, turn your head from him and he reaches for you, tilts your head back to him, fingers gripping firm enough to keep you and not hurt you, “She’s my therapist, doll. That’s it.”

“Oh.” You blink up at him, slow blinks since all your brain power is hung up on therapist and the possibilities and then the guilt. The guilt that you let your version of him be derailed by gossip and insecurities, sorting through the possibility that you’d just placed a needless burden and significant spotlight on the less defined portion of the relationship. “I’m sor-”

A thumb over your mouth quickly halts the apology, Bucky shakes his head slightly, “No. I am. I know that I’m… I’m no good with words but if you honestly felt like there could be anyone other than you, well now, that’s on me, doll.” His fingers slip up your jaw, thumb dances along your cheek and the room sort of melts, the tension slides out of you, the relief of it all almost brings you to your knees. Your body moves on it owns, pushing forward till your pressed against him and his fingers have disappeared into your hairline, your lips land against his in a bruising sort of kiss, hungry and hopeful, both of you so filled up with relief and wanting that it hurts. When you break you realise you gripping his shirt tight, white-knuckled, pulling him as close as he can be and he’s doing the same.

It’s bugging you though, that he even mentioned it, “You never told me…” you say, half whisper against his lips, still gripping him tight and close.

He nods, face forms regret, “The stuff in here,” he pulls your hand over his heart and taps, “It ain’t easy listening.” He kisses you again, like he can’t help it, like even he’s surprised by it, “I didn’t wanna put that on you.” There he is, your Bucky, all pride and pain and protect. If you could take his pain for him, you would, but you’d have to settle on a shoulder each.

“Bucky…” You say, look him right in the eye, show him the extent of it all, “I’m all in.” Thick with feeling, and he knows.

“I’m all in too, Y/N.” He say’s right back, and you know.

This time, when he kisses you, you’re ready for it but you’re not. It’s a new kiss, a kiss that reaches deep into your bones, deep into the marrow and solidifies. It’s needy, and full, and permanent- edging on something more. The whole room turns into the feeling, your brain turns to mush and your body is floating, literally floating- the world tilting and wait-

“How did you find out? About Julia?, I mean.” He asks, breathy and low, giving you the opportunity to realise you are in his arms and half way up the stairs.   

“Uh- oh, Sam told me. Said you were on a date.” You throw him a wry smile.

“Of course it was that pigeon motherfucker. Always causing problems.”  He says it so seriously you can’t help but laugh, tuck your forehead against his neck and just laugh. When you're done you don’t move, stay tucked in tight as Bucky takes you wherever he’s taking you and feel your heart do a dip when he kisses the top of your head.

Later, when you're in bed and he’s tucked up behind you, arm slung over you with fingers mapping tight circles on your skin, he nuzzles into your neck and hair, still wet from your shared shower, “Do you want to come with me next week, to Julia? She said I should bring you.”

“I’d like that.” You turn to face him, slide your hand up till you cupping his face and press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He looks at you with that look, the one you finally understand and nudges his nose against you, “All in?”

You nod, “All in.”