#it IS hard but try and see it as several tiny drawings on one page rather than a whole comic page. Less intimidating!

[wishingstarinajar]

I was hit with a sudden wave of inspiration to make a comic, and its a lot harder then it looks. XD so i was wondering if you had any tips and/or ticks for making comics.

specifically with the layout of the panels and were to put speech bubbles so they dont cover too much of the scene but it still stays readable.

Ooh, fun! Hope it works out for you. I'm still figuring it all out myself but I can try and share a few nuggets of "wisdom"... if I can call them that x'D

First up; rough it. When I come up with a comic idea, I usually plan it out in my head before I attempt to put it down on the canvas. When I finally start roughly sketching the panels, it's loose; nothing is set in stone.

Sometimes, it takes some shuffling, readjusting, removing, adding and whatnot to get the layout I want on a page or across a few pages. At times, I'm just sliding around small sketches like puzzle pieces until they fit on a page.

Don't feel too bad if you have to axe or alter a panel you had in mind; sometimes you gotta "kill your darlings" to get something better. If something isn't working out, put it to the side and try something different, no matter how annoying it is.

As you can (probably) see below, the rough sketch version of this comic page has three panels that were tossed out and replaced with a single different panel. Though, the first panel's dialogue in the rough sketch ("your spark") was moved to the comic's previous page for a better flow of dialogue between pages.

When it comes to speech bubbles, you at times have to accept that a speech bubble is going to cover up some of your art and the characters in a panel. There is only so much you can fit in there. But you can try maneuvering around this by keeping the speech bubbles in mind while you're roughing the panels.

Don't add too much dialogue in a single bubble. A character is allowed to have several speech bubbles in a single panel, or even across a few panels. Some bubbles can even be merged together as seen below.

(Blast from the past with this older comic of mine xD)

And well, sometimes the art already tells enough so wordy dialogue might not even be necessary.

If you don't want to add dialogue and speech bubbles to your sketches while you're working on stuff, be sure to have it written down elsewhere. I often find myself forgetting parts of the dialogue x'D

Panels also don't need to be linear. They can overlap for dynamic effect. Heck, even characters and/or objects can be drawn outside the constrictions of a panel's frame, and the same goes for speech bubbles as seen above and below.

You have a lot of freedom when it comes to creating the layout of your comic. Too many panels? Add another page or extend the canvas (vertically)! Want to make small comics with only two to three panels? Go for it! Don't want solid frame lines? You don't even have to draw frames if you don't want to!

It's all trial and error, especially when you're a rookie. Just have fun with it, don't take it too seriously, and experiment.

[justdenys1]

thought of an ace attorney character. basically, he's a prosecutor that respects defense attorneys (which is actually surprisingly rare), and considers trials friendly debates. beforehand he prepares all sorts of variants of how the crime could have gone through, doing an extensive research and checking the areas several times and trying to guess the most logical conclusion, so as the defense tries to figure things out and give out objections, he already has explanations prepared as like "Good guess, I thought of that as well, however this piece of evidence contradicts your point". He apologizes for bringing out evidence that you didn't have beforehand as he understands that you wouldn't have the time to analyze it first. However, I'd say he's a bit too rational for Ace Attorney universe as well, being against any sorts of magatamas or emotional readings or "you touched the page a bit too hard that means you're hiding something"s, as he believes they don't make any sense whatsoever. He'd be the first one to point out that von karmas just should not be in the court at all. When you actually point out something that he didn't think of, he's like ".... Oh! I see, I see. Let me change this up for a second", his worried animation is attempting to basically start the whole board from scratch, and his breakdown animation would be him stepping back, accidentally hitting the board from below, then the board flipping to hit his head and he falls. if you say something so outlandish that could not make any sense, instead of being condescending n mocking n all, he's just like "... what are you even talking about?". so basically to sum it up, his whole thing is that he's really nice, but an actually decent opponent that you need to find extremely tiny holes to break, after which he just kinda crumbles. didn't think of a name, sorry sorry for a wall of text, i just thought of this guy last night in the shower and just wanted to draw em

[maiji]

fight / flight part 2 thumbnails and page sketches (plus some notes related to part 1 QA)

[image set: 1) Scan of a two page spread. Left page is a 3x3 grid of rough sketchy thumbnails in various stages of completion; some pages are blank. Right page is two lists of crossed out notes titled "North Bound Fight Flight Part 1 Notes for Final pg Tweaks" and "Fight / Flight Pt 2 Fixes", with a drawing of Hokushin with both hands on his neck in the bottom corner. 2) Two page spread of larger thumbnails, four on each page, closely aligned with the actual page compositions of fight / flight part 2.]

Here are fight / flight part 2 thumbnails and panel sketches!! And discussion of changes as I worked through the pages!

Spoilers for the progress of part 2.

Part 2 clocked in at 7 pages, matching my final thumbnails. This work took, again, about 3 days. I was super fired up after wrapping up part 1 and brained through thumbnails past midnight. There were four main things I wanted to accomplish with this fight:

Must take advantage of Hokushin’s stretchy abilities. I really wanted to work some cool ribbon action sequences into the battle, and got a bit of that in here! I always try really hard to showcase his power in as many fics and comics as I can, and not ignore or downplay them. There’s a really classic sensibility to his ability for me (from growing up with supernatural youkai stories; East Asian horror, etc.), and I feel it’s an essential part of his character.

Gain more experience choreographing fight scenes in general. Just getting through this was a miracle to me. The left hand page in the first photo above shows my 7+ failed thumbnails to get the first 1.5 pages down to my satisfaction; they are mostly me trying to panel out the first page over and over and not feeling great about it until I had a breakthrough (see following set of bullet points "Some of the things I learned").

Practice more effective compression of time and action. Related to the above. I’ve long admired how good Togashi is at doing this in his paneling, and I reread several of Togashi’s very tight battles, including of course Hokushin VS Yusuke, to try to get a better sense of how to work out the pacing and focus on what's essential. I tried really really hard to keep every page to 3-4 rows of panels, and to try to use some of the mini-stacked panels that I typically avoid (you can see them on pages 9, 10, 14 and 15). I personally find mini stacks work better in Japanese and Chinese due to the option of vertical right-to-left flow of reading order. In a language like English, which is left to right horizontal, I feel it’s a lot more challenging to structure without having areas where the panel flow can become unclear and create tiny moments of paused confusion.

Story-wise, have Hokushin learn what happened to Semimaru, and then get super pissed off as per the tradition of every shounen manga. You will find out his reaction in part 3 whenever I decide what it is. I’d like to try my best to balance tropes/stereotypes, though some things feel unavoidable. They do both need to stay alive at the end of the encounter in order to be canon-compliant, so Hokushin will not be able to enact the stereotypical ultimate revenge.

Some of the things I learned, mostly about myself and how I work through fight scenes.

Unlike most comic sequences, I can’t seem to get away with just scripting a fight scene in text. I find this nearly impossible! I have to tag team between thumbnails and point form notes or I can’t progress without a solid visual sense of panelling.

I need to draw action thumbnails twice as large as normal thumbnails in order to work out more details. This was hilariously part one of the breakthrough for me to actually be able to move forward things more effectively.

Originally I was envisioning this fight as a largely sword-based duel, also featuring Hokushin’s neck, because I was so focused on the time period of the setting. While looking at references and inspirations, I was also reminded that Yu Yu Hakusho is mostly people punching and blasting each other in very cool ways, and there are actually very few sword-based duels. (There are characters with swords, but they rarely fight each other, and they rarely fight with swords the way you would see in a “duel” - it’s more individual attacks, and flashy energy-blast-based type moves.) This at least reminded that I don’t need to stick to “normal” fight considerations since neither of these characters are human, my second hilarious(ly obvious) breakthrough. I then happily whatevered my way through the fight sequence actions, hopefully they made some kind of sense.

All page sketches!

These page sketches all have the final text and text positions because I didn't save a version with the first pass of the text. They're on separate layers so I can adjust them independently; hence why on the sketch layer sometimes the bubbles don't line up with the placement of the text (because in the final drawing layer they are moved elsewhere).

[Image set showing the rough sketch stage for all 7 pages in part 2 of fight / flight.]

The main changes.

While reviewing Otake’s appearance in the manga to make sure my depictions felt as true to canon as possible, I decided to make a change to a number of the panels. For some reason I had an impression of Otake giving a very darkly shaded evil grin at one point in the manga… but upon double-checking he’s actually extremely pokerfaced, though he tends to grit his teeth when he’s being intense.

I checked Cicada Cry and I was pretty consistent there. Thus, I went back and removed all the panels or downplayed any part where Otake could be interpreted as starting to sneer evilly. My interpretation of this character is that he really does think of himself as above the banal concerns of humans, and of his actions as being in the right through his role as a servant of the Spirit World. Which is what makes him a disturbing antagonist/terrorist. So keeping his facial expression more serious/bland felt truer to his character.

That said, he’s many centuries younger here, so he could be more cocky… with that in mind I kept his expression a little "midway" on page 15 when he’s revealing to Hokushin what happened to Semimaru. This is to give a vague sense of some kind of ambiguity or imbalance going on, that maybe his attitude about killing Semimaru wasn’t merely doing his job. That said, you can still see I really pulled back on the expression compared to the sketch.

Unfortunately, by the time I did my review, page 9 had some over the top evilness already inked up, so I had to rework this. I was like ugh now I have to come up other things to fill the panels without it feeling out of place or dragging on because I don’t want to recompose and redraw everything. The last panel in page 9 (Otake grabbing his wrist/the bracer) replaced the evil grin panel. The glow around the bracer from the top of page 10 became the last panel on page 9. This actually improved the pacing on page 9 in my opinion (though I lost a lot of the nice blobby forest shadows behind Otake…), but then page 10 now felt way too dragged out.

I didn’t want to add MORE panels on page 10, so I ended up just increasing the height of everything vertically and filling in all the missing parts, sigh. hahah

I dropped some speech and thought bubbles where characters were basically just repeating things that were self-evident (I hope) through the action. If any actions are unclear it might be because of this decision, hahah.

I am really proud of pages 11 and 12. Upon review, page 11 is probably a little too busy art wise, but I still like how Hokushin turned out in panel four (the “ugh” panel) and also RIBBON ACTIONNNNNNNNnn

Page 13 is inspired by one of my fave webcomics, Sombulus!! where @delphina2k​ used a vertical two column sequence of tandem events and I thought it was so clever and effective! You can see examples here and here! I don't know that my attempt was that effective - I think it loses some steam at the end - but it was a good exercise and experiment to go through and help me figure out what might work better in the future. (I think the weakest parts are Otake getting slammed around the transition from Hokushin pulling out the shards to sliding down the tree.)

Here are the silhouettes I lost in the page 9-10 reconfiguring! Yeah, I know, the background is basically blobby blobs, but I liked how it looked 3:

QA

One last note: in the first image at the very top of the post, the right-hand image with the two lists is me doing my final check on the pages. I'm pretty much ploughing through this before the holidays are over, and I'm employing a rough "good enough" approach to these pages. So as a last QA, after I save all the finished pages, I take a break (half a day, a day etc.). Then I come back and review the pages again, going through them one at a time and jotting down notes of things bothering me that I want to fix. After I finish making the list, I then methodically open the file and go through each item and fix it on each page. The edits vary in complexity from things like forgetting to shade a certain part of the panel, to cleaning up stray lines, to full on redrawing sections or adding in missing scenes. Sometimes I'll make a note and then decide later it's not important and ignore it.

[pearwaldorf]

[id: a scan of a page from a fanzine called Against the Sith. In the upper right is a drawing of Luke Skywalker wielding a lightsaber with Obi-Wan Kenobi standing behind him.

"1/3/81

Dear readers,

It has been decided by the editors to cease publicatlon of AGAINST THE SITH and the other fan publications ATS #10, STAR JOURNEYS 11, A RAY OF HOPE, and A CRUDE MATTER will not be published. Enclosed with this announcement are all refunds (see below).

Over the past months it has become increasingly clear to us that we cannot continue publishing a fanzine for a movle in which we find so little to recommend. We still stand by everything we felt in our first letter to fandom in May--but we would word it differently now, Since then, we thought we could foo! ourselves, try hard to accept the film, and put out two more issues (#8 and 9}. But we realized we weren't having much fun. Not only has this film fractured individual fans’ emotions, fandom Is fractured. Judging from feedback on #8 & 9, most people are confused and much less enthusiastic about TESB than they were about SW. The questionnaires sent back to us had such diverse answers on all the subjects listed that it proved to ua that no one has any clear idea of whar the film fs really all about. At this point, judging from the contradictory statements from the film creators, we're not sure they know what they're doing, either.

We knew e tot of fans have “accepted" TESB, but we wonder how much they really love it as they loved SW. For us, TESB left out the most important ingredient: love--from which flowed an innocent sense of fun, without this the flim is a peeled zero. it is not for us any great plece of literature, philosophy or religion. The filmmakers took themselves too seriously and fandom is following suit. it happened tn Star Trek and when this happens, we split.

We kept the zine golng mainly because of our readers’ wishes, most seemed to care more about ATS and whether or not it was coming out than what Its editors thought one way or another about the saquel. We were highly flattered by this, believe us, but we just cannot go on with a project if we find the subject so lacking. To us, TESB is a dead thing with no life.

We are not tha only fans, fan editors, or SW enthusiasts who have jumped ship, either. Several prominent zine editors have let us know their misgivings and at least two others have washed their hands of the sequel and the ‘future’ of the SW saga. Life is more than movies! | fear there are some fans who don't realize this. But all of you out there, I hope, wit! understand our move.

We thank aif our readers for their contributions, enthusiasm and support of ATS these past two and ane half years. It was fun while it lasted, white it could last. Now we seek new horizons, better harizons. Thank you one and all--friends, critics and various belngs, May God (tne One True force) guide yau. Go in peace,

(two very tiny signatures. I think they say Tracy and Nancy?)

PS. Thanks for all the Christma cards and cheer! Happy New Year and New Beginnings.

A check mark appears beside your order (please contact us ASAP if there is an error). # You ordered ATS #10 for $4.25. # You reserved A RAY OF HOPE, $5.00.

#You contributed to ATS #10 or Crude Matter, anciosed Is your ms, art, etc., if ret postage was suppiied. # You Inquired about ATS, A Ray-, CM, SJII, Alliance Int., etc. Nancy & Tracy Duncan, PO Box 2835 Eugene, Oregon 97402"

/end id]

fandoms have literally always been like this. did you know the empire strikes back was a disappointing sequel nobody really loved

[bambolinawrites]

Random nsfw HC’s

Characters: Katsuki, Dabi, Izuku, Kirishima

warnings: d/s dynamics on some, femme reader, femme domme, femme sub, dom Kirishima, pussy eating, vaginal sex, public sex, exhibitionism, possessiveness, praise kink, hand jobs, blow jobs, implied face fucking, dumbification, condescension, slight dubcon?, use of pet names (princess, doll, baby, puppy) let me know if i missed anything!

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Katsuki

Would one hundred percent eat you out till you cry. You cannot convince me this man doesn’t have a SEVERE pussy eating addiction. One taste and he’s hooked. 

Katsuki storms into the apartment, slamming the door so hard it shakes on it’s hinges. You look up from where you’re reading on the couch. 

“Katsuki, what’s wrong?” You ask sweetly, dog earing your page and placing the book down beside you. He ignores you and stomps your way. You expect him to sit down next to you and rant about his day but instead he drops to his knees on the floor in front of you. 

Before you can ask what he’s doing, strong hands are tearing your tiny pyjama shorts off and flinging your legs over his shoulders so he’s face to face with your pussy. You squeal in surprise. 

“Kats!” You giggle trying to wiggle free of his bruising grip. He growls and holds you still. He takes a second to kiss the inside of your soft thighs, breathing in your addictive scent, and then he’s beginning his assault on your poor cunt. 

His tongue darts out to taste your pussy, already wet from his sudden display of strength. He groans at the first taste and dives back in. He runs his tongue over every part of you, not wanting to let any of it go to waste. 

You’re moaning and writing on the couch, hands carding through his blonde hair, tugging when he sucks your puffy clit into his mouth. His hands knead the fat of your hips, nuzzling his nose into your pelvis so he can inhale you. He wants to be completely surrounded by you. 

He eats you out like a man starving, he swears he doesn’t need anything else in this world but your pussy. Man could die happy after this. 

When he’s done (Not when you’re done, but when he’s satisfied), he wipes the slick off his mouth with the back of his hand then kisses you. Wants to hear you moan as you taste yourself. 

When you ask him why his day was so bad, he can barely even remember. He swears your pussy is like a magic potion. Your pretty great too he guesses. 

Dabi

Would one hundred percent fuck you in public. I know it’s been done a hundred times but HE WOULD. He would get off on the fact that the two of you could get caught at any minute. He kind of hopes you do so everyone knows you’re all his. Even if the two of you aren’t officially dating. Yet.

“Dabi - fuck - we’re gonna get caught!”

He has you pinned to the wall of the alley, rough brick cutting into your hands as he fucks you from behind. He grunts in your ear before biting down on your neck - hard. You cry out but try to muffle it with your hand. 

Dabi slaps your ass. “Don’t try and be quiet, doll. Let me hear you.” The sinful words are whispered into your ear and you clench around his dick. He seems to be hitting spots you didn’t even know existed and your eyes roll back. 

“Dabi” You whine drawing out the I. “Have to stop.” You don’t stop him though when his hand snakes down your abdomen and draws lazy circles on your puffy clit. You let your head fall back onto his shoulder as he picks up the pace with a dark chuckle. 

“Dabi” He mocks you, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on your shoulder. “Thought you wanted me to stop, princess.” He drawls before sucking a hickey onto your neck. “She sure doesn’t”

She. He’s talking about your pussy. Personifying it is so dirty and lewd that it makes you clench and moan. Dabi snickers in your ear. 

“Dirty fucking girl. And all for me, eh?” When you don’t answer quick enough he thrusts harshly, slamming you roughly into the wall and making you see stars. 

“All yours! Fuck, all yours! Just please, hurry up and make me cum before we get caught!” 

“As you wish, dollface.”

Izuku

Babyboy would be SO into praise. He’d love praising you, telling you how pretty you are and how good you are. He’d also love you telling him what a good boy he is, how big and strong he is. Praise either way just makes this man’s brain mush. 

“Good boy”

Two little words and he’s a whimpering mess. Lying on his back on your bed, you straddling his thighs, his big cock leaking in your hands. His green eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth open in a pretty O shape. 

“Aw, you wanna cum, baby?” You ask as you lazily pump his cock, pulling your hand away to spit in it. Izuku nods hastily making small whimpers and whines in the place of actual words. You click your tongue and tilt your head though his eyes are still closed. 

“Can you use your words, puppy?” You coo giving his cock a gentle squeeze making him moan loudly. You bring your free hand down to cup his heavy balls and he lets out a string of curses. 

“Please! Please!” He begs, fists clutching the sheets in desperation. You laugh lightly. You lean forwards so you’re breath is hitting his pink-tinged ears. You hum softly and give his balls a squeeze just to hear the pretty sounds he makes when you do. 

“Please what, pretty boy?” You ask softly, trailing light kisses along the shell of his ear. He whimpers and whines, manages broken almost words until he manages to say, 

“Please let me cum!” 

You sit up again and start fisting his cock faster and faster, massaging his balls at the same time. He’s writhing and squirming in the sheets as he moans so loud the neighbours can definitely hear. 

“Oh, good boy. Cum for me.” 

The second the words leave your glossy lips he’s shooting thick ropes of white cum all over your hand and his stomach. He cums with shouts of your name and a slew of thank yous. Such a good boy. 

Kirishima 

Kiri would be so sweet and condescending. He would say the meanest, dirtiest things in the sweetest tone just to confuse you. He would get off on the confused, needy, upset looks on your face. 

“Come on, baby, you can do better than that, can’t you?” His tone is so sweet and condescending, like he’s helping you. You whine with his cock halfway in your mouth. You’re trying so hard to fit it all he’s just so big!

Kirishima pats the back of your head coaxingly, trying to get you to move forwards on his spit covered cock. You try, gagging as he hits the back of your throat once again. Drool is coating your mouth, your chest, his abdomen. You’re filthy and he loves it. 

“You want to make me feel good, don’t you, baby?” He asks in that sweet tone that brings tears to your eyes. Of course you do, you’re trying. He’s just too damn big!

You pull off and cough and splutter trying to catch your breath again. Kiri sighs and looks at you like he’s disappointed, like he expected better. 

“Thought you wanted to be a good girl?” He asks, his tone never changing even if his words did. You whine and nod frantically. 

“You’re too big!” You sob, tears rolling down your cheeks as you look up at him. He sighs again and cups your cheek with the palm of his hand. The action is so soft even if his next words aren’t. 

“God, you really are pathetic, aren’t you?” He swipes away your tears with his thumb as he says it, looking at you like he feels sorry for you. You cry harder but his face doesn’t change. It’s almost like he doesn’t acre. 

That can’t be true though, can it? He’s so sweet. Kiri is always sweet to you, his dumb little bimbo girlfriend. Everyone always says so. 

“No!” You cry. “Wanna be a good girl, Kiri! Wanna be good!” You beg, shuffling closer to him on your knees. He gives you a small smile and you want to cry from happiness. If he’s smiling, he can’t be disappointed, right?

“Well, since you’re too dumb to do it yourself, why don’t you let me help.” 

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Kirishima’s got away from me a bit there - oops! Let me know what you think!

If you like this please like and rb, reblogs help more than likes!

[cherryobx]

𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 || 𝐑.𝐂 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

requested?: yes

summary: Rafe finds your diary and all the letters addressed to him.

warnings: language, invasion of privacy (reading someone's diary), tiny bit of fluff in the end

WC: 1.4k

-GIF CREDIT @starkey-babie -

Opening up to people is one of the scariest things in the world for a lot of people. The thought of someone knowing your deepest darkest thoughts makes your stomach turn.

It's not like you didn't want to open up to your boyfriend more. It was that you didn't know how to. How does one just talk about what they really feel? It seemed weird to just bring the topic up over dinner or when golfing. Was there a right time? And was the right time ever going to come?

At the beginning of your relationship with Rafe you started writing letters to him in your diary. You weren’t sure if you were ever going to show them to him but that was the only way you could say what you wanted to say without actually saying it out loud.

For months, as your relationship grew more and more, you kept writing letters addressed to him. You kept your diary so hidden that sometimes you even forgot where you had put it. You didn’t want to risk anyone ever seeing it. Those were your personal thoughts. The ones you’d never want anyone other than yourself to read.

One night, you and Rafe had planned to go out to a party, just to let loose for the night and have fun. You were in such a hurry doing your hair and make-up that you had forgotten your diary on your bedroom table. Literally an open book.

“Babe?” Rafe entered your room without knocking. He never did so. Why would he if there were high chances of seeing you naked or getting dressed.

“In the bathroom,” you yelled, trying not to mess your eyeliner up. You were so close to getting both of the wings to look even.

Usually he would hop onto your bed to wait for you but this time, seeing the open notebook on the table, he was intrigued to sit behind the table. He recognized your handwriting as his eyes scanned the pages in front of him.

“What the fuck?” he quietly mumbled as he started flipping through the pages, seeing his own name on top of many of them. He started reading the most recent one of them all.

Dear Rafe,

It’s our 6 months anniversary today. Wow it really has already been that long. But it’s kind of hard to believe so much time has passed because whenever I’m with you time just stops. It’s like we’re living in our own little bubble at our own pace. And I like that about us. But the thing is, I still don’t know how to really open up to you. I want to tell you how beautiful you look when you first wake up, messy hair and morning voice and all. I want to tell you that hearing your laugh makes me instantly happy. I want to tell you that when you look at me I go weak in the knees. I want to tell you that your smile is my favourite thing in the whole world. I want to tell you how much better you make my life, how I care about you more than anyone else. I want to tell you how happy you really make me. I want to tell you how much I really love you. I want to tell you so many things but it’s like my mind just goes blank whenever I try to do that. I feel like I should be able to do that. But why can’t I? It’s keeping me up at night. Maybe one day I’ll be able to tell you all of this. Hopefully before it’s too late. I love you, Rafe, much more than you’ll ever know.

Yours truly,

Y/N

“Do you really go weak in the knees when I look at you?” he asked, a small smirk on his lips.

Your eyes widened in horror. The eyeliner in your hands fell into the sink, drawing a few black lines onto the white ceramic.

Slowly, you walked out of the bathroom. Your heart was beating so fast it was about to give out. When he said those words, you knew exactly where he had gotten them from. Your mind was running a million miles an hour, all of the worst case scenarios popping up.

He sat on your chair, feet up on the table and your diary in his hands.

For a moment you were absolutely speechless, you didn’t know how to react. This is exactly what you had been trying to avoid all this time. And now it was all happening.

“What the fuck, Rafe?” your voice barely a whisper, tears already forming in your eyes.

Then you screamed. “What the fuck?”

He winced at the tone and loudness of your voice.

“Why would you do that, Rafe. That’s personal. You have no right to just read someone else’s diary. What the fuck is wrong with you?” The tears falling down your cheeks ruined your make-up completely but you didn’t care even a little bit in that moment.

He placed the notebook back on the table and stood up. He tried to hug you but you stepped back.

“Don’t fucking touch me right now!”

The severity of the situation had finally reached him. He had fucked up, majorly. He should’ve never even looked at what you wrote in that notebook.

“Y/N…”

“No, no, no! Shut up! Do you have any idea how wrong of you that was? That was an invasion of privacy. Those are the things that I never want anyone to see. And then you fucking do that shit?”

“But it was just sitting right there and I saw my name. I’m so sorry, Y/N. Please.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “That doesn’t fucking mean you can just read that! Oh my God.”

You felt like your legs were going to give out so you sat onto your bed and hid your face in your hands. He sat beside you but kept his distance. He might’ve acted like an asshole but he still wanted to respect your wishes. Even though he had just read your diary, which had definitely been off-limits.

You both sat there for a few minutes in silence before you spoke up.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“It’s okay, you had every right to.”

You scooted closer to him and wrapped your arms around his torso, hiding your face in his chest. Cautiously, he wrapped his arms around you as well.

“I’ve never known how to talk about what I feel or what I think. I don’t know, it’s just really hard for me, I guess. When I met you and we started dating, I started writing letters to you. It was the only way for me to get it all out of my system. I never meant to actually send them to you or show them to you.”

You took a break since your voice started quivering. You took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down.

“And what you did was wrong. It was fucked up. But...the letters were addressed to you so I’m not going to hold it against you. But don’t you ever fucking touch my diary without my permission ever again or it’s gonna be last thing that you do.”

He chuckled lightly and placed a kiss on your forehead. “I promise.”

“Now, how about we stay here tonight and I’ll let you read a few of those letters?” you offered, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes.

“Are you sure?” He placed his hands on your cheeks as he gently wiped away the tears with his thumbs.

“I mean you already read one so a couple more are not gonna hurt me. Plus, I think you deserve to know how I really feel about you since I haven’t been able to actually tell you.”

“Then okay, sure.”

“And, I promise I’ll try to start saying these things to you in person. It's probably gonna take time for me to completely open up to you like that but I’ll try to get there.”

“And I’ll be here for every step of the way.”

Outer Banks taglist: @taylathornton @jjmaybanksbaby @maybanksslut @dirtytissuebox

Rafe Cameron taglist: @teenwaywardasgardian @canibeoneofthepogues @vintageobx @nehireerdogan @samlovessylvie @noellesideas @tomhardybby @drewstarkeysbitchh @in-my-body-bag

(couldn't tag the crossed out ones for some reason)

[chudleycanonficfest]

Dancing

Day 32 Post 1 by @honouraryweasley12

Title: Dancing Author/Artist: honouraryweasley12 Pairing: Ron/Hermione Prompt: Masquerade Ball/Special Event Rating: M Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Smut, Language

The knock on her office door interrupted Hermione's thoughts. She'd been hunched over for several hours since lunch, studying the tiny, almost illegible text of an ancient book about Centaurs.

"Come in!"

The door creaked open and Ginny strode into the small, cramped office, waving a piece of parchment. She tossed it onto the desk, covering the page. Hermione recognized it immediately.

"Just thought I'd pop in. Are you and Ron going to this thing next week?"

She had read the invite to the Ministry event the night before, amidst a flurry of complaints from Ron.

"Yes, it's mandatory."

"Did you see the date?"

"I know, the first of March. Ron was not thrilled that we'd have to postpone his birthday celebrations."

"I can imagine." Ginny smirked, before waggling her eyebrows. "Did you have anything special planned?"

"What we do in the privacy of our bedroom—"

"Who said anything about the bedroom?" Ginny asked innocently, trying to get a rise out of her friend.

Hermione wagged a warning finger. "I know you, Ginny Weasley." She frowned. "It would be nice to do something for him on the day; he was so disappointed."

"At least it's in a nice place," Ginny remarked, referring to the estate where the event was being held. "The food will be good—that alone should please my brother."

"That's true," Hermione remarked glumly. "I'm sure it'll be fine, but I know his birthday is important to him."

"What's the big deal? He's turning twenty-three. It's not exactly a milestone."

"I know, I know. He told me once that growing up, his birthday was the only day when he felt like he was the centre of attention, so I like to make an extra special effort."

Ginny nodded. "He's not wrong, I suppose."

Hermione rolled her head from side to side, a cracking sound from her stiff neck echoing around her office.

"Looks like he's not the only one who needs some pampering."

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "I'm used to it."

"You should do something nice for yourself. Even I know you're working yourself too hard."

"Like what?"

Ginny pondered for a moment, before bouncing up in her seat. "I have an idea."

Hermione looked at her wearily. "What is it?"

The redhead nodded toward the invitation on her desk. "Did you see the part about muggle clothing being encouraged? What are you planning on wearing?"

"I don't know. I guess a gown. Maybe the one I wore to Percy's wedding last fall."

"You always wear things my mother would approve of. You're still young! How about something fun and sexy?"

Hermione scoffed. "I've seen some of the things you wear, Ginny."

She raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with what I wear?"

"You show a lot of… skin. Which is completely fine, but you don't work with these people."

"C'mon, live a little. I know my brother would still be mad about you if you were wearing a potato sack, but just imagine his reaction if you wear something a bit different."

"I don't know…"

"I promise, I won't go too crazy. It's Ron's birthday after all, wouldn't he enjoy seeing you in something less… proper?"

Hermione sighed, her willpower slipping away. "Yes, he would."

"Harry and Ron will be away this weekend taking new recruits into the field, so it's the perfect opportunity to go shopping." Ginny stood up and grabbed her invitation, before making her way to the door. "I'll meet you at yours at noon on Saturday."

"I don't see how this is treating myself."

"We'll stop at a bookshop then." The determined look on her friend's face was enough for Hermione to throw her hands up in the air.

"Fine!"

"That's the spirit." Ginny flashed her a cheeky grin and closed the door behind her.

"Weasleys," Hermione muttered to herself, before returning to her book.

~*~

Hermione stepped out of the ornate fireplace, her magically-extended clutch in hand. Ginny followed closely behind her, the two stopping to admire the tastefully decorated ballroom of the old estate house.

The brunette witch glanced around, hoping to see the familiar red hair of her love bobbing above the crowd, but was unable to spot him. She glanced at the thin silver watch on her wrist, a gift from Ron when she graduated from Hogwarts.

Ginny thrust a flute of champagne into Hermione's hand. "Will you relax? They'll be here soon. You know they have their Friday evening briefing first. Harry told me they were going to shower and change at the Ministry, then come straight here."

"I'm just nervous, that's all," Hermione replied as she nodded hello to a member of the Wizengamot who passed by, before taking a gulp of the fizzy sweet drink.

"You look great! Ron is going to go mental when he sees you."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, referring to the outfit she'd purchased with Ginny's help before downing the rest of her glass.

The result of their shopping excursion was a shimmery silver cocktail dress that hugged her curves and stopped mid-thigh. The two thin straps holding up the garment revealed her uncovered back and shoulders. All of this was set off with a pair of black heels. Her normally bushy hair tumbled down in soft waves, aided by half-a-bottle of Sleekeazy's.

Ginny nodded. "Absolutely."

A slight murmur behind them signified the arrival of one Harry Potter, his presence causing the usual stir, even years after the end of the war. He shook a few hands as he made his way over to the two of them, kissing Ginny and giving a hug to his friend.

"Wow, you look great, Hermione! I heard all about the new outfit."

"Thank you, Harry." She glanced over his shoulders, searching. "Where's Ron?"

He chuckled. "He's on his way, should be here any second."

Hermione held her breath as she spotted ginger hair towering above the crowd. She put a hand in the air and waved him over.

Ron fought his way through the guests that were starting to amass, making a beeline in their direction. Just as he was about to reach them, Ginny winked at Hermione and jumped into his path, wrapping him up in a hug and drawing his attention.

"Happy birthday, Ron!"

He patted her on the back. "Thanks, Gin."

Before letting go of the embrace, she whispered. "The dress was my present."

"What dress?" he asked as she angled him toward Harry and Hermione.

Ron's jaw dropped as he took in the outfit Hermione was wearing. She blushed at his hungry gaze, as she herself gawked at how fit he looked in his suit.

"Hey, Ron."

Harry's greeting went completely unnoticed as Ron stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Hermione's. He pulled her against him, his hand splayed across the bare skin of her back.

"You look fucking hot," he growled into her ear, causing her to shiver.

She ran her own hand up and down the back of his dark suit jacket, relishing how solid he felt. "So do you."

He teased her ear, hidden by her hair. "We'd better get on with it. The sooner we're done mingling, the sooner we can get out of here and… celebrate my birthday."

She nodded as he pulled away, her face flush. As he turned to speak to Harry, another server passed by and she grabbed drinks for the two of them, needing to calm herself down. His reaction had far exceeded her expectations.

She caught Ginny's eye, the look on her face clearing stating I told you so. Hermione shrugged and grinned, before passing Ron his glass.

The night went on as they moved from dignitary to dignitary. Every so often, she'd catch him staring down at her, his desire clear. She didn't shy away though, challenging his gaze and communicating her own wants.

The teasing went on as they mingled, her hand reaching up to play with the red locks at the back of his neck. Hermione knew Ron loved it when she did that, causing him to give her a subtle squeeze as he laughed at the joke of some minister she wasn't familiar with.

His arm had been around her waist the whole time, almost possessively. As the minister turned away, she shuddered as he ran his hand up and down her side, his feather light touch just grazing the side of her breast.

"Want to dance?"

She nodded and downed her drink, dropping the empty glass on a nearby table before he led them out to the dance floor. She smoothly slid her small clutch into his jacket pocket, before wrapping her arms around his neck.

His strong arms encircled her waist, his thumb teasing patterns across her skin. "Have I told you how much I like it when you wear stuff like this?"

Hermione grinned. "No, you haven't told me, at least not with words."

Ron smiled, his hungry look returning as one of his hands dipped lower, brushing her backside as they turned in slow circles—ignoring the music but enjoying the game. He closed the distance and pressed a kiss to her lips, dragging his teeth across her bottom lip, leaving her aching for more.

He buried his face her neck, inhaling her scent before whispering in her ear. "Want to find somewhere quiet?"

The combination of his hot breath, his arms around her, and the loosening of her inhibitions from the alcohol brought on a sense of recklessness. They had been dancing around it all night. He wanted her, and she wanted him just as much.

"Yes."

They stole away from the crowded ballroom, their hands clasped together as need drove them to find some privacy. They checked a few doors in the massive estate until they found a small parlour. Ron whipped out his wand and fired off protections.

Their lips crashed together in a matter of seconds, frantic with the desire that had been building up all evening. Ron lifted her up, mimicking their first kiss, and walked her to the far end of the room. He set her down and turned her around, breaking their heated kiss. Pinning her against a wall with his firm body, he pushed aside her hair, his mouth finding that spot on the back of her neck that he knew so well.

"Oh, yes!"

He continued downward, kissing and tasting her naked back, causing her to gasp, her ragged breathing the loudest sound in the room.

"You look so fucking sexy in this," he said, before sliding his hand up her thigh and underneath her dress.

"Yes, touch me. I want to feel your hands on me."

His large hand palmed her between her legs, causing her to moan even louder. "Fuck, I love that sound."

"More," she cried out, grinding against his fingers. She loved the feeling of him taking control and pleasuring her.

His other hand snaked up to the front of her dress, reaching for her covered breast. Having his amazing attention in two different places was sending shockwaves to her core.

She mewled as he increased the pressure, his actions becoming rougher and more primal. She loved it but wanted to feel him. Wanted to feel what she did to him.

"Are you hard for me?"

"Check for yourself," he grunted, letting go of her and turning her to face him.

He kissed her hard, his hands cupping her face as she stroked his obvious arousal through his tailored suit pants. He moaned in her mouth from the contact. She in turn threw her head back as he trailed his lips to her cheek, then down to her neck, sucking and biting. They were ravenous for each other.

Her hand flew into his hair, jerking at the ginger strands as she pleaded for more. "Ron, please."

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me, quickly!" she begged, her words brazen in the elegant room. Her hand went to his zipper and tugged it down, before slipping into the opening and wanking him forcefully.

"Shit, Hermione."

"Now, Ron, please! Take me from behind!"

In one quick motion, he spun her around again and pulled roughly at her hips. He bunched the dress around her waist, exposing her delectable bum. The smack of his hand across her arse cheek echoed, leaving a pink mark on her flesh and causing Hermione to groan and push herself toward him in overheated desperation.

"Yes, more!"

He slapped her other cheek this time, eliciting another strangled groan. Her wanton reactions were too much for him as he yanked aside her soaked knickers and guided himself into her.

She moaned loudly as he entered, her cries shrill as he filled her completely.

"Yes, feels so good!"

His fingers dug into her hips as he thrust slowly at first, his grunts increasing in time with his efforts.

"Fucking take it, Hermione."

She called over her shoulder, her fingers clawing at the wall in ecstasy. "Harder, Ron! I've wanted this all night! Wanted you all night!"

He continued his pace, his groans mingling with her own. Half-leaning against the wall now, she found her most sensitive spot and began rubbing furious circles, urgently needing to get off.

"Love it when you play with your yourself," he panted as he thrust into her. "You gonna come on my cock as I fuck you?"

She nodded, his raw dirty words and relentless pounding spurring her on. Her lips were pressed into a thin firm line as she felt herself reaching her peak, crying out his name. That was enough to set him off as well, as he throbbed and spilled inside of her, burying his face in her hair as he fought to catch his breath.

She sagged against the wall, his delicious weight pressing against her as her chest heaved. After a moment, she turned to face him, seeking out his lips as they shared a lazy kiss, the taste of alcohol prevalent. They broke apart, and as they stared at each other, Hermione couldn't help but flash him a big smile.

"Enjoyed that, did you?" His deep voice rumbled.

"Mmmm, very much so. I take it you liked the dress."

He grinned. "I think that's an understatement."

They quickly cleaned themselves up and got their clothing straightened out. The effects of the champagne were still working on Hermione as she leered at him in his suit and licked her lips.

"Shall we finish our rounds and then go home? It might be your birthday, but I have one big candle to blow."

Ron laughed and shook his head. "Happy fucking birthday to me."

[pretendingboyfriends]

A/N: ok WOW first off, i’m so sorry i literally haven’t posted since december. these past few months have been so wild what with new classes and my mental health declining. i can’t promise the last few parts of this lil series will come at a timely manner just because my mental state can be very unpredictable, but i will try my best to get them out as fast as i can, especially when summer is right around the corner. i wanna thank @thestyleswritings and @friendlyneighborhood-mendes​ for being my lovely beta readers. as i’ve said before, my writing is nothing without betas so thank u for taking the time to review my piece and give me honest feedback. anyways, i made this part extra long for you guys and i really really hope you love it. <3

Warnings: explicit language, panic attack, anxiety, deidre being a megacunt (as always), smut 

Word count: 9.3k+

previous part . fic masterlist . fic playlist . taglist

It’s been a few days since your first date with Harry, the two weeks you’ve planned to spend at the beach feeling far too short as each day passes like a whirlwind. And over these days, you’ve found that getting comfortable with him is an easier feat than you’d initially imagined. Moments with him are hardly fleeting. You find yourself spending most of your time with him, whether it be going for a swim on the beach or sneaking off somewhere in the house to make out. If this were anyone else, you’d feel suffocated spending so much time with them, but with Harry it’s so much different. You can’t keep yourself away from him, even if you try, and you’re beginning to think that the feeling is quite mutual for Harry as well.

The air is humid and warm, a quaint breeze sifting through the leaves of the palm trees that surround the pool’s fence, finding its way to where the three of you lounge. The kiss of the sun blesses your exposed skin as you and Deidre lie side by side on the poolside chairs. You've lost count of how many hours the three of you have spent in the afternoon sun, but, as hot as it is, you're thoroughly enjoying every moment spent actually being with Deidre for once. Even if you aren't actually doing anything but lying in the sun, just the fact that she's spending time with you for longer than an hour makes you happy. 

Your eyes scan each line of the book in your hands, allowing your brain to paint a picture of each image as best as it can. Deidre snores quietly beside you, arms draped over her face to shield her eyes from the blinding light and Harry splashes around quietly in the pool, occasionally pulling himself under for a few moments before coming back to the surface for air again. 

As you turn the page of your book, the sudden splashing of water fills your ears before several cold droplets hit your warm skin. It immediately draws your attention away from your book and up to where Harry stands in front of your chair. 

"Hi," You muse, pulling your legs up to curl beneath you. 

"Hi back," He smiles as he pushes his fingers through his long, dripping wet hair. 

You pluck your sunglasses from your nose and gingerly place them on the top of your head so that you can get a better look at him. "Need something?" 

"Could you grab me a Coke from the cooler, please?" He asks, yanking his towel from the edge of his own chair and wrapping it around his shoulders. 

"Yeah, sure." You nod, sliding a bookmark into the spine of your book and placing it beside you on the chair before reaching into the cooler next to you for an unopened can. The chilled perspiration dripping down the aluminum can causes a chill to travel up your spine as soon as your fingertips make contact with it. You reach forward to place it into Harry's hand, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment.

He mutters a quick 'thanks' before cracking it open and lifting it to his lips. As he does this, you're given an opportunity to allow your gaze to fall down the rest of his body. His tanned skin glistens delicately in the sunlight, each droplet of water illuminated like tiny specks of glitter all along his chest and arms. The dark ink that litters his skin has somehow become a shade darker as well, each detail becoming more apparent to your eye the longer you study the expanse of his chest and shoulders.

"Enjoying the view?" Harry hums, very obviously amused by your mindless ogling. 

You clear your throat, feigning innocence as you internally burst into flames of embarrassment. "I don't know what you're talking about." (Luckily, Deidre is still snoring peacefully beside you, completely oblivious to the flirtatious comments being thrown back and forth between you and Harry.)

He chuckles, sipping his drink one last time before placing it on the ground by his chair. "Are you sure you don't want to come join me for a bit?" He motions back to the pool as he drops the towel back on the chair. 

"I think I'm alright staying here," You hum, tilting your head to the side as you gaze up at him. "I'm quite enjoying my book." You sigh, picking your book back up and waving it in the air to show him. 

He sighs in disappointment, shaking his head. "That's a shame. The water feels fantastic." 

You watch him turn back towards the pool, admiring the way the muscles in his back flex with his every move. He crouches down at the edge of the water, placing one hand on the cement as he slings himself into the pool, water splashing all around him. He swivels around in the water so that he's facing you again, his eyes trained on yours with a mischievous look on his face. You squint in suspicion, tilting your head to the side. "What are you doing?"

"Nothin'." He shrugs, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. He continues to wade out a little further and you roll your eyes at him, turning your attention away from him and back to your book. 

There are a few moments of silence in the air as you're pulled back into the imagery of the book, paying no mind to whatever mischief Harry is up to in the pool. But then, before you have even a second to process what's happening, cold water splashes up onto your legs, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as the book slips out of your grasp. 

"Harry!" You screech, sitting up on your chair to scold him. He's standing in the water at the edge of the pool with an evil smile spread across his face, his hands scooping up the water and splashing it up in your direction. The mixture of your screeching and the cold water reaching her side of the pavement, causes Deidre to wake from her slumber, scrambling up into a sitting position. 

"Harry, what the fuck!?" She screams from beside you, grabbing her sandal from the ground and hurling it in his direction. He cackles dramatically as he dodges the shoe by swiftly slipping beneath the surface of the water. The shoe falls into the water behind him with a loud 'PLUNK' and then resurfaces, floating aimlessly.

He rises back to the surface within a few seconds, chuckling as he pushes the sopping wet hair out of his face. "Sorry, did I get ya?"

Deidre scoffs, angrily wiping the water droplets from her legs with her towel. "I was having such a good nap and you ruined it." 

"Oh, come on," He rolls his eyes, dragging out the 'n' with a teasing lilt. "I was just playin' around. It's gettin' kinda boring being in here all alone."

She lies back against the chair exactly like she had been before, draping her arm over her eyes once again. "Suck it up." 

Harry wades back to the side of the pool, folding his arms against the warm cement and leaning his chin against them with a pout on his lips. "Pretty please?" 

Before either you or Deidre even has a moment to respond, Deidre's phone begins to sing loudly with the sound of her ringtone. She pats her hand around the chair for her phone for a few moments, not bothering to lift her arm from her eyes to look for it. She finally grasps it, sliding her thumb across the bottom of the screen and lifting it to her ear. 

"Hello?... oh, hey, what's up?" She speaks to the person on the other end, finally lifting her arm from her eyes so that she can sit up on the chair. "Yeah, I'd love to! I can be there in, like-" she pauses to glance at the time on her phone. "10 minutes?" Another pause. "Okay, sounds good, see you there!" She lifts the phone from her ear, tapping the screen once to end the call before quickly standing up from the chair. 

"Who was that?" You ask, tilting your head at her in curiosity, though you sense that you already know the answer. 

"That was Jeff and the rest of the gang. They invited me to mini golf with them," Deidre replies, folding her towel over her arm and picking her sandal up from the ground. "You can come along, if you want."

Immediately, you feel your mood begin to plummet as you watch her get ready to leave, barely even giving you a second glance as she retrieves her sandal from the water. You know she's not doing it on purpose, but it's hard not to feel hurt by her inability to spend even so much as a day with you. 

"That's okay," You respond, trying to mask the shakiness of your voice with a cheerful lilt. "Have fun, though." 

"Okay, well, I'll see you guys later!" She smiles, waving back to both of you as she turns on her heel and bounds up the porch stairs.

After the sound of the back door swinging shut fills your ears, you glance over in Harry's direction to find that he's watching you intently. His playful expression from just a few moments ago is exchanged with a concerned frown. You sigh, picking your book back up in hopes of finding a distraction from the sinking feeling deep in your stomach, but Harry has other plans. 

A fleeting, silent moment passes before Harry decides to speak.

"Hey," 

The sound of his voice pulls your attention away from the book in your hands, forcing you to move it from in front of your face so that you can look at him. "Hi," you make eye contact with him, finding that he's still in the same position from before, arms folded on the pavement as his chin rests against them. 

"You alright?" He questions, tilting his head to the side as he watches you. 

You shake your head a little, glancing down at the book in your lap. "It's fine. I don't really know what I was expecting, she's been doing this for the past week and a half. I shouldn't even be surprised at this point."

He's silent for a moment, gazing at you thoughtfully as he thinks of what he's going to say in response. "You really should join me in here. It'll help you get your mind off things." 

You hesitate, rubbing the back of your neck with the palm of your hand as you mull over his proposition. It'd be nice to have a distraction from the nagging feeling of betrayal deep within your chest, and you know Harry will do anything in his power to make sure you feel better. After a silent debate with yourself on whether or not you really want to join him, you push yourself up from the chair, muttering a quiet affirmation before slowly padding over to the edge of the pool.

You crouch down, moving to sit on the warm pavement as your legs hang over the edge and dip into the cool, clear water. Harry pushes himself off from the wall, spinning himself around 360 degrees. 

"Come onnnn," He sings, wading closer to you. "Come swim with me."

You scrunch your nose, kicking your legs in the water and staring down at the way the water splashes up into the air. "Gimme a minute to get used to the water, jeez." You scoff, kicking a bit of water in his direction. 

He rolls his eyes, wading closer to you so that you can feel his warm breath against your knees and the current his kicking feet create beneath you. "That's an excuse if I've ever heard one,"  his fingers curl around your right ankle, giving you another mischievous smile identical to the one he gave you earlier. 

"What are you doing?" You squint your eyes at him, cautiously tugging your leg against his grip. 

"M'helpin' you get in," he hums nonchalantly. "Seems like you need a bit of coaxing."

A small smile breaks across your face and you roll your eyes, placing your hands on the pavement behind you and leaning back against them. "I'm quite comfortable right here, actually." 

"Alright, then you leave me no other choice..." Before you can even process what he's saying, he's grabbing your other ankle and yanking you into the water in one quick movement. The water splashes around you, engulfing you beneath the surface and immediately soaking into your bathing suit.

You resurface, sputtering and choking on the water as you rub the chlorine from your burning eyes. "I hate you so much right now," You huff, dropping your hands and squinting up at him. He's wearing an mischievous smile, fully content with his successful attempt of getting you into the pool.

"It's really not that bad," he rolls his eyes, wading further away from you. "You'll get used to it." 

You glare at him, shoving your hands forward beneath the water to splash him directly in the face, but he merely laughs and swiftly wipes the droplets from his eyes like it's nothing. You watch as he slinks towards the very edge of the pool several feet away from you, turning back to face you before grabbing a small, foam ball floating on the surface. He tosses it in your direction, watching it land directly in front of you, splashing the water gently. 

"C'mon, toss it back to me,"

You take the ball into your hand, squinting up at him. "Is this your idea of fun?"

He shrugs. "Got any other ideas?"

At that, you roll your eyes and reluctantly hurl the ball back into his direction. He catches it swiftly with both hands, tossing it up into the air a few times as he contemplates his next move. 

“Oh, my god,” you groan, rolling your head back onto your shoulders in dramatic exaggeration. “I’m not doing this.” You turn to wade towards the side of the pool.

“No, wait!” He calls, immediately running (more like bobbing) through the water towards you as fast as he can. 

You ignore his call and start to climb the side of the pool, but he catches you before you can fully climb out, curling an arm around your waist and tugging you back against him. 

“Please,” he mutters, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your neck. “I know you’re upset, but I just wanna help you get your mind off things.” 

You sigh, reluctantly dropping your hands from the edge of the pavement. You’re silent for a moment as he rests his chin against your shoulder, small puffs of air hitting your damp skin.

“I really thought she was going to try to spend time with me today,” you whisper, turning in his arms to face him. “She didn’t tell me she wouldn’t do it again, though, so I guess I’m the only one to blame.”

He frowns at that, shaking his head. “Don’t blame y’self for any of this. You had expectations for this trip and she completely obliterated them.” 

Jutting your bottom lip into a pout, you avoid making eye contact with him. You know he’s right. She promised you she’d spend the trip with you, just you, but she’s almost done everything in her power to do the opposite. 

Harry leans forward, pecking your pouted lips gently. He starts to pull away, but you want more so you lock your arms around his neck and he takes that as an invitation to continue, pecking your lips in quick intervals. Even though you’d only just begun to show affection towards each other in this short period of time, it feels like you’ve been together for years. Everything is just so easy with him. It helps that you grew up with each other, but your interactions were so scarce over the years that you didn’t even feel like you really knew him until this trip. 

As you’re opening your mouth ever so slightly for him to stroke his tongue over your bottom lip, the feeling of his fingers creeping along your waist has you chuckling nervously. “What’re you doing?” 

“Nothin’...” He hums, hooded eyes gazing into yours as he traces his fingertips up against your sides. He leans in for another kiss with a lazy smirk on his lips and you hesitantly grant him one, wary of his wandering hands. 

Suddenly, his hands aren’t so gentle anymore and the seemingly harmless pressure of his fingers has turned into almost painful tickling. You throw your head back against your shoulders with a cackle, pressing your palms into his chest in an attempt to push him away but he doesn’t budge. The vicious assault of his fingers draws giggle after giggle from your lips with the occasionally squeal of frustration as you squirm in his unyielding hold. 

“I. Hate. You.” You grunt between each word, smacking your hands against his biceps, chest, and shoulders playfully. 

Finally, you’re able to tear away from him, nearly diving into the water to get away from him, but he’s faster than you and within moments he has a large, tattooed arm curled around your waist once again. You scream out in frustration, kicking your legs in the water and causing it to splash out in front of you nearly six feet into the air. 

“You can’t escape that easy,” he chuckles into your ear, continuing his assault on your poor midsection as you whimper and struggle limply. 

Suddenly,  a loud rumble of thunder pulls your attention from Harry’s abuse and up to the sky. You've been so distracted by Harry’s stabbing fingers that you hadn't seen the dark cumulonimbus' gathering directly above you in the sky, uttering low groans of warning to anyone near. It begins as small, harmless droplets, but quickly blossoms into a violent downpour, pounding into the surface of the water. 

“Fuck!” You screech as you scramble to get out of the pool. Harry is taking his time, though, laughing at the way you’re panicking. “Do you want to get struck by lightning?!” You yell to him, yanking your towel and book from the chair you were lying in before. 

He laughs at you, climbing out of the pool and standing by the edge briefly so that he can wipe the moisture from his eyes. The sight of him standing there in nothing but a tight, wet pair of swimming trunks, nearly causes your mouth to water. If it weren’t for the raging thunderstorm pelting you and everything around it, you’d take a few moments just to soak in the view, but you have no time for that. 

You bound up the stairs leading to the back porch, holding your book and towel close to your chest to keep them from getting any wetter than they already are. Harry soon follows with his own belongings, giggling playfully like a little boy as the screen door slams behind him. 

“Shit- that came out of nowhere!” He chokes, pushing his hand through the sopping curls sprouting from his head and framing his beautiful face. 

You shake your head at him with a small chuckle as you toss your towel to the side and yank the sliding door open so that you can step inside. Harry tosses his own towel over a porch chair before he follows you inside, sliding the door closed behind him. The contrast of the roaring sound of the storm outside compared to the silence inside the house is almost deafening. Both of you are wet and shivering on the carpeted floor, looking shamelessly like a pair of greasy rats. 

Both of you shower (separately) and change into more comfortable, dry attire, soon finding yourselves in the kitchen scavenging for something to eat. 

“Y’know what I’m really craving right now?” Harry asks, standing in front of the open refrigerator. 

“What?” You reply, popping a grape into your mouth as you lean back against the counter.

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

You pause for a moment, contemplating the prospect of freshly baked cookies melting in your mouth. “Now that you mention it, I'm really craving some as well."

"I think it's something in the water." He hums sarcastically, scrunching his nose to emphasize the sarcasm.

“Perhaps,” you hum in response, a smile itching to spread across your lips.

"Alright then, let's do it!" Harry says, pushing himself away from the counter. "Let's make chocolate chip cookies."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah! Come on, we've got nowhere else to be. This will give us something to pass the time!" 

Soon, you find yourself hip to hip with Harry at the kitchen counter, a large spread of every required ingredient to make chocolate chip cookies laid out in front of you. You'd found a few old aprons in the back of the pantry and of course you'd both thrown them on to make the experience as authentic as possible. 

Harry's apron of choice is a bright yellow number with tacky, purple frills lining the edges and the words "Grandma's Kitchen" stitched across the breast in that same purple color-all you can do is giggle at the sight of him. Yours, however, is nearly the opposite of his; a plain white piece with a pattern of small, black flowers.

Harry frowns at you when you begin to laugh at the sight of him in the apron. "What?? You don't like it?" He huffs, placing his hands on his hips.

"No, no-" you snort, attempting to hold in the cackle itching to escape your throat. "It's great, I love it. Really suits you."

He smiles to himself, turning to the counter. "Thank you, I think it's quite tasteful as well." 

You notice that he's pulled his hair up into a bun, so you're able to admire his face in the close proximity. He really is handsome, you think. His eyes are shockingly vibrant - piercing yet kind all at the same time. When he smiles, the very edges of his eyes crinkle as if they're smiling with him and it's getting harder for you to keep yourself from getting lost in them. You'd always found him attractive like that, but within the past week and a half you've gained a different, more meaningful attraction to him. He isn't just your childhood crush anymore - he's Harry. Harry, the boy who remembers how you take your coffee; Harry, the boy who takes you out to coffee and bookstores and proceeds to buy you nearly half the store without you even knowing; Harry, the boy that would rather spend his entire vacation with you when he could easily spend it partying with a new girl every night. 

You shake your head at him with a small chuckle, turning back to the counter before looking down at the recipe shown on your phone screen. "So..." you begin, scanning over the first few steps on your screen. "First, we need to combine all the dry ingredients into one bowl and then combine all the wet ingredients in another bowl."

"Alright," Harry hums through a nod, selecting all the dry ingredients from the layout in front of you and collecting them into his corner. "I'll mix the dry ingredients."

You acknowledge him with a quiet murmur before you continue to scan the list of instructions. As you do so, your vision begins to blur slightly. You ignore it at first, hoping it goes away, but when it doesn't, you're forced to blink a few times in an attempt to clear it. Your attempts are in vain, however, because your vision does not improve. Nevertheless, you choose to ignore it in hopes that it will go away on its own. 

As you begin to crack eggs; scoop perfectly measured cups of sugar; and combine softened butter all together into a bowl, a slight wave of light-headedness overwhelms you. It's unexpected, so you place the bowl on the counter, sliding it away from you slightly so that you can grip the edge of the counter to stabilize yourself. 

Harry seems to notice the shift in your behavior, nudging your arm gently with his elbow to grab your attention. "Is everything alright? Y'look a bit flustered," 

Before you're able to respond, your heart rate suddenly and noticeably begins to increase as well, causing your breathing to become more labored and frantic. You shake your head, gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles are white, head hung on your shoulders as you attempt to catch your breath. "I think I'm- I think I'm having a panic attack," 

You sense him moving closer to you, a warm palm pressed against your back in a soothing manner. "Can I- What can I do to help?" 

"I just- I need to sit down," You mutter between breaths, turning slightly to slide down the cabinets and onto the floor with your hand still firmly placed against your chest. A slight numbness begins to form around your nose and your hands begin to shake uncontrollably as you crumple onto the kitchen floor. 

Harry follows quickly, moving to sit directly in front of you and gently taking both your hands into his own. "Can you try to breathe a bit slower for me?" He mutters, rubbing his thumbs against your knuckles soothingly. "Maybe in through your nose and out through your mouth?" 

You nod to him, taking deep breaths in through your nose and then breathing out through your mouth just like he'd instructed. The feeling of his thumbs rubbing against your skin so gently helps to ground you in the moment, although the feeling of panic and anxiety still rages through your veins. Just his presence alone gives you a level of comfort, but it isn't enough to obliterate the numbness in your face and the hot tears gliding effortlessly down your cheeks. 

You don't know how much time passes, but eventually your breathing has gone back to normal and you're left exhausted and still shaking. 

"Are you feeling better?" He hums, gently pressing his lips to your knuckles as he gazes up at you with the same concerned expression he'd been sporting as soon as your episode began. 

"Yeah- Yes," You stutter in response, leaning your head back against the wooden cabinets. "Fuck, I don't even know where that came from, I'm sorry." 

"No, please, don't apologize. Just wanna make sure you're alright,"

You give him a weak smile. "I'm pretty exhausted, but I'll be okay after lying down for a bit or taking a nap." 

"Yeah? Need me to help you up or do you want to sit here for a while longer?" He asks, tilting his head to the side as he smiles back at you.

"Do you think you could get me some water, please?" 

"Of course," He nods, immediately standing up in front of you to grab a fresh glass from one of the upper cabinets and fill it with water before kneeling back down to place it into your trembling hands. "There you are, babe."

You smile up at him. "Thank you." 

He smiles back as if to say "you're welcome" as he gently rubs his knuckles against your arm to give you some form of comfort.

It takes nearly 10 minutes for you to gather your bearings on reality again, but having Harry there helps so much more than if you were experiencing this alone. He watches you intently the entire time, hyper aware of every breath you take like he's afraid you'll fall apart in front of his eyes, and all you want to do is reach up and smooth out the deep creases between his eyebrows. 

"Could you help me up now?" You croak, squeezing his hand gently. 

"Yeah- yes, of course." He scrambles to securely wrap an arm around your waist, his other hand still clutching one of yours as he lifts you from the kitchen floor. Once you're fully stabilized on both of your feet, you look at Harry, hands resting on his shoulders as he cups his hands around both your elbows, searching your face frantically for any sign of distress. "You alright?"

You nod, giving him a weak smile and sliding your arms up around his neck to pull him in for a hug. His arms immediately fall to wrap around your waist, pressing your body into his in a warm, comforting embrace. 

"Sorry I couldn't finish making the cookies with you," You mutter into his ear, pressing your face into his neck. 

"S'alright, I can manage on my own." He replies, rubbing his hand up and down the length of your back. He can feel the erratic thudding of your heart against his chest, your slow, shaky breaths fanning directly over his ear simultaneously. His heart aches. 

After you take yourself back to your bedroom to rest, Harry finishes the cookies by himself. Due to his previous baking experience, the task is a breeze, but during the time he spends mixing and preparing the cookies, all he can think about is how angry he is with Deidre. He'd seen her, time and time again, take advantage of your kindness without a single thought as to how it might make you feel. She's selfish, and you're far too good for her. Deidre doesn't deserve to call you her best friend.

Just as he begins to pull the steaming, golden cookies from the oven, the sound of the front door swinging open from behind him catches his ear. Deidre stumbles in from the pouring rain, fumbling around as she removes her sandals and tosses her tote bag to the floor next to them. 

He pokes his head into the living room to look at her. She's almost completely soaked-- her long, dark hair is sopping wet, clumping together in thick strands, and her thin cover-dress is soaked completely through, sticking to her figure like a glove. He hadn't even noticed it's been raining this entire time. 

"Hey! Mini golfing got cut short 'cause of the rain." She smiles, pushing her hair out of her face as she looks at him. 

He responds with a low grunt, stepping back into the kitchen without a single word. Her peppiness annoys him. 

"Did you bake something?" She continues, sauntering into the kitchen. "Smells fantastic!"

"Chocolate chip cookies," he replies bluntly as he wipes the counter down with a damp towel.

"Can I have one?" 

"Sure, do whatever you want." He snaps, tossing the towel into the sink in frustration. 

She frowns at him, her shoulders dropping a little at the sight of the slight scowl on his face and the sudden outburst he'd just had. "What's your deal?" 

He turns to her. "What's MY deal? My fucking 'deal' is that you were meant to come here to spend time with your best friend and the longest you've spent in the same vicinity with her is when you're sleeping! She came here expecting to find a distraction from the shitty time she's been having at school and you've made it worse for her!" 

Deidre stands in shock, the hand that had been reaching for a cookie now fallen limp at her side. 

"She's in bed resting right now because she had a panic attack on the kitchen floor not even an hour ago-"

"That's not my fucking fault!" She interrupts him, throwing her arms out expressively. 

"Maybe not, but you're not doing anything to help her! You knew she was having a hard time at school and invited her here as a distraction, yet you left her to spend two weeks all by herself! If I hadn't have come along, she'd have been left on her own or forced to join you on your little escapades without a single choice." He huffs, yanking the strings of his apron to untie them from each other before pulling it over his head and hurling it to the ground. 

“You know, I asked her every time I went out if she wanted to come with me,” Deidre grumbles, shaking her head, “but she turned me down every single time.”

“Yeah, y’know why she turned you down?” Harry immediately retorts with a growl. “Because she didn’t want to spend time with a couple of random blokes that you know far better than she does!”

She snaps her mouth shut, a deep scowl etched across her brow as she stands in front of him. 

"You have no regard for anyone else besides yourself and I am not going to let you ruin this trip for her. So, PLEASE, keep doing exactly what you're doing because I'm positive she's had more time with me than the two of you ever had together!" With that, Harry storms out of the room and into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and leaving Deidre standing speechless in the kitchen.

Unbeknownst to Harry and Deidre, the quarrel wakes you from your slumber in the other room, causing you to become a bit curious and move closer to the door so that you can listen to the lava spewing from both sides. The fight isn’t long, but you hear nearly every word. The way Harry so passionately defends you in the situation, which had initially caused you to feel so unbelievably helpless, gives you a sense of comfort. You know he cares about you, but there’s something so endearing about actually hearing him defend you with so much fervor. 

The slamming of Harry’s bedroom door echoes down the hallway, indicating the end of their conversation. You step away from your own door, the backs of your knees hitting the edge of the mattress as you sit. You can hear Deidre walking down the hallway, so to make it seem like you weren’t eavesdropping on their entire conversation, you return to where you were on the bed previously and pretend like you’re asleep.

“Harry?” Your knuckles rap against the wood of his bedroom door gently, careful not to wake Deidre in the other room by knocking too loudly. There’s a brief pause and a shuffling of bed sheets from behind the door before it cracks open, revealing Harry in his sleepy, disheveled state. 

“Hi,” He croaks, licking his lips and crossing his arms over his hoodie-clad chest. “Is everything alright?”

You sigh, scratching the back of your head nervously. “Yeah, um- sorry, everything’s fine, I’m just- I’m having some trouble sleeping and- this is stupid, but… could I stay in here with you?” It takes a moment for him to process your words, but once he does he’s nodding and stepping aside to beckon you into his room. “I’m really sorry, I know you were probably sleeping-”

“S’alright, babe, don’t worry about it,” he shakes his head. “Why don’t you go and get comfortable on the bed while I grab us some tea?”

You nod, giving him a small, tired smile as he steps out of the room, leaving the door cracked slightly. You make your way over to his bed, the duvet pulled back along with the sheets, indicating where he’d been lying on the bed moments ago. Your knees land on the soft fabric as you crawl further into the queen sized bed, finding your place on the other side where the duvet is untouched. A warm mixture of chamomile, jasmine, and a hint of cedar wood engulfs you when you lay your head on his pillow. The smell is intoxicating, one whiff could send you into a peaceful, drunken slumber. But, instead of actually falling asleep, you lie there for a few moments, listening to the gentle sounds of the ceiling fan spinning above your head as it lulls you into a quiet reverie. 

Soon, Harry is entering the room again, breaking you from your thoughts as you look to find him stepping through the door with two white, porcelain mugs filled to the brim with steaming tea. 

“I hope you’re alright with green tea ‘cause that’s all we have,” He murmurs, moving very slowly towards the bed.

“Green tea is perfect, thank you.” You smile, making sure not to burn yourself or spill any of the precious beverage as he crawls onto the bed beside you and places one of the mugs into your welcoming hands. Once the tea is secured, you adjust yourself so that you're sitting against the headboard, body tilted slightly in Harry's direction.

“So,” He starts, blowing on his own tea in an attempt to cool it down faster. “Is there a specific reason why you aren’t able to sleep?”

You take a deep breath, crossing your legs comfortably. “I'm, um, having a bit of anxiety and sleeping with Deidre just isn't helping since she's always making some sort of noise."

“Anxiety?” He frowns, moving his lips away from his tea so that he can be fully attentive to what you're saying. “Are you alright? Do you need me to help with anything?"

“I guess I'm still a bit on edge from earlier, so there isn't much you can do besides just keep me distracted,” you reply, forcing a small smile. "And the tea helps a lot as well."

"I can definitely do that." He smiles, leaning in to peck your lips gingerly. Of course, you welcome the kisses happily, pulling him in for a few more after he pulls away from the first one. He chuckles into your lips, deepening the kiss by tilting his head every so slightly to the side. Your free hand rests against his chest, so you can feel the gentle vibration of his chortle through the fabric of his hoodie and it makes you smile.

“Oh, also-” you continue after you've parted from his lips. “I never properly thanked you for the books you bought for me. I really do not deserve all that, but thank you, really. They will definitely be of good use.”

He smiles and shakes his head, “S’no problem. You seemed so enthralled by each of them and I thought it’d be a shame for you not to go home with at least a few.” 

You smile to yourself, glancing down at your tea. "You really didn't need to do that, but, again, thank you." You reach up to gently cup the side of his face, leaning a little bit closer so that you can capture his lips between yours once again. This time, the kisses aren't as innocent. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, drawing him closer to you as his tongue slowly slides against your bottom lip. If it weren't for the steaming mugs of tea in both yours and Harry's hands, it would be so much easier for either of you to take more control of the situation and move into something more than just kissing. You can sense that he wants to do something, and admittedly you do too, but you pull away before anything can happen.

"That isn't the only reason why I came here tonight, though," you speak again as your lips part from his.

He frowns slightly, tilting his head to the side as if to ask: "what's the other reason?"

"I overheard your conversation with Deidre earlier." 

His eyes widen. "Oh, fuck- listen, I'm sorry I got kind of carried away. It just made me so angry to see her continuously treat you like that and I- I didn't mean to, like, speak for you-"

"No, Harry, it's okay," You interrupt him before he can continue rambling. "I appreciated it. I probably wouldn't have been able to do it myself, so thank you."

“I really didn't want to make it seem like you can't stand up for yourself, but I know it's just been affecting you so much lately and she needed to be put in her place, even if it made her angry."

"Thank you, really. Usually, Deidre would've been the person to stand up for me for something like that, but lately we just haven't felt as close. Even before this trip. Kinda started to think she just invited me here out of pity... And I honestly wouldn't blame her if she did. " You shrug, staring down into the tea to avoid direct eye contact. 

Harry shakes his head. “Don’t think like that-- I’m sure she really did want you to come, but just got distracted by other things. She tends to do that sometimes.”

You shrug wordlessly, keeping your eyes trained to the gently swirling liquid in your cup. 

When you look back up at him, you realize how cozy and warm he looks just sitting there in his hoodie and sweatpants, mug of steaming tea sitting at his pink lips. Your tank-top and shorts aren’t doing much to help with the chilled draft wafting throughout the house, so seeing him like that makes you want to crawl into his arms in search of warmth. 

He notices the way you’re shivering and moves to set his mug on the bedside table. “Are you cold?”

You smile sheepishly. “Yeah, a little. The anxiety gives me cold flashes.” He quickly tugs his hoodie over his head as soon as the words leave your lips, carefully taking the mug of tea from your hands and placing it on the bedside table before holding the hoodie open for you to slide your arms in easily. Your heart nearly melts at the sentiment, sliding your arms into the sleeves and pulling the piece of clothing over your head. It’s warm, soft and smells just like him, and it immediately gives you a sense of comfort. “Thanks.” You smile.

“S’no problem,” he replies, reaching over for your mug to offer it back to you. You carefully take it from his hands, thanking him before taking another tentative sip. The liquid is still a bit hot, but it has cooled down just enough for you to sip at your own leisure. 

“You’re way too sweet to me, Harry,” you sigh, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie over your fingers.

“Y’know, I don’t think I am,” he shakes his head, moving closer to you on the creaky mattress. “Think I should be sweeter, show you how much you deserve it.”

You scoff quietly, looking away from him to hide your flustered expression. “Oh, shut up.” 

He falls silent, the only sound that can be heard being the shuffling of the sheets and creaking of the mattress as he moves closer to you again. And then you feel it: his lips pressed to your shoulder through the thick material of his hoodie. It’s soft but it’s there and as soon as you turn your head to look at him, he pulls away, staring directly into your eyes with an almost unreadable expression.

“You deserve so much more than what you think you deserve. I wish I could show you that.”

You maintain eye contact with him, breath caught in your throat. You’re rendered speechless at the depth of his words, forced to take slow, deep breaths to calm the pounding of your heart as he inches closer. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re unable to speak a single word other than the faint murmur of his name. 

His hand finds both of yours as they clutch the warm mug of tea, (tighter than you’d initially intended due to the tension clouding your brain) carefully prying it from your fingers before placing it on the bedside table. You angle your body towards him, taking his face in your hands before moving forward to plant your lips against his. He immediately returns the kiss in a slightly more fervent manner, pushing you to fall back against the pillows as he cages you in with his arms. 

Despite the unexpected escalation of what began as an innocent conversation, Harry begins kissing you slowly, his tongue laving over your bottom lip and into your mouth. You allow his body to move between your legs as he kisses you, your hands holding desperately onto the nape of his neck and curve of his jaw.

“Wanna show you,” He mutters between hot, wet kisses. “Can I do that?” His face hovers over yours for a moment, waiting for you to say something. 

“Yeah- yes, please.” You breathe, reaching up to place your hand on the back of his neck and pull his lips back into yours. 

Immediately, Harry’s fingers curl into the waistband of your shorts, helping you tug them down your bare legs and toss them to the side before he lets his hands glide down your legs from your thighs to your calves, reveling in the softness of your skin. He pulls his lips away from yours, staring down into your eyes as his hand falls between your legs, fingers slowly finding your clit over your warm, damp panties. 

You hadn’t planned any of this so, of course, so your panties are nothing special, but when Harry lets his head fall down to look at where his fingers meet your sex, a shaky sigh leaves his pink lips. It sounds as if he’s in pain just from the sight of you and he hasn’t even taken your panties off yet. 

His lips fall to your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses along each side before trailing down the front of your hoodie clad chest. Once he reaches your lower region, his arms hook beneath your legs, slinging them over his shoulders as he moves to lie on his stomach between them. His hot breath washes over your clothed cunt, causing your legs to quiver around his shoulders at the sensitivity and you suck in a breath to hold back a gasp. 

He starts slowly as he peels the soft cotton of your panties from your skin, dragging them ever so slowly down your legs before nudging them aside on the bed. You’re finding it increasingly difficult not to squirm beneath his scorching gaze, but with his arms locked tight around your thighs, your movements are clearly limited. 

Harry begins to press gentle, open-mouthed kisses to the supple skin of your inner thighs, nipping lightly between each kiss. Much to your dismay, he pulls away, his knees still planted on the mattress between your legs as he scoops his luscious hair into his hands and pulls it back into a quick, messy bun. You lie there watching him, chest heaving with your labored breaths and he smirks. 

“Haven’t even started and you’re already out of breath,” he drops back down to hover over your body and you're left to cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, feeling the heat radiating from your skin to your palms. His long fingers circle your wrists, gently tugging your hands away from your face so that he can plant another firm kiss to your lips. "You sure you wanna keep going?"

He stares down at you with a cautious and gentle look in his eyes as he waits for you to respond. His need for consent is comforting and you can tell he really cares. "I'm positive. Please, keep going."

Content with your response, Harry smiles, pecking your lips one last time before crawling back down your body and slinging your legs back over his shoulders just like they were just moments ago. Since he'd removed your panties, there's no barrier between his lips and your glistening sex, his warm breath washing over your sensitive skin and causing your thighs to quiver ever so slightly. 

"Ready?" He asks quietly, virescent eyes meeting yours through thick, brown lashes. 

His purposeful prolonging has caused you to grow a little impatient, so you huff a frustrated "please," to him in hopes of speeding up the process. He chuckles a little, but finally brings his mouth to your hot skin, tongue peaking out from between his lips to slowly drag against your clit. A shaky breath escapes your lips at the initial contact, and then he presses forward, wrapping his pink, swollen lips around your sensitive button, sucking gently and it causes a much louder moan to tumble from your mouth. Your hand falls to his head, fingers pushing into the hair that was once pulled tight against his head by the messy bun. He lifts his head slightly at the sound of your moan, bringing a finger to his glistening lips as he gazes up at you, mischievous glint behind his eyes. 

"Sorry, sorry." You whisper breathlessly and he shakes his head, shoulders shaking with his slight laughter. 

His mouth finally returns to your lips, eyes trained to yours to ensure that you don't make any more loud noises before he delves back in, fully devoting himself to your pleasure. Your lip slips between your teeth in a feeble attempt to contain the breathless whimpers and moans itching to spill from your mouth and your hand continues to press into his hair. The pleasure you feel from just his lips and tongue is undeniably amazing. It's obvious the man doesn't shy away when it comes to foreplay and that only eggs on your aroused state. 

Languid strokes of Harry's tongue gradually turn into quick, firm flicks that cause your thighs to quiver with pleasure as you clamp your own hand over your mouth to muffle your involuntary noises. He hums against you purposefully so that the vibrations double the work of his tongue and lips into a delicious harmony of blissful ecstasy and your back arches from the sweat-damp sheets beneath you. Your skin is clammy and hot from the heat being emitted from your body, yet the uncomfortable, tacky feeling of it is the last thing on your mind. His mouth is a drug and you're an addict, beseeching for the next dose. 

Muffled moans and the sound of his swollen lips colliding with your dripping folds fills the small bedroom and it only makes Harry move faster, desperate to have your release glistening against his chin and upper lip as he gazes down at your heaving body. He wants you to fall apart; he craves to watch you find that burning release within the pit of your stomach and melt into the sheets from the pleasure of it. If only you knew how many times he dreamt of having you in this exact position, nearly sobbing from the work of his skilled mouth. 

"Thought about this so many times-" he pulls away, allowing his thumb to take the place of his lips and rub gentle circles against your throbbing clit. "Taste better than I could've ever imagined. Just wish I could really hear you." 

His drawled words and the lack of warmth directly against your cunt draws you to look down at him breathlessly, unable to muster a response to his confession. He chuckles at that, not expecting a response before he returns to the task at hand. By now, you're teetering over the edge, aimlessly grasping for a pillow to press over your face in an attempt to silence the growing sounds that emit from the back of your throat. Finally, you find yourself toppling over the notorious edge, the pillow that's pressed firmly against your face throughout the entirety of your orgasm doing its job in muffling your noises.

Harry watches you pulse and shiver helplessly for just a few moments before his hands are pulling the pillow from your face and tossing it above your head so that he can kiss you again. His lips and tongue taste of you as he explores the depths of your mouth and your heart continues to pound against your chest with your labored breaths. 

He pulls away from your face after a moment, smiling as he tilts his head to the side. "How was that?"

"That was-" a puff of air leaves your lips, "that was good."

"Just good?" He frowns, pecking his lips down the column of your neck. 

“I- fuck, Harry I don’t even know what to say, it was amazing.” You laugh breathlessly, tucking your fingers into his hair. 

“Amazing, hm?” He smirks. “Would you say it was five out of five stars?” 

A broken laugh leaves your lips again. “Yeah, I’d say it was five out of five.” Heat thunders across your face as you breathe another flustered giggle and he chuckles along with you, leaning forward to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. He presses a few soft, wet kisses to your skin and exhales, his warm breath causing goosebumps to bloom there. His ego has inflated quite a bit from your confession, but that doesn't hinder his desires to make you as comfortable and satisfied as possible.

“Do you need some water, or maybe a snack?” 

You push yourself up onto your arms, frowning at him. “What about you?” It’s almost unbelievable to you that after he worked so tirelessly to make you come, his first thought is to ask you if you need anything more, as if he hasn’t already done enough for you.

He rolls over onto his back beside you, staring up at you. “What about me?”

You briefly glance down his body, noticing the visible tent in his sweatpants. “Can I do something for you?”

“If you want to,” he shrugs, trying in vain not to show his agony. He’s obviously uncomfortable. “But I don’t want to make you feel like you have to do anything.”

You nearly roll your eyes at his unwavering chivalry, wordlessly lifting yourself up and slinging your leg over his hips to straddle him. “I want to.”

At that, Harry lifts himself up off of the bed and wraps an arm around your waist to press you into him, that small bit of friction alone causing a low whimper to slip past your lips. His mouth finds yours, fervently pulling kisses from your lips as he guides your hips against his own. You’ve imagined this scenario so many times, yet the feeling of your own fingers frantically coaxing you to release is nothing compared to the feeling of Harry’s warm body beneath you. 

Even through the fabric of his sweatpants, you can feel how thick he is and it only makes you want to move faster. His lips have attached themselves to the spot between your jaw and neck, skillfully biting and sucking at the skin as your hips gyrate against his. You can already feel the burning sensation growing between your legs due to how sensitive you are from your previous orgasm, and Harry seems to be reaching his own climax as well. He’s clawing at your hips and ass, desperate to have you as close to him as possible as low grunts fall from his lips.

It doesn’t take long for you to find your release, choking out Harry’s name as your fingers tug and yank at his now lopsided bun. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, continuously swiveling your hips against his as he chases his own impending orgasm.

“Shit!” He groans a little too loudly as he comes, but you’re quick to shush him, slapping your palm over his mouth while your hips work him through his climax. Your thighs are burning and beads of sweat break out along every inch of your skin, but the satisfaction of knowing you’re working him down to his very last drop is enough to keep you going until neither you, nor him can take it anymore. 

Once you finally fall limp against his body, he musters enough strength to roll you onto your back, pressing a few chaste kisses along your jawline. 

“Was it five out of five?” You breathe, keeping your eyes shut as you lean your head back against the pillow. 

“Hm?” He hums, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Would you rate my skills five out of five?”

“Oh, definitely.” He chuckles breathlessly. 

feedback is always welcome and don’t forget to reblog!!

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[shorkbrian]

Prelude - I need to stop catching sight of poetry on my explore page lol. This is entirely self-indulgent and very specific cause I’m rotting thru life rn and so if u dislike I understand lol. When I was in the hospital this last time it sucked rlly bad and like the awful horny degenerate I was I kept thinking abt Kirishima and soft sweet Sugawara idk lol

Pairing - Death god Kirishima x Reader

Warnings - Suicide, suicide attempt, no smut. Death. Drunk Drivers. Yandere but only a little bit and cause I can’t voluntarily accept love it has to be forced bc I cannot handle the thot of someone who is sane loving me bc there is no freaking way lol

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/5Iy1wdO0tMaHwKnfFYtlel?si=-vqod-W6SHia8ui2Hdl_9g 

Adding this one bc it’s like one of my favorites and I wish god I wish and I hope that this year is better than the last amen lol also there’s nothing more sad to me than someone pleading and begging and crying for the year to treat you nicely like bitch u okay? no. the answer is no.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0xRO7EKgYKVB8zKIoiXMDD?si=HYBaiBzjRGmQwfCHgnTUxA

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It hurts.” You had told him, as the entity sat at the end of your hospital bed.

He often sank heavily onto the nearest surface, as if his bones ached with the weight of his body. You saw him often during those first few days in the hospital, days spent puking up pills, every move you made monitored, doctors and nurses scolding you about the severity of your actions.

You didn’t think they could see the hulking figure that comforted you.

“I”ve heard that it’s supposed to.” The red god of death would think aloud.

“I don’t want it then.” Tears upon your cheeks, soft, misty. “Take it.”

“Your life?” A nod would affirm his question, but the red god would shake his head. “I am no thief. Not a hunter, simply a gatherer of souls. I won’t take what doesn’t belong to me.”

“Then it’s yours, have my life. A gift, from me to you. Don’t make me live it any longer…..”

His sadness would show in his eyes.

But the soul-crushing hugs that were provided were admittedly a tiny bit nice.

“You’re far too sweet for your own good. I’ll receive your life when the time is right, not before.”

“But I don’t want it!” You sobbed into his shoulder, the god seeming to be your only friend in the world.

Hands stroked along your back, soft shushing sounds as the god attempted to soothe you in the ways he knew how. Soft touches, kind truths. “Many don’t.  But it happens - life happens anyways. All you can do is find the things that make it less painful.”

“That’s not enough, it still hurts. I can’t stand it.” The sobs wracking your body didn’t stop the entity from holding you.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

——

He’s patient and kind.

Surprising for a god who’s work involves collecting souls as if they were taxes. A job that should be bitter and tiresome, but the entity has infinite softness resting inside of him.

He walks with you, as you get “better“.

You watch him stop to marvel at flowers, to study the way dew drips from trees in little drops, eyes wide and wondering as crows startle from their perches and take off with noisy weeping.

This courtyard is drab and brown, a prison. Safe.

Yet the god of death treats the space gently, with respect. He thanks the old walls for standing, the worn stones beneath your feet. Their service is noted and appreciated. He’s so tender it almost makes you sick.

But you come to realize that he’s simply allowing himself to be vulnerable, to experience the earth and the beings in it.

For as soon as one recognizes vulnerability, which is so different from weakness or tragedy, one experiences a sense of tenderness. Without tenderness, pleasure means nothing. You need only look at the animals to see the truth of that. It is gentleness that distinguishes their playing from the actions they constantly take to ensure their survival.

You ask why he walks with you, why he is so focused on seeing you get “better“.

A soft smile, a meeting of eyes. “There is an end to your pain, sometime and somewhere. It’s most likely not here, not in this place at least-“ and he looks around, at the cold walls, the other sick patients, the staff. All human.

“-It will come. But for now, it’s enough to try and seek it out ourselves.”

You must look more sick than you really are, talking to thin air like that.

——-

Once you return home, the red god writes you letters.

He’s an old soul, an old god. You’re sure if you asked, he’d be able to recount the very first souls he reaped, a man and a woman, sinful and sweet but in love.

The letters help you get out of bed. What new stories or little quips the god has written pique your curiosity, even when you don’t want to move, don’t want to be awake or alive.

He tells you stories about certain souls, how each one is infinitely interesting, how they all interconnect.  How some of them struggle against him, however fruitlessly. But he’s not the one who brought about their death, he’s there to comfort and guide.

Other souls, (“souls like yours” he writes) welcome him, run to his arms like a long lost lover. Their death was terrifying by their own hand, and it hurt. He can’t take away that pain, those memories. The red god says he wishes those souls find peace wherever he must take them afterwards, or at least, some form of contentment.

“The meaning of life is to give life meaning, at least, that’s what seems to be the consensus.” You rip off that part of the letter, hang it on your wall by your bed.  The other letters you keep in your nightstand, content with the knowledge that there are souls out there like you

It’s hard work, creating meaning for yourself.

The red god takes to visiting you between each letter, says he misses you, the way your soul cries. He tells you that he wishes he could help you quiet it, quiet that raging, terrible storm that hurls you about.

You make him cookies - it’s the only way you know how to say thank you. It’s what your mother taught you, so it may not be right, but the god eats them nonetheless. He likes it when you eat with him, feeding you bites from his cookie, wiping chocolate off of your nose, making you laugh with stupid jokes and a mouth stuffed full of cookies.

Even if some of them are too crunchy, or others too soft, all of them imperfect.

Imperfection is the essence of humanity, he tells you, and it’s more fun eating each cookie with the thought that you’re devouring your imperfections, making yourself whole again, filling up the empty spaces in your soul.

——

Eventually, the crawl back to your feet, rise with the unsteadiness of a toddler. You fall frequently, cry often, but you’re able to get up and try again.

Some days you need to bury yourself in sadness, let yourself feel and feel and hurt. Other days are not so bad, but still tinged  with regret and fear and sadness.

The red god is by your side, gives you something to cling to when you waver.

He is always there.

He will be there when you meet your end.

The god is in no hurry.

You question why he wastes his time on you, hours spent reassuring you, talking to you, tucking you in your bed and leaving glasses of water on your nightstand before taking his leave.

Home is a feeling, not a place. Home is with you - that’s what he tells you. You take his breath away, even though he might not even need to breath because he’s the god of death. HIs thoughts muddle and he trips over his feet and can’t help himself from wanting to hold you.

You learn that even gods yearn for home.

He’s capable of feelings and emotions just like any other human. He may be wiser, and older, able to draw from experience and a deep well of wisdom. But he still feels, and feels deeply.

Just as he gives the earth around him such reverence, he extends that same  attitude when he deals with you.

“Everything I see reminds me of you. When I wake and the sun creeps over the mountains, hesitant, it reminds me of the way that you rise - haltingly, yet it happens nonetheless. The flowers in the field that so steadily grow, you’re like ground they take root in, soft and unstable yet still tenable with the potential for growth. I don’t know, I haven’t exactly held such closeness with a human-“

He trails off, but you think you understand.

Maybe you don’t. It’s hard to relate to a god.

——

A confession occurs, and you’re surprised to learn that the blood-red god of death is in love.

“What did my hands do before they held yours? What did my heart do without all of this love? I can’t hold enough of you, I carry such love for you in my heart.”

With a frail, hopeless human nonetheless.

You don’t know what to tell him, how to explain that you can barely take care of yourself right now, meet your own needs.

But the red god seems to know, seems to understand the way your breath hitches and your eyes widen. One more hug, squeezed tight to his chest while he promises nothing has to change.

Things do change, even if you wish them not to. The world doesn’t bow to your whims, nor the death-god’s.

Innocent touches, his hand on your shoulder, patting your head, offering to rub out the tension in your back after you’ve had a crushing day - they don’t feel so innocent anymore.

The constant survellience still seemed kind, and you knew it was with your best intentions in mind that the god hovered so close, invading every aspect of your life.

But a creeping tendril of unease took hold, and you worried.

Everywhere you turned, he would be there, ready to support you, walk you through anything you wished.

Again, you questioned his commitment. Why? Why you?

“I can’t explain how fond of you I’ve grown. How heat blossomed in my chest as we grew closer. There’s infinite things I wish to say to you, ways for me to express my-my love, but I’ll just let you live.”

He neither killed you nor let you live.

Was it frightening? Maybe. But you had nothing to really live for, lost, searching for your own meaning in a big big world, floundering in an endless sea of sadness and suffering. You weren’t afraid of anything the god could, or would, do to you.

Until you woke up, not knowing where you were, in pitch black.

Arms encircling your shoulders, a soft body beneath your own, holding you tightly, a hand caressing your cheek.

A sun rose, on a strange new land, on the blood-red god gazing at you.

“There seemed to be so much more time for you. But accidents happen, Drivers drink and hearts give out. I was expecting you to grow old, for us to live and love like that, see how you grew through life.”

He looked around this new world, and you vaguely remember what had come before.  A walk along the sidewalk, blaring horns, impact, blood.

“But this will be just as nice. You can stay here with me now. Life can’t cause you anymore pain.”

You don’t feel comforted by those words.  There’s no way for you to know whether this new world would be better than the one you left behind.

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Two / Mocha

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!Reader

Summary: Javier learns his fate. You take him out to that dinner you promised.

W/C: 2.8k

Warnings: language, mentions of food, tooth-rotting fluff. I mean it. 

A/N: HI FRIENDS if you can’t already tell from my blog, I LOVE red velvet cake and this chapter is highly self indulgent. This fic is so near and dear to me because I really relate to the reader and put more of myself in her than I do others. I hope you guys enjoy!!!

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Mocha: espresso, steamed milk, and chocolate. Beloved for the sweet taste.

To his surprise, Javier didn’t get fired. In fact, they didn’t even mention Los Pepes. He walked in there, sweating bullets and filled with anxiety and caffeine, only to learn that they weren’t the review board. They were operations, and asked Javier what he knew about the Calí cartel. Afraid it was a trap, he didn’t answer, until the man across from him cracked a smile and told him about his new assignment.

“Your work with Escobar and the Medellín cartel was unconventional, but we needed it. If you’ll accept our offer, we’d like to assign you to Calí to head the investigation into their cartel.”

Javier’s brain froze in shock. He was wordless, staring blankly ahead and furrowing his brow. After a few moments, he mustered out all that he could. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, Agent Peña. With the assignment would additionally come a raise in pay and rank, as well as-”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it.”

“We haven’t finished the offer-”

“I’ll take it, sir. Thank you,” he said, nodding.

“Well… take this,” he said, making Javier stand from the chair across from the room and take the file from his hands. “This is the information you’ll need, including your new pay and details. We are asking that you take at least some of your banked vacation time. You have several months of it, Peña. Our code requires that-” 

Javier’s fully aware of this policy. Use it or lose it. Unfortunately, he’d never had much time or want for vacation while chasing Escobar. What would he do? “Yeah, give me a month off,” he said mindlessly as he opened the file and scanned over the front page, in utter disbelief. He registered his surroundings after a second and looked up. “You won’t regret it, sir. Thank you,” he says and shakes the man’s hand before leaving the room.

Now, Javier stands at a payphone outside of the embassy, dialing your number in his pocket. When you pick up and ask who’s there, he laughs happily. “They didn’t fire me!”

“Congratulations,” you laugh as you realize it must be Javier. “What all happened?”

“I actually got promoted,” he admits, the adrenaline and caffeine rushing through his bloodstream. “It was absolutely crazy. They didn’t even mention Los Pepes or anything, just-”

“Are you ready for me to pick you up now?” You ask, cutting him off. “You can tell me the rest over some food. You need it. You didn’t eat that muffin I brought you.”

“What are you, my mother?” He asks dryly, but he’s too excited to be too annoyed. “No, I’ll head back to the hotel. Pick me up in 30 minutes?”

“Sounds great. Congratulations, Javier,” you tell him, grinning into the receiver. 

“Call me Javi.”

“Okay… Javi,” you say, biting your lip to hold back from giggling. “I’ll see you then.”

There’s a click and the phone line goes dead. You start giggling happily, flopping back onto the couch. Javier makes his way to the hotel, smiling. He lights up a cigarette, sighing at the way the warmth of the lighter contrasts the cold and snowy air. 

-

Holy fuck. You’re going on what could possibly be considered a date with a really hot guy and you need to get dressed, quick. You hurry around your tiny apartment, throwing on something nice-looking and messing with your hair. You spritz on some perfume, straighten yourself in the mirror, and rush out to the street. 

Georgetown is beautiful in the snow, you smile to yourself, but you wince as you realize the snow might slow you down. Your car is a piece of shit, you have to admit, but you love it. Her name is Whitney, in honor of Whitney Houston, and you beg and plead with her to behave as you make your way to Javier’s hotel. 

The radio plays some music quietly, and a handsome dark-haired man stands outside of the hotel, smoking a cigarette when you arrive. You flash your high-beams at him and he smiles as he puts out the cigarette and tosses it in the trash. “Hi,” you almost sing as he gets in the car. “Are you a hugger?”

“Am I a what?” He frowns and asks, looking at you. 

“Do you like hugs?” You ask, as if it’s obvious.

“I… don’t really receive many. They’re nice, I guess,” he shrugs as he looks you up and down quickly. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he tells you.

Warmth collects in your chest at his words. “Well, thank you. And I ask because I wanted to give you a hug of congratulations. I’m a big hugger,” you shrug a little and tilt your head as you look at him. He looks nice, in a button-up and those tight jeans you saw him in earlier.

A car honks behind you and you jump, awkwardly waving behind you and taking off so the next car can drive up to the hotel. Javier chuckles a little. “Well… I do like hugs, I guess. No one has ever asked me that.”

You look at him briefly, with confusion in your eyes, before they find the road again. “What a sad, sad life,” you chuckle. “I suppose. Are you… like, recently single? Did you date when you were in Colombia?” You ask innocently.

Javier exhales in a light chuckle. “No, never really had a relationship. Lots of flings,” he admits, finding that to be the best word to describe his situation. “But no relationships.”

You nod along, eyes scanning the road as you drive to dinner. “I see.”

“How about you?” He asks, wanting to deflect the attention from himself. That seems to be a common theme with him, you’ve noticed. All the conversations center around you, no matter how hard you try to talk about him. 

“Well, no. I haven’t really gone out much or done anything, really. I’m a bit of a homebody, but once I’m out I enjoy it. Problem is you can’t find a date from the couch.”

You reach the restaurant not much later, parking outside. You get out after chatting a little more, and Javi is taken by surprise when you wrap your arms around him in a big hug. “Uh, hi?” He laughs. He instinctively returns it, enjoying the feeling of your body pressed to his. He hasn’t had anything so tender in a long time. 

“I told you, it’s a congratulatory hug!” You say with a grin as you squeeze him then break away. “I’m happy for you.”

He smiles down at you. “I… thank you. That was nice.”

“Well, there’s plenty more where that came from,” you tell him and lead him inside, opening the door and heading into the restaurant. 

-

Javier is a fantastic conversationalist. He tells stories with his hands, vividly explaining stories from the chase for Escobar. He tells you of his partner, Steve, and his crazy methods; about Colonel Carillo, who he still thinks is one of the strongest men he’s ever met; of Stechner, who you already want to gut-punch if you ever meet. 

You watch him and admire the way his eyes dart about when he’s telling a story, the way he draws maps on the table with his fingers that you have no hope of understanding. 

The food is great but the company is better. Javier’s laugh is a beautiful sound, one rarely heard by others. He listens to you just as attentively, smiling as you talk about the coffee shop, about Georgetown, all of your life. 

By the end of the night, it’s easy to declare that you really, really like Javier. You like the way his lips quirk up in a smile, his intelligence and humor. You don’t want the night to end, truly. 

When the bill comes, he takes it before you can even try. “Hey, I told you I was paying as a congratulatory dinner,” you frown. 

“That can be another dinner,” he says mindlessly as he signs the receipt. “I always pay on the first date.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” You beam at him, tilting your head, eyes twinkling. 

He smiles as he looks up at you. “I was thinking it was. I have at least a month off work now, to be wherever I want and I have nothing to do. I’d like to properly take my time to get to know you,” he offers, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest. 

“It seems like nothing about you is proper, Javi,” you tease and sip your drink, quirking an eyebrow. 

He mirrors you, sipping his drink too. “That’s fair. But we’re in the nation’s capital, I suppose we should be a little more…”

You look at him and try to fill in the blank, smiling. “Practical? Traditional?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know what I meant to say there.”

You chuckle a little. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I like the sound of that.”

-

After dinner, you give Javier a little tour of Georgetown through the windows of your crappy car. The snow from earlier in the day has collected, dusting the tops of window sills and awnings over shop entries. Despite the snow, the car thermometer reads that it’s somewhat warm for the time of year.

There’s one warm little place with glowing lights. Despite the hour of night, it’s clearly open. Javier asks what it is. “Oh, that’s a little bakery,” you comment. “My favorite place, honestly. Their red velvet cupcake is fantastic.”

“That sounds good. I like chocolate more, to be honest,” he comments. 

You continue driving for a few seconds, rolling your eyes. “They have a good one there, but it’s so one-dimensional. It’s just chocolate with chocolate on top. Red velvet is the best because you have the cake and the tangy frosting, and-“

“Pull over?” Javier asks, and you look at him in confusion but pull into a parking spot obediently and quickly. 

Your eyes are wide in confusion. “What?” You ask him, concerned that something is wrong with the car. 

“I’m buying you dessert,” he chuckles and gets out. 

Your heart falls then and there for him. If you haven’t already decided, now you know that there’s no turning back. You want Javier Peña with a passion. “Jesus Christ, you could’ve told me that,” you laugh and turn off the car, getting off and bounding behind him. His long legs have already made strides ahead of you, leaving you to catch up. 

“You wouldn’t have stopped, would you?” He asks, the gentle snow leaving white flakes on his dark coat. He looks so pretty like this, the warm light from inside the bakery glowing against his dark hair. 

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling. “No, maybe not.” He opens the door for you and you thank him and follow him in. 

Javier walks to the counter and wastes no time. “Hi. I’ll take two red velvet cupcakes and two large coffees. How do you take yours?” He asks you as you join him at his side. 

“From my café,” you tease him, before turning to the woman behind the counter with a polite smile and asking for two sugars and two creams. Javier asks for his black. 

The two of you step back while she gets your order ready and you look at him, smiling a little. There are still soft white flakes in his wavy hair, which are slowly melting into water drops. 

You don’t know it, but he’s looking at you just the same. He admires you, smiling a little, just enough the quirk up one side of his mouth. “Thanks for buying,” you tell him and step a little closer. He’s warm, you can feel it radiating off of him, and the shop’s blasting cool air throughout. 

“Like I said,” he chuckles. “I always buy on the first date.” He reaches out to tuck a strand of your stray hair behind your ear. “Would you want to come up to my hotel room to eat the cupcakes?” He offers. 

You shake your head. “I work early tomorrow morning, I shouldn’t.”

Normally, Javier would be disappointed. Normally, he’d want to fuck you on the first date, leave you screaming his name until you can’t help but come back for more. But to his surprise, he doesn’t mind. He has a whole month to be with you, a whole month to fall for the woman he’s already half-lovesick over. “Not a problem,” he nods and walks to the counter as the woman calls that your order is ready. 

He hands you a large coffee, and you take a sip of the warm liquid, sighing. “There’s a little shelter out there,” you say, pointing to a bench with an awning above it to keep it clear from the snow. “Do you want to eat them out there?”

Javier half-smiles and nods. “That sounds good.”

It’s warm for the season, but there’s still a cool breeze. You hurry over and sit on the small bench, Javier sitting next to you. The sides of your thighs touch, and you’re both aware of it, the proximity this small bench forces you to squeeze into. Javier sets the box on his lap and opens it, revealing two red velvet cupcakes. “These look delicious.”

“They are,” you grin and pick one up, licking a bit of the frosting off the top and sighing in content with the taste. Javier watches you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the connotation. You look over at him with wide eyes, holding back a laugh. You both break down giggling at the action, your head falling against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to do that like... that, I swear,” you shake your head as you sit up straight again. 

“You looked good doing it,” he teases you and bumps your shoulder as you unwrap the paper. “I’m going to save mine for later.”

You frown at him. “Come on. I have to be here when you try the best dessert of all time.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m too full. I’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow or something.”

“Javi,” you whine. “There’s no point of you getting two if we don’t eat them together. You have to eat it, come on.”

Javier looks over at your cupcake, which has one bite taken. “Let me take a little bite of yours then.”

An idea strikes and you nod. “Sure,” you say casually, holding it up for him to eat it. When he goes in to bite it, you move it closer to his face, causing the cupcake to smash into his chin and onto his nose.

Javier thinks he’s the one that missed. “Fuck,” he laughs as he crosses his eyes as he looks down at his nose, seeing the cupcake and frosting smeared on his face. He sees you giggling and laughs. “Hey, you didn’t… what the fuck?” He laughs, bringing his face close to yours. “That was uncalled for.”

“You were being a grump. I had to,” you giggle, your face naturally coming closer to his.

“And we don’t even have napkins,” he shakes his head and looks at you. “How can I clean this up?”

Tilting your head, your eyes dart between his, smiling at the dark brown color and the way they soften under your gaze. “I have an idea,” you murmur, cupping the side of Javier’s face and setting the mashed cupcake back in the box. 

Just a moment later, your lips are on his. His eyes have fallen shut and he sighs as you kiss him, a hand finding your waist and pulling you closer to him. He sets the box on the bench behind him and scoots closer, a hand on the side of your neck. 

He tastes like coffee and cream cheese frosting, his lips unbearably soft for such a hardened man. You soften him with your touch, when you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you. 

He’s in fucking Heaven, he thinks, murmuring your name against your lips. He knows you already, knows the kind of person you are. He’d figured you’d maybe give a chaste kiss on the first date if you liked the person enough. The voracity of your lips against his tells him you might just reciprocate the intensity of the deep ache in his ribs he feels for you. 

After a moment, you break away and smile softly. “I didn’t get all of it,” you frown as you see that there’s still some frosting on Javier’s nose. 

“At least now we match,” he teases and wipes your face of some red crumbs that transferred to your chin with the pad of his thumb. 

You giggle and press your forehead to his, the warmth of his body perfect against yours in the slight chill of the December night. “Will you come visit me at work again tomorrow?” You ask him. 

“Only if you make me a drink that tastes as good as you do.”

-

taglist: 

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @yooforia @oceanablue @sara-alonso @pedrosmustache @feelingmadclever @hnt-escape @radiowallet @obsessivelysearching @sugarontherims @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @linnie0119 @1800-fight-me @autumnleaves1991-blog @toilet-keeper @evelynseventyr @metalarmsandmanbuns @shannababyy

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

The Night Shadows Watching The Darkness Approaching

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: oh look, another fic in which Wilhemina cries :) This one has been sitting in my drafts for months because somehow I couldn’t let it go. It’s short and sad and I hope you’ll like it. x

Title from Come On Out by The Airbone Toxic Event.

Word count: ≈ 1 900

Something woke you in the middle of the night to find the bed empty. You reached out; the sheet was cold. Squinting in the dark, you made out the outline of Wilhemina’s pillow, creased, and of the door, half-opened. Somewhere in the house a light was on. You sighed.

You got up and walked through the darkness towards the light. It came from the living-room, whose door was slightly ajar. You took a peek inside.

Wilhemina was lying on the couch, hands folded on her stomach. Her eyes were closed and her face was contorted with pain. You noticed the bucket she had placed on the floor at arm’s length, in case the pain became too much, too much to bear just too much and she would have to throw up. Let it out one way or another.

You watched her for a minute, swallowing hard. Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. It tended to do that often, since you had started dating Wilhemina.

You didn’t want to embarrass her, so you knocked on the door and waited, to give her time to compose herself. When you eventually walked in, her face was completely blank, if only slightly pale.

“Hey,” you called, forcing a smile. “You’re up late.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Her voice was calm. “Go back to bed.”

You crouched by the couch, staring up at her. She was avoiding your gaze, resolutely scowling at the ceiling.

“Did you take your meds?” you asked after a while.

“I’m not stupid, Y/N,” she snapped.

You frowned, but didn’t snap back. Instead you rested your chin on the couch and waited.

“What can I do?” you asked.

“Go back to sleep,” Wilhemina repeated. This time, the words were uttered through gritted teeth.

“I meant to help you feel better.”

“I’m feeling perfectly fine.”

“Mina.” Her eyes flicked to your face before she scowled back up at the ceiling. “I’ll go get the hot water bottle,” you said.

She was exactly in the same position when you came back. It seemed to you her face was even paler than before, and you saw her chin tremble, once.

“Here, can you prop yourself up just a bit?” you asked gently.

She didn’t move.

“This is stupid, Y/N,” she said.

“Mina, you know it’s not. Heat really helps ease the pain. It does wonders when I have period cramps. Please.”

Carefully you helped her sit up, placed the hot water bottle on the couch, and helped her lie down again with her head in your lap. You laid one hand on her arm and gently stroked her hair with the other. “Are you feeling sleepy at all?” you whispered.

She shook her head.

“Do you want me to sing something to you, to help you pass the time?”

You had done that before, once or twice, when she had come back from work particularly pissed off. You loved to sing, and you had noticed how your voice always seemed to help her relax, even though she would probably never admit it.

“Suit yourself,” she answered in a slightly strained voice.

You thought for a second, combing your fingers through her hair. “Take my hand,” you started, voice low and soft, “take my whole life too.” Wilhemina scoffed. You held back a smile. “For I can’t help falling in love with you,” you whispered, poking her ear playfully.

Wilhemina reached for your hand on her arm and laced her fingers with yours. “Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be.”

You gently rubbed her forehead, just as your mother used to when you had a headache. Ran one finger down her nose, patted her upper lip. Her chin trembled again. She blinked several times, swallowed.

“Mina?” You waited until she met your eyes. “It’s okay to cry when you’re hurting, you know?”

She scoffed, gave you an angry look, but her eyes immediately filled with tears as if a dam had broken.

“I won’t judge you, or think you’re weak.” You paused, gulping back tears of your own. “I think you’re so very strong all the time.”

You ran your finger over her lower lip, then up her cheek to catch a lonely tear. Wilhemina blinked quickly, raised her free hand to wipe her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said in a firm voice.

You knew how she hated showing vulnerability. She had only ever cried once in front of you. The first time you had held her close. Her body pressed against yours, her face buried in your neck, one of her legs trapped between yours, your arms wrapped tightly around her. You had heard her breath hitch and just like that she had burst into tears. As if no one had ever held her before.

You leant forward and dropped a kiss on her forehead. There was that sadness in your heart you couldn’t quite get rid of.

Wilhemina shifted to readjust her position. You combed your fingers through her hair again, gazing at her face, trying to think of something to say to try and distract her from the pain.

“Did I tell you about that article I read the other day?” you said eventually. “It was so very interesting. Some guy wrote ten pages on the Placebo effect. I didn’t know much about it.”

You rambled on, telling her about what you had learnt, until she suddenly interrupted you in a quiet, dull voice.  

“My parents told me it was all in my head, too, the first few times I complained about my back pains. More than the first few times, actually. They told me I should quit being a baby and work at being stronger. When they finally took me to a doctor, it was too late to do anything about it.”

Your fingers froze in her hair.

“How long?” you asked in a breath. “How long before they took you to a doctor?”

It took her too long to answer. In the silence you heard your heart break.

“Three years and a half.”

You felt like punching something. You felt like screaming. You could have, could have jumped to your feet, could have knocked over the coffee table, thrown the bucket at the wall. But anger wasn’t what Wilhemina needed right now. She had been so alone. Never again, you promised yourself. You’d lasso the stars and bring them down and give them to her so she would always have company when you were gone.

“Go to bed,” Wilhemina repeated.

You kissed her mouth. “Not without you,” you murmured into the kiss.

She let out a small noise and lifted her head to claim more of you. She was being too harsh, too clumsy, teeth drawing blood and lips sucking on the wound, but you let her. You were grateful for the pain, for it made you feel closer to her.

One of her hands came up to tangle in your hair. “I won’t be weak,” you heard her whisper, voice angry, as her mouth launched a new attack on yours. Her nails dug into the nape of your neck. “I won’t let you rip my strength from me.”

Somewhere far away a clap of thunder growled. Wilhemina bit your upper lip. “I see what you’re trying to do,” she hissed. “Using tenderness to try and break me but I won’t let it happen, do you hear me? You won’t win. I’ll break you first.”

“Wilhemina,” you whispered – pulling away, panting, and pressing one hand on her chest to pin her against the couch.

“I’ll break you and I will scatter all the tiny pieces of you so no one after me can ever assemble them again.”

“Wilhemina,” you repeated. You leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead.

She tried to push you away, rejecting tenderness, she tried to sit up; her fingers wrapped around your hand that held her against the couch and clawed viciously at your skin.

“I will destroy you,” she hissed.

“Mina.” A kiss to her brow. A kiss to her nose. Her lips parted on a shaky breath like the last breath a soldier draws on a battlefield.

You removed your hand from her chest and held it out in surrender. “Go ahead, then. Destroy me. I don’t mind. It’d kill me to lose you anyway. So, one way or another, you win.”

You smiled at her. For you meant it, every word of it. And it felt exhilarating. It felt like you had finally found home. No matter how dark and scary the place, no matter how full of lethal traps. You would choose her, over and over again, for no one else would do.

“Go ahead,” you repeated, laughing. “Destroy me.”

You grabbed her hand and wrapped it around your throat. Something in her eyes changed. She seemed to hesitate.

“What are you waiting for?” you cried, squeezing her fingers; you could feel your own elevated pulse through her flesh. “I’m ready. Choke the breath out of me. What are you waiting for?”

It was starting to hurt, your head was starting to buzz, but you didn’t care. You had rarely ever felt so alive.

“Stop it,” Wilhemina whispered, her eyes growing wide. She tried to free her hand from your grip, but you held it firmly around your throat.

You leaned towards her. “Don’t let me undermine you. Claim back your strength. I don’t want to rob you of what you hold dearest. Do it!”

“I said, stop!” she cried, wrenching her hand free; she turned her head to the side, and bit her lip as fresh tears spilled from her eyes.

You watched her, your whole body burning and quivering from the excitement and the love and the passion. Wilhemina gasped in a breath, wiped her cheeks fiercely. She shifted a bit, nuzzled the back of the couch, looked askance at you.    

You waited a few minutes before you started combing your fingers through her hair again. She eagerly leaned into your touch.

Another clap of thunder, louder, closer. You laid your free hand on Wilhemina’s cheek at the sound, almost protectively, felt her warmth build under your fingers. She turned her head to kiss the inside of your palm and whispered, “Hold me.”

And then she was sitting up, tears dropping from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks, and she wrapped her arms around your waist and pressed her face against your shoulder and let out a broken sob.

You closed your eyes against the sting of tears, holding her close, trying to make her shift so her back would be as straight as possible but she pushed deeper into you, clutching the back of your shirt, hair tickling your neck.

“I don’t care,” you heard her say, small and muffled. “I don’t care. Just – hold me.”  

And you did. For you had only ever seen her cry once before, the first time you had snuggled up to her, your body pressed against hers, one of her legs trapped between yours.

You held her, and stroked her hair as you listened to the thunderstorm roar in the sky, tear at the clouds and rip them to shreds and howl in pain, and then, slowly, subside.

[lisbonsteresa]

We Keep This Love (In a Photograph) (Nancy x Ace)

The first time he finds the photo is the day after the food festival. 

He arrives at the Claw late, rushing to shove his jacket into his locker and get to the kitchen before George notices his absence, when something crinkles unexpectedly in the pocket. Reaching in, he pulls out the polaroid - a bit wrinkled, the right corner completely folded over - but still in one piece even after the events of the day before. He stares at it for a moment, crouching in front of his open locker, trying to recall when he had acted on the impulse to grab it off the coffee table in their rush to leave, and before he can stop to realize what he’s doing he’s studying the picture’s subject instead. Hair falling into her eyes, dirt from the tunnels still smeared across her face, her features set in an expression of determined focus as she dug into the box of files Carson had procured for her, still looking so perfectly…Nancy. A small grin crosses his face as he remembers her amused reaction to the flash of the camera turning into a sincere smile as Carson told her how proud of her he was - Because of her testimony. The grin drops off his face as the memories of the rest of the day rush back into sharp focus. The sense of uselessness he’d felt as he’d dangled from that railing and watched his life be traded for the lives of countless others; the terrifying amount of finality he’d heard in her ‘I couldn’t lose you.’; the way there was no doubt in his mind about what “favor” Celia had asked for in return - a favor that for all he knows Nancy could be fulfilling right this moment. 

As if summoned by his own despondent thoughts, the door to the storeroom suddenly bursts open and Nancy rushes in, her coat hanging off of one arm as she fastens her hair into a hurried bun. Her mad dash stops short upon seeing him, and as their eyes meet he’s suddenly overwhelmed by all the things he wants to say to her; all the things he held back the day before while Grant was around. The questions of  ‘How could you -’ and ‘Why would you -’ and the arguments starting with ‘This will ruin your -’ and ‘I’m not worth -’ cycle around each other in his mind, and he can tell that something’s about to slip out his mouth but he can’t make the connection between them to know what it’ll be - And then suddenly he doesn’t have to. George’s annoyed voice rings out from the kitchen, and he’s never heard the phrase ‘saved by the boss’ before, but after this he might consider adopting it. He quickly crumples the photo into a ball and tosses it into his locker, following it with his jacket as if burying the image would help him bury the feelings it brought up. He gives Nancy a curt nod, avoiding whatever he might have seen in her eyes as he turns and heads towards the stairs, knowing there was a difference between delaying something and running away from it, but not quite sure which side this was falling on.

——————————————————————

It’s several months before he sees it again. Long enough for Everett Hudson’s first case to be declared a mistrial due to jury tampering, and for the time between it and his retrial to be just enough to allow Nick and Ryan to find a smoking gun hidden in Tiffany’s files that put the Hudson patriarch away for his full sentence (officially, at least). Long enough for Amanda to turn to him on her doorstep two weeks after the trial and tell him that she and Gil were leaving - finally following up on his lead in Santa Fe. There were kisses goodbye and offers to help in any way he could, but they both agreed it would be better for her to focus on finding her mother, and at this point it’s been long enough that he’s starting to feel like he’s doing okay after the breakup. He’s starting to feel like everything’s back to…whatever passes for normal in Horseshoe Bay. At least, he is until Nancy announces - midway through George’s mandated After Hours End-of-Summer-Cleaning Locker Inspection, no less - that she’s gotten into Columbia. 

His hand had just closed around a crumpled ball of paper in the back of his locker when the words leave her mouth, and the ball stays in his hand even as he joins in on the group hug an ecstatic Bess initiates; as he tells Nancy how happy he is for her; as he reassures George that he’ll close up so she can ride with Nick to the celebration he’s sure Carson has planned for Nancy back at their place. 

It isn’t until he’s left alone in the storeroom and he drops down onto the bench in front of his locker that he notices how tightly he’s been gripping the paper. Or the…not paper, he corrects himself as he notices the different texture of whatever he was holding. A sneaking suspicion comes from the back of his mind as he starts to smooth out the ball, and once the image is revealed in full - slightly faded with the right corner ripping off altogether after he pulls a bit too hard -  he has to fight the urge to crumple the photo again and toss it into the trash. 

Which is a weird impulse, isn’t it? Because he was happy for her, of course he was. This was Nancy’s dream school, after all, and after the year that she’s had, doesn’t she deserve to do what makes her happy? To move on with her - His thoughts stutter to a stop. He shakes his head and tries again. After all, hasn’t he - haven’t they all - known this was coming, sooner or later? Hasn’t he known from the start that Nancy was meant for bigger and better things? That she wasn’t going to hang around forever, not in this nowhere small town, with her ragtag group of friends and the dishwasher who’s been at a standstill since high school -

He’s being unfair, he knows. Because Nancy doesn’t see it, any of it, like that. He knows how much Nancy cares; about Horseshoe Bay, about her friends…about him. She’d told him as much during the countless knock-down-drag-out arguments they’d had after the incident at the paper mill, hadn’t she? But he can feel annoyance - or maybe even anger -  rising up inside him, and if he doesn’t deflect it towards her, then he’ll have to confront himself, and he’s been avoiding that confrontation for months now. He’d have to actually think about why he’s been keeping Nancy at arm’s length even after they’d both said their piece during those arguments. Why he’d been so insistent that they’d ‘gotten back to normal’ when he honestly wasn’t sure he had any idea of what ‘normal’ was for them. It certainly wasn’t the way she’d avoided his eyes when he’d congratulated her, but he wasn’t sure it was the way she had held onto his hand long after everyone else had left their hug either. He’d have to actually think about how he’d wasted so much time pretending there wasn’t still something to fix between them, and how he didn’t know what to feel now that he’s realized they’ve run out of time anyway.

When Amanda had left, it had felt like they were mutually closing a door - calm and maybe a little sad, but with both of them smiling and understanding on their respective sides. Knowing that Nancy was leaving felt like having to struggle with a door against hurricane-level winds, without a clue of what side he wanted to be on once he finally got it closed. But maybe that’s not a fair comparison to make, he rationalizes. After all, he and Amanda were together. He and Nancy have just been…  He looks back down at the polaroid, his thumb running along the torn edge as he considers just what exactly he and Nancy have been, before dragging a hand through his hair with a sigh. Too late to figure it out now, anyway.

He leans forward and slips the photo between the pages of a library book already overdue by a year at the bottom of his locker. So he’ll have something to remember her by, he tells himself, unsure if the unpleasant feeling that settles in his gut as he slams the locker shut is bitterness or just plain sadness.

——————————————————————

Life goes on in Horseshoe Bay, even without Nancy Drew. It’s not until late fall when he sees the photo again. He’s helping George and Nick with the Claw’s first official Allhallowtide event, spending his day helping kids decorate their lanterns whenever he’s not hyping Bess up over text for her ‘very preliminary, very probational, very terrifying!!!!!’ (her exclamation points, not his) first in-person meeting with Aunt Diana since she’d started slowly rebuilding their relationship. 

He’s sitting on the steps leading into the storeroom after one of their longer text exchanges, laughing when George calls out for him to make himself useful and find more markers, but he rises to follow her instructions anyway. It takes him all of 5 minutes to realize that they are completely marker-free, digging through every drawer and pencil holder in the room and coming up with nothing, before he remembers the pack of Crayolas he’s pretty sure survived his last locker clean-out. 

He unloads his jacket, a few books, and the jumbo pack of earplugs he’s been drawing from ever since that siren incident three weeks ago onto the bench to make it easier to find the markers, but the earplugs overbalance the books and everything comes toppling down before he can even look through what’s left in the locker. 

With a sigh, he leans over and picks up the old library book that fell face-down, watching curiously as a square of paper drops out from between the pages and back down onto the floor. A catalogue card, he wonders, or maybe a note someone stashed and forgot about? But as he picks it up and sees the torn right corner, he realizes that not only is it not regular paper, but that he knows exactly what he’s going to see before he flips the item over. 

A shock runs through him all the same once he does, seeing Nancy’s face for the first time in months. He doesn’t have more than a moment to think about that though, as his phone erupts with seven text tones in rapid succession at the same time George’s shouts for him to hurry up reach the storeroom. After a tiny moment of hesitation, he slides the polaroid into his back pocket and shoves everything else back into the locker before making his way back to the dining room, marker-less and contrite. 

That was a mistake. He spends the rest of the day hyperaware of what he’s holding onto, patting his pocket for reassurance it hasn’t slipped out so many times that one of Ted’s friends asks him - with all the seriousness a 9-year old can muster - if he is also suffering from the ‘wedgie-saurus’. 

It isn’t until that night, after he insists that he’ll close up the Claw so Nick and George can stay with her sisters at the lantern-lighting event, that he has a moment alone to actually look at the picture. He straddles the storeroom bench, placing it down in front of him and resting his elbows on his knees so he can lean in close as a sudden wave of guilt hits him. He remembers the way their text conversations had petered out after long stretches of one-word or emoji-only replies; the way her calls had slowly become less and less frequent until they stopped altogether. He still gets weird looks from the others when he makes excuses to avoid their video calls with her; can still hear Bess’s overly-sympathetic voice after she’d spent a long weekend in New York telling him that everything was fine, that Nancy just misses him.

He misses her too; of course he does. Some days he misses her so much the ache of it catches him by surprise. Like when he'd realized his habit of watching the door for the first ten minutes of every shift, still expecting her to rush through it with her name tag missing and an excuse at the ready. When he made a Big Lebowski reference at dinner one night and got nothing other than a confused smile from his mother in response. When he was researching something at the end of the bar and felt a phantom presence at his shoulder, like she was just outside his peripheral, leaning up against him and waiting impatiently for him to turn towards her and give her the answer she was looking for. 

It didn’t seem possible for someone he’d known for barely a year to have become such a big part of every aspect of his life, but everywhere he’s turned for months there seems to be another reminder of Nancy Drew.

And that just makes everything worse. Because he hadn’t been able to give her the answers she might have needed before she left. And now, now that he’s had the time to figure those answers out, now that they kept him up at night, running endlessly through his head while he stares dejectedly at the ceiling, he doesn’t know if they’re still the same answers she was looking for now. And he’s terrified by the thought that they might not be. He’s gotten himself caught in a mystery he doesn’t know how to solve on his own.

But maybe… His thoughts are interrupted by the chime of the clock hanging above the back door, and he starts when he realizes nearly an hour has passed since he first sat down. Glancing at the photo again, he waits for the urge to tuck it back between the pages of that book; to push his feelings down and avoid having to confront them, but it doesn’t come. 

Something else clicks into place with the last chime of the clock, and holding the polaroid in one hand, he unlocks his phone with the other, ignoring Bess’s 5 recap and 2 goodnight texts for the moment while he taps the contact info for the only other person he’s sure will be awake at midnight on a Tuesday. 

She picks up on the first ring. “Ace?” 

Her voice sounds tired, maybe even a little worried, but so deeply familiar his heart jumps into his throat just at the sound of her saying his name. “Hey, Nancy.” he begins, unable to hold back a small smile as he looks down at her picture. “Can we talk?”

Maybe he doesn’t have to solve this one alone.

Maybe neither of them do.

——————————————————————

Nancy’s bright hair makes her easy to spot, even from his position across the train platform. He watches as she peers through the crowd, noticing him with a grin and a tiny wave, before he pushes off from the wall and starts to make his way over to meet her. 

He’d practically had to fight Ryan to be the one picking her up, he imagines telling her as she laughs. The man had been ready to push him down in the driveway until Carson had stepped in to - heavily, mind you - imply that maybe Nancy and Ace could use a little ‘alone time’. 

That part he might keep to himself, actually. It was bad enough that Carson acted like he was in on some big secret every time he got off the phone with his daughter; he didn’t need her wondering why both her father figures were trading smug smiles every time the four of them were in a room together. 

He realizes too late that he’d gotten caught up in his thoughts and that Nancy was suddenly standing less than a foot away from him. “Hi.” he murmurs, the memory of their last - somewhat awkward - reunion tugging at the back of his mind. (He almost wished his arm was still in a sling. Then at least he’d only have to worry about what to do with one of his hands).

“Hi.” she replies in the same tone, her own hands twisting nervously in the strap of her bag, but a beaming smile on her face. It was the same smile he’d seen during their almost daily video calls for the past month and a half, but he hadn’t thought to prepare for the way it makes his heart flip to see it directed at him, live and in person.

“H-how’s Columbia?” he manages to only stumble over the first word, but it doesn’t really seem to matter because suddenly Nancy’s dropped her luggage and launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging to him while his arms instinctively wrap around her, pulling her closer still as he breathes in the fact that this is really happening, that it’s not a dream he’s going to wake up from to find the calendar mockingly reminding him there was another three days until her holiday break started.

He’s not sure how long they stay there, wrapped up in each other while the rest of the world moves around them, but when they finally pull away he knows his smile is as bright as hers. There’s a lot they still have to share - he hasn’t told her about his first day interning with John Sander yet, and she has a copy of the Daily Spectator with her first front page article stowed safely in her bag - and a lot - the distance, their schedules, missing each other - that they still have to figure out. But as he holds out his hand and Nancy takes it in hers, intertwining their fingers as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Ace can’t find it in himself to worry. 

Whatever happens, they’ll figure out a way to solve it. Together.

——————————————————————

(She finds the photo less than a week later; sees it hanging on the inside of his locker when she stops by the Claw to help them decorate for the holidays. Bess is beside herself at somehow being one of the last to know, but Ace can’t really focus on anything other than the look in Nancy’s eyes as she pulls him in for a kiss.)

[kit-herondale-carstairs]

TDA Characters on TikTok

Julian: doesn’t post very often because he is a father but when he does it is always him painting or drawing something with lofi music or him sharing a tidbit about one of the children or other family members (Kieran, Cristina, Diana, Emma and Aline included and always with their explicit permission). 

- He’s very popular without even trying and most assume he is a young single father (which isn’t wrong).

-  Mostly finds himself on cottagecore or parent side of tiktok. 

- doesn’t understand all the thirsty comments he gets because “I don’t even show my face, Emma, why would they think I’m attractive?” but always shares them with Emma because they make her laugh.

Emma: Does it for the girls and the gays, that’s it. Posts nearly every day and page is generally a mixture of self defense videos, vintage makeup/dress tutorials, and videos slamming the patriarchy but also always does the latest dancing videos and other trends.

- always tries to get others to join in on her trend videos, mostly joined by Mark and Cristina when she can rope her in.

- Nearly broke tiktok when she got Julian to do the “You could have been nicer to me” trend because NO ONE KNEW THEY WERE DATING  AND EVEN THOUGH THEY COULDN’T SEE HIS FACE EVERYONE RECOGNIZED HIS VOICE AND HE WAS SO SWEET WHEN HE OFFERED TO TAKE HER TO HER FAVORITE THRIFT STORE AND BUY HER SOME DRESSES AFTER HE PUT THE “BABY” DOWN FOR HIS NAP. 

- - everyone knows the “baby” is actually at least seven but no one ever said his name because he’s too young so everyone collectively knows him as “the baby”

- solidly on gay tiktok even though she’s straight. 

Mark: Daily blogs. Everyone thinks he’s shit posting because it’s all wild things like standing in a middle of a circle of flowers and talking about “this pixie named Aelia lives here and she’s a BITCH”. Often shows videos of him cooking or baking wild concoctions that range from “Okay, I’d try that” to “this is why God has abandoned us”. 

- Does dancing videos with Emma all the time and often acts as the “creeper” in her self defense videos. 

- Caused a meltdown on tiktok when he casually mentioned his “partners” and started creating videos to raise awareness for polyamory. 

- Revealed Julian was his brother when he posted a video of Julian yelling at him for a solid minute because “the baby is covered in honey, why is the baby covered in honey, Mark? We don’t let the baby bathe in honey even if he really wants to Mark -” 

- solidly on cooking and gay tiktok, often takes a sharp left into “crackhead” tiktok

Kieran: Posts videos of cats he finds and rates them. The lowest ever was a 9.5/10 because “she bit me fairly hard but I scared her and I deserved it for trying to pet her without permission”. 

- does not do any trends or reveal much personal information. 

- Was always considered wholesome until he (on a dare from Dru) posted a video joking about choking a bossy sub that rounded up on kinktok. 

-- everyone went through a brief freak out trying to figure out if he had a partner but it was never solved. 

--- No one noticed that Mark posted a video joking about how “one of his partners was absolutely in the doghouse” accompanied by someone sitting in a cardboard ‘doghouse’ around the exact same time. 

- solidly on animal tiktok but occasionally veers into kinktok with more (less explicit) dom/sub humor. 

Cristina: Does not have her own tiktok but often appears in videos with Emma and occasionally shows up in Mark’s. 

- Absolute sweetheart always, even when she is demonstrating a self defense move with Emma, and is always commended for trying Mark’s foods. 

-- especially commended when trying the foods while, offscreen, their other partner yells about “Hell food” 

- is flattered with all the comments begging her to start her own tiktok but doesn’t feel like she has the time to fully commit to one properly. 

Livvy: (She’s alive, don’t @ me) Does absolutely all the new trends and also does various acting POVs 

- her soulmate POVs are most popular but she also is known for dueting act-along POVS with other popular creators

- also occasionally posts videos rating the best male actors/superheroes and once got into a long drawn out back to back war with someone on whether or not Captain America really had “America’s ass” 

- had a very popular multiple-part series about being a girl in the MCU dating the various Avengers but ended it abruptly after Endgame because “Natasha Romanoff deserved better and it hurts too much”

-she used to post occasional videos where she laments on being the “only single person in the family” but she started getting some very creepy duets and comments from actual adults so she told Julian and they both agreed it would be better for her to stop them

-- Julian did take the time to duet the people being inappropriate and explained very clearly that their actions were wrong and directed towards a LITERAL CHILD and shamed multiple accounts into flat out deleting

Ty: Posts literally whatever interests him. Has two animal series - one where he shares facts about his favorite kinds of animals and one where he showcases various animals he’s found in the tidepools or around the house. 

- has done several video series of rescuing animals and has at least one where Julian could be heard lecturing him on trying to raise wild animals in his bedroom again 

-- tiktok freaked out because this happened right around the same time as Julian calling out all the creeps on Livvy’s tiktok and no one knew that the twins he talked about were them  

- also does videos about his favorite literary works - notably Sherlock Holmes - and true crime/mystery videos 

-- he always makes sure to carefully put in warnings for anything remotely violent or triggering and has never had a single video taken down for violating the rules even when he did a multiple part series on the Black Dahlia and how her crime was ‘absolutely solved but because the man who did it was rich and white, he got away with it and probably also killed at least two other women, one of whom was killed in the Philippines” 

-  sometimes does twin videos with Livvy because she likes them and it makes her happy. 

Dru: Queen of witch/horror/true crime tiktok. 

- got in trouble with Julian for showing actual runes in videos but everyone just thought they were for the aesthetic so it was fine

- most popular videos is a series where she rates horror movies on how they do on the bechdel test 

- sometimes duets Ty’s or Livvy’s videos just to drag them (with love) 

- Has a very popular series on “women who snapped” and is known for almost rarely during part 2s (and therefore having to speak very very fast) 

- also complains constantly because her videos will get taken down even if they aren’t that violent and includes clips from far worse videos from male creators to point out the double standard

- occasionally dives into tiktok drama just to dabble and then sits on the sidelines and watches it happen

-- 100% built a balloon arch to flex on That Balloon Girl 

- solidly on witchtok and horrortok

Kit: King of petty/messy tiktok who also posts random videos about crime and occasional blogs

- switches from either sharing no information to borderline oversharing childhood trauma

- shares videos on borderline illegal ways to get back at exfriends/expartners/exfamily members/general enemies 

-- putting fish in people’s vents, subscribing them to magazines under various similar names, sending them glitter in the mail, opening their oreos and taking out the middle of all of them, putting baby locks on their cabinets and in the outlets they can’t see (like under the bed so they can’t get plug in their cellphone charger at night), etc. 

- is always eating some sort of snack, no matter what he is doing

- also posts videos about personal safety like what locks will actually keep people out and what ones are easy to break into

--caused several minor freakouts when he casually mentioned his father taught him how to do it

- occasionally posts videos with an adorable toddler and a young couple who he refers to as “mom and dad” even though they look at MOST five years older than him and he often makes parental abandonment jokes/comments

- no idea where he lives because he speaks in an American accent and talks constantly about American/California life but everything around him looks very British 

- absolutely dives head first into every tiktok drama and will go for the throat for anyone who makes ableist/sexist/racist/homophobic comments without hesitation

-- his drags are legendarily savage and he has caused numerous problematic accounts to just straight up disappear

- duets videos from Livvy, Dru, Mark, Emma and Julian ( with lots of savage drags) but no one knows how he knows them because he is absolutely somewhere in the UK and all of them are based in California/US

-- he also notably NEVER duets Ty

--- the mystery is finally solved when Kit does a livestream and reveals that he met all of them because he was briefly living with them before getting placed with his family, the young couple who actually are his mom and dad 

---- he is very vague about the living situation but everyone assumes he was a foster child 

- he once caused a mass freakout on Tiktok (that actually spilled over to twitter and buzzfeed) when he announced he was going back to the US to visit friends and then posted a video with the caption “when you see your boyfriend in person for the first time in MONTHS but he’s too distracted by some wet 🐱” 

-- the video panned out from Kit’s unamused face to Ty gently rubbing a tiny wet kitten  with a soft cotton towel 

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair 

Chapter 15: The Woman of Balnain

Summary: Jamie finally sits down with a certain book.

Read on AO3

Read chp 15 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, masterlist, next

They spent the afternoon in lazy bliss. Together, they’d gone into the kitchen where Jamie had shown her how to whip up a burrito. Although most of it clearly went over her head, she had such a good time that she asked to make something else directly after he finished eating. 

After a brief explanation on how humans get full after eating, he gave in and offered to show her how to make cookies. 

Jamie felt distantly like his life had turned into a romcom as they baked cookies together. When Claire bumped him teasingly on the side, he grabbed a handful of flour and chucked it straight at Claire. Her mouth fell open in mock dismay before an impish gleam shone in her eye. Jamie learned that afternoon the true reason the word “impish” had originated to describe the fair folk. 

Claire was mischievous and exuberant in her retaliations. Handful after handful of baking supplies had been lobbed in his direction, shoved down his clothing, mussed into his hair, and even discreetly snuck into his pockets when he was later occupied with sticking the baking sheets of cookies in the oven. Long after their initial food fight had ended, Claire continued their little game. 

Later that afternoon while they sat together on the couch (the faerie’s legs draped over his, Jamie’s hands shoved under his own legs in order to keep from caressing her soft skin that was right there), Claire had produced a handful of oats from nowhere and shoved them down his collar. He’d flung her legs off, grabbed her waist, and threw her over his shoulder without a second thought as she squealed and thrashed. Stalking to the kitchen like a caveman with his prize draped over him, he unceremoniously plopped her down and then dumped an entire bowl of excess flour over her head. 

“I give up,” she screeched, smacking blindly at his chest with her flour-caked face still screwed up, puffs of powder exploding from her lips. 

“Promise? No more surprise attacks when I let down my guard?” he asked guardedly, trying to keep his grin out of his voice. 

“You have my word,” she promised. She gave him a grave, floury nod. 

Feeling quite magnanimous now that he’d won, Jamie grabbed a dishtowel, wet it, and then approached Claire. 

He cupped the back of her head, feeling her curls tangling between his fingers, and gently wiped the flour from her face. Once her eyelids had been cleaned, she opened them and stared up at him with a soft look. His bones felt like they had been turned to water to be receiving such a look, and he struggled to focus on the task at hand as he tenderly dabbed at the spots of flour still left on her face. She stayed quiet, just looking at him and allowing him to clean up the mess he’d made. 

How he loved her. 

When the moment finally broke, their gazes tearing apart, Jamie inspected her hair. 

“No way I’m gettin’ this out of these curls. Do ye want a shower, a nighean?” 

“I would never say no to a shower,” she beamed. 

So, he’d graciously turned it on for her and then explained that he was going to get some work done. Leaving her to it knowing full well that she’d be in there for a long time, he headed for his office. 

But it wasn’t work he had in mind. 

There was another matter tickling at his brain. One he’d been itching at for far too long. He’d barely had time to breathe, let alone sit down and address it, until just this minute. 

He needed to read the book that the eccentric bookstore owner had shoved into his hands.

Unsure how to explain the strange interaction to Claire and disinclined to possibly worry her over nothing, Jamie still hadn’t mentioned anything about it. He’d been waiting to read it until he had a moment alone. 

Settling into his office chair, Jamie stared down at the cover of the mysterious book. He was motionless for a few seconds, feeling a strange uneasiness. 

The title was The Woman of Balnain. It was short, perhaps a novella, and the description on the back said that it was about a time-traveling lass. Why would the mysterious Geillis give this to him? 

He was just about to start into reading, but as he opened the book, several sheets of paper suddenly fluttered out and onto his lap. Warily, he picked them up, turning them over to see what appeared to be hastily scrawled notes. 

The words at the top made him draw a sharp breath. 

“The Standing Stones of Craigh na Dun.”

The following notes seemed like a jumble to Jamie, the words swimming together in his mind in his haste to take them all in. He began to read so fast that several times he had to pause and reread. Geillis— at least he assumed that she was the author of these notes— wrote about planes of reality, magnetic fields, magical properties of the standing stones...

And below that was another section that was entitled “traveling.” 

Gemstones. One could travel from this plane to another— through the stones— by use of gemstones. According to this, only some people (or fae, he supposed) could travel. But those who could had discovered that gemstones ensured their safety.  

His hand was shaking so hard that he dropped the papers entirely. He brought his trembling hands up to bury his face into them. The gravity of the situation sat heavy on his shoulders as the realization descended. 

If this was true, he’d just been handed the way to get Claire back home. 

*

What followed was perhaps an hour of frantic, mind-bending sorting of thoughts. He read and re-read over and over, trying to ensure that he truly had understood the implications of the document. But no matter how many times he reviewed the words on the page, the meaning was clear: If Claire had a gemstone, she could safely use the stones to return to her plane. To her people and her life. Away from him. 

But then he spiraled into doubt. How did he know he could trust this mysterious Geillis and her instructions? But as much as he wanted to deny it— to dismiss the entry as garbage and all thoughts of Claire leaving along with it— he couldn’t ignore the feeling in his wame that this was the truth any more than he could refute the fact that Claire deserved a shot at returning home. Besides, something about Geillis had seemed odd… mystical perhaps. Not in the same way Claire did, but he certainly believed that whoever (or whatever) the bookkeeper was, she knew a hell of a lot more about this stuff than he did. And she’d known about Claire. So in the end, while he wasn’t certain that she was a friend per se, he thought it likely she was at least an ally— and he believed what was written on the page was the truth. 

Once Jamie had addressed comprehension and credibility, he moved on to his sorrow. 

Grief over the thought of losing Claire. 

He was no longer lying to himself about the extent of his feelings. He was in love with her, plain and simple. Infatuated, enamored— all those things— but it went deeper than that. She’d walked her way straight into his heart and burrowed in there as sure as she did when she nestled against him in his bed. And now that she’d filled that empty space in his life, he couldn’t even imagine going back to the hollow loneliness of existence without her. 

Every part of him longed not to tell her. He could crumple up the page and throw it away, or better yet, he could burn it up without a trace, and she’d be none the wiser. 

But his mind swirled with images, memories eating at him that he couldn’t quite ignore. Claire crying against him only a few days ago, weeping for all she’s lost. Her trepidation as she’d faced the terrifying unknown of the city. The sheen of tears in her eyes that she’d fought back as she admitted Jenny had made her scared… 

As he thought about all she’d been through since being ripped from her home, he knew that taking away the chance to return would be unfair. He wanted to be selfish— God, help him, he burned with it…

But he loved her enough to let her go. 

A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye— scalding as it dripped down his cheek. He sat motionless in his office chair, his hand squeezing his opposite arm so tightly that the nails made deep red indents in his flesh, but he knew what he had to do. 

He’d tell her. 

Decision made, Jamie stood from his desk. His feet felt like they were encased with lead, and he was light-headed, as if all that thinking and agonizing had sucked his brain out with a straw. As horrible as he felt, he was resolved, and he made his way sluggishly downstairs. 

The scene in the living room nearly shattered that decision. 

Claire was asleep on his couch, all curled up and shoulders hunched under the fuzzy throw blanket she had clutched around her. Her bonny pink lips were parted just slightly and tiny whooshes of air tickled a single curl that had fallen over her face. 

He ached to see her like this for the rest of his life. 

Just as he was about to turn on his heel and leave her to her rest (this was not the time for such a heavy revelation), she stirred. His stubborn feet anchored him in place as he watched her shift, head lifting a bit, and her eyes blinked open. 

“Hi, Jamie,” she breathed sleepily. 

While giving him a fond but drowsy smile, her head nestled back down onto the throw pillow. She looked up at him with eyes that always reminded him of a fawn’s. 

“Havin’ a wee rest?” He asked tenderly. 

“Yes,” she breathed. She glanced him up and down appraisingly and then said, “maybe you should too. You seem tired.” 

Jamie was tired. He felt like he’d been put through a meat grinder several times over. Still, he knew there was no way he’d actually sleep even if he could tear his eyes away from her long enough to close them. 

But if Claire wanted a nap, and was hinting for him to join him, who was he to deny her?

He indulged his selfish desires for a moment and approached the couch so he could bend down and run a hand over Claire’s hair. 

She smiled drowsily and leaned into his touch. Her eyes blinked slowly as she gazed up at him. 

God, she was beautiful. 

“Let’s go upstairs, mo nighean donn,” he suggested quietly. 

His sleepy faerie did not seem inclined to get up. Her eyes had fallen closed again, but her hand blindly reached out for him. She caught his cheek, her fingers tracing over the stubble on his jaw. 

Then, suddenly, her eyes popped open. 

“Are you alright, Jamie?” she asked, her whisky gaze swimming with concern. 

Her abruptness startled him, but he quickly snapped himself out of it and put on his brave face. 

“I’m fine, Sassenach. Do ye want to stay on the couch or go up to bed?” he softly asked. 

Her brows furrowed, disbelieving, but she firmly answered, “with you.” 

He felt bad that he’d upset her but couldn’t seem to drag himself out of the cloud of depression that had wrapped around him the moment he’d decided to take her home. 

But he’d have this one last time with her, and he wouldn’t ruin it with dark thoughts. 

“Alright. Let’s go, mo nighean donn.” 

She sat up, eyes fixed on him all the while, and then took his hand. The way she was looking at him, soft and searching, made his heart skip a few beats. He hardened himself to the overwhelming desire to pour out his heart to her, lay all the cards on the table, and beg her to stay. But he knew in his bones that this wasn’t the time. 

Her thumb was tracing lightly over his knuckles, patient as he struggled inside himself. 

A part of him wanted to bury his face in her neck and let her stroke his hair— she would do it, he knew. All it would take was him to make the motion, take the comfort from her. 

But that wouldn’t be fair. If she saw his distress, she would feel guilty about leaving him. He loved her too much to put that burden on her. 

His puir heart was breaking, but he managed to wrap it up in a thin layer of composure, scoop up his scrambled thoughts, and put himself back together. He gave her a brave smile, feigning nonchalance. 

Breaking the silence, he said, “let’s go, mo calman geal.” 

He took her upstairs by the hand. She was still sleepy, but not inclined to let that stop her from caring for him— even if she had no idea what was going on. He could feel her hovering anxiously by his side, trying to figure out what was wrong. 

As they sat down on the bed, Claire tried to tug him down to cuddle with her, but he shook his head. Settling against the headboard instead, he guided her down to lay her head in his lap. 

He wanted to watch her. Just this one last time. 

Sleepy as she was, but probably even more so because she wanted to do whatever was best for him, she complied. She snuggled down into his lap and settled herself so she was comfortable. 

As he carded his fingers through her hair in gentle strokes, Claire began to relax. It wasn’t long before she drifted back into sleep. The lines on her face smoothed, and she seemed to melt into him impossibly further. 

His hands still moving soothingly against her, Jamie returned to his thoughts. A terrible weight rested on his shoulders as he came to a realization. 

He wouldn’t be strong enough to tell her here— in his home that had become their home (at least he felt that it was theirs)— and still manage to make the drive to the stones. It was selfish to keep this from her, but he simply wouldn’t be able do it. There were limits to his goodness, and he prayed God would forgive him for this one. 

So, with his mind made up, a plan began to form. 

He would tell her tomorrow that they were going for a hike. They’d drive out to the stones, and he would explain once they got there. His Grandfather’s ruby ring laid on his dresser— that would be what he’d give her to ensure safe passage. And then… then, she’d go home. 

And that was that. 

This was his last night with her. 

He looked down and studied her face for a long time, trying to memorize every tiny detail. He knew it would be the remembrance of her that would warm him on the cold, lonely days that would surely follow. He traced her face reverently, first with his eyes, and then as his selfish, breaking heart took over, with soft touches of his fingertips. 

All that was left was to pray that tomorrow he would have the strength to send her away.

***

A/n: I believe now is the time for me to hide 😳

Next

[dothwrites]

worried Dean @ Cas: “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

---

It’s a widely accepted tenet in the art department that Castiel Novak is a genius. 

Dean first hears rumors of Novak’s skills when he’s a freshman. He doesn’t believe them at first. He suspects they’re overblown by groupies who are too interested in trying to get into Novak’s pants (not that Dean can blame them: with his shock of dark hair, ice-blue eyes, and delicate scrollwork of tattoos spiraling up his arms to disappear under the sleeves of his very tight t-shirts, Novak is a walking wet dream). Then, at the end of his freshman year, he’s busy setting up the annual art show when a piece catches his attention. 

At first glance, the painting is deceptively simple. A shadowed figure stands in the center of the canvas, his arms raised up to the sky. Around him are swirls of red, black, and gold, somehow blending into one color in the background. The more Dean looks, the more ambiguity he finds in the painting. Are the swirls of gold lifting the figure up or restraining him? Is the figure fading into the black or breaking free? Is the red coming from him or is he drawing it in? Are his hands raised in supplication or defiance? 

Dean loses track of how many minutes he spends staring at the painting, admiring the shading, the color, the symbolism. Transfixed, he reaches out to touch at the rough surface of the painting before he recalls himself and snaps his hand back to his side. 

“You can touch it if you want.” 

Dean whirls around at the deep voice, his eyes widening when he sees Castiel Novak standing behind him, hands tucked deep into his pockets. Castiel raises a pierced eyebrow at him. 

“Seriously. Go ahead.” 

Dean shakes his head, aware of Castiel’s reputation. “I can’t...we’re not allowed to disturb the artwork--”

Castiel’s mouth twists and Dean doesn’t know whether he’s angry or deprecatory. “Well, I’m the artist, and I say you can.” 

Castiel’s eyes rest heavily on him. Dean swallows, his heart picking up a rhythm that seems attached to the flick of Castiel’s tongue over his lower lip. Hand shaking, he reaches out to brush his fingers over the textured canvas. 

“It’s rough,” Castiel says from right behind him (when the hell did he get that close?), “because becoming is always rough.” 

And that’s how Dean Winchester decided Castiel Novak was a genius. 

---

As school and life continues, Dean admires Castiel Novak from afar. 

From what he can tell, Castiel doesn’t have many friends. He has admirers, which he ignores, and he has a few people who hang onto his fame, which he disdains, but actual friends? The only thing keeping Dean from volunteering is the thought that Castiel will turn the same withering look on him. 

Castiel haunts the art building and, as Dean continues delving into the Art program at Carver Edlund University, he does the same. Sometimes he’ll pass Castiel on his way to his studio. Castiel always nods at him, but it’s a companionable gesture, the same that you might give to someone at the grocery store. He never stops to chat, doesn’t even remove his earbuds. 

And that’s fine. So Dean’s harboring a crush that’s as much intellectual as it is physical. Plenty of people have crushes. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s obsessed. Not like he lurks around just so he can leave at the same time Castiel does. Not like he skulks through the dark halls so he can get a look at Castiel’s new project. That would make him creepy and pathetic, and those are two adjectives which certainly don’t describe Dean Winchester. 

After a while, denial doesn’t even taste bad, just a little bitter. 

By the end of his sophomore year, Dean’s accustomed to the status quo. He notices the light in the private studio allotted to Castiel (all senior Art majors get their own studios, but Castiel got the nicest of them), but he doesn’t stop on his way to his own (shared) studio. When he arrives, however, he screeches to a halt. 

His studio is filled to the brim with snotty freshmen. His personal workplace has been completely commandeered by a freshman with a (barf) man bun. “What the hell?” Dean sputters. He can feel his face turning red with rage. “This is my time.” 

Man-Bun pops his gum as he looks at Dean. His eyes are so hazy Dean’s surprised that he’s not deep-throating a bong at that very moment. “Um, guess again? We totally booked the studio for tonight?” 

Seething, Dean storms to the schedule and checks. Sure enough, there’s a long list of names on the door for the studio space. “I always have Thursday,” he protests, but it’s an empty sort of rage. “I’m always here for Thursdays.” 

Man-Bun shrugs, turning back to his psychedelic smattering of colors. “Not this Thursday, dude.” 

Dismissed, Dean gathers his remaining dignity, and leaves. Standing out in the hallway, he reviews his options. He’s kicked out of his regular studio, and he needs to work tonight, otherwise he’ll never get his final project for figure drawing done. Every studio he passes is booked to capacity; clearly the art program is full of procrastinators. In fact, the only studio that has any sort of room...

“No. No. Shit.” Dean weighs the consequences of failing his class versus metaphorically throwing himself into a volcano. Finally, his fear of failure takes over, and he knocks on the door of his last remaining option. 

The door swings open, revealing a Castiel who looks significantly more disheveled than normal (though normal Castiel usually looks like he was rode hard and put away wet). A smear of blue paint decorates one cheek while his earbuds dangle from his neck. Dean tries to ignore the spirals of Castiel’s tattoos, especially where they disappear under his shirt (he especially tries to ignore the thoughts of what those tattoos look like underneath Castiel’s shirt). Castiel blinks in surprise. 

“Dean. What are you doing here?” 

(The fact that Castiel knows Dean’s name comes as a shock. Dean assumed that he was one of the thousands of nameless faces Castiel passes every day.)

“Um, first let me say, it’s totally awesome if you say no, I don’t expect you to say yes, it’s a huge imposition--”

“Dean, you’re rambling.” 

“Can i use your studio? Or share it? I wouldn’t ask, but a bunch of douchebags took mine and there are no other spaces open, and I really need to finish this project--”

“Sure. Come on.” 

And with that, Castiel steps back and beckons Dean into his studio. 

Dean crosses the threshold with something resembling awe. He never imagined, in his wildest dreams, that he would be allowed into Castiel’s inner sanctum. He tries not to gape too obviously as his eyes dart from corner to corner of the room. It looks...like a studio for the most part. Several canvases are hung around the room; if they’re discarded attempts or inspiration, Dean doesn’t know. They could easily function as either. Castiel finally steps in front of him, directing Dean’s attention to one corner of the room. 

“Would there be good?” 

Dean nods. “Yeah, that’s good.” He pauses, eyes darting nervously around the studio. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

Castiel frowns, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No, of course not. If you were, I wouldn’t have opened up the door.” With that, he seems to consider the topic of conversation closed, and retreats back a few steps. 

He sets up his work and tries to ignore the fact that Castiel Novak is watching him. It’s almost impossible not to feel his eyes; the skin on the back of Dean’s neck prickles in awareness, but he perseveres. 

He sets his sketch on the easel before casting a critical eye upon it. He frowns as he notices every imperfection. it’s based off a series of sketches he jotted down in class earlier that day. Dean remembers the careless grace of the model, the way that the fabric had draped artlessly over his waist and shoulders, but he can’t recapture the specific atmosphere of the room, which was what made that particular model striking. Every time he tries to put onto the paper how the room felt, his figures end up wooden and two-dimensional. 

“You’re paying too much attention to the form.” 

Dean jumps, his charcoal pencil scrawling an ungainly line across the page. Not a huge loss, he was already going to toss this one anyway. He turns around to find Castiel standing directly behind him. 

Castiel nods towards his sketchpad. “In your drawings. You’re paying too much attention to the form. That’s why it’s coming out wrong.” 

“The form is all there is,” Dean replies, a little peevishly. He knows the sketch sucks, but that doesn’t mean he wants Castiel freaking Novak pointing it out to him. 

“The form is one part. But you have the lighting and shading and you have the intention. The intention is...the feel of the room. It’s what remains unsaid and unseen to those who weren’t there. It’s what you’re trying to capture by paying so much attention to the form. Of course, by concentrating too much on the technical, you lose the abstract.” 

Castiel flicks over to a new page with a deft flick of his wrist. He plucks the pencil from Dean’s grasp with one hand. With the other, he poses Dean’s hand close to his face. Castiel stares at Dean for a few excruciating seconds before he turns his attention to the empty page. 

Dean hardly dares to breathe as Castiel sketches. He’s not sure how he’s going to return to real life, knowing now the tiny crease that knits between Castiel’s brows or how the tip of Castiel’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth. How is he supposed to live, knowing Castiel hums tunelessly as his hand works? 

“There.” Castiel flips the sketch to face Dean. In it, Dean finds his own face, rendered in a few lines. It’s rough, certainly, but it’s a close enough likeness. More than that, Castiel’s managed to capture...

“Do I look that scared?” Dean blurts out, before he can stop himself. 

Castiel actually laughs, deep and rumbling, from the diaphragm. It’s a lovely sound, one that fills the studio, and one Dean would gladly hear again and again. “You don’t look scared.” He sets the pencil down on the easel and turns fully to face Dean. “Anxious maybe. Hovering on the edge of anticipation.” He steps closer. His chest almost brushes Dean’s, which could be misinterpreted as Castiel not understanding the concept of personal space. 

What can’t be misinterpreted is the unsubtle drop of Castiel’s eyes to Dean’s lips. 

“I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I’ve really wanted to kiss you for almost a year,” Castiel says, his voice scraped rough around the edges. His eyes drag up to Dean’s, and Dean’s taken aback at the wild glint in them. Castiel steps closer and his clever fingers slip into the spaces between Dean’s fingers. “Please Dean,” Castiel breathes, raw and needy, “please, can I kiss you?” 

“Fuck yes,” Dean murmurs, which is all he gets to say before Castiel’s hand cups the back of his head and his lips descend upon Dean’s. 

Not that Dean’s bragging, but he’s had quite a few good kisses in his life (and been told that he gives quite a few good kisses). Castiel blows them all out of the water. Dean’s never been kissed so thoroughly before, like Castiel wants to own him, like Castiel’s interested in finding exactly what makes Dean tick. His teeth nip at the swell of Dean’s lower lip while his tongue delicately traces the seam of Dean’s lips. Dean eagerly opens his mouth, moaning into Castiel’s mouth as Castiel’s tongue slips in along his. 

Hours or days later, when they part, Dean realizes that while one of his hands is cupping the spur of Castiel’s hip (holy fuck, those hips feel like handles for his hands), his other hand is still holding Castiel’s. It’s certainly the sweetest kiss that’s ever given him a boner. 

Castiel laughs, a little breathless. It’s only then Dean realizes he’s a little taller than Castiel. “You do live up to expectations,” he murmurs, and Dean’s not sure whether Castiel’s talking to himself or not. 

The words spark a recent memory in Dean, and suddenly nothing is more important than finding out the truth. “You said you wanted to do that for a year?” Castiel nods, his eyes suddenly shifting to the side. “Why?” 

“Everyone always goes on about my art. How groundbreaking it is, how I’m a ‘once in a generation talent’.” Castiel uses finger-quotes, which should not be as endearing as Dean finds it. “And it’s nice, but none of them even bother to see my art for what it is. They just see my name attached to it and they lose their shit. But last year...You saw that painting. It didn’t matter to you who made it. You saw it and appreciated it for what it was. And I...I saw you.” 

Castiel swallows. For all his suave confidence earlier, he looks oddly vulnerable now. “So, anyway. Yeah. For a year now. Um...” He glances at Dean’s easel. “I guess I’ll leave you alone now. Or if you want privacy, I can go.” 

“Or,” Dean says, the pink flush on Castiel’s cheeks giving him all the bravery he’ll ever need. “You could stay.” Castiel’s eyes slice to him, their blue intense and jaw-dropping. Dean grins, a little predatory, like they’re on even ground. 

“After all, I’m going to need a model for this sketch.” 

[vampcubus]

Quiet (Midoriya/Reader) [part 2]

| A/n: I have to admit, I re-wrote the ending several times and I’m still not satisfied with it but here we go anyways! |

| See part 1 ... here |

✦✿  Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. ✿✦

✦✿ Words: 5500+ ✿✦

are you guys ready to c r y??

.   .   .

You stare blankly at a red and purple sky, eyes lazily watching the clouds roll by and the half-visible sun dip down and slowly set. You leaned forward to capture that perfect in-between moment, smiling as the last sliver of the sun finally dipped behind the horizon, letting the sky gradually shift from warm pinks and oranges to dark blues, indigos, and purples. You sighed and sank into a more relaxed position as your eyes welcomed the appearance of the moon as it took to the sky, washing the park in its gentle white light.

You sat at the same rotting-wooden picnic table you sat at every night, a familiar book with kitty skeletons draped in red and black across the cover sat just beneath your hand. The lukewarm coffee you’d picked up hours earlier sat right next to the book, half-empty from your lack of interest despite it being your favorite kind. 

You’d even considered dropping by your dorm to throw it in the freezer—to beat yourself with later if you kept thinking about a particularly annoying green-haired boy—before coming here, but you found that you just didn’t want to be on campus more than you had to.

Being out and about decreased your chances of running into him.

You let your eyes stray from the steadily appearing stars and to your right, where Midoriya had sat just a few nights ago.

You let out a frustrated sigh, turning your gaze back up to the sky and raising the cup of coffee to your lips. It didn’t taste amazing right now, but it served as a good enough distraction to stop thinking about him. You’d done the right thing, whether you cared about Midoriya or not, you wouldn’t let yourself be manipulated. You would not come running back into his arms only to be forgotten when other things in his life became more important than you again.

It was better this way. 

You told yourself, trying to convince yourself that you would only distract Izuku from his dreams. You’d only get in the way and end up broken again when he realized that.

You flicked the book open and skimmed your eyes over the pages. The illustrations of grim-themed yet still cute cats above each new chapter momentarily consuming your attention. Your soft smile faltered when you stumbled upon a particularly strange looking cat with wild, curly fur and huge round eyes cowering underneath a couch. Your eyes lingered on the drawing, everything about it just screams Izuku.

You shake yourself out of it and flip to the front page, breath hitching when you noticed a sticky note attached to it. It was in the handwriting of the clerk you’d grown familiar with. She often scribbled funny quotes or little notes things into the books you purchased for you to laugh about when you stumbled into the shop again.

He was here today, wanted me to slide this to you once you came in today. Not quite sure if he knows that ‘secret admirers’ are supposed to be discreet? 

-Kiko ッ

You almost smile at that, not doubting for a moment who she was referring to. But then you knit your brows together in confusion when you noticed an arrow at the bottom of the note. Curiously, you unstuck the unusually heavy sticky note and flipped it. Your heart stopped functioning entirely when you saw a familiar bracelet taped to the back of it.

You gasped tearing the bracelet from the note and inspecting it closely. No way… there’s no way he even remembered this existed.

It was a colorful and cute bracelet with mostly green beads and white lettered ones spelling out ‘All Might.’

The sight of the bracelet brings you way back, and suddenly you are no longer outside at the park.

Instead, you are laying on your stomach with an impressive fort of blankets hanging above your head. Your small hands fiddled with the beads, tiny fingers slipping on each random-shaped bead you could find in your craft box that was remotely green in color. Across from you lays a much smaller Izuku on his belly with his nose buried in a comic book, eyes sparkling and lips noisily slurping at the straw of a juice box.

“Y/N-chan look!” The curly-haired boy squeals, shoving the comic book over to you and pointing at a panel of a very stylized All Might with multiple civilians draped over his shoulders. It’s a familiar frame from the video you’ve watched with the boy about a million times already. You personally didn’t idolize the symbol of peace as passionately as your friend, but it always made him happy, so you always watched it with him. You squinted, scrunching up your nose at the picture.

“They drew his hair wrong!” You complained pointing at the clearly exaggerated shojo-looking hairstyle the number one hero had been illustrated with.

“No, that’s just the artists’ style.” Little Izuku exclaims, standing up in the fort, proudly posing in his All Might one-sie, holding the comic book up into the air like it was Simba.

“Ohh,” You remember humming thoughtfully before returning to tying an s-clip to the end of the bracelet, looking your newest creation over with pride. You sat up too, looking anxiously over to your best friend who had engrossed himself back into the comic. “Gimme your hand.”

You vividly remember the young boy’s freckled face lighting up and his hand being shoved in your direction. You slid the way-too-big bracelet over his tiny wrist and looped it around a second time so it wouldn’t fall off. “Here, so everybody knows you’re the next All Might!”

His big green eyes overflowed with tears, almost flooding your blanket sanctuary and drowning you both in his own tears when he tackled you to the ground, hugging you tight. You remember him showing the bracelet off to all of his friends and Kacchan the next day. He wore it even more religiously than his hero-onesie, his mother even mentioning that he only took it off to bathe.

You recall your shock when a week later he dropped a similar home-made bracelet with your favorite-colored beads and your idolized hero’s name on it. It had been the first time anyone had ever made something for you and you cherished it.

“We match now, so that means we gotta become big strong heroes together when we get big!” You remember his high-pitched voice declaring with his best All Might impression.

You felt your eyes burn with salt and the telltale weight of tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, your fingers shaking as they clutched the bracelet. Despite how old the plastic piece of jewelry was, it was in outstanding condition--save for a few scratches on the bigger beads here and there.

You’d thought that he’d lost it or thrown it away a long time ago. It’s been years. How on earth did he still have this?

Feeling your breath start to quicken you shot up from your seat, grabbing the book from the table and dashing off towards U.A. You turned each sharp corner, narrowly avoiding crashing into several other students—including Bakugou who hissed and swore at you as you retreated to your dorm You shoved the door open and slammed it shut. The next fifteen minutes were spent digging through your stuff, looking through untouched boxes of your things you’d brought from home but never needed until now. 

And then, you finally found it tucked away in an old pencil pouch. You pulled out an all-too-familiar bracelet, holding it up to compare to the green one in your other hand. There was no doubt about it, it was real. Your fingertips traced the familiar beads of your own bracelet, eyes flickering between it and its counterpart.

Why…?

Why did he keep it so long?

You kicked the box back into the closet and toed the door shut, tossing both bracelets onto your nightstand and flopping face-down onto your bed.

It didn’t matter. It was just a bracelet, nothing more than a flimsy piece of plastic. Nothing compared to the friendship you had. So what if he held onto some dumb bracelet? That didn’t make up for months of distance, weeks of him slowly forgetting you existed while you stood idly by. Letting it happen because you cared too much.

So why did you feel so guilty?

You groaned exasperatedly into your pillow snuggling your face into it when it started to soothe your headache. Your eyes opened suddenly with a furious glower when your stupid brain immediately thought back to the times you and Izuku would nap together when you were kids, anywhere anytime. You often played so hard you knocked yourselves out so his mom would find you cuddled up against one another in your blanket forts, on the couch, on the slide at the park, under the sink once… anywhere you could fit into and doze off, you would.

In fact, you didn’t shake the habit of napping together until you were at least thirteen, which is usually around when parents start getting suspicious so you stopped doing it. You felt a slight blush rise to your cheeks, remembering those special times in middle school when you would sneak in and sleep together for a while if one of you had a nightmare. That was most likely the most rebellious thing you two innocent little suck-ups ever did.

You sigh, eyes drifting over to the bracelets strewn carelessly across your nightstand.

How can one bracelet bring back so much nostalgia?

.   .   .

Midoriya was slumped miserably against one of the couches in the dorm lounge, pen shakily scribbling away at an assignment. His handwriting has gotten a little better since last year, still wobbly and inconsistent in places but his teachers have voiced their appreciation of its improvement. He thinks back to earlier when he had dropped off that bracelet at the bookshop, afraid that if he approached you, you wouldn’t want to see him or he’d start crying again.

It really tore him apart inside to part with it, having kept it for so long. He’d found the bracelet while looking through some of his things one day. It fell out of a box with a bunch of his older more beat up action figures.

Seeing it after being put away for so long had brought the biggest smile to his face, remembering how much he’d loved it when he was younger. It was also what made him remember you… It was as if you suddenly popped back into existence. And in excitement to share the memory with you, perhaps catch up with you over coffee, he had disregarded the fact that it had been months since you’d last spoken.

He now realizes his mistake. 

But after last night he knew he didn’t deserve to have such an important piece of you to himself. He absentmindedly wondered if you still had yours… probably not, huh? His wasn’t as pretty as the one you made him, and why would you keep it after he practically ignored you for a year?

Still, he had hope that just maybe there was a chance he could make it up to you, that he hadn’t messed up so bad that you never want to speak to him again. Midoriya closed his eyes, frowning down at his notebook in shame. Who was he kidding? It was just a piece of plastic and likely held no value to you after what he did.

He misses it. Already.

“Midoriya.” Iida’s voice piped up and the green-haired boy jumped.

“Oh hey, Iida. Did you need something?” He asked, trying not to sound as worked up as he really was, forcing a small smile.

“I came to ask if you’d heard from L/N at all today?” Midoriya’s heart dropped at the sound of your name.

“No… why?”

“Well, it’s just that several students claimed to have seen her running obnoxiously through the halls earlier this evening and I was curious if you’d happen to know anything about it?” Iida asks, straightening his glasses with a displeased expression, clearly not amused by your behavior.

“No, I haven’t. Sorry,” Midoriya admitted sullenly, eyes downcast to the floor.

Iida’s eyes softened and the bluenette sighed, taking a seat next to his friend. Ochako and he hadn’t managed to get much out of the sulking Midoriya since the other night, but they suspect that things didn’t necessarily go well between him and you. Not to mention he’s been a zombie all for days, barely getting any sleep at all these past few nights

“And, as your friend, I am concerned about your wellbeing,” Tenya confessed, pushing his glasses up closer against his face as Midoriya sighed. 

“I’m fine, Iida.” Midoriya offered him a half-smile but otherwise made no attempt to spill anything. Tenya made eye-contact with Ochako across the common room, who had been the one to encourage him to approach Deku in the first place.

“Midoriya, what happened between you and L/N last evening?” The Iida son pressed, cautious not to pry too much in fear of upsetting him.

“I messed up,” Midoriya looked down at his lap, a drawing of your face in the corner of his math homework. He abruptly turned the page in hopes Iida hadn’t already seen it. “Really badly.”

.   .   .

The next morning, Izuku is as sluggish and mopey as ever, worrying his classmates with his lack of enthusiasm.

“You should talk to her.” Todoroki’s cool voice shakes Midoirya out of his daze after homeroom. He’s been staring absently at you as you ignored his existence, focusing on the lesson. It isn’t hard to guess who the half-and-half teen was talking about. And yet he still found himself surprised.

“I’ve tried, Todoroki. Talking won't help.” Midoriya sighs, eyes dropping to his mess of notes, including several crumpled up drawings of you.

“And sulking around doing nothing will?” Todoroki questions, not able to recognize the shell of the boy in front of him.

 “I messed up, and she wants nothing to do with me now.” And he respects that.

“Something tells me that isn’t entirely the case.” Shouto replies and the green-haired boy sends him a puzzled look.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks, a brow raised at the possibility that Todoroki knows something he doesn’t.

“You forget that Y/N and I are close friends now, although you haven’t necessarily been around so you may not have known at all.” He states bluntly and it does nothing to comfort Midoriya at all. He hadn’t known you and Todoroki were friends! What else did he not know about you?

“What are you getting at, Todoroki?” Deku asks with a defeated tone, wishing the stoic prodigy would just be out with it.

“Y/N tells me everything, don’t think she hasn’t told me about what happened a few nights ago. But when she spoke about you it didn’t seem like she didn’t want anything to do with you.” Shouto explained, definitely catching the young Midoriya’s attention. “She’s upset, yes, and you aren’t wrong to assume that she is angry with you right now. But the longer you wait to talk to her about it—if you planned to at all that is—the longer it will take for her to forgive you.”

Forgive him? Was that even possible at this point? He didn’t know, but if what Todoroki said was true, and he actually had a chance, he couldn’t waste any more time ‘sulking around and doing nothing.’

“Are you sure that’s even possible, Todoroki?” Deku questioned, eyes adept as ever as he searched the bi-colored eyes of his rival and friend for answers he may not even have.

“I don’t know for sure, Midoriya. That is up to Y/N.” Todoroki admits, and Deku bites the inside of his cheek still torn over this. “But I don’t think she will forgive you if you don’t try.”

“Mm.” Deku nods, thanking the two-toned boy and packing up for his next class of the day.

.   .   .

Your ears perked up at the sound of someone knocking on your door later that night. You sighed into your pillow, not wanting to leave its soft embrace. You tried to ignore it at first, pretending to be asleep but he insistent knocking continued. Grumpily you pushed off of your comfy bed to sluggishly open the door, thinking it was most likely Mina and she’d just keep knocking until you opened up. 

You were not expecting Midoriya to be standing there.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice holding no softness or enthusiasm ad your narrowed eyes stared coldly at your former best friend. He flinches at the icy tone of your voice.

“I-I um… can we… talk?” Izuku asks anxiously, wringing his hands together, elbows drawn in close to his stomach self-consciously. “Please?”

He meets your steeled gaze with his own apologetic one, green eyes pleading with yours. Izuku owned the most convincing pair of puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen, even when he wasn’t meaning to and even now you faltered.

“Why? Why should I let you in? Give me one good reason not to slam the door in your face and go back to bed?”

“B-because I w-won’t leave until I say what I need to say,” Midoriya stated as firmly as he could, a determined glimmer in his eyes as he did so. You don’t doubt that he might sit at your door all night if you refused him. “A-and I have a feeling you have some things to say too.”

He wants to resolve this.

“I have nothing to say to you.” You hissed stepping back into the threshold of your room starting to close the door but his hand smacks against the wooden surface, a desperate look in his eyes that only makes you push harder. “Move.”

“Please! Please just hear me out, Y/N, please just give me this! Let me try! You don’t need to forgive me. I just need you to listen!” Midoriya pleads, his glossy eyes already spilling hot tears down his freckled cheeks. He’s shaking. “Please…”

Midoriya stumbles forward when the door opens and he just barely catches himself, wide eyes darting up to yours as you take several steps away from the entrance. You cross your arms, you can’t believe you’re actually doing this.

“You have five minutes. Start talking.” You relent, sitting down on your bed.

Midoriya sighs in relief, closing the door behind him before clumsily scrambling over to you. You pat the spot next to you, avoiding any and all eye-contact. Izuku’s heart skips a beat when he spots his bracelet on your nightstand. So you did get it! His breath gets caught in his throat when he tries to speak at the same moment his eyes drift to your wrist, where a relic of your friendship dangles. 

You kept it! He feels his eyes overflowing, the ugly fat tears streaking down the sides of his face as he stares dumbfounded at the familiar bracelet.

“You have four minutes.” You flatly remind him, and he jumps, trying to think of the words he’d practiced just a half-hour before he showed up at your dorm.

“AH—o-okay! um, I…” When he fails to speak even after a good minute passes, you sigh deeply. If he had nothing to say, why’d he even come? What happened to all that gusto about ‘saying what I need to say’?

“Why did you keep it?” You ask out of the blue after an uncomfortable silence and his head perks up, but he looks confused, eyes searching yours.

“Keep what—?” He starts, but you cut him off.

“The bracelet. Why did you keep it? It’s been years, I didn’t even think you still remembered that old piece of junk existed.” You blurt out, each word sounding distressed and just… confused. You wanted to understand.

He stares at you, mouth agape at a complete loss of what to say. His mouth suddenly feels dry and his tongue rubs anxiously against the roof of his mouth.

“Because… because it was important... to me.” Izuku breathes, the muscles and nerves in his hand twitching as it laid only inches away from yours. “I was s-so happy when you first gave it to me, my mom had to pry it off of me just to bathe me.” He chuckles, smiling at the memory.

“And I kept it because it reminded me of you, it felt like there was a part of you with me even when you couldn’t be there. It comforted me, knowing that you put s-so m-much thought into something j-just for me and I f-felt so special!” He breaks off when his hiccups start to get out of control. “A-and—”

He chokes and apologizes taking a moment to breathe again. You hadn’t realized how much one silly piece of jewelry had impacted him until now, so much so that he’s crying over it.

“And I made a promise, remember?” Izuku sniffs, wiping his eyes uselessly with his hand, only really smearing the wetness across his cheeks and wetting his hand with his own tears as they continued to spill down the freckled planes of his red cheeks.

You nod, but turn away when you feel your own emotions starting to spike up. You bit your lip, held your breath, clenched your teeth. Anything to keep the tears at bay as they threatened to fall.

“I-I said that when we—”

“We match now, so that means we gotta become big strong heroes together when we get big.” You butt in, sniffling and raising a hand to scrub at the tears streaming down your face and pooling at your chin. “That’s what you said.”

Deku stares at you, guffawed as you quoted his younger self. He hadn’t expected you to remember it so clearly, It makes him feel even worse. Knowing how much it must’ve hurt you when you grew apart. How hard it must’ve been on you to keep quiet about everything while he lived his best life, forgetting all about his dearest friend.

“Why’d you give it back?” You asked, voice trembling as you wiping your eyes with your arm. You glanced over at the green bracelet lying on your nightstand. “If it meant so much to you, why give it back?”

He closed his eyes. He listened to his heart as it slammed against his chest like a pinball machine, demanding him to say something.

“Because I forgot about the friendship it represented, and I shouldn’t have. I wish I wouldn’t have, but I did. I broke my own promise and e-even worse, I hurt you because I was just too caught up in my own problems—my own dreams—to remember that you’ve been a part of them since the beginning.” Izuku sobbed, there was no point in holding it all in now. 

“I gave it back because I was so afraid I screwed up everything between us, and I don’t deserve it!”

I don’t deserve you. The phrase rang in his ears so loudly it was almost deafening, he wanted nothing more than to say it too. He couldn’t because he couldn’t catch a single damn breath to say it. But even as he feels he has gathered that breath it’s stolen away once more when he feels your hands on his face.

In a flurry of your own emotions and a nagging force of habit you had reached out and grasped his face, the soft pads of your thumbs wiping at his cheeks.

“Stop crying already, you had something you wanted to say right? Stop letting your emotions get in the way of that.”

The firmness in your tone as your stern eyes descended upon his own struck a chord in him. You’ve said something like that to him before. Years ago.

“Stop crying, Izuku! Stop letting your emotions keep you from standing up for yourself! Kacchan steps on you because he knows all you’ll do is cry!”

Multiple times.

“Would ya quit crying already? You’re tougher than that, Izu. Like All Might!”

Constantly.

“Stop crying because you don’t have a quirk! Become a hero without one!”

It had always been you. You there comforting him, encouraging him, telling him to quit crying and speak up for himself. To keep pushing on despite the fact that he just wasn’t as gifted as other children. How could he have forgotten one of the most important lessons you ever taught him? How could he have forgotten about you?

You tugged one of your bunched sleeves down with your teeth and dried up the downpour of tears from his cheeks with your hoodie sleeve. Careful not to rub the skin raw, you kept at it until he was simply too shocked to cry anymore. This is the first time you’ve done this in years, yet far from the first time you’ve had to do it at all. Even as children, you were using your fingers, your sleeves, the edge of your shirt to wipe his tears away.

“I—”

“Shush, I don’t want to hear it unless it’s what you came here to say.” You interrupt, and the look in his eyes changes from nervous to determined.

“I was going to say that I am s-sorry,” He stutters.

“What else?” You encouraged, watching as he slowly gained more confidence. “You said you weren’t going to leave until you say what you need to say, keep your promise.”

“I was going to say that I don’t deserve you!”

“And are you lying?” You ask.

“No!” Midoriya exclaims more confidently, more certain of himself than before.

“And is that all you wanted to say?” You asked again, smiling as the sobbing boy from before completely changed with your encouragement, egging him on.

“No…” Midoriya confesses, faltering slightly as his nervousness returns. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to say it yet. Would that even be acceptable right now? Even as strong as he feels right now he can’t help but hesitate, to blush, to avoid your gaze.

“Then say it.” 

“I…” He trails off, suddenly terrified of the thought. He couldn’t! It would put everything on the line! “I-I…”

Your hand cups his cheek coaxing him to look back up at you.

“Stop hesitating, tell me what you want to say.”

He’s already put your friendship on the line, what difference would it make? You wanted the truth so you’d get it! He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes before opening them again, meeting your own straight on. There’s a spark in those green eyes that wasn’t there before he squinted them shut. It’s like an emerald fire was lit behind them.

“I love you!”

It’s quiet.

You stare at him, and he stares right back, his determined gaze never weakening as he maintained eye-contact.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Midoriya replies.

This time it’s your turn to shy away. Your face darkens incredibly fast, heart racing against your chest as your eyes darted from side to side, deep in thought. Your mind threw numbers together into every equation it knew, each answer coming out the same. You had expected an “I want to be friends again!” or “I want a second chance!” or “I want to fix this!”

Never in a million years could you have predicted him to say that. Not to you. Your eyes drifted back up to his. He looks a little less confident now, almost worried as he awaits your response.

“Get out.” You breathe, eyes wide as you stare at him watching his determined face change to one of confusion.

You couldn’t believe it. After forgetting your existence for almost a year, after only remembering when he found the bracelet, after only wanting to talk to you because it was most convenient to him… and he has the goddamn nerve to say that he loved you.

“W-what?” Izuku gasped, not understanding what was going on. Suddenly you were pressing yourself against the wall farthest from him on your bed.

“G-get out!” You exclaim, the angry tears running down your face.

“Y/N, what are you s-saying?” His voice shook, the tears starting to fall from his eyes again, his nose beginning to run as well as his entire body shook. Why were you telling him to leave? Did he make the wrong call? Did you not feel the same?

“Why are you lying to me?” You asked, the question coming out like a whisper.

“I-I’m not lying to you, I love you!” Midoriya cried. “Please, you have to believe me, I wouldn’t lie to you! I’ve always liked you—since we were kids, Y/N! I can’t fake that! You know I can’t!”

You shake as his desperate green eyes plead with yours, a sincerity in those irises you grew up staring into, a sincerity that just can’t be faked. He actually… he actually loved you? But why? He ignored you for a year!

“And you can honestly tell me that in that year you forgot about me you loved me?!” You demanded, your tears making your vision blurry and unmanageable.

“I never stopped loving you, even if it was overshadowed by my dream to become a hero, even if I made mistakes not even I can fix, my heart always belonged to you.” Midoriya crawled over to kneel in front of you on your bed where you still had your back pressed to the wall and your knees pulled tightly to your chest. “I’m not perfect, Y/N. I made a mistake by not being there for you, and I will do anything it takes to fix it if I can.”

“And you won’t forget me again? You promise?” You ask shakily, feeling a little embarrassed by how small you felt, scrunched up in such a way and crying in front of someone other than your cat at home.

“Yes,” His immediate response confirms it, not an ounce of hesitation present in the way it rolls off his tongue. “I promise, I’ll never forget you. And I’ll never be the reason you cry again.”

“Can you believe me?” Izuku reached his hand out to you.

“I… I believe you.” You admit, a small smile gracing your lips as you take his hand. Izuku lets out a relieved sigh, his free hand trembling over his heart. You can tell how terrified he was. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you though, Izu.”

“I know, and I’m going to try my very best to make it up to you. I promise.” Izuku states. It doesn’t bother him that you didn’t say ‘I love you’ back, he wouldn’t have deserved it. He’s going to have to work for it, and that was fine with him.

“Do you…” You started, face flushing and eyes avoiding his as you removed your hands from his face. “Do you wanna hug it out?”

“Yes!” You yelp when he throws himself at you, tackling you to the bed with his arms around you. You squeeze your own arms around him, face burrowing into his shoulder as you squeezed the life out of one another.

“Sorry.” He mutters when he realizes he’s practically on top of you and most likely crushing you. He moves to roll off of you but your arms only tighten around him.

“No, please just… can we just stay like this for a while?” You asked, and Izuku felt his heart beating so fast he was convinced it eventually just commit seppuku if it pounded any harder. He nodded against your shoulder, cheeks burning a bright crimson as he relaxes.

“Also,” You spoke up and he hummed in response, he couldn’t be bothered to move. You reached over to your nightstand to snatch the green bracelet from it, the green-haired boy whining when he had to re-adjust after you started moving. “Gimme your hand.”

He pulled away, green pools swirling with confusion. He complies with your sudden request and gasps when you slide the bracelet back onto his wrist.

“This belongs to you.” You smiled and he mirrored it with one of his own, hand impulsively taking yours, fingers intertwining with your own. Your matching bracelets reflected the dim light of the room, casting a warm glow over your faces as you smiled at each other. No longer did you feel forgotten or used, instead you felt loved again. “Now get off  me.”

Izuku laughs and slips off of you to lay at your side, his arms pulling you in close so he could cuddle you, just like you did when you were kids.

Izuku rested his forehead against yours, one hand reaching up to timidly brush against your reddened cheek, causing your eyes to flutter closed and a small sigh to escape your smiling lips. He missed seeing you smile. But there was still something else that he needed to take care of before you drifted off to sleep.

“Y/N?” He asked.

“Yes?” You sighed sleepily, 

“Don’t ever feel like you have to keep quiet anymore, alright? Please, always talk to me.”

You blinked, your mouth opening and closing several times.

“Okay.”