#the first picture is so funny to me look at his lil bowl cut and earless form next to his big version of himself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

muffindaddystyles · 4 years ago

Text

KISMETS (Part 2)

Harry Styles x fem!reader.

Slow burn, platonic love and bunch of affection.

Fluff! Smut! Smut!

Frenemies to lovers, dad!Harry, Bestfriend!Harry.

Author's Note: The concept's kinda weird but if you've watched F.R.I.E.N.D.S and Phoebe Buffay carrying child for someone. You've got it my pal!

MASTERLIST PART ONE PART 3

"Oh pet . . you're jealous innit?" He swipes the tip of his finger over the waffle picking the puff of cream and swallowing it whole, "'M not! Why'd I be?" She squeals kicking at his boots.

"Always told me y'had a candy crush at Harold." He smirks mischievously. Spitting truth. She smacks his bicep with a wide open mouth.

Y/N's carrying Harry's babies and is trying not be angry at him for pulling her into all of this with him.

Red's everywhere. It makes her pout. Everyone have someone to celebrate the day but she's the only one giving careless ears to Niall who's sitting opposite from her in the crispy lilac heart booth, "Mean ye' fought again with him?" He stirs the mango bobas in his drink wiggling his brows at her to fill him with some tea. She gasps full of drama and surprises, "What d'ya mean 'again? D'ya think 'm this crackhead that rips people in two for no-reason?" She whispers the last part when a waitress passed by them.

"No. Pet what 'm sayin' is --- you're too, feisty with Harry." He chuckles leaning to meet her betrayed gaze, "Did he bribe you with new golf stick? You've switched sides." She juts her bottom lip wet from pink marmalade drink and startles in her spot when Niall cackled ever so loud at her silliness.

"I just tol' him to go through Chessie marathon somewhere else than my home." Harry was at her flat as always. She was making red velvet strawberry flavoured muffins for the moment ( promised not to give it to Harry — "even if he'll beg") and then she fulfilled her promise when she saw him going through his pictures together with Chessie. The jealous little Y/N jumped out from her polite skin and she just tinsy bit mocked him, "I'd never look back at the person who'd have left me and my children. . ." That broke a mighty bit argument between the two idiots. How they're gonna take care of two babies when they themselves need a person to put them away from eachother?

"Oh pet . . you're jealous innit?" He swipes the tip of his finger over the waffle picking the puff of cream and swallowing it whole, "'M not! Why'd I be?" She squeals kicking at his boots.

"Always told me y'had a candy crush at Harold." He smirks mischievously. Spitting truth. She smacks his bicep with a wide open mouth. Sighing he grabs Y/N's hand knocking some sense into mama bear gently and making her nod with the each advice, "'s valentine's day 'course he misses her. His wounds are fresh they need ointment babe -- You've always been so good with him, what's the matter now?"

She circles her fingers round eachother. Sucking her lip harshly and not meeting Niall's intense stare, "Turns me mad that 'cos of one person we're here now." She mumbles caressing the belly button protruding from the flimsy fabric of her oversized hoodie.

"It's the fate, pet. Always tol' me how much you liked kids." She shakes her head in denial. "Not in this situation where 'm lost and doesn't know how it'll work out — " He cuts her off with concern.

"Talked to Harry bout it?" When she again denies he asks, "What you're gonna do about it then?"

"Dunno. Share?" She's new to all of this. What did she actually mean was that they could do it like how divorce parents do it, maybe? Doesn't know how Harry wants to handle the situation just leading a blind eye with him. Hasn't even considered getting ready for the life that'll come along with them.

"They're babies not a packet of crisps, Y/N!." He burst into giggles and she huffs slumping against the foggy window, "Pain in arse you're." She scoffs that pout still intact the whole time while Niall keeps on giggling finding it too funny.

. . .

Walking from the elevator to her flat's door seems like hiking a mountain for her and cherry ontop that the stares she gets from her neighbours is full of judgments. It makes her want to hide underneath her blankets and never pop her head out. Her brows coming together in wonder at the sight of small wood basket at her doorsteps.

"Oh my god don't tell me someone left a baby at my doorsteps, Hello!!!??" She spins here and there but finds no-one but empty hallways when a feeble sound coming from inside it almost made her tumble on her bum. The last thing she wants is not another baby. With a grunty noise she ducks down to lift the basket supporting it at her belly and unlocking the door while trying to squint inside it.

When she throws the lid away a fuzzy little grey creature with big mossy eyes was pawing in air needy for attention, a red choker with heart in centre around her lil neck. It almost brought her to tears. Blame her being extremely emotional these days.

"Awww. Hi!" She fawns picking it up from armpits inspecting the miracle kitten that's here outta no where. A crumpled note laying in the basket with a bunch of colourful disoriented flowers.

"'M sorry fo' throwin' a tantrum and leavin' all fussy. This's oreo. I want her to grow along my kids! Also forgive mee plssssss?"

She giggles throwing her head back snuggling oreo against her throat as she meowed adorably sweet, "Daddy's such a daft ehh?" She says in between breaths petting the new addition to her loved ones.

The first thing she does is call him and he picks on the very ring as if anticipating for it, "Come back home you fool." His smile was infectious as he taps his feet in his car a lil over joyed at the thought.

"So generous." Running upstairs as he used to in oast with anticipation to spill the tea of his day to her in any hour of the day. The door was already open, them standing at the either boundary line of flat. His first priority's always to shower his babies in evermost affection. Falls to his knees smushing his face to her belly quenching outta a ribs aching laugh from her as he caress his cheeks against the soft side of her womb murmuring things that's a secret between him and his babies.

"Hey Angels!" He greets them patching a loving tight kiss atop her belly button that tickles her softly, stands up and meets her teary gaze from laughing with much serenity it knocks breath from her, "Hi mama angel." His whisper fuses against her skin while kissing her cheek.

"Hi. ." She inhales in his woodish vanilla scent. Preventing from melting into his arms she pulls him back from shoulders grinning at him, "Let's ruin valentines watchin' Anne Hathaway's romcom." He tuts instead leading her with him to the sofa.

"Can't be better than that –— let me pop in some popcorns real quick."

. . .

The yellow carpeted floor's littered with candy wrappers, packets of half folded crisps, peach sodas and an empty bowl of popcorns. Oreo snoozing in her basket. They're on their fourth romcom. Her legs in his lap. His's on coffee table. He chuckles everytime she takes almost three minutes to be in a comfortable position, ushering her to sit up so he could put cushions under her.

"Are you craving nama chocolates?" She eyes him nipping at her blanket trying to snuggle closer to him. He runs his thumb at her shoulder blade in soothing circles peering down at her, "'m not pregnant. ye're moppet. havin' a sweet tooth?" When she nods sheepishly he shakes his head quickly hoping on his feet.

"Don't be shy --- dunno where ye' got this giddiness from, 'm your bestie. Gotta tell me yeah? Lemme grab me jacket." He grabs her from wrists helping her up and goes to her wardrobe to get her fist gloves, beanie and warm slippers.

When hears her huffing and puffing grunty-ly his head perks up with brows furrowed, "What's it babe?" He pads towards her and when she turns for him to have a look the zip of her jacket bursts open all the way to end revealing her bump.

She pouts sadly, "Nothin' fits me anymore." He just smiles adorning the same puppy look in his eyes as her's to light up the tension.

"I'll buy ye' new. Those cute maternity clothes, ehh?" Shimmies down the clothing from her shoulders, "oi you don't have to!" She retorts and he bobs his head taking his own puffer jacket off to wrap it round her small body.

"Yes I do." He mumbles zipping her all the way up warm and squishy in his jacket three sizes larger than her. Pulls her hair out and cups the nape of her neck with his calloused soft palm bringing her closer to feather a delicate kiss to her temple, ". . .deserves more than just clothes — deserves the world always gonna be thankful to ye, pet." She gulps the cobweb of silence down her throat fiddling with the hem of his sweater.

"What you'll wear? 'S cold." He gives her an elfin grin flaring a baby pink knitted cardigan he sneaked from her wardrobe, "Harry!" She squeals with a giggle, "You're gonna look like grann Matlinda."

"Ehm. 'etter not forget to send her a picture when 'm matchin' with her." He quips snapping his fingers.

. . .

They walk over the glittery layer of slushie snow and Harry walks infront of her two steps at a time capturing pictures of her as she prowls carefully trying to move the hood away from blocking her vision, "Ye'r walkin' like a penguin -- cutie!" He giggles with each echo of flash.

"Look who's saying an otter himself!" She mimics him and he blushes under the mellowness of street lamp. They're champs at pulling eachother's legs.

"It's soooooo slippery." She complains wiggling her fingers from under the sleeve, "Grab me hand 'n don't leave it kay?" He smiles like advising a three year old who's afraid of crowds in a market. His grip warm and safe for her.

. . .

"Aish. gimme gimme!" She gets all jumpy on her toes when Harry comes out of the shop with a box of chocolates and two sticks. "'Ey greedy pup." He chuckles booping her button nose opening the silky lid of box revealing the velvety delcious chocolates. He picks the stick up taking a piece of chocolate with it and hovering it over her little mouth. Scrunching his nose at how adorable she gets the moment she chews it.

"Hmm. 'S so soft!" She gulps wetting her cold lip getting all butterfly feeling when she catches him gazing down at her as if she hung the moon and saturns. Raises her brow for an inquiry if he's okay tugging him closer with a gentle clutch to his cardigan.

Their surroundings turning into ice crystals of blur carelessness, the noises of glimmering lights into lulls of whisper and their bodies cocooning into snuggly blanket when Harry's fingertips fluttered tenderly against her cheeks glueing her at the spot. Leans in to press his lips softly to her plush sweet ones in a heartwarming caring kiss that flooded her veins with warmth and made her brain mushy unable to think.

"Yours are softer lil penguin." He murmurs stroking the corner of her mouth and smirks when she squeaks a thank you in return.

"Such a cutie." He cooes squishing her blushed cheeks and kissing each of them with loud wet noise till she pushed him away wiping his wetness with a pout. "'M highly offended pet ya never used to wipe me kisses away."

She shuts him up by stuffing a chocolate in his mouth. Walking back home with his arms wrapped around her protectively as he comes up with silly jokes whole way.

. . .

Everything reminds her of him. That fuzz of kitten. The empty box of chocolate. Couldn't even focus on the work she's doing on her laptop. It's just that gooey feeling never left ---- now it has gotten stronger with it's mushk when Harry kissed her under that beautiful sky of wintery lilacs. If he's playing with her feelings he better not cause she'll break him in two in that case.

He was out shopping clothes for her when she texted him if he'll like to eat roasted chicken she made for lunch. The mere thought of him caring for her brings her to tears because before him nobody was there except only him that knew her from the depths of her heart.

"You look pretty. . ." She finds typing hard while laughing this loud as Harry sent her mirror pictures of him trying the maternity clothes himself that he's supposed to buy for her, "Thought a visual representation will be good idea ;)" He shrugs typing back with a grin standing bottom naked in the changing room getting a rolling eye emoji in return.

She yawns putting her phone aside when Harry got busy into his hunt for nice warm clothes for her. Something wasn't fine today. She's been changing sides for an hour now and she couldn't sleep. Her shoulders twitching with each blink of eye and when she finally slips into a light conscious sleep a bone rattling pain shoots through her whole damn body. She jolts from the state of haze and tries to sit up when another zap of pain makes her feel limbless. A feeble grunt of helping cry fizzes out of her when she feels a cramp at the bottom of her spine.

In her panicked state she fumbles for her phone dialing the first emergency number doesn't give him a chance to speak before she's yelling into receiver out of anxiousness, "Harry somethin' not right! — 'm m havin' these contractions —--" He's been out dining with Niall and shoots from his seat the minute her worried voice reached his ear.

"It's okay, lovie. yeah? 'M comin' take deep breaths how we practiced —-- I'll be there in a mo'." He assures her in his softest most pacific rasp but she shakes her head vigorously tears brimming in her sleepy eyes. Oreo tries to comfort her by sitting in her lap and rubbing her crown against her tummy.

"They aren't supposed to come this early . . . fo' fucks sake haven't even started my third trimester!" Harry doesn't know what to do except of consoling her and fidgeting around as Niall drives the car with same expressions of anxiousness and panic as Harry.

"Oh . . It's gone." She frowns in confusion able to sit now and it takes a little of burden away from Harry. He listens to the rustling going on her side jumping on his bum almost screaming into phone, "Stay where you're don' move!"

"Oh my god. They're back I'm not ready for this . . I'm not ready for this Harry." She cries and Harry even leaves Niall behind squeezing into the elevator fingers crossed at his back.

"'M here. Call our midwife can ye' do that fo' me, puppy?" She sniffs nodding to herself. Calling their assisted midwife with shaky fingers and tries to breath looking up at the ceiling.

In the meantime Harry's barging through the door pacing towards her in hurries steps. His face pale that if he has seen a ghost. She tries to saturate the distance between them knowing at this moment how much she wants him in her life.

He sits her back carefully crouches down and wipes her tears away, "'m so scared . ." She whispers squeezing his biceps and her phone's still ringing atop the sheets, "Don't be baby. Ye' have me — 'm not leavin' yer side."

He massages the dimples of her spine and runs warm hands at her sides to calm her down when their midwife picks up their call, "Hi. Is everything okay?"

"No Y/N's havin' these light contractions 'n 's not even the time of her labour." There's a pause from her side and Y/N bolts a worried glance at Harry in return he cradles her cheek to assure her.

"Oh . . that's nothin' to worry bout Mr. Styles. Those're some mild braxton hicks she might have mistaken with labour contractions." They both takes a sigh of relief but the little tick of pain keeps on coming and subsiding.

"They start at the beginning of third trimester, Y/N are you still getting 'em?" She asks her and Y/N clears her throat tugging the sheet beside her.

"Yes but less painful. Is that okay though?"

"Completely okay. Harry rest her against the headboard and push her knees upto her chest they'll be gone in a snap." He nods at her instructions helping Y/N lean against the headboard of bed gently and scooting between her thighs to do as she told.

"Better?" He whispers glancing up at her while wrapping his hands around her bended calves and pushing it slowly against her front, the move relaxing her pelvic muscles. Her head lulls at her shoulders from the effect and she hums from throat making Harry choke on his own spit.

He dares not to drift his gaze from her rigid features which are loosing it's tightness seconds after. Their breaths erratic from the humidity of sexual tension in the room when Y/N gets back to normal diverting her all attention to Harry who has his head tucked between her fleshy thighs. A blush creeping at her flushed cheeks and Harry gives her a flustered chuckle kissing the top of her knee to answer back Miss. Dori who's been asking how's Y/N.

"Stay hydrated and don't forget to take your vitamins." Saying this she ends the call. Y/N takes a huge sigh of relief spreading her legs back and Harry squeezes her ankles, "When was the last time you had a glass water?"

"Two hours ago." He rolls his eyes. "Supposed to be drinkin' every hour . . dehydration's s' unhealthy fo' you pet." He leaves the bed meandering through her wardrobe taking out a bag with Oreo in his armpit.

"What're you doing?" She gasps with wide eyes looking back at Niall who's still standing at the doorframe. God. It's so embarrassing he had to watch all of that. Now, he'll never not stop teasing her about it.

"Packin' 'cos ye're stayin' with me. No protests." Like she was going to. She loves to stay at his house. His guest room's mattress is such a royalty to sleep at.

. . .

When he tucks her under the layers of blanket she decides it's still not warm enough and grabs at his wrist when he was about to leave, "Can we cuddle please?" His lips quirks up with happiness and he crawls to the empty side of bed still letting her hold onto him. Slipping beside her to canoodle her cosily against his front nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck with "mhmpm." sounds of exhaustion.

"Anytime." Her eyelids slip shutting from the comfort he brings along with him, "ye' okay now?" His lips leaves it's sparkle at her skin as he mumbles spooning her from behind and spreads his palm wide atop her belly protectively. She nods cuddling into his bicep kissing the inside of his elbow and slips into darkness just with the song of his breath.

"Good night Angel."

. . .

She wakes up to the ruckus going outside and gurgling stomach from hunger. Pinches the blanket around her head and waddles outside yawning her way. Harry making brekkie in the kitchen, a grinder running, and waffles sizzling as he himself is moving around like Remy the Rat in ratatouille. His muscles stretching out with each haste motion and it made her tummy stir. She's been trying not be horny but it proves to be the hardest task when he's always around being that charming and alluring.

"Pet!" He grins spinning with a VR camera in his hand that makes her giggle, "What you're doing?" She giggles trying to hike up the stool.

"Recording the days with our babies until it's labour." Immediately he's at her side helping her sit up putting the camera at the counter and Y/N waves at it adorably voice low and sleepy, "Hi babies it's me your mommy." It catches Harry off guard. His heart shaped mouth baubles into awed expression as he blinks the shock away from his vision looking down at her.

"What happened?" She asks him in concern but he shakes his head pecking her hair and handing her the camera to go back to prepare brekkie — moreso to recover from the happy surprise of her acceptance or he might scream into these four walls.

He's got a heart of gold. Pure from the selfish intentions and full of love. He thinks he's an utter dimwit for neglecting his feelings for his own fucking bestfriend and finding love into places that were never meant for him. Now, he can't think of someone else as the mother of his children except her.

He smiles wet-ly to himself. Waterline stinging from the sweet epiphany that they're really gonna be parents. Together. That she's his person. Who never left his side. Fulfilled his dream of becoming of a dad when his own girlfriend backed out cowardly. What did he do to get her written in his fate?

"Would we get to eat in this hour of day Chef?" She quips elbow perched on the counter and chin resting in her palm. We. It makes his insides melt into squish of adoration and love for her, "Sorry! I know ye're hungry." He pouts apologetically putting the plates and a glass of smoothie infront of her tucking a napkin into her crew neck.

"I don't need that, pet!!" She laughs squeezing his thigh to refrain from falling -- for the fact she's the most clumsy person Harry knows, "look cute 's just all." He giggles back pulling his bottom lip that she has done a great job of flustering him this early in the morning — gonna be like that the whole darn day with the her words swimming in his mind hi babies it's me your mommy ——

"Hmm. It's so yummy!" She gives him a thumbs up leaning down to sponge a kiss to his cheek and his dimple milks against her lips from the shyness. He scrunches his nose as a cover up from blushieness else he might burst into lil confetti, "yeah?" His irirses twinkles impishly as he gave her an eskimo kiss.

They're so domestically in love. It's cute. Does thingies without knowing they've rocketed past the intense levels of intimacy.

When she whines at the end refusing to drink the green smoothie it's where he went all stern and daddy-ish with her. Pulling her into his lap, holding her wrists with his nimble finger and placing the rim of the glass at her lips encouraging her to drink, "I might puke." She tells him in a warning.

"Okay after drinking this." He declares not caring if she wrenches at him quiping with a pinch of brows petting her back.

"You're sucha meanie bro!" Bestfriend shit. More like lovers shit.

. . .

Blank staring is useless as fuck and mind tiring even if it's done sitting in the comfiest corner of sofa to get a watch of some piece of furniture, toys and clothes that litreally just belongs to little humans that are resting in her womb. There's this nice lady that Harry gave away all of this things to because she's having her third child and couldn't be able to afford this stuff for her baby, at the moment she's here to shift it.

"You don't have to --- I don't care. It's just some stuff you guys bought together." She had told him before he sat on the decision and once he makes up his mind nobody can make him act otherwise.

"Nope. Bought things fo' me babies by the choice of a person who wasn't even their mother in the first place, never deserved to be —-- would never be. We'll do everything from scratch . . ." His words held venom and hatred for her unlike the usual sadness and betrayal they carried weeks ago as he wrapped his forearm around her collarbones flushing her closer to his chest swaying in the living lounge, ". . . remember the plushies nan Matlinda gave ye' on ya eighteenth? Thinking it was yer thirteenth birthday? Found them from under me bed last night. Will throw 'em in the laundry and the descion will be on yours if ye' want them fo' yourself or your babies." She nods giggling and he joins her.

"'Course that'd be s' cute. My kids playin' with plushies that were once mine!" She clapped her hands atop her chest in sheer excitement.

At the moment, he flops onto sofa beside her with a dramatic huff after bidding the lady a warm good bye. Squeezing Y/N ankles as she's laying on her side. A pillow under her thigh for the ease purpose head on the other cushion, "Watching's the hardest work innit toots?" He grins impishly and she bobs her head with hooded eyes.

Rolling her shoulder to pop some joints to show her tiredness she's good at acting made him scoot closer to her immediately, "Actually yes — " Gets cut off with Harry getting really caring about her in instant.

"Lemme give ya good rub." His calloused palms starts it gentle pressure from the heels of her feet tricking up her calves and she hums sweetly with her face smushed into cushion. He does it for a minute, thumbing at her soles and popping her toes making her giggle lazily.

Her breaths turns warmer against the fabric when he glides his touch up her soft thighs running a trembling shiver into her blood and the coaxation from the daily tiredness plus the effect of him on her almost made her whine. Their breaths hitches at the same time his pinky brushes at the curve of her bossom peeking from underneath her pyjama shorts.

It makes her clench her thighs from the burn coiling in her tummy and it's embarrassing because he's doing nothing but giving her a rub. When the second time the pads of his supple fingers paints imaginaries at her skin she wiggles her cute ass and moans with an alluring stretch of throat when Harry slapped her arse playfully.

"'S good?" He rasps palming balmily her bossom ass hands gliding dangerously low to where she's pulsating with desire, "don't tease . ." She gives out a kitten-ish whine griping the corner of cushion to exhert the tension in her muscles. With a single glance to her deshilved state he slides his hand between her fleshy thighs pressing his lanky fingers against the wet splotch of her arousal from the only approximty of him.

"Jeez pet. ye'r absolute soakin'." He whispers circling her clit in tight circles from over her pyjamas and she ruts her hips in his hand for more. He hovers his fingers round the hem of her shorts testing the waters and if she really wants it ---- although she proves it with a groan indicating him to get rid of the material.

"Such a pretty bum 's a shame I got to touch it now." He traces the imprint of his redness on her skin making her hiss into her elbow and he pulls her over his lap; slowly feathering his touch between her pink slick folds down to her hole making her clinch around his digits trying to swallow them.

"S' tight babe. How long someone's been between these beautiful legs?" His words don't carry any taunt. It's just a genuine question. She gulps trying to escape the haze — couldn't when he's gliding his fingers non-stop in her wetness with dirty noises, "dunno . . don't remember!" She squeaks when he slides them inside her with ease from slickness caging a grunty moan that's threatening to slip from his lungs.

"It's been that long then . . ." He drawls out and Y/N's shook that she hasn't heard him in that tone ever before or maybe she's too floaty. This Harry intimidates her in a sweet way, makes her want to be blanketed under his warm weight always, to depend on him and be with him always. Makes her want to kiss him till the colours fade out and blossom back again with the witnesses of their love.

"Harry . ." She moans fogy-ly when he adds two more letting her stickiness drip down his thighs, "Yes baby." He giggles bashfully sneaking his arm under her shoulders to kiss her cheek.

"Gonna cum." She cries out softly nipping at his skin and he pushes his fingers deep till knuckles in her cunt pounding inside her with a pleasuring pressure, "Didn't stop ya." His little bubble kisses trails to the crook of her neck biting down to glitter hues of his affection for her.

"Oh my!" Her eyes popshut and thighs smack crampies his hand cumming on his fingers. Making a mess down his wrists, his trousers and the hem of his shirt. She purrs cheeks smashed near his thick thigh into velvet when he rubs her back to soothe her heated body down as that of a kitten, "Ye purrs are puttin' oreo to shame, moppet." He pushes her up. Straddling her each leg around his torso letting her melt onto him.

"S' warm." He mumbles against her throat pecking where the paths of her veins leads him to. Grabs her chin and nuzzles his nose to the underbelly of her jaw saturating her closer to his chest. She hiccups a breath when his swelling bulge nudges her already sensitive pussy making her wet again; she blames her hormones.

"Can you fuck me, please?" She gives him pleading eyes swiveling her hips back and forth against his thick length, "Don't 've to ask pretty girl." He kisses her mouth. It's not like their first kiss. Their first held innocence and sccachirness. This one's rather filthy, full of sucking, bites and spit. He splits his thumb in her hair cupping her cheeks kissing her passionately and winding his arm around her waist to caress her belly.

When she throws her shirt away he puffs out unbelievably taking in her to memorize each velvteen of her skin, "Fuck you're so beautiful moppet." It splashes blush at her features and his eyes litreally twinkles at the sight of her being like this. When his eyes halt at the swell of her titts he exhales through his nostrils a grin worming up at the little rainbow patterned bra she's wearing.

"Cutie." He kisses her again. It's like he can never stop kissing her ever. Her plump candy lips make it impossible. She skids his trousers down wrapping her hand around his girth squeezing him to quench out a throaty grunt from him. Stroking his cock with his pre-come and arches her back when his weepy head brushes against her cunt.

He helps her to take his cock being ever so carefull with her since she's pregnant but Y/N wants otherwise. She's insatiable. Could bite him whole at the time.

"Use me baby ---- make yourself cum with my cock. Wanted it yeah? C'mon now fuck me pretty girl. Take it all in. Yeah . . . Jus' like that." He grits stretching her to max and brings her neck to snuggle in to his chest when she was about to fall back because of her limbs giving out due to the ecastasy. She spurts out a giggle putting her hands between them to recoup herself and moves with his assistance on her ass.

"It's hard." She whines walls fluttering around his dick making him moan, "what me prick?" He smirks batting his eyelashes to get through the haze.

"Such a rotten joke." She rolls her eyes riding him with faster pace now and it's turning them all sweaty and hot, "mhmp. good girl takin' me cock s' well." His hands wanders above her tummy fondling with her nipples and takes it in his mouth while giving the same attention to other one with his thumb pulling it and tweaking it gently not to harm her, "don't like my jokes but you love my prick --- want to make ye' feel amazin' with it."

His balls thwacking against her bum and she leverages herself with his shoulders crying out in his ear when he hit a spot inside her she could never with her own fingers — she narrows her knees for more closeness and he tucks loose errands of her hair away kissing her temple with closed eyes.

"Tired?" His wet lips teases her earlobe and when she nods he gropes her ass thrusting up inside her, "It feels more good when daddy does it . . doesn't it?" He pounds roughly with a sharp angle of his pelvis and keeps on fucking her till she's crying his name.

She's a puddling. His words only made her float into her own head space where it's golden streaks in the amidst of violet clouds.

His own groans getting hoarse when she pulses around his cock milking and pushing his head fat out it makes him choke onto his spit, "cum for me --- inside me want it s' bad." She whispers woving fingers with his's and pressing it into sofa still grinding down at him whole body jolting from the sensitivity.

He does cum inside her. Filling her to brim with his seed it oozes out making soppy sounds when he pumps it back with lazy strokes to extinguish the last sparkle of fire that was crackling in their insides.

Remains like that. Tangled and dishelved. Listening to eachother's silence. He didn't even got a chance to pull out of her when his phone startled them beside her making her cramp hard around him and his head falls on the headboard with a grunt.

"Fuck." He squints back and pretends to eat the apple of her cheeks with roar like noises tickling her side making her stomach squeeze with laughs when his phone rings for another time and she ushers him to pick it.

His expressions remains stoic. Lips thinned into a hardline as he listens to the person on the other side. She's familiar with it. The feminine seductive voice she can never unhear --- it pangs her heart with an unbearable amount of pain and clogs her windpipes.

Dunno from where she found the need to ask this she did with a second thought from the anxiousness whirling in her mind the second he ends the call, "Are you gonna leave me now?" Tears of hurt without her knowing are already spilling down the valley of her chest.

Harry stares her. But, she could see nothing in them due to blurness from the pulversive of a single call.

#Harry Styles Fanfiction #dad!harry #dadthon harry #dadharrynation #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #fluff #harry angst #harry styles #cute harry #harry fluff #dad harry styles #dadnation

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fruitcoops · 4 years ago

Note

If you’re up for more of a series could you possibly write the part of Remus recovering at home after leaving the game (the one with the stick to the face) and Sirius having to take care of him and all that?

Yes, I can! I’m so glad you guys are enjoying the continuation of something I wrote so long ago <3 Side note: I would give my left foot to be part of the Lions groupchat. Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for bruises and blood

Sirius was worried. Even though Remus claimed he felt fine, he was just fine, everything was fine, a small seed of doubt lingered in the back of his mind. He had dozed off in the car on the way home—Sirius’ heart had stuttered for a moment before the swelling-enhanced snores started. His phone lit up every few seconds, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the road for even a millisecond, just in case.

Remus woke when the car stopped and immediately winced. “What’s wrong?” Sirius asked, taking the hand that rested on his thigh.

“Just hurts.” Remus kissed his knuckles as best he could. His skin felt strange, and the edge of the tape was an unfamiliar sensation next to the softness of his lips. Sirius collected their gear from the trunk, then helped him up the front steps; just as he went to unlock the door, he felt Remus’ hand tighten on his forearm. “I hate not being able to see well.”

Sirius kissed his temple. “That’s what you’ve got me for.”

Hattie stopped in her tracks as soon as the door opened, and Remus frowned. “Hatters? Where are you, sweet girl?”

“She’s here.” Sirius whistled for her and crouched, setting their bags aside while Remus sat crosslegged on the floor and held his arms out. Hattie’s tail wagged low, almost as if she was afraid; she glanced up at Sirius, who tilted his head back toward Remus. “Go on, mon chou, he’s not going to break.”

“C’mere,” Remus said softly, shifting in her direction. “C’mere, babycakes. I need some cuddles right now—there we go. Okay, Hat Trick, okay.”

Sirius carefully closed the door as Hattie climbed into Remus’ lap and let him hug her, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Good girl,” Sirius said softly. A quiet sniffle led to a flinch. “Re? What’s wrong?”

“I fucking love our dog.” His voice sounded even more clogged than before.

“Are you alright?”

“It really hurts.” A shuddering breath made Hattie nuzzled closer. “Hey, good girl. I love you.”

Sirius sat down next to them and wrapped his arm around Remus’ shoulder, tracing a pattern with his thumb. “Deep breaths. You can take more Tylenol in a few hours. Let’s go get some ice, yeah?”

“Can I stay here with her?”

“Of course.” Sirius kissed the top of his head and gave Hattie a gentle pet before walking into the kitchen and grabbing an ice pack out of the freezer, as well as a towel to wrap it. The last thing Remus needed was a freezer-burned bruise. They were in the same position when he came back, though Remus raised his head from her thick fur when he heard him coming. “I’m going to put it on your face, okay?”

“Okay.” Remus sighed when the ice pressed against his eye and one hand came up to cradle Sirius’, running carefully down to his wrist. “Love you.”

“I love you, too. I was thinking about making some soup if you want to hang here for a bit.”

Remus nodded silently, though his lower lip wobbled in the one spot it wasn’t puffy. Sirius carefully transferred the ice pack to his hand and ran his thumbs over Remus’ cheekbones—usually they were sharp enough to cut glass, but now they were purple and overheated under his touch. He kissed each one before going back to the kitchen.

After grabbing some soup from the freezer and turning the stove on, he finally took his phone out. You Have: 20 New Messages

Message From: J ;)

Did you get home safe?

Call me when u can

Lil is worried ☹

Tell Re we send big hugs

Message From: Tremz <3

Lmk when you get home

Leo is making soup for u

Bringing it over demain matin and won’t let us have any :(((

Message From: Bliz

Nat sends her love for Re

Remember ice packs and NO IBUPROFEN DUMBASS

Ily

Message From: Dumo

Sa mère est inquiète

Send text when home safe, love you

Message From: Walkie Talkie :P

U okay? Sending lots of love

Lmk if you need soup or smth <3

Message From: Hope <3

Thank you for the call honey <3

Tell Remus not to look at his phone and keep us updated please

Love you so much <3

Message From: Baby Rookie

I’m bringing y’all soup and that’s a threat

NO IBUPROFEN OR I’LL TP UR HOUSE

Big hugs for Re <333

Sirius laughed under his breath.

Message To: STANLEY CUP CHAMPS FUCK YES

Home safe. Re is fine, getting lots of cuddles from Hattie. Thanks for the messages.

He sent a few more texts to the individual people and, after a quick conversation with Hope, stirred the soup until it began to bubble. Remus entered the kitchen a few seconds after he took two bowls out of the cupboard. “Smells good.”

“It does. Are the lights bugging you?”

“Nah. At least I can see.”

Sirius poured out two portions and set one in front of Remus, handing him a spoon as well. “Careful, it’s hot.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Can’t cook it cold.”

Sirius’ phone began to ping several times in rapid succession and he turned the ringer off quickly, checking the screen to make sure there wasn’t an emergency. “Leo’s bringing us soup in the morning.”

“Neat. Is everyone else okay?” Remus blew the steam off his spoon.

“The guys are all worried about you.” Sirius glanced back up, only to see Remus staring down at his soup bowl, frozen in place. “Re? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Is this my mom’s?” he asked in a small voice.

Sirius wracked his brain. “…I think so? It was in the freezer. Is that okay?”

He nodded silently and a tear dripped down his cheek. “ ‘s fine.”

“Are you sure?” He reached across the counter and pressed Remus’ hand between his own, wiping his cheek dry.

“God, I miss them. You called her, right? To let her know I’m fine?”

“I did. She told me to give you something.”

Remus’ eyebrows drew together and he looked up. “What?”

Sirius scooted around the table and wrapped his arms around Remus, pulling him in for a tight hug and pressing his face into his curls. “This.”

“Thank you.” Remus went a little boneless against him. “I needed that.”

“I bet. Do you want me to give them another call so you can talk to her?”

Remus squinted at the clock. “It’s pretty late.”

“They’re still awake.”

“Could we?” Remus dug around in his pocket and handed it to Sirius, who dialed Hope’s number and put it on speakerphone.

The call connected on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, mom.”

“Are you okay, love?” Hope sounded like she was on the verge of tears already. “You sound a little funny.”

“A little banged up, but I’m alright.” Remus gripped Sirius’ hand tightly. “We heated up the soup you left us.”

“Oh, I’m so glad. Have you taken any Tylenol? Ibuprofen is bad for bruises, but I don’t know how much pain you’re in.” Her voice hitched at the end of the sentence.

“Mom, it’s okay,” Remus said gently. “It’s okay, I promise I’m fine. It looked worse than it was.”

Looks pretty bad to me. “Hestia took really good care of him,” Sirius said instead. “We got home safe and we’re icing up now.”

“What’s the healing look like? Sirius said you didn’t have a concussion.”

Thank you, Remus mouthed before turning back to the phone. “About two weeks, mostly for the little scrapes.”

The ‘little scrapes’ were held together by strips of medical tape, but once again, Sirius kept his thoughts to himself. “The blood was just a regular old nosebleed and a cut on the lip.”

Hope paused and they heard a new voice in the background. “Alright. Is it okay if Jules and your father say goodnight?”

“Yeah, totally.” Remus sniffled and Sirius silently handed him a tissue.

The line crackled for a moment. “Re?”

“Hey, buddy!” All trace of pain and exhaustion disappeared from his voice. “How’s it going?”

“Are you still bleeding?”

“Nope, my nose is a-okay. I’ve got a pretty cool black eye, though. Kinda look like a pirate.”

“The announcers were saying you were really hurt.” Jules’ voice wavered and Sirius’ heart broke a bit.

“Well, they were wrong.” Remus leaned closer to the phone, as if he could reach right through it. “In two weeks I’ll be good as new. I was really lucky.”

“Okay,” Jules still sounded unsure. “Mom says I have to go to bed.”

“Yeah, it’s late, buddy. Sleep well. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

There was a rustling noise. “Remus?”

“Hey, dad.” The exhaustion returned and Sirius rubbed his back gently, letting him lean on his shoulder.

After a moment of hesitation, Lyall sighed. “Alright, they’re in the other room. What actually happened?”

“High stick from the Ravens caught me in the face. No concussion, just bruises and swelling.”

“Do I want to ask Sirius to send me a picture?”

Remus winced. “Probably not.”

He sighed again. “I’m sorry we can’t come out and see you.”

“Don’t worry about it, dad,” Remus said softly. “Really, I’m okay. It sucks, it hurts, I’ll ice it and be fine.”

“Sirius, are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“If he starts pulling some ‘go back to practice early’ bullshit—”

“Dad—”

“—don’t let him. If you have to lock him in the bathroom, I promise to cover for you.”

“Yes, sir,” Sirius laughed.

Lyall chuckled on the other end as Remus groaned. “Love you.”

“Love you, too. If Sirius locks me in a bathroom, I’m citing you in the court case.”

“There won’t be enough witnesses if he does it right. Sleep well, kiddo. Thanks for calling.”

“Love you,” Remus said again as the call ended. He blew out a long breath and leaned his forehead on Sirius’ chest. “Thank you for that.”

“Ne rien, mon loup. You should eat and then take a shower.”

“Are you saying I smell?” Remus teased.

“Yes, I am. I also think you’ll feel better if you do.”

They ate in silence; both were hungry, so it wasn’t long before Remus walked carefully up the stairs. Sirius checked the groupchat as he poured himself a third bowl of soup. You Have: 7 New Messages.

Message From: STANLEY CUP CHAMPS FUCK YES

DETAILS CAP

That is the blandest fucking response I’ve ever read

I’m guessing y’all are alive then???

Y’all

Haha y’all

Ok gator boy

Give Hattie lots of kisses from us and also GIVE US DETAILS

Message To: STANLEY CUP CHAMPS FUCK YES

What do you want to know??? We got home, ate soup, called parents, and now Re is showering

You’re so fucking nosy jfc

Also cut Rookie some slack it’s hard being so far from his swamp

Message From: STANLEY CUP CHAMPS FUCK YES

From the bottom of my heart, go fuck yourself.

He doesn’t have to he has Remus

Pots I’m going to remove your kneecaps

Sirius paused just before responding. Despite the quiet of the house, he couldn’t hear the shower running. “Re?”

“Up here.”

“Did you take a shower already?”

“Not yet.”

The bathroom door was ajar and the light was on when he entered their bedroom; Remus stood at the sink, staring into the mirror as he felt along the edges of the butterfly tape at his lip. “Did something happen?”

“It’s worse than I thought.” Sirius stepped inside and joined him, staring at their reflections. The stripes that marked the stick’s edges had turned almost indigo since they left the rink; no less than six pieces of tape decorated the places between mottled bruises. Remus reached up to touch his cheekbone and Sirius guided his hand back down.

“Poking it won’t help.”

“Two weeks, huh?”

“That’s what Hestia told me.”

“Will you help me get the tape off?”

Sirius patted the edge of the counter and Remus pushed himself up on it, leaning forward for easy access. The first one was easy—a small cut just below his brow. It slid away without an issue and Sirius pressed a gentle kiss to the spot, then moved on to the next one. They fell into a rhythm—one side, second side, slow pull, and a kiss, until only two were left.

Remus hissed in pain as he lifted the edge of the tape across the bridge of his nose and Sirius shushed him softly, moving to the other side. “Two more, sweetheart.”

“Just rip it off.”

Sirius gave him a look. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ll do it.”

“No, you won’t, because that would be a stupid idea.”

Remus huffed, but didn’t protest. His jaw ticked as Sirius pulled the last bit off. “Can we leave the lip one?”

“Not unless you want an infection.”

“You’d be a good PT.”

“I would be the worst PT.” Sirius worked the inner edge free. “I know, like, ten stretches and basic first aid. My bedside manner sucks, too, and I’d pass the fuck out if someone asked me to set a bone for them.”

“Good points all around,” Remus laughed.

The motion pulled the last of the tape off and Sirius held it up with a grin. “All done. Hey, your swelling is down. I can see your eyes now.”

The slight gleam of amber brightened as Remus smiled. “I thought I could see a little better.”

“Do you want company?”

Remus thought for a moment, prodding the cut on his lip with his tongue. “As much as I’d love to invite you in, I think I need a second to myself.”

“Cool.” Sirius kissed his cheek and stepped out of the bathroom. “Yell if you need anything. I’ll be in bed.”

He made a pit stop downstairs to gather Hattie and bring Remus’ ice pack up, and by the time he finally slid between the sheets it was nearly midnight. Remus came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, looking happier but still incredibly worn out. He took another Tylenol and snuggled up against Sirius’ side with a quiet hum, laying the ice pack over his face once again.

“Sleep tight, Re.”

“Love you.”

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stargazing-enby · 5 years ago

Note

is it crazy to ask for a lil fic of some sort for the soulmate 'saviour' thing?

Not at all! Also, I think it’s funny how I recently said I probably wouldn’t answer any prompts anytime soon, but as soon as you sent this ask I was frantically typing this story on my phone, LOL. Hope you enjoy!

Based on this textpost

Drarry | 2.3k | Teen and up | Soulmate AU, Nicknames, Drunken Confessions, Sectumsempra Scars, Cuddles, Happy Ending | Read on AO3

The Dursleys never acknowledged it; never explained. It was just one more tally on a list of things that made him weird. That made him wrong.

Harry liked to stare down at it while he showered and imagine a thousand different reasons the word Saviour was tattooed on his chest, the ink a deep black that faded into gold around the sharp edges of the letters. He imagined himself flying like Superman did in the comics they kept on the highest shelf of the school library—imagined himself stopping comets from crashing against the planet with his bare hands, saving babies from raging fires.

In his daydreams, it never mattered if he got hurt. It only mattered that no one else did.

And then one night Hagrid stomped—quite literally—into his life, and he explained. He explained about Voldemort, about the magical world, about his parents. About the lightning bolt scar.

About the tattoo.

“It’s a soulmark,” he said. “Every witch and wizard has one. It’s meant to symbolise the nickname that your soulmate will give you when you’re together.”

“Do you have a soulmark?” Harry asked him, awed.

Hagrid laughed bitterly. “Nah. My only true loves are magical creatures anyway.” He leaned forward, as though to tell Harry a secret. “You have to be cautious who you share your soulmark with,” he said. “Could be dangerous if too many people knew. Especially with you being Harry Potter. There are… speculations, you see.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned. “What do people think it says?”

“Eh, the usual, you know. Love, honey… many people claim to know that it says whatever their daughter’s favourite word is. Very creepy, if you ask me.”

Harry nodded. “And what do you think it says?”

“Me?” Hagrid seemed uncomfortable by the question. “Well… Dumbledore wouldn’t tell me when we dropped you off at your Aunt’s, so I’ve been trying not to think about it, you know.”

“I don’t mind telling you,” Harry said.

“Really?” Hagrid’s face lit up. “Y-you don’t have to, but—”

Harry snickered, and told him.

He didn’t understand why Hagrid had to wipe away a few tears.

(more under the cut)

***

The first time he was called saviour was in his second year. Ginny, waking up beside him in the Hospital Wing and surrounded by her family, had murmured it without realising.

From the other side of her bed, Ron had given Harry an indecipherable look.

Ron’s tattoo was the word Idiot, neatly written on his ankle. Harry also knew Neville’s hip said Schnuckums, and he’d caught the word Flitterby inscribed in Ginny’s wrist when he’d rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets.

He didn’t think he would ever say such a word. Still, assuming he was Ginny’s soulmate was the obvious conclusion for any twelve-year-old, and Harry spent the next two years convincing himself he and Ginny were meant for each other.

And then Fleur Delacour called him a saviour when he emerged from the lake with her sister.

To be fair, Ron had been called an idiot by quite a number of people by then, including McGonagall, Hooch, all of his siblings and half their Gryffindor classmates, so Harry rationally knew that anyone could call another person by their soulmark nickname and not be their soulmate.

And yet, he spent a whole month sending increasingly confused letters to Sirius before he came to the conclusion that he liked playing Quidditch with Ginny more than he liked holding her hand.

***

Ron returned to the forest. Hermione, deep bags under her eyes, tears threatening to come out, called him an idiot, and then stormed over to where he was awkwardly standing, launched into his arms, and kissed him.

She’d never told them about her soulmark, but that night Harry learnt the word Love was neatly tattooed on her ankle.

On the same place as Ron’s, then.

***

Harry tore out the page of the Daily Prophet. Then he tore it into small, small pieces until his picture was no longer moving, until the headline—Saviour returns to Hogwarts—turned into a soup of letters in his hands.

As he threw the bits into the flames, he thought about his parents. He wondered, for what seemed like the thousandth time since he’d first stepped into the Gryffindor common room, if this had been the first place his mum had called his dad a Toerag. If this had been the place where he’d called her his Princess.

He’d never had the chance to ask Sirius about it. The only time they had talked about soulmates, Sirius had told him no matter how many people called him by the word on his chest, when the right person did it Harry would know. But when Harry had asked Sirius if he’d ever felt that, his expression had turned sombre as he’d shaken his head.

Now, Harry wondered if Sirius had even known what he was talking about. If it was all utter bullshit: the knowing, the butterflies and fireworks he’d imagined after hearing Sirius’ words, the very idea that there was someone out there—someone who would call him saviour, of all things—meant for him at all. If soulmates existed at all, or if it was all a bad joke meant to make him feel like he wasn’t destined to always be alone, even when he was surrounded by people.

***

Things were supposed to be better after the war ended. Harry guessed they were; all around him, the world was pulling itself back together. In a similar way to how his two best friends clung to one another and brought each other up, the castle was slowly becoming the warm, welcoming home it had always been, and so were its inhabitants.

Harry felt like he was sinking. Like he was too broken to be repaired, the wound so deep that nobody seemed to notice it was there.

Perhaps that was what drew him to Malfoy.

Malfoy, who looked broken, and tired, and as full of hurt as Harry felt. Malfoy, who took months of sitting in silence beside Harry, of half-hearted fights and sleepless nights in the Hogwarts corridors, to open up and tell Harry that nothing felt worth fighting for anymore.

Malfoy, who, a few months after the school year ended, rolled his eyes and mumbled the words bloody saviour as he accepted Harry’s scarf. He’d started sneezing uncontrollably, not dressed appropriately for the changing November weather.

It took Harry longer than it should have to notice—or perhaps to admit—that the word felt different when it fell from Draco’s lips. That the way Draco would use the word to point out the most mundane things Harry did, the way he’d catch Harry’s smile a moment later, always filled his chest with warmth.

That Draco was the first person to not make him hate the word in a very, very long time.

***

Soon the word became an inside joke between them. Soon, it began to come with soft brushes of hands, with private shared looks of mischief, of complicity. Soon, Draco would call him his saviour as Harry handed him the sugar bowl and Harry would just smile into Draco’s neck, and Draco would lean closer, allowing Harry to hide his smile for a second.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t told Draco yet. That saviour was his soulmark. That he was the first person that had made the word sound okay to his ears.

That he wanted him. That being around him was easy as breathing.

Okay, maybe he did know, even if he tried not to think about it.

He was scared. Scared that this would end—that he was mistaken, and Draco wasn’t really meant for him. After all, wouldn’t Harry have started calling Draco by some cheesy name by now if it was real? Wouldn’t they have talked about it at all?

“Has anyone ever called you by your soulmark?” Harry asked one night. They were slouched on the sofa of Harry’s shitty flat, as they often did these days, watching some crappy show and snapping back at the telly from time to time.

They never talked about their soulmarks. It made sense, Harry knew it—knowing what someone else’s mark was before you started calling them by it felt a lot like cheating.

Still, his mind wouldn’t stay quiet; wouldn’t stop telling him all of this, all he had with Draco, would disappear any moment like sand in the wind.

“Plenty,” Draco said, gaze weirdly fixed on the TV. They usually looked at each other more than the screen, each slumped on one arm of the sofa, legs tangled.

He was trying to hide a reaction, Harry knew.

“Me too.” Harry trailed his eyes to the screen too, but it didn’t catch his interest. He eyed Draco again. “Anyone feel different from the rest?”

Draco met Harry’s gaze. Then he eyed the clock. “I should get going.”

Harry slept badly that night, drowning in thoughts of Draco leaving. Of Draco being called by the word on his skin—a word Harry surely hadn’t said before and would never think to say—by plenty of people. What if Draco was destined for Harry, but someone else was destined for Draco?

***

He stumbled out of the elevator, Draco resting all of his weight on him. As he fumbled with the keys, Draco slurred into his ear. “You really are a saviour, huh?”

“And you’re really drunk,” Harry said, pushing the door open. “Sit down here a second, I’ll make up the sofa-bed.”

“Sleep with me.”

Harry spluttered—pulled back when Draco, leaning dangerously from the chair, tried to grab his jacket. “Wait here,” he said, a little breathless, and disappeared into the living room.

But when he walked back into the kitchen, heart in his throat, Draco’s words whirling in his mind, Draco wasn’t there.

Harry found him in the bedroom, sat on the bed, a deep frown scrunching his face as he tried to fumble with the buttons of his own shirt. He’d gotten halfway through, and Harry rushed toward him even though the sight had made something in him stir.

“Hey, stop that—” he started. But Draco, upon realising Harry was back, stood up and stumbled backwards, yanking the top of his shirt, as if to show Harry—

“Yeah, I know. Funny, isn’t it,” Draco said, although there was nothing funny about what Harry was seeing. “You slayed my soulmark in half and then became the sole person that makes my own name mean anything to me.” He laughed to himself.

Draco. The word, tattooed just below the sharp line of his collarbone, was split in half by an angry, deep scar that made the c almost nonexistent.

“We’re…” Harry started, not daring to finish the sentence.

Draco huffed, his sneer exaggerated by the alcohol. “Don’t be daft, Potty. Just because you say my name from time to time it doesn’t mean I would ever say whatever stupid, cheesy nonsense you have tattooed on your pretty arse—”

Harry pulled at the neck of his shirt, pushing aside the flap of his open denim jacket for Draco to see the word written under his collarbone.

“Not on my arse,” he muttered when Draco just stared at his chest.

A moment later, Draco shook his head. “But—I—didn’t—”

“You didn’t think that word could ever be my soulmark?” Harry asked. “Welcome to my world of disappointment.”

“I—” He shook his head again, stepped closer. “Only called you that because you’d… you’d started calling me by my name, and it felt so…” Draco touched Harry’s chest. He probably meant for it to be gentle, but he was unstable on his feet and ended up leaning forward, eyes closed, his weight on his palm where it pressed into Harry’s skin. “I was terrified. That you’d… that you’d notice. It couldn’t be you. I”—Draco frowned as though in pain—“couldn’t be for you. So I just—thought of the most ridiculous thing to call you, something that you would absolutely not have on your skin, under any circumstances, and I started calling you that so I wouldn’t call you anything else.”

Harry scoffed. At their luck; at the relief that was washing over him. “Good job,” he murmured, and Draco, emitting a low, pained whine, leaned into him completely, resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

“Does this mean I can sleep in your bed?” he asked after a long moment.

“Wouldn’t you like that.” Harry, an almost painful smile pulling at his lips, walked a grumbling Draco back to the sofa.

***

“Hey there,” Harry said. All that came from the bed was a low groan as Draco turned around. He’d gotten out of his work robes and not bothered with his pyjamas, and his eyes were barely open. “Long day at work?”

“Like you wouldn’t imagine,” Draco muttered, even though Harry knew he would hear all about it soon enough. “Hmph. Can’t wait to retire.”

Harry sat on the edge of the bed—pushed his shoes off. “My poor, poor Draco.” He laughed softly, nuzzling Draco’s neck between the sheets. Draco immediately grabbed at him and made him fall on his stomach into the blankets. “Still a few years till that happens, I’m afraid.”

“Hmphh,” Draco repeated by way of an answer. He sniffed Harry’s hair.

“Want me to make dinner?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Harry asked, amused.

“Not as much as I want you to stay in bed with me all evening,” Draco murmured.

“There’s an easy solution for that,” Harry said, taking his phone out. “Pizza or sushi?”

“Sushi.” Draco snuggled closer, then scowled. “Take off those hideous jeans.”

“Okay, okay, one second,” Harry laughed as Draco dragged him under the covers. He re-ordered their latest order and left the phone on the nightstand, then pushed his clothes down. “Gimme a foot.”

Draco squirmed in bed and draped a leg on Harry’s chest. When Harry started massaging the sole of his foot, he sighed, a smile finally revealing Harry’s favourite lines on Draco’s face, rather than the ones that formed when he frowned. “Mmm. My saviour.”

Harry smiled and kissed Draco’s knee.

(Thanks to @spaceaas for betaing and to all the friends that helped me come up with these nicknames!)

#Drarry #drarry squad #otpshipper98 #soulmate au #soulmates #harry x draco #draco x harry #Anonymous

1K notes · View notes

sambergscott · 5 years ago

Text

a little drabble inspired by this message from @fourdrinkamy ant how big and alert mac’s eyes are!! i'm gonna go cry again

it’s crazy that waking up at 6.30am is considered a lie in for him now. with a newborn, who is half-santiago, long gone are the days he’d sleep in til noon. most days he’s up before it’s even light outside. his coffee intake has more than quadrupled, but it’s totally worth it to hang out with the baby they wanted for so long.

his bed is empty, which is a little unusual. amy likes to stay in bed with mac in the mornings and snuggle under the covers and finish last night’s crossword together (she gives him the clues and pretends he knows the answer, booping him on his lil nose before filling in the appropriate boxes) (it’s the cutest thing in the entire world).

he fumbles for the baby monitor on his nightstand, blindly turning it on. it crackles, then he hears amy’s laughter.

he’s always loved her laugh. the way her eyes crinkle in the corners, the way she tilts her head, the way she keeps a not-so-secret note in her phone of the funniest things he’s said (she started it when he was in florida) (it was rosa’s idea to help ease the pain of missing him) (whenever he catches her adding to it he falls in love even more and gets brainstorming on the next joke).

he still thinks about their undercover date as johnny and dora when she said him making her laugh was how she knew he was the one. he’s always been the class clown (or now, precinct clown) (terry literally hired him to be a clown at cagney and lacey’s 3rd birthday party) but ever since he met her outside that elevator, he’s really only cared about making one person laugh.

her.

thrilled that their son has inherited his comedic talents, and already missing his 2 favourite people, he hops out of bed and heads for the nursery, leaning against the door frame to take in the tableau.

amy is in the rocking chair her mom and dad gave them (it was the one they used for all their babies and as amy was their only daughter, they thought it was the perfect baby gift), mac swaddled in her arms. she has her phone out, showing him something, and mac’s big, alert eyes are staring right at it, a tiny baby smile tracing his lips.

“thought we had a no screen time before 9am rule?”

she glances up at him, her own smile widening. “i guess motherhood has turned me into a rebel”

“oh yeah, you’re a total rebel” he teases, thinking back to yesterday when they went to ikea for some finishing touches to the nursery and she made him walk all the way round to go back and get something they forgot, just so they weren’t walking against the direction of the arrows. “what’s so important that it’s got you breaking rules, santiago?”

“oh, nothing” she shrugs, acting cool. “just showing him some pictures”

he narrows his eyes suspiciously. call it detective intuition. “what pictures?”

“just some ones of you, doesn’t matter”

he pieces together the final piece of the puzzle (metaphorically, of course, because he always loses at least one piece and it drives amy crazy that they can never finish a 2,000 piece puzzle that they’ve spent days working on). “YOU’RE SHOWING HIM THE NOSE RING PHOTO!”

“what? no” she says way too quick and he can see through her lies like the perp he arrested last week that denied stabbing a guy, despite holding a knife and being covered in blood

“you swore you would never tell anyone!”

“and i’ve kept that promise all these years! i just got my phone out to take a picture of him making a cute face and then my phone said my storage was full, you know, because i’ve been taking so many pictures of him, and then i was going back and deleting stuff from my camera roll when i found it”

“i have never felt more betrayed. and by my own wife” he makes a noise of disgust

“i’m sorry, babe, but it’s just so funny. he loves it, look”

he walks over to them and watches as amy swipes right to a random picture of some binders and then left, back to the nose ring photo, mac’s face lighting up at the offending image

“you think laughing at daddy is cool, pal?” he points an accusing finger at mac who makes a gurgling happy sound (that’s not quite a laugh yet, but is the closest baby version to it and is his new favourite sound in the world) (even better than taylor’s bridge in last kiss and the way amy says his name whenever he’s done something sweet)

“only when he has long hair and a nose ring” amy responds on mac’s behalf

“hilarious” he deadpans, rolling his eyes. he cut his hair years ago and yet his wife will not let him live it down

“you tell him embarrassing stories about me!” she cries

“amy, all your embarrassing stories are that you got an a- on a test once or you solved a case in two weeks instead of one or your ponytail wasn’t quite as shiny as it usually is. it’s not nose ring level embarrassing”

“fine,” she concedes “i apologise, i won’t bring it up again. unless he wants a nose ring, in which case it is my duty as his mom to show him how dumb he’d look”

“fine,” he agrees, ignoring the hurtful comment. he actually looked super cool and he scored one whole date because of the nose ring until it got infected and he had to take it out and the girl was no longer interested. whatever. her loss. he ended up with his dream girl anyway

“want to hold him and make friends again while i go change into something not covered in baby spit-up?”

“always.” he carefully accepts the precious cargo, bouncing him gently in his arms. he kisses amy before she leaves the room, squashing mac in between them, and spends the next 20 minutes showing mac all his amy photos, the 9am rule be damned

(yeah, he’s a rebel too. he once had a freakin’ nose ring)

when amy returns in clean clothes and her natural curls that she hasn’t bothered taming since mac was born, she raises her eyebrows. “showing him embarrassing photos of me? low blow, peralta”

“i’m actually not, santiago,” he says snarkily, then murmurs “i couldn’t find any” under his breath

“then why have you still got a screen in front of him?” she rests one hand on her hip

“i’m showing him normal pictures of you. he needs to see how pretty his mom is, babe! it’s a rite of passage! like a bar mitzvah”

she gets this soft look on his face despite herself and he would pat himself on the back if he weren’t holding his son

“for the record,” he adds, “he thinks his mom is suuuuper pretty. the prettiest mom in the entire world”

“he told you that did he?” she laughs

“mm-hmm. we’re bros so he confided in me, he probably wouldn’t say it again while you’re around but he’s definitely thinking it”

“well thank you my little macaroni,” she coos and honest to god, the nickname (of his nickname) was only supposed to be a joke at first, but now it’s kind of stuck and their entire family are calling him macaroni

(charles loves it)

(the first time hitchcock and scully heard it, on the other hand, they thought someone had brought in a delicious bowl of macaroni and cheese and were highly disappointed that they were just talking about the baby again, storming back to their desks in a huff)

“i think you’re very handsome too, mr mac”

“i told you, ames. he’s liquid fire. liquid. fire.”

she laughs again and mac gurgles and he thinks that if he can spend his entire life doing that, making his 2 favourite people laugh, then they’re going to be ok

#my writing #jake x amy #b99 fics

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 6 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega

a/n: hi hello hey. how did this happen? I actually wrote this way quicker than I expected. thank u so much for ur patience during the rewrites fam, hopefully i won’t have to do any more!!!! so so so hope u like the new chapter :)))))

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

11th October 2020

As it turns out, Vanessa meets Monique and Akeria for lunch earlier than she’d expected. Okay, it’s at her flat instead of a cafe and it’s dinner instead of lunch, the three of them all easily agreeing to go back to Vanessa’s after the pro dance rehearsal on Sunday evening. Akeria had wanted to go to The Ivy but Vanessa had decided to make pernil in the slow cooker that morning after a facetime with her Tia had made her particularly homesick, and there was enough for the three of them anyway. Monique had been glad of the fact that they would be safe from any rogue journalists at Vanessa’s, and Vanessa had laughed and objected to the idea that any journalists would be interested in what was going on in their lives anyway.

Then again, that hadn’t appeared to be the case last year when everything kicked off with-

“V!” Akeria shouts over to her and interrupts her from the dreamlike state in which she’s fluffing up the rice. “You got any more wine?”

Vanessa laughs at her friend as she tips the pan over three bowls consecutively. “You’re rehearsin’ tomorrow morning, calm the fuck down.”

“Aw, let a bitch live! I did good last night, I deserve to celebrate.”

Vanessa thinks about how Akeria ended up fourth on the leaderboard with Asia and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, rub it in, girl. It’s fourth place, not Vicks.”

“Stop bein’ salty,” Akeria scolds her as Vanessa carries their dinner over to the huge sofa they’ve chosen to sit on instead of her tiny dining table. “You had a couple bum weeks, so what? This week’ll be the one.”

Vanessa wants to point out that it was really only one bum week and the other she was undermarked for, but she doesn’t. She lets it drop and instead turns her attention to Monique. “Right, bitch, let’s break bread and spill tea. What’s goin’ on?”

As Monique lets out a heavy sigh while she stabs at her food, Akeria claps her hands together and threatens to spill her dinner. “Yes! Thank God you said it, ‘cause I didn’t want to seem rude, but that’s the reason we’re all here, right?”

“God, I beg you both shut up,” Monique groans. “Okay so…me and Monet. You know we did that Waltz, right? And it was very…romantic, very intense.”

Vanessa and Akeria bob their heads like nodding dogs in response. Monique gives another heavy sigh and Vanessa is on the edge of her seat. “Well, it was like…our last full run before we finished up on Thursday. An’ we were both very much like…well, final run, let’s just give it all our energy. And it just got so intense, like, all the eye contact and the moments where we were all like…close, the bit where she picks me up and spins me-”

“Oh my God…did you kiss?” Akeria blurts out excitedly. Monique rubs both her temples with her hands.

“Akeria,” she raises her eyebrows. “We had sex.”

Vanessa lets out a scream. Akeria almost spills the entire bowl of pernil over herself as she reacts, waving her arms about so much Vanessa thinks she might give herself whiplash. “Sorry, sorry, sorry…WHAT?!”

“You cannot tell a single fucking soul on God’s green earth!” Monique groans, and Vanessa still isn’t sure if she’s over the information she’s just been given.

“HOW?!” Vanessa screeches out, ignoring Monique’s plea but promising her internally.

“It was my own damn fault-”

“FAULT?! How is this in any way a negative situation?” Akeria teases her friend with a shit-eating grin on her face.

Monique pouts in self-pity as she carries on with her sentence. “I kissed her. At the very end. I just got so caught up in everything, Jesus, I don’t know.”

“Tell me it was like the musical where there’s all the fuckin’ horn section and everything goin’ off in the background,” Vanessa butts in, remembering when she saw The Bodyguard on the West End last year. Monique knows the exact bit in I Have Nothing she’s talking about, because she nods her head.

“It was exactly that part.”

Vanessa lets out a cry identical to Akeria’s. She’s picturing the scene in her head and it sounds like the most romantic kiss that’s ever happened to anyone outside of a fictional setting. “M’nique, that’s adorable, oh my God.”

“What happened after? Well, she obviously liked it,” Akeria shrugs, and Vanessa splutters a laugh. Monique looks vaguely like a babysitter that has to deal with a pair of five year old twins.

“She just kissed me back before I could even break away out of fuckin’ embarrassment. She was just holding me and kissing me for what seemed like ages…and then when I had to get air I was panicking and apologising and she…oh my God. She asked me if she could take me home.”

Akeria raises her eyebrows. “Damn. I have got flutters.”

“So you went back to hers? OH my God. You’ve been to Monet X Change’s house,” Vanessa gasps, impressed. Akeria gives a snort of disbelief, turns to look at her.

“She’s been inside her fuckin’ pussy, never mind her house!!”

They both howl, and Monique rolls her eyes before apparently admitting to herself that what Akeria had said was funny after all and giggling.

Akeria leans forward with intrigue. “And did you…have a nice time?”

Monique now can’t wipe the smile off her face as she puts both hands to her cheeks, an attempt to cover her blush. “Yes. We both did. It was a very nice time.”

“So what’s the problem?” Akeria asks her, blasé and black and white as ever. Monique gives a sigh of exasperation.

“Because we’ve not…spoken about it, we’ve not addressed it!”

“It didn’t seem awkward last night, you did a great job!” Vanessa frowns, spearing a chunk of pulled pork. Monique lets out a tiny helpless whine.

“Yeah, that’s because…” she begins, then trails off. Vanessa knows what she’s going to say already, but Monique finishes her sentence before she can properly connect the dots. “We did it two more times before the actual dance.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Akeria shouts through a mouthful of dinner. “This ain’t fair! How come a God-fearing, good lil’ Christian girl like you can get laid three times in the space of three days an’ I get nothing?”

“Jeez Keeks that’s so far off the mark. Christian? Uh-huh. Good? No way,” Vanessa teases. Monique, for perhaps the twelfth time this evening, looks as if she’s severely regretting telling her friends anything at all, so Vanessa decides to be helpful. “When’d you bang again, then? Thursday night was the first. You stay over?”

“Yeah. We did it again the next morning and then in the studio on Friday.”

“IN the studio!” Akeria screeches. Vanessa wonders if she should apologise to her neighbours the next day. She, herself, has had sex quieter than Akeria’s screeching. “You are nasty as fuck!”

Monique has the good grace to attempt to look embarrassed before a proud smile takes over. “It was Monet’s idea. She told me she couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

“Well she’s nasty too. Y’all are well suited,” Akeria shrugs, and the three of them laugh.

“So why’re you pressed?” Vanessa asks her friend. She draws from her own experience as she follows up. “You in your feelings?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know!” Monique gives an anguished cry, dramatic as ever. “I just want to get to know her a lil’ more. I don’t want her to think I just wanna sleep with her because she’s Monet X Change, y’know? Like sure, I have a crush on her, but it’s not like I ever had sleep-with-my-dream-girl on my bucket list.”

“Maybe on your fuck-it list,” Akeria supplies unhelpfully.

“Why don’t you ask her out?” Vanessa shrugs. It seems so simple when she’s giving it as advice but if anyone had suggested that as a solution to her feelings for Brooke she would’ve laughed them all the way to Oxford Circus.

Monique gives Vanessa a long-suffering stare. “We both know it ain’t that simple, V.”

“Well, why don’t you tell her what you’ve just told us?”

This time Monique pulls a face. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. Monet don’t seem like the type to catch feelings, though.”

“You don’t seem like the type to catch feelings. Shit, you don’t catch feelings,” Akeria reminds her, Vanessa giving a laugh as she remembers every time Monique has had to pry girls off of her at a bar.

“Shut up. To be honest I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’m glad to have vented about it,” Monique shrugs in resignation, takes a sip of her wine. “Anyway Kiki, what’s the story with Miss Asia? Thought you were gonna sweep her off her feet an’ show her your Hitachi or whatever line usually works for you.”

Vanessa snorts as Akeria gives a smirk. “I wish. Nah, we get along great but we’re honestly just better as friends. It’s almost like all the hours spent rehearsing with our bodies pressed up against each other kinda ruined the magic a lil’. She’s great though. Could set her up with you, though, Vanj?”

In any other context, Vanessa would have a smart remark. However, the thought of being set up with someone else when Brooke Lynn seems to fill her every waking thought these days isn’t a desirable one, so she opens her mouth. “Well, uh…I mean, obviously Asia’s cute, but I’m not really…y’know-”

“Oh my God,” Monique cuts in, trying and failing to suppress a laugh. “You’re crushin’ on Brooke Lynn. You are! Oh my God, Kiki, look at that blush.”

Vanessa frantically shakes her head, willing the blood to flow away from her face. “No! No, it ain’t a crush. Shut up.”

“You’ve gone so red. Jeez. I’d hate to see the colour you go when you are in your feelings, then,” Akeria laughs.

“She is so in her feelings! C’mon, deny it, bitch. Try an’ deny it.”

“Jesus Christ will you both shut up!” Vanessa exhales with exasperation, now highly regretting the amount she’d wound Monique up. “Fine! Fine…it’s not a crush, but I just find the girl attractive, an’ it’s nice gettin’ to know her, is all.”

“That’s literally a crush,” Akeria stares incredulously at her. Vanessa rolls her eyes to the ceiling and aquiesces.

“…fine, maybe it’s a crush, god damn.”

The two girls opposite her explode. Vanessa stuffs more pernil and rice into her mouth with a feeling of resignation.

“Don’t tell me you two’ve been bangin’ mid-rehearsals as well?”

Vanessa breathes a laugh. “Stop it. No, just a couple hugs in the corridor after our dances. We went out for lunch together last week.”

Monique gasps. “You went on a date?”

“That’s not a date, Mo, shut up.”

“It is a date! You took a girl you like out for lunch, how’s that not a date?”

“Because she wasn’t aware it was a date. And neither was I! It was honestly the furthest thing from a date. It was a fuckin’…raisin.”

The three girls giggle, and in the conversational lull something occurs to Vanessa. “The only other thing is, uh…well, both weeks we did our dance for the judges, after we finished, she, uh…she kissed me.”

There’s another bomb of screaming from the girls that detonates in Vanessa’s living room. World War Two hasn’t got shit on Akeria and Monique.

“What?!”

Vanessa shrugs. “I mean it ain’t a massive fuckin’ makeout sesh, obviously! It’s just a lil’ cheek kiss, top-of-the-head kiss, that sorta thing. You can see her doin’ it, the camera got it both times.”

(There’s a fan account on Instagram dedicated to her and Brooke’s Strictly journey, and it’s posted the footage of the kiss Brooke gave her last night. Vanessa will not admit to the girls that she has watched it too many times for it to be explained away as normal.)

“So she likes you back,” Akeria states, as if it’s a fact and not something Vanessa’s been wondering about at random intervals throughout the day every day for the past week or so.

“We don’t know that.”

Akeria’s face turns scheming. She’s clearly got an idea. “Well, why don’t you choreograph a big sexy rhumba or something where you gotta grind up on her an’ get all nasty an’ shit? That’ll speed things along.”

Monique points her fork at Akeria in agreement. “Yes! ‘Cuz Jan and Jackie did that in, like, week 1, and they’re already fuckin’.”

Vanessa screws her face up. “Jan and Jackie ain’t sleeping with each other, shut up.”

“Oh my God, girl, I beg you buy a pair of glasses,” Akeria rolls her eyes, causing Monique to let out a laugh.

“Yeah, they absolutely are.”

Vanessa shoves another mouthful of dinner in. She’s hungry, and it doesn’t help when she’s trying to talk and eat. “Well, Strictly curse aside, it’s our Jive week this week, so that’s operation sexy dance out the window for at least another seven days.”

“Ugh. That’s annoyin’,” Akeria consoles her. After that, talk immediately turns to movie week and dances, and the conversation has moved on.

But it’s nice now that she’s admitted her crush on Brooke Lynn to Akeria and Monique. She’s got her girls to vent to when Brooke gives her a smile that comes with an extra added twinkle in her eye that sets Vanessa’s insides on fire, or to squeal to when Brooke brings her a coffee from the cafe they’d visited for brunch last week “just because”. She can’t take her eye off the prize too much though, even in the excitement of movie week. They’re doing their Jive to Runaway Baby from the Madagascar franchise (Brooke insists it’s niche and Vanessa insists it’s not) where they’re dressed as animals breaking out of huge cage props and “running away”. It’s not going to be as iconic as Plastique and Scarlet’s Dirty Dancing-themed Salsa, nor will it be as hot as Crystal and Gigi’s Rhumba (to License to Kill, no less), but it’s theirs, and it’s fun, and it’s hilarious watching Brooke get to grips with the insane amount of kicks needed for a Jive to be a Jive.

“My feet feel like they’re going to fall off,” she groans, lying flat on the floor after a particularly intense Wednesday rehearsal. Vanessa hides a laugh behind her hands, sneakily pulls out her phone to film her.

“What?”

“I said my feet feel like they’re about to fall off,” Brooke repeats louder, for the unknown benefit of the camera.

“You ain’t much of a soldier, are you?” Vanessa scoffs affectionately. Brooke sits up on her elbows, noticing Vanessa’s phone.

“Are you filming this? You’re filming this,” Brooke asks and then confirms without Vanessa even having to say anything. “Well to anyone that follows Vanessa, I’d just like to say that this is human exploitation and you should not be supporting this.”

Vanessa howls with laughter, tries to ignore how good her name sounds in Brooke’s mouth. “She loves me really.”

“I love her really,” Brooke rolls her eyes, and Vanessa’s heart jumps at the words even though they’re part of a joke.

She stops filming, posts the video to her feed and leaves it as they keep practising. When they stop for lunch and they’re sitting scrolling, Vanessa’s eyes widen at the comment Monique has left, her friend taking her stirring to new levels:

moheart: you two are so cute omg branjie 5 ever xxxxx

As Vanessa’s contemplating using the cables that line the floors of Elstree Studios as garotting wire when she sees Monique at the show on Saturday, she taps on the comment’s likes (it’s got 85 so far). Her heart stops when she sees the familiar blue tick of bhytes at the top of the list. Vanessa darts her eyes Brooke’s way as if her face gives anything away, and of course it doesn’t. Brooke’s scrolling casually as if she hadn’t liked a thing, and it manages to mess even more with Vanessa’s head. Vanessa enjoys the feeling though, this experience of having a crush on a cute girl again. She is so used to healing (she’s had to do it for the best part of a year now), and it’s nice to have butterflies in her stomach instead of an endless churning ocean.

Her feelings for Brooke aren’t helped by Cheryl and her ridiculous quiz on It Takes Two on Thursday night after their rehearsal. Okay, Vanessa supposes- every couple has done one, so it’s not exactly as if they’re being singled out. But when they finish their usual interview (how they felt regarding last week’s comments, how rehearsals are going, how they feel about the week ahead) and Cheryl pulls out two sets of glittery pink paddles (one saying me and the other saying her) with an excited grin on her face, Vanessa does a bad job of masking her horror.

“Oh my God. Cheryl, what is this?”

“Welcome to…Mrs and Mrs!” Cheryl announces with a small flourish, and the film crew give a cheer. Brooke snorts beside her, just as dumbfounded. Cheryl continues. “Okay, Brooke and Vanessa, I’m going to ask you both a series of questions and you’ll need to hold up your paddle to show me who you think is the best fit as the answer- you, or your partner. Every time you both give me the same answer, you get a point. For example, if I asked you…who sweats the most in rehearsals?”

Vanessa rushes to hold up the paddle that says her and as soon as she’s done it she cranes her neck to look at the one Brooke’s held up. She squeals when she sees me staring back at her, a blush appearing on Brooke’s face as she giggles.

“I sweat! I’m very sweaty! I never wear grey in rehearsals!” Brooke pouts in anguish, and Vanessa gives a laugh. She leans into her in a show of sympathy, trying to ignore the way her pulse races as she catches the scent of her perfume. It’s not the Flash that she wears at the weekends, but it’s still just as intoxicating.

“Not sure we needed that much detail, love, but you get the idea! You’d get a point, because you both said Brooke,” Cheryl pokes fun at Brooke, before her gaze snaps back to the camera, all charisma and TV-presenter-smile. “Okay, your score to beat is five, that was set by Gigi and Crystal on Monday’s show and none of the other girls have beaten it so far! Ladies- are you ready?”

Vanessa raises her eyebrows, tries not to look at Brooke who she knows will be smiling like an idiot. “As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Okay. Let’s play…Mrs and Mrs!” Cheryl announces dramatically, and immediately holds up a set of glittery cards that the questions are written on. “Question one- who’s the most patient?”

Vanessa laughs and she can feel Brooke being set off beside her. She’s held up her, and Vanessa’s held up me.

“She’s so laid-back she’s horizontal!” Brooke laughs, and Vanessa swats her. She melts a little as Brooke’s gaze turns affectionate. “It’s why she’s such a good teacher. I’ve said it before, but I’m really lucky.”

Cheryl moves on before Vanessa can react to the compliment. “Who’s the best dancer?”

Vanessa hears Brooke scoff. Sure enough, Brooke has once again held up the her paddle, and Vanessa has voted for herself too. Brooke laughs as she looks at Vanessa’s paddles. “Of course it’s her! Has any celebrity voted for themself?!”

“Willam and Yvie both did!” Cheryl giggles, and Brooke rolls her eyes so much that her body tilts back with them. “Okay, next question- who is the better cook?”

Vanessa holds up me, and Brooke’s held up her. It definitely shouldn’t make Vanessa feel as good as it does.

“Brooke is like the kinda person who would struggle to keep a cactus alive, never mind her own damn self,” Vanessa laughs, and Brooke laughs along, agreeing rather than being offended.

“And Vanessa should go on Celebrity Masterchef one year. I swear to God.”

Vanessa looks at Brooke and smiles, happy for the compliment. She’s sure she’s not imagining that Brooke leans into her a tiny bit.

“Three points so far ladies, you’re on a roll!” Cheryl comments, impressed. “Who is more of a perfectionist?”

Vanessa fumbles with the paddles in her haste to hold up her. Brooke has indeed also voted for herself.

“She will make, like, one mistake and she��ll make us run the entire thing through until she gets it right,” Vanessa explains, Brooke giggling beside her in embarrassment. “I thought it was meant to be me that worked her hard, not the other way!”

Cheryl laughs from her interviewer’s chair. She reaches the next card and her eyebrows fly up her face. “Ooh, one for your massive egos here- who’s the most attractive?”

Vanessa’s heart gives a little jump and her brain thinks almost a hundred thoughts at once. She could play things off and vote for herself (because ultimately, she’s well aware of the fact she’s cute, she’s got a mirror), but part of her wants to see how Brooke will react to the compliment. Deciding all this in the space of about two seconds, Vanessa holds up the her paddle. To her surprise and poorly-concealed joy, Brooke is also holding up the her paddle. Vanessa’s trying to hide her smile and Brooke’s expression suggests she’s doing the same.

“I mean, I’m not gonna be big-headed,” Vanessa plays it off. Cheryl is looking at the both of them with a little scheming smile on her face.

“Well, nice to see that the first time you drop a point is because you’re both just too busy trying to compliment each other, in’t that sweet!” she grins. Vanessa wishes she had one of Cheryl’s cards to fan the blush away from her face. As Cheryl moves on to her next card, her mouth drops open. “Oh, right, this one’s a good ‘un. Who is most likely to have a crush on someone in the cast?”

Fuck. Vanessa can feel Brooke giving similar amounts of hesitation beside her, and the two of them share an awkward glance and a laugh. Without really knowing what she’s doing, Vanessa slowly holds up the paddle that says me. She’s almost scared to look at Brooke’s, but she leans forward anyway. Staring back at her from the paddle is the exact same word as the one she herself had held up- Brooke has also said me.

Cheryl gives a reaction much as if she’s reporting on breaking world news. “Ooh, now that’s interesting! You’ve both said yourselves. Any reason? Do we actually have any crushes flying around the studio?”

Vanessa holds a tight, awkward grimace on her face, hoping she can avoid the question. She almost feels her soul leave her body when Brooke crosses her legs and sits straight. “You might think that, I couldn’t possibly comment.”

As Cheryl appears to stave off an aneurism, Vanessa cuts in with the best way of diffusing the situation she could manage. “Aw, you know I gotta crush on you, Cheryl, stop pretendin’ like you don’t know!”

Cheryl howls with laughter, turns to the camera and appeals to her wife who’s presumably sitting at home. “Blu, babe, don’t listen to her!”

Vanessa joins in with the laughter, suddenly willing the interview to be over.

“Okay Brooke and Vanessa, at the end of Mrs and Mrs, you have scored…four!”

The production team claps them, and Brooke turns to Vanessa to hi-five her. Vanessa accepts with a laugh. Cheryl shuffles her cards and turns to the camera.

“Well they might not’ve won Mrs and Mrs but they’re still gonna be dancing on Saturday- Brooke and Vanessa, everybody!”

There’s another clap, and their interview is finished. Thank God.

It’s only when they’re walking back outside afterwards after a little bit of small-talk about their plans for the rest of the evening that Brooke quirks a bashful smile at her. “So, uh…you think you’re more likely to get a crush on someone in the cast than me? Does this mean you’ve got one on somebody?”

Vanessa suddenly feels as if she might vomit up her own heart. She plays it off, narrows her eyes at Brooke. “Alright, Cheryl, damn! I thought the interview was over. Jeez.”

Brooke gives a small laugh. They’re walking close, and every time Brooke’s body brushes against hers Vanessa swears she sees sparks flying off them both. “Just asking. I said myself, remember?”

Vanessa already feels ever so slightly giddy, so she takes the risk. She cocks her head at Brooke as she walks. “Alright, since you wanna talk about crushes so much. Who’ve you gotta crush on?”

“I asked first,” Brooke shrugs easily, stopping as they both reach the doors to the exit. Vanessa lets out an exasperated laugh.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, we are full-grown adult women.”

Brooke splutters a giggle as she leans on the door and opens it, the freezing cold air smacking Vanessa across the face. They both leave the building and Brooke stands still, her face wearing a hopeful expression. The wind is whipping her long blonde hair over her shoulders.

Damn, she looks so beautiful.

“So you’re not telling, then?” Brooke smirks. Vanessa thinks about it. She thinks about what Brooke’s honest to God reaction would be if she actually turned around and said yeah, I’ve got a crush on you. The thought of doing so almost makes her laugh.

“Well I’m not a fifteen year old high schooler, so no. Sorry to disappoint,” Vanessa smirks back at her. Maybe this is flirting. She’s not even mad about it. Thinking again, she cocks her head curiously as she shoves her hands in the pockets of her huge hoodie that she’s pulled over her interview outfit. “You gonna tell me?”

Brooke’s smile is still there, still cheeky. “No.”

“But you’ve got one.”

“I never said that,” Brooke shrugs easily. For a moment they’re both standing biting back smiles at each other, and Vanessa feels as if she’s caught in some form of stalemate. It’s Brooke that breaks it first, because of course it is, and she brushes some hair out of her face as she shrugs at Vanessa again. “Well, have a good night, anyway! See you tomorrow, bright and early.”

“Yeah, you too. Get home safe,” Vanessa says, the two of them sharing the usual friendly wave that comes with their goodbye. In spite of herself, Vanessa watches Brooke turn on her heel and walk in the opposite direction to her. Just as she’s about to start making her own way home, Brooke pauses, turning to look back over her shoulder.

The pair of them share one last bashful smile before they make their way back home and it feels as if Vanessa floats home on a cloud.

Saturday rolls around quickly, and Brooke has managed to transform herself from having feet made of concrete blocks to someone with featherlight ankles, so Vanessa is confident that they’ll score well tonight. She’s not really got scoring or the judges at the front of her mind, though, because movie week is entirely too much fun. It feels as if she’s at Universal studios as she walks through costume and hair and makeup, everyone dressed up in variations of movie characters. The best by far, though, is Jaida and Yvie’s. Any part of Jaida that isn’t clad in a grey leotard and skirt is painted entirely in grey body paint, with her hands in black gloves. Her hair has been expertly twirled into two long “ears” on the top of her head, and makeup has painted a blotted white stripe down the centre of her face. Yvie is wearing an orange and black striped morph suit, on top of which costume have given her a little red and white striped waistcoat with a buckle, a red cape, and, of course, a pair of boots to dance in.

And her face is painted like a cat.

“I’m going to see that in my nightmares this week,” Scarlet pipes up from across the green room, looking every inch the iconic Baby in her pink dress and glittery silver heels.

“More like your dreams,” Yvie winks at her, and Scarlet laughs, presumably to offset the pink blush on her cheeks.

“Yeah Scarlet, don’t you want her pussy?” Willam joins in from where she’s getting her hair swept into a low ponytail. Her costume is nowhere near as extravagant, but it’s classy nonetheless- a fitted tuxedo suit for her stint as a spy as part of her and Phi Phi’s dance to 4 Minutes. Courtney laughs from her position sitting on the dressing table beside her. Even though she and Blair were voted out last week, Courtney’s role as a pro means she’s still part of the show’s group dances. It’s something that Vanessa thinks Willam is particularly grateful for (she’s seen the hand-holding when they think no one is looking). Courtney starts singing Livin’ La Vida Loca under her breath absent-mindedly.

“Hey, listen, at least neither of us are Shrek,” Jaida consoles Yvie, who doesn’t look as if she needs much consoling.

“You guys, Courtney’s right there,” Willam pipes up again, the girls laughing as Courtney swipes at her playfully. Willam flinches in her chair, much to the irritation of the hair stylist.

The costumes aren’t all ridiculous, though. There’s a murmur of admiration when Gigi and Crystal emerge from wardrobe in skin-tight floor-length velvet gowns (one red, one black), each with a huge slit up the side. Akeria whispers something to Vanessa about Crystal stealing her idea of a big sexy rhumba, and Vanessa tries to laugh from her current position in the hairstylist’s chair but the two thick plaits they’re weaving her mane of brown locks into makes it difficult. She can’t help but let out a gasp when Jan and Jackie emerge from their costume fitting, though, and neither can the rest of the girls: Jackie is dressed in black leggings and a red waistcoat and tails, covered in shining gold brocade and black detailing. It’s Jan, though, who takes Vanessa’s breath away. She looks like a muted version of Lily James’ Cinderella in a gorgeous, floaty powder blue dress which hits her calves, little dimantés and tiny butterflies stitched into the light fabric.

“Janet, holy hell! It’s Strictly, this ain’t fashion week!” Jaida cries, sticking her tongue out at the end to let her friend know she’s joking. Jan gives a shy laugh, sweeps her immaculately curled blonde hair over her shoulders.

“Yeah, all you’re missing is a tiara,” Scarlet agrees enthusiastically.

“Hey, I thought we were meant to be showing off our celebrities!” Akeria pipes up with a raised eyebrow. Before Jan can reply, Jackie takes her hand and smiles.

“I’m happy to let this one steal the show for this week. She looks gorgeous, she deserves to be in the spotlight,” she shrugs. Vanessa doesn’t miss the look Jan gives her partner or the way she squeezes Jackie’s hand. She thinks back to what Monique had said at dinner on Sunday. Maybe something is happening between those two after all.

“Vanessa! You’re up please, fitting,” one of the costume girls calls out for her, and Vanessa obediently dashes towards the room in question. Brooke’s been squirrelled away in her own dressing room having to do some prep work for her filming the next morning, so when Vanessa sees her in her own costume, it’s not what she expects. She can’t find the words to describe how Brooke looks.

“Don’t…say…anything,” Brooke warns her, but it’s too late- the laugh is already coming out of Vanessa’s body before she can stop it, and it turns into a howl when Brooke grabs her tail- her stripy, white and black tail- and gives a twirl. She is dressed entirely as a lemur.

It’s not long until Brooke is spluttering a laugh herself. “Don’t tell me this isn’t the hottest you’ve ever seen me look.”

Vanessa’s cheeks hurt from laughing. “I don’t think I can keep my hands off you, boo, I’m gonna be honest.”

“Well luckily you’ll be wearing the exact same thing in about five minutes,” Brooke quips back at her, and Vanessa pouts and groans. She doesn’t really mind though. Mad, extravagant costumes are a staple of Strictly movie week, and she’s just happy she gets to experience it with a partner this year.

Soon enough the show is starting, and Vanessa watches the first dance from the Divinatorium with her hand entwined in Brooke’s. Neither of them mention the contact- it’s apparently just another secret. That and both of their crushes. Willam and Phi Phi are first and it seems as if Willam’s technique is a little better after her somewhat dismal scores in the weeks prior. Monique’s told Vanessa she’s seen Willam getting extra lessons from Courtney during her lunch breaks, so she suspects that’s what is making the difference. It seems to have paid off, and they get a score of twenty five altogether. After they see that dance, they can’t stay to watch Aja and Farrah as they’re on third, so while Farrah lives her Disney princess fantasy waltzing to Someday My Prince Will Come, Vanessa is marking the steps with Brooke backstage.

“This is gonna be a good week. I can feel it,” Brooke smiles at her, and Vanessa believes it. They’ve coped way better with the Jive than they did with the Paso, so she’s eager to show the judges what they can really do. Farrah and Aja get their critiques and their scores (a disappointing 17), and just like that, Brooke and Vanessa’s VT is playing and their massive cages are being rolled out onto the stage. There’s a distance between them in their two separate props, but Vanessa knows that Brooke’s feeling confident and so, in turn, does she.

“Dancing the Jive…Brooke Lynn Hytes and Vanessa Mateo!”

The electric guitar slices through the quiet of the room and with it sends an electric shock through Vanessa’s veins as she starts to dance. Her eyes are focussed on the audience, ever the professional, but she hopes Brooke is coping as well as she’s done in rehearsals. As soon as it comes to the part of the music where they “break down” the door of their cages and land into hold with each other, Vanessa can’t help it when the fake performance smile on her face turns into a real one as she faces Brooke (whose face, like hers, is painted like a lemur, complete with bright yellow eyeshadow). Brooke’s face is concentrating hard, and Vanessa knows she’s nailing all the steps as they reach the section where they figure-eight their ankles then change and do the same with their other foot.

“See I ain’t try’na hurt you, baby, no, no, no, I just wanna work you, baby…”

There’s not a whole lot of the dance spent in hold as it’s essentially a test of their synchronicity, Vanessa doing the rightfootflick, leftfootflick, flick, flick, flick, PIVOT and hoping Brooke’s doing the same beside her. But it’s fast and it’s fun and she knows her choreo is good and fuck it, they’re both dressed as lemurs, so they’ve got a fighting chance of doing a decent job this week. Brooke takes her hand and spins her round all while doing the most complex footwork Vanessa’s taught anyone before, and her face is showing it. Vanessa knows she’ll get pulled up for letting her concentration show, but everything else, technically, has gone really well so far, which is just as well as Laganja is standing up to take in every single inch of the footwork.

“Your poor little heart will end up alone, ‘cause God knows I’m a rolling stone, so you better run, run, runaway, runaway baby…”

On cue, Brooke slides herself down on the floor then jumps up, and Vanessa puts her hand on her shoulder right on the final beat. The audience erupts, the clapping envelops them, and Vanessa can’t help but freak out a little. This is the first dance they’ve done where she really feels they completely nailed every single part of it, and she’s punching the air as Brooke picks her up by her waist, spinning her round and round on the ballroom floor. When she puts her down, Brooke pulls her into another hug, and Vanessa can feel the kiss she plants on the top of her head. It’s strong and insistent and Vanessa wishes it had been pressed to her lips, but she supposes she can’t wish for everything all at once.

Vanessa barely even takes in Michelle’s interview with Brooke, she’s simply too happy. As Michelle asks the judges what they thought, Vanessa hopes and prays their comments will reflect the dance they completed.

And they do.

Vanessa listens to them all in a happy haze- the words “immaculate footwork”, “light and precise”, “turned a corner”, and “breakthrough” all pop like fireworks in her head, and she can’t help but squeeze Brooke’s hand every time the judges give them a new compliment.

“Just one very little thing,” Shangela says at the end of her critiques. “You were concentrating so hard on that, and rightly so because it’s hard! But I’d love to see more of the chemistry you have with Vanessa, because you’ve got about two minutes to tell a story out there, and to see you both connecting with each other would be lovely!”

Vanessa tries to suppress a smile at her comments, and Brooke nods affirmingly at Shangela’s words. The incredible feedback is ringing in her ears so much that she hardly knows what she even says to Divina when they both run up to the Divinatorium after their dance is done, and when it pans to the judges for their scores Vanessa can feel her own hand unbearably sweaty in Brooke’s.

“Will the judges please reveal their scores. Bianca Del Rio.”

Vanessa sees the paddle that she holds up and screams. “Seven!”

She’s so busy squealing and hugging Brooke in her delight that she almost misses the next few scores.

“Kennedy Davenport.”

“Eight!”

Vanessa’s jaw drops so far open she’s momentarily scared she’s dislocated it. This changes everything. This is night and day to the scores they’ve had previously.

“Shangela Wadely.”

“Seven!”

“Laganja Estranja.”

“Eight!”

Vanessa can hear the other couples cheering and clapping for them both and she can feel a bunch of hands patting her on the back, but all she can focus on is Brooke’s heartbeat through her chest. She is euphoric. There’s no feeling like it.

“That’s a score of thirty!” Divina tells them, and when Vanessa pulls away she can see that Brooke is crying happy tears. The sight almost makes her want to start crying too. Divina pulls a sympathetic face. “Brooke, you’re clearly happy!”

“I am! I’ve just said from the start that I don’t want to let Vanessa down, and finally we’ve done really really well!” she sniffs, and Vanessa pouts and squeezes her waist. Thirty. Their score was thirty. Thirty out of forty. They’ve only dropped ten marks and it’s week three.

This is good.

As Divina carries on interviewing them both, Vanessa feels her concentration drift away. She’s remembering Shangela’s comments about chemistry. Next week is their Salsa week. Vanessa remembers her conversation with Akeria, and operation sexy dance, and in that moment she decides to make it her mission for the week to show the judges just how much chemistry she and Brooke have.

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littlesliceofmarvel · 5 years ago

Text

About Damn Time

Request/Synopsis: Steve and reader have gone on a few dates, but every time they try to kiss, something interrupts them. Then one night when they’re alone, the realize that now’s their chance.

Warnings: swearing (barely), a lil steamy

Pairings: Steve x Reader

A/N: Gif not mine, credits to the maker! x

“You know, I used to come to this place a lot when I was growing up,” Steve dragged your attention away from the lights of New York City when he pointed to a small bowling alley on the corner of the street.

“Really? They had bowling alleys in the 1600s?” You joked, poking his cheek as he let out a small laugh, rolling his eyes playfully. Every time you and Steve went on a date, you got more and more comfortable joking around with him, especially about his past. His name in your phone was even ‘the hot 200 year old man.’

“Haha, very funny,” Steve grinned, lacing his fingers with you as you continued walking back from dinner. He had taken you to an incredible Greek restaurant in the heart of downtown Manhattan. It had been your fourth date, and every time you felt so much more comfortable around him than the last. When you first met him, he had been bruised and bloody after a mission, and quite grumpy you can add, but the connection you felt with him was instantaneous. You had been hired by Helen Cho to join the medical team, and that’s how you got to know the supersoldier. It had now been five months that you worked there, and they were quite possibly the most exciting five months of your life.

“Are you staying at the tower tonight?” Steve cut you from your thoughts as the infamous Stark Tower came into view.

“Yup,” you nodded, “Nat, Clint and Banner get back at the crack of dawn so Helen wants me to cover for her while she’s away.”

Steve nodded, continuing to walk towards your destination. The walk to Stark Tower was peaceful, relaxing, and holding Steve’s hand made you feel almost invincible, and without a doubt, safe. He kept throwing you little glances every now and then, causing your heart to flutter. Maybe tonight was the night. Although it was your fourth date, you haven’t kissed yet. You had tried quite a few times, but without success.

The first time, Steve dropped you off at your apartment and as he left you at your door, he leaned in to kiss you right as your neighbours stepped out with their noisy kids, resulting in both of you pulling away from each other at lighting speed.

After the second date, you had stayed at Stark Tower for the night, and as Steve said goodnight to you at your room, Sam and Bucky ran down the hall yelling at each other and dragging Steve into it, causing you to smile and kiss him on the cheek, wishing him a good night.

After the third date, Steve said goodbye to you at your car outside of the cinema, and as the both of you leaned in to kiss, a couple of kids came up to ask for pictures with him, telling him they admired him and dragged him away to meet their parents as you waved at him, giggling, before leaving without a kiss.

And now, after your fourth date, you were just hoping tonight was going to be the night. Steve was undeniably attractive, and you had been waiting to feel his lips on yours since the moment you met, and Steve had felt the same way about you. Ever since he met you, he had been captivated by your lively spirit, wanting nothing more than to make you smile and take you out for nice dates.

As you walked into Stark Tower and got to your floor, Steve walked out with you to bring you to your room.

“I really had a good time tonight, Steve, thank you,” you smiled at him as he gave your hand a little squeeze, making your heart flutter.

“So did I,” Steve said, looking right into your eyes as you stopped in front of your room, “I always have a good time with you, I feel so good around you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and you smiled up at him, “Then that means I should be expecting another date, yes?”

Steve nodded, placing his arms around your waist as he pulled you into him, blue eyes looking into yours as they fluttered closed, his head dipping down to yours. The butterflies in your stomach took flight as you leaned up, eyes closing as well, and his hot breath fell on your lips.

“Dr. (Y/L/N), the mission arrived back earlier than expected, you’re needed in the med-lab,” FRIDAY’s voice broke through the hallway, causing the both of you to groan. Another interruption, you couldn’t believe it. You gave Steve a sad smile and rushed into your room, changing into your work clothes and better shoes, tying your hair up and rushing down to the medical lab. You didn’t see Steve on the way over so you had assumed he went to bed, it was pretty late.

Once you got to the lab, you were directed to Natasha who had a large wound on her forehead. You smiled at her and began cleaning it up, making sure not to apply too much pressure to hurt her.

“Mission go well?” You asked, continuing to clean it up, being able to see the open gash right along her hairline. She winched slightly as you dabbed alcohol on it, but managed to keep her composure.

“Yeah, we got what we needed, and although Clint’s being a drama queen, we got out with minimal injuries,” she pointed to the corner of the room where Clint was struggling to hold in his cries of pain as another medic poured alcohol over the gunshot wound in his foot.

“That’s good, I believe in you, Clint, be strong,” you joked, and he threw you a shaky thumbs up.

“So,” Nat smirked, looking up at you as your started slowly closing the wound with some of Stark’s medical technology, “How was the date with Rogers?”

You felt your cheeks heat up and you hid your face behind your hair to cover up your embarrassment, “It was good.”

She looked at you knowingly, “Did you kiss? It was the fifth date, did you frick frackle in bed?”

“Oh, my god!” You pulled away from her forehead, eyes wide as Clint chuckled in the corner, “No, we didn’t, Nat.”

She shrugged, “What? There’s clear tension in the room whenever the two of you are there, it’s bound to happen.”

You took off your latex gloves and put your hands on your hips, embarrassed, “You’re patched up, and good to go, Romanoff.”

She laughed and got off the chair she was laying on, giving you a small pat on the back before stepping out of the room, shaking her head with a smile.

“You didn’t deny the tension,” your head snapped to Clint who was now smirking, giving you a teasing look. You rolled your eyes at him and shook your head.

“Keep your nose out of my business, Barton.”

After you helped patch up Clint’s foot, it had been over and hour since your date ended, and you felt wide away. The clock flashed 1:30AM and you quietly tip-toed over to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and maybe a snack before going to bed. You almost debated going over to Steve’s room to properly say good night, Nat’s words floating around your mind, but you decided against it.

It was dark when you rounded the corner, so you turned the light on, cursing at how bright it was down the hallways. You walked over to the fridge and poured yourself a glass of water and grabbed an apple, closing the door.

“Dinner wasn’t filling enough?” Your heart jumped out of your chest and you dropped the apple, turning to face a grinning Steve leaning against the wall.

“My god,” you clutched your heart, “you scared the shit out of me, Rogers.” He laughed as your eyes raked his form. He was dressed in sweatpants and a black t-shirt, a really good look on him that you hadn’t seen before. You had to admit, he looked really good.

“Sorry,” he smiled, walking over to you as you picked up the apple, “I waited up to see if you were going to come see me when you were done.”

Your heart swelled at his words, “Oh, I didn’t come by because I figured you were asleep.”

He walked up to you and you felt your breathing pick up pace, noticing your close proximity. You placed the apple down on the counter as your bodies were practically touching. You didn’t know what to do with yourself in the moment, wanting nothing more than to press your lips up against his and keep it going all through the night. You were usually composed, but something about Steve made you throw all that out the window.

He placed his hands on your hips and brought you close to him as you looked deep into his gorgeous eyes.

“You know,” he mumbled, eyes dropping down to your lips, “We didn’t properly get to say goodnight.”

By now you could feel his breath on your face and your heart practically stopped. He was so beautiful, and he held so much passion, you just wanted him. And only him.

Before you knew it, one of Steve’s hands slid up to behind your neck and pulled you to him, pressing your lips together slowly. You had always imagined kissing him would send fireworks and butterflies through you, but it didn’t. It didn’t send anything, because the only thing you could feel was how right your lips felt against his. Your lips moved in perfect harmony as your hands found their way up to his hair, giving a slight tug which made him deepen the kiss.

His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you up and placing you on the counter as he separated your legs, standing between them, not wanting to break the kiss.

He brought his hands up to your waist, giving you a small squeeze as you let our a squeal, causing him to grin into the kiss before pulling his lips away from yours to kiss from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck. You kept your eyes closed, loving the feeling of his lips on your neck, leaving tingling sensations all over you.

You felt him work his way around your neck until he found that spot right below your ear, causing you to let out a small moan as you tugged at his hair lightly. He knew that was your sweet spot, so he pulled your skin between his lips and started sucking lightly, making you let out another moan. He smirked on your neck before working his way back up to your lips, his being quite warm after their assault on your neck. He kissed you deeply, his breathing much quicker than before, and yours as well.

After a good minute, you pulled away slowly, making him pout. He tried to pull you back in, but you placed a hand on his lip to prevent them from touching again. You looked over his face, and his eyes went a couple shades darker, his lips now dark red and swollen, and your neck tingling in that one spot he sucked on, and you knew a little love bite had been left there.

“About damn time, huh?” Steve smirked, causing laughter to erupt through your body, nodding your head as he leaned in to press his lips lightly against yours once again, giving you a light peck before pulling away.

“Listen, uh, I was going to ask you something tonight,” he mumbled, his voice raspy. You nodded, encouraging him to go on.

“We’ve been on a few dates, but do you want to make this more official?” His cheeks went slightly pink. Even after your hot makeout session, he was still embarrassed to ask you something like this.

“I do,” you grinned and his face instantly relaxed, closing his eyes as he pulled your lips to his once again. Guess you’d be doing this a lot more often. You couldn’t complain.

#steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #captain america imagine #captain america imagines #steve rogers one shots #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #marvel #marvel imagines #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers imagine

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penzyroamin · 6 years ago

Note

OH PENZY I THINK THAT ANY WAY YOU CHOOSE TO HANDLE THE "HASTA LA VISTA, JACKASS" PROMPT I WILL LAUGH TILL I CRY SO PLS THAT ONE!!! w javid or newsbians, take your pick

ELLA!!!!!!!!!!!!! OK SO THIS IS SUCH AN OLD PROMPT BUT. IT IS FINALLY DONE AND IT IS SO MUCH LONGER THAN I EXPECTED AND YKNOW WHAT. JUST TAKE IT. HERE IT IS. also it has southern davey because i’ve been a lil homesick recently and decided to Project, Babey!

(javid, modern au)

“You don’t know what you do to me,” Davey says quietly, and he’s holding back tears so obviously that Jack doesn’t think he’s really holding them back at all.

He holds up the box in front of Jack’s face. “What the fuck? What the FUCK!”

“In my defense–” Jack starts, and Davey waves the box so wildly Jack worries he’ll get hit with it.

“What defense! Tell me what this is, to my goddamn face!”

“Tuna casserole,” Jack says weakly, and Davey chucks the box into the sink.

“Who the goddamn fuck do you think you are?”

“You always told me casseroles–”

“That,” Davey seethes, “is a fuckin’ disgrace. You hand over a casserole without fucking fish in it, in a nice casserole pan that you’re okay with never gettin’ back.”

“You never told me the fish part!” Jack says, and Davey presses his palms to his eyes as he starts shaking with laughter.

“What the fuck,” he says, and Jack really has no fucking idea what’s happening.

“Dave?”

Almost seamlessly, his laughter turns to sniffing, and Davey pulls his hands away from his eyes, looks at Jack for less than a second, and sobs.

“Oh, Jesus. Son of a– fuck. Fuck,” Jack mutters, taking a tiny step forward before Davey collapses right into him, making him stagger backwards as he grabs handfuls of Davey’s flannel.

“It’s okay,” he mutters, and Davey gasps against his shoulder. “It’s okay, Dave, you’ll be alright. I’m right here.”

It’s like some kind of gross fucking prank, the way everything turns. The way that Jack can text Davey in the morning about Isaac, who was two minutes late to the Modern Spanish Prose lecture Davey had at eight in the morning, (but Davey had been far too sleep-deprived to consider that before proceeding to spend the day and then hook up with him without ever getting his number,) and then who had vanished from Davey’s life, and that an hour after that conversation, Davey’s aunt is dead.

And then a day after that, Jack is in Georgia, and Davey’s crumbled against him, sobbing.

“Jack,” Davey murmurs quietly, like it’s a kind of prayer. “Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack… Jack.”

“Davey?” Jack says, and he feels Davey clutch at his back, his breathing ragged and harsh as he tries to rein himself in, his sniffs slowing down but then speeding back up, like it’s occurring to him all over again.

Jack doesn’t know how long it takes for him to get Davey over to the couch, curled into a tight little ball and slowing his breath with that one app on his phone while Jack sticks large squares of brownie on top of ice cream to carry it over to him.

Davey sticks his hands a few inches past the barrier of the blanket he’s wrapped himself up in so he can take the bowl gratefully, sticking his spoon into it like he’s digging up treasure.

Jack sits down next to him and Davey holds up one corner of his blanket so Jack can share it.

It’s still a little weird, if Jack’s being honest. There’s no guidelines, no rules for what they are when there isn’t hundreds of miles in between them.

Are they close, like their words say? The way Davey sends him a good morning and a good night every day, the way Jack knows that when he says he loves him right before he passes out, he’s going to wake up with a notification from last night saying that Davey loves him, too?

Or are words just words? Jack doesn’t know. He doesn’t think so, he thinks there’s more than just words that can tell him that Davey really does care about him.

Or maybe he’s just too sad and too in love for his own good.

Because that’s another thing, there, the fact that there’s hundreds of miles between them, usually, and when there is, Jack’s able to hold himself back from falling off the brink. Of course it’s there in the way he smiles too hard when Davey sends him something funny, and in the way he animates everything he knows of Davey in his head, the video chats and the selfies and everything, into something almost corporeal. The way he sometimes rolls over when he can’t sleep and almost thinks he can see Davey right next to him, smiling faintly and breathing just soft enough for it to not reach Jack’s face.

(And he blinks and then it isn’t real, of course, because Davey’s in Georgia and Jack’s in New York and that’s too far away for Davey to be laying right there, next to Jack.)

But there’s something entirely different about Davey actually being there.

They turn the TV on, and Jack studies Davey.

Jack sees his freckles up close for the first time, thick across his cheekbones from the sun but also scattered all over his arms and legs. He finally pins down how Davey smells, out of the options he’d made up in his mind when he didn’t have proof, and he thinks that the faint sort of vanilla-coconut from the cheap soap he saw in the bathroom is so, so much better than he thought it’d be.

Easily, though, the most startling thing is how warm Davey is.

It’s cruel, almost, because it’d be so much more useful up in Manhattan, but it’s still nighttime, and Jack’s as cold as ice no matter what, so he slowly reaches his foot towards Davey’s leg, just to steal a little bit of his warmth.

Immediately, Davey yelps, yanking his leg away. “Evil man!” he says, and his voice is still hoarse with tears, but it’s better. “I was already fixin’ to murder you, but now I’m gonna do it for real!” Jack decides to ignore just how much he loves that sentence, the way Davey’s twenty-one years worth of life in Georgia still shows clear as day through his voice no matter how much every socialite English teacher tried to beat it out of him.

The Jacobs family must make a picture, he thinks, what with the combo of the slang left over from a million different languages, David and his siblings with their “Southern charm” or however Sarah wants to put it, Esther and Mayer with their Eastern European accents and sensibilities, and family from everywhere in between.

But still, there’s a conversation going on, and Jack has to respond.

Jack groans. “You and your space heater self’ve been holdin’ out on me for three years, and now that I’m here you’re gonna hold out on me some more?”

“You’ve got the blanket, don’t you?”

“Yeah, ha, ha. Hasta la vista, jackass.”

Davey rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, and Jack practically feels the world light up. He keeps his eyes trained forward, towards the TV, as Davey tucks himself in closer to him.

“I’m sorry I yelled at your casserole,” Davey says.

Jack coughs out a laugh. “It’s fine. It was a terrible casserole, anyways.”

“It was a sweet thought, though.” Davey turns his head to smile at him, soft and warm, before he turns back to the TV.

It’s comforting, which is weird for Jack to think because he’s really not the one who needs comfort, here.

“Thank you for coming,” Davey says quietly, his cheek pressed against Jack’s shoulder.

Jack turns his head, just enough so he can see him out of his peripheral. “Course I came.”

“I mean… Kind of a doozy for the first time we really get to see each other, y’know?”

Jack knows that they’ve both been thinking it, that in the three years since Sarah introduced them in a group chat and then promptly left it, they didn’t exactly think that the first time one of them would make it to the other would be because of something like this.

Still, that doesn’t stop his from turning fully so that he can rub Davey’s shoulder in what he hopes is some sort of comforting way. “Are you better than you would be because I’m here?”

Davey frowns, his eyebrows furrowing. “Of course.”

“Then it was worth it,” Jack says simply, and Davey smiles, surprised. It’s the prettiest thing Jack’s ever seen, just the shocked little grin he makes and the way his eyes light up, and god, if Jack doesn’t want to see it every day of his life.

“And hey,” he continues, hoping to keep the grin up a little longer, “once I save up some more, I’ll come back down and we’ll do it all proper.”

Davey laughs, taking the hand on his shoulder to hold it tightly. “I’ll even buy you flowers. Magnolias,” he teases, and Jack can’t help the way he nearly melts like butter into his hands.

“I’d like that,” he says, and he doesn’t even register that his tone was anything other than normal until Davey leans forward and kisses him.

Jack knew, getting off that plane, that he couldn’t kiss Davey. There were a million reasons about him grieving, and about how there was no way he could manage long distance and college at the same time, and reasons, reasons, reasons.

But on the other hand, he was weak, so how on Earth was he supposed to listen to his reasons when he was busy getting exactly what he wanted?

And so there his brain went, debating between how everything could feel right and wrong at the exact same time.

Eventually, despite everything in him saying yes yes yes this is right and he’s right here for the first time, Jack pulled away, pushing Davey back with the hand he already had against his chest.

“Dave, no.”

Davey’s face immediately drops, and Jack knows that fear like he knows the crescent-shaped dents in his palms and the dull ache in his stomach, because he feels that fear every single time he not-joking-joke-flirts with Davey and he doesn’t get a message back for a few minutes.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, if I read this wrong or you don’t want this or–” he cuts off when Jack interrupts him.

“Davey, you’ve gotta know I do, but–”

Davey groans, exasperated, and it really, truly should not be as attractive as it is. “Then c’mon, what’s the problem?”

“Davey, your aunt just died.”

Davey flinches visibly at that, but he covers it up in an instant. “And?”

“I’m not trying to cross any kinda line, but she was the first person you ever came out to.”

Another flinch, but still, “And? I’ve come out to plenty of folks, Jack.”

“I just…” Jack exhales slowly, trying to put together the case he’d made in his head. Jack’s Mind v The Commonwealth of Jack’s Heart, 2019. “When Miss Hannah got sick, I freaked out. Like I thought her maybe not making it would take away me being bi. And I kinda rushed to do everything I could to remind myself I was, y’know?” He took a deep breath. “I want this. You know I do. But I don’t want this if you just want something. It’s gotta be you wanting this, too.”

He finally manages to make eye contact, and finds Davey just staring back.

It’s been weeks, but Jack still isn’t used to the humidity.

Spot had laughed at him over the phone, but Jack stuck to his guns: the South fucking sucks.

The natural next question had been an incredibly cordial why the hell’re you there, huh? that Jack had found himself scrambling to answer.

The obvious answer was work: Jack had been looking for years for a real opportunity to get a gallery started, and Atlanta had basically handed him the perfect situation.

There was the less obvious answer, too, the mildly more humiliating one, but he doesn’t dwell on that one.

Except for right now, of course. He’s definitely dwelling.

Jack: it was good chatting with you again!

Davey: you, too :) sleep well

That was seven months ago. Two years of silence, three hundred and seventy-five messages worth of catching up in one evening, and then another seven months of radio silence.

Jack had spent years hundreds of miles away from Davey, wishing that he was closer to him. Now, he’s fifteen miles away, and he’s too scared to send him a text.

It takes another twenty minutes of him hesitating before finally he holds his breath and does it.

Jack: hey

Davey: who is this?

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking shit, fuckity fuck fuck fuck–

Davey: JOKING.

Davey: hi, jack :)

#newsies #javid #david jacobs #jack kelly #penzy writes #first lady tag #anyways!!! my brain makes soft things here are some of the soft things #sadly this is not hilarious but... thats life babey #i adore u els!!!!#also hi world! look i can still write!

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zebrashavestripes · 6 years ago

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Answer all questions for ask game about your cats!!(I'm dying for knowing about ash and Sabby pleeeaase!!😍)

Oh my goodness girl, so many, but okay.

1. Name? Ash and Sabrina2. Fur colour? Ash has grey fur on his back, with white markings on his face and white on his belly. Sabrine is the same, but with black on her back, and a special marking on her face.3. Any family you know (other than you)? They are related by blood as brother and sister, which is cute I think :)4. Age? 21 months old (my babies), which is around 17 in cat years5. Favorite toy? They love playing with cardboard for some reason, it’s super weird. There are cardboard scraps all over my house. And, according to Ash, Sabrina’s tail is his FAVOURITE toy.6. Nicknames? Ash: Ashy, Ashy baby, baby boy, pretty boy, foofy boy, crazy boy. Sabrina: Sabbi, Sabrrrrrrrrrina, Miss, purrty, pretty girl, baby girl, fluffy girl, Miss desperate and more7. Cinnamon roll or problematic fave? Ash is both of those and Sabrina is neither. Sabrina is too good for you. How dare you be in her prescence? But also, freaking pat her already, she’s desperate, people!8. Length of fluff? So long, omg. The flooofiest. Ash is the fluffiest, just covered in clouds of fur. Sabrina’s fur is long but a bit sleeker.9. Any funny habits? Does eating things they’re not supposed to count? Or the fact Ash always wants me to walk him to the food and keep him company while he eats. Sabrina’s habit of turning around and forcing your hand into her face is a nice one.10. How old were they when you met? 9 months. BABIES11. What does their food bowl look like? They have a conjoined bowl which is bright green and a water bowl with little fishies on.12. Indoor or outdoor cat? They’re allowed to go outside, but Ash prefers to be indoors where he can move and lounge around without cause, where as Sabrina loves exploring outside, she kept escaping when I first got her, lol13. Recent picture?

Sleepy babies.14. Old picture?

BABIES15. Cuddly? Reasonably so. I’m the only one they really let pick them up, but they don’t mind sitting beside you or on your bed and stuff. I actually think it depends on their mood, or how hot it is on the day.16. Ever changed their name? YES. I kept Ash’s name, he was called that when I got him from the SPCA. But Sabrina’s original name was Scamp which we didn’t like because such a name is not appropriate for royalty.18. Eye color? Yellow/green19. How do they express love for you? Ash follows me around the house, Sabrina walks up to me when she comes in from exploring. Both like to be in my room when I wake up. They’re really nice cats. Also, tolerating me picking me up is definitely a sign of love.20. How do you express love for them? HEAPS of pats, feeding them good food, and by telling them all the time through long blinks and actual words.21. Any theories on what breed? I don’t really care about breeds, honestly. What matters is what kind of personality they have, not their genetics.22. Do they ever wake you up? YES. Recent time Ash woke me up: He was meowing for me to get out of bed so I went and saw he had a mouse. Sadly, I was not surprised by this. Recent time Sabrina woke me up: Came into my room and started ripping up my homework, lol. Silly girl.23. How much do they meow? They aren’t super loud, but Ash will meow when we go to get his food because he’s happy about it and wants to communicate. I always meow back. Sabrina’s meow is more squeaky, lol, and she does it when someone touches her unexpectedly of when she comes inside and sees me, or when she’s been picked up and she doesn’t like it.24. Any hiding spots? Ash likes to lie beneath the table and my chair, etc. Sabrina will hide behind the couch occasionally. They have both hidden beneath stools because the fabric will hang down to cover them, bu their paws and tails peek out so I always know they’re there.25. Do they enjoy guests? Depends. A hoard of screaming children? Hell no. A lot of people in one room? Nope! They’ll be in my room the entire time. One person carefully introducing themselves? Okay, now you’re talking.26. Lofty objects to sit on? The back of the couch. Various window sills.27. Wear a collar?(and describe collar?) Yes! They have matching collars. Ash’s one is blue, Sabrina’s is purple. They both have a magnet on to get through the catflap.28. How much shedding? Inevitable with such long-haired cats. There is so much cat fluff all through the house.29. Do they enjoy brushing? Sabrina LOVES brushing. Will purr the entire time, will make you feel so special. Ash hates it. Will only let me do it, and I still will come back a little scratched and bitten. He’s a vicious boy. I love him.30. Ever drink from the toilet? Lol, yes. They leave paw maks on the bowl. But Sabrina prefers to drink from the sink. She’s more proper that way. Sometimes, they even drink from the bowl.31. How do they get your attention? For Ash, meowing usually does the trick. Sabrina, you can call her sometimes but it’s best just to go up to her.32. Embarrassing thing they’ve done? Ash fell out of a window. His face, omg. He was so ashamed.33. Weirdest thing they try to eat? Ash likes to eat peas. There’s no try about it, he does it. Sabrina likes to try to eat paper and cardboard.34. Are they like your siblings, children, or friends? They’re my children. My babies.35. What time do they eat breakfast? Whenever they want. They self regulate their eating.36. Do you cut their nails? No? Why would I do that? How else will they scratch their foes?37. Do you think they understand you? Yes. Of course.38. Ever make fun of them? Of course. Ash can be so stupid and violent (He’s an Ed Nygma, lol). Sabrina pretends to be all innocent and perfect but she likes to play just as much and is SO desperate for the pats.39. Do you take their picture often? When I feel like it. I like taking pictures of them.40. Ever hiss at you? Not really. Last time I heard Ash hiss, it was because a baby was crawling towards him and Ash felt trapped and didn’t want to hurt the baby, so he was trying to tell it to go away. I don’t think I remember Sabrina hissing.41. Ever try to scratch or bite you? Yes :) Attack babies. Ash has no hesitation, loves clawing and biting. Sabrina Will claw to stay attached to you or to bring your hand closer to her face for PATS.42. If you try to grab their paw, what do they do? If they’re in a good mood, they do nothing. Otherwise, Sabrina will pull away, and Ash will bite you or scratch you or both. 43. Do they ever eat bugs? SO MANY BUGS. They don’t discriminate, if you are bug they are eating you. They bring them in to play with before they have their meal. They’re a bit sadistic, although I’m sure Sabrina would protest me saying that. The favourite is Wetas, which are exclusive to NZ as far as I know.44. Canned or dry food? Dry food. It’s better for their fur.45. Weight? Ash is heavier, around 7kg or so last time I checked. Sabrina was closer to 5kg. But it’s been a really long time since I checked.46. Ever got lost? Nope.47. Do you buy them presents? I am their present. I am a gift.48. Do they respond when you call? When they want to, lol.49. Do they ever see other cats? There are other cats on the street, but they don’t like each other.50. Declawed? NO!!!!!51. Funniest expression? Ash makes a face everytime he thinks I’m about to give him food. Sabrina likes to look around with her eyes barely open, silently judging you for being in her presence (and not patting her).52. Favorite place to be pet? Face. Cheeks, chin, fore head, FACE.53. Worst thing they’ve destroyed? A whole frozen chicken. We don’t talk about it.54. Give them a head kiss. I did. Sabrina made such a cute, squeky meow that I had to pat her afterwards. Ash was like “wtf are you doing?” I think he’s only interested in food atm, lol.55. What time of the year is most exciting for them? Spring. They go outside lots and the grass is super wet and they get leaves and shit stuck in their fur.56. Are they good at hunting real prey? They have killed two birds and one mouse and soooo many insects. Does that count?57. Do they ever attack nothing? Of course. Especially Ash. He stupid.58. What are they doing right now? Sabrina’s on the chair, wondering why I left her after giving her kiss and pats. Ash is licking himself.59. How long have you had them? About a year. My last cat I had 8 years.60. If you could have them stay as a kitten forever, would you? No. What would be the point? Cats are more peaceful than kittens anyway.61. Ever baby-talk to them? Everyday. They are babies.62. Favourite napping position? Ash is a lover of the C position, or loaf position. Sabrina is a big fan of Ball of Fur position.63. Have you ever stepped on their paw? No.64. Ever tripped you on stairs? Yes, lol. That’s what they get for running like that.65. Any ear hair? They gots furry ears, it’s cute.66. Favourite view from a window? They like to watch the birds nest out one of the windows, Ash especially.67. Describe why they are precious. Because they just are so preicous. Sabrina is so tiny and baby but also attac and playful but she deny it. Ash is stupid baby, scaredy cat but he attack and pretend to be brave and I love my brave scaredy-cat baby.68. Fit the cat stereotype? Some of them, yeah.69. Chaotic neutral? Lol, Ash is chaotic Evil, but Sabrina is def chaotic neutral, even though she claims to be lawful good.70. Do they enjoy following/ keeping you company? Yes, I believe they do.71. Are you their favourite human? Definitely.72. Do they like tv? I think so. I’ve caught them both watching my laptop screen over my shoulder.73. Favourite noise to make? They love to purrr and make their lil meows.74. If they were a Neko Atsume cat, what would their momento be? I don’t know what is is, lol

Wow, so many questions. You now know so much about my cats.

#ask game #long post #so many questions #cats

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 6 years ago

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Lots of writing! | Writing Update #1

Hey People of Earth!

I have many a things to update. mwahaha

The first of which is this bad boy!

FISHBOWL was a one shot-ish thing I worked on in mid August because I didn't want to write the scene I had to write, but also didn't want to write outside of my universe. Soooo, of *course* your girl wrote herself some more fanfiction because? I mean? Why not!

It’s not unheard of on this blog that I ship (and then, subsequently cannoned) my boyz Lonan and Harrison. I’d written the first chunk of this story on mobile, just in a note, because I’d gotten an idea for some dialogue. (I had the whole story written besides the beginning and end.) The struggle was figuring out how to start the story. I toyed with a couple ideas, writing a million different first sentences. Frustrated that I wasn’t feeling any of ‘em, I shelved the project for the night and went to bed.

The next day, I came back to FISHBOWL, and I looked over the random first sentences I’d jotted down. One caught my eye, and so aha, I found my sentence. (I struggle with writing openings, so once the first sentence is nailed down, I usually am able to get a good flow rather quickly). I wrote the entire thing in one sitting, and while it’s disjointed and weird, I had a lot of fun.

EXCERPTS:

The story itself is basically plot-less since it was only meant to entertain myself, but I think I wrote some cool stuff, and explored a setting (Lonan’s room) with a lot more diligence than I have before.

This excerpt’s first line inspired me to write the rest of this story (lol my only motivation). It’s not even a favourite line, it just helped me wrap my head around the language a bit/gave me the idea to have a fishbowl-lens look on the story.

The bottle is crystal edged. Half drained. A kaleidoscope through his eye.

He passes it over with ease. Harrison can’t tell if he’s done it because he’s drunk, or because he doesn’t want questions.

“My mom likes this shit,” Harrison says, fingering the bottle, like he’s holding a memory and not jade-tinted glass. Careful, so he won’t shatter it. It’s almost like he’s a child again.

I also lluuuurve this next paragraph, just because loppy IS SUCH A NICE WORD. loppyloppyloppy. I just like the personality of the objects in Lonan’s bedroom (because he’s got none). Like his poor depressed lonely fishbowl, poor slothy aloe, poor upset betta.

Harrison watches the fishbowl on the nightstand. He should change the water. It’s aglae’d and forgotten, almost, like the loppy potted aloe on his desk. The blue betta hardly slashes through the water. Ris reaches over and unscrews the pot of pet store bloodworms, sprinkles in a pinch of the pellets. The fish cuts around its browning bamboo stake, and vacuums two into its mouth. Its fins wiggle like ink drops.

This is the last paragraph of FISHBOWL, and I mean, I like her tho?

The betta fish glugs through the water in a flowery whoosh. Bottom feeds the last of the bloodworms. The takeout containers are empty, and rolled onto their backs. Stained rusted orange with dried chili. The aloe plant is still curved instead of straight. Harrison makes a note to water it in the morning. The digital clock bleeds 6:22 in neon cherry light. When it bounces off Lonan’s eyes, they look purple.

So that’s it for FISHBOWL! I had a lot of fun writing this lol. Maybe too much. I must be stopped.

CHICKEN NOODLE is chapter 14 of REWIRED, and to be frank, it was a bit of a pain to write. I’d churned it out after writing a really intense scene previously, and couldn’t really feel into the flow of the words as easily as I’d done before. The first scene took a chunk of time to write, because I wasn’t sure where I was taking it. After finally nailing a concept, I did complete it, and I’m rather happy with how that section of the chapter turned out.

However, lol, scene two is a mess?? In my opinion at least, I did read this chapter to @sarahkelsiwrites last night, and she rather enjoyed it! Because it was SUCHHH a mess, and I had no motivation to write it, I, toward the beginning of the month, adapted the scene to screen.

Stripping back the scene really allowed me to figure out how I wanted it to end (which was exciting!). Obviously, it isn’t a very good screenplay, but it was exciting to have a different take on the scene/focus on a new form to learn instead of self deprecating!

The following excerpt is from the beginning-ish of the chapter and sets up the concept:

Maybe this is how it feels. To be a child, or a fetus, or a cell, or a human, stuck in the womb of a mother. Sloshing in amniotic fluid. Doing little fetal summer saults. Eating what she eats. Drinking what she drinks. That last serving of apple crumble. The remnant touches of cognac stuck to her lips. A dog and a bone, a human and its lung, a plant and its gardener, a mother and her child. Can’t live without her, even when you want to. Bitter dependency.

my favourite parts of this are ‘fetal summersaults’ and ‘human and its lung’ like ooooh. I’m like not 100 on it but I don’t mind it!

PEACH is chapter 15 of REWIRED, and oh boy is she a CHAPTER. I drafted this one as well as 16 over three days (they’re both super short), and I’m shook??

Chapter 14 ends with Reeve saying some *very* horrible things about another character (Emily), and her relationship with our boy Harrison. Because of this, she’s finally decided to check out Emily for herself, and see if she’s really as horrible as Reeve (who’s assumed her to be a Lolita figure), has anticipated.

Here’s an excerpt:

Emily and I sit on her pull out. My mother would haphazardly call it tacky—blue gingham, red quilt—but I almost like it. With its coffee stains, and holes that vomit polyester. Second-hand charm. Maybe Harrison toted it off some suburb’s curb for her.

So this is the final chapter I’ll be updating you guys on (because it’s the most recent one that I’ve written lol).

LOLITA, LOLITA, takes place in short succession after PEACH, and deals with a familiar theme--romanticizing/glorifying a female figure (sorta similarly to Lolita, which contributed to--of course--the title). This chapter is sort of the tail end of the ‘whimsical’ adventure Reeve has had entering Emily’s world, and has a lotttt of French inspiration.

Emily, as a character, does study the French language/culture a bit, and Reeve really clings to this particular detail. I think in a lot of ways, she does this because this is a detail she previously ridiculed (in the line: The kind of girl who learns French in her spare time and smokes essential oils, from chapter 10).

Here’s the first one (I think it’s kind of clunky honestly but I like the idea so when I revisit, hopefully with some editing I can clean it up):

We split a brownie over a glass of Pinot Noir. She says it’s a French thing, and I imagine the bottle emptying on the veranda of a politician’s off coast villa. My lipstick stains the rim of the glass in a ruby porthole. It tastes like fruity hand sanitizer to me.

I also really like the next one, particularly the end. Like with before, I think it’s kinda clunky but I ain’t all that mad:

She’s pulled her hair into a bun. The gold ridge of a bobby pin peaks out from behind a twist. Hiding between the white of her scalp. My nails have dried, now, and she’s gifted me her peach lip gloss, which I wear gracefully on my lips like it isn’t second-hand, but a lavish salve made in Europe. Tested on the eyelids of a fetid rabbit. Warm and licked at on the mouth of a rich young woman. An off brand perfume clings to her throat. The plastic breath of amber and ylang-ylang. I’ve tried to mimic her up-do, but my hair falls, even when I pump it with hairspray. Je suis amoureuse. I should tell her. I am in love.

^^ the perfume in question in my head is like a bootleg version of Chanel No. 5, hence some of the perfume’s classic notes!

The second half of this update deals with Reeve *attempting* to talk to her brother (@Lonan @Lonan). They’ve now migrated to his room, which she notes, is vastly different to Emily’s.

The first excerpt is a line I find kind of funny because a) food b) relatable c) lol Lonan’s ideas for gifts tho d) SAME e) grapefruits ?? f) it’s kind of adorable

He’s brought me half a grapefruit and a spoon. A surrender, or a lost attempt at a gift. The flesh wet, and pink.

like tbhhh grapefruits as presents sounds litttt

The next is actually sort of stolen from FISHBOWL, ha. FISHBOWL takes place in Lonan’s room, so I *very much* stole all the description from there and shoved it into this chapter. oops lol.

His room feels smaller, somehow. I think he’s moved the bed. Or it might be the new coat of paint. The addition of small things, like houseplants, candles, miniature replicas of American landmarks. A wilted aloe plant. A fish bowl. The blue betta inking the water in bored compliance. I think to ask him if he’s made the space more claustrophobic on purpose, but don’t at the last second. Lonan’s never been one to collect clutter.

And lastly! Not my favourite but eh:

I say, “I like what you’ve done with the place,” even though I don’t. “What kind of plant is that? This one?” I get up from my spot on the floor next to him. Touch at the pot next to the watering can. Finger the waxy leaves. Anthurium, peace lily, ficus? Probably a ficus. “I think Mom would like these. You should take a picture to show her later.”

I like the tone of this scene a lot because it’s so dissociative. Almost underwater. It’s kind of a very thin version of my usual style, but I think it works for what I was going for for sure (I hope lol).

So that’s about it for this update! I know it was a lil different, but I hope you guys enjoyed regardless! As always, thanks for reading! :)

--Rachel

#writing #writerblr #amwriting #writingupdates

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beatconductor-blog · 6 years ago

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AA: y0u tried t0 c0ntact me? AA: s0rry i was busy being a...grub

😎: i got as much yeah 😎: i guess you ungrubbed 😎: bc listen uh 😎: shits wild 😎: hey you know how you told me sometimes i gotta risk shit 😎: im having second thoughts AA: d0 tell 😎: id rather not 😎: jk 😎: just uh 😎: give me a moment 😎: alright so uh 😎: hey funny story did you know socks also called dave 😎: and also i shouldnt be here in the first place and this is probably the biggest mistake of my life and boy i did a lot of those AA: ... hm AA: i supp0se i AA: c0uld have put th0se things t0gether already 😎: could you or did you 😎: and does that mean were in unanimous agreement that i should gtfo yeah kay cool AA: i did n0t AA: and n0 AA: where d0 y0u want t0 gtf0 t0 😎: yanno 😎: anywhere else thats not here 😎: out of this city 😎: this universe 😎: peoples life > Deleted. AA: hmm AA: let me c0nsider this briefly AA: n0 😎: okay 😎: but uh 😎: i guess shits a lil awkward 😎: like someone shitting into the punch bowl at a wedding awkward(edited) AA: a little bit yes AA: but y0u didnt kn0w did y0u? AA: y0u still d0nt kn0w the full st0ry i assume 😎: yeah no 😎: but i know a lot of other shit 😎: and just 😎: well shit 😎: i guess this is all a lil too much too handle 😎: and im kinda still panicing 😎: look arent you proud of my incredible self-awareness AA: y0u d0nt have t0 handle it right n0w y0u kn0w AA: y0u are pr0bably still sh0cked y0u sh0uldnt decide anything right n0w 😎: alright whos gonna do the deciding then tho AA: im deciding y0u need a g00d hug 😎: sounds like a sound decision AA: im c0ming 0ver then 😎: alrighty 😎: uh ara 😎: thanks

Coco 👑Yesterday at 8:19 PM > There's a knock on Dave's door about half an hour later. rootyYesterday at 8:31 PM > There's a loud noise as something gets knocked over, and then most more hasty scrambling. Then a moment of silence, which totally isn't you trying to make yourself look somewhat presentable right in front of the door, nope. > Then you open the door. And boy, it's a mess. You and the apartment. You look like you didn't sleep in three days, which is probably about right, and there's stuff all over the apartment because you most likely didn't stay in a single spot for more than five minutes. > Also, a soft cawing from like three crows that got very comfy inside because of a window that's been open for just as long. Coco 👑Yesterday at 8:39 PM You got worried that whatever got knocked over was Dave for a moment there but he does manage to open up the door, so that's something. The mess inside is easy to ignore, you know Dave well enough and you grew up with a bunch of brothers. The mess that is Dave though... Utterly pitiful. You just pull him into a tight hug right there in the door. rootyYesterday at 9:02 PM Oh, you didn't expect that to go so quick but... Man, you didn't realize how much you really needed that. You stand there awkardly for a moment, then your arms try to find their way somewhere through Aradia's mane. You realize there's no way you can say anything without your voice shaking, so you choose to just be quiet and let that happen. Coco 👑Yesterday at 9:31 PM Nothing a good long hug can't at least make a little better right? But all good things must end so you eventually let go of him to make your way to his couch, kicking off whatever crap is on there. You gesture at him to come sit with you. "You look like shit Dave." It's important to be honest right? rootyYesterday at 9:38 PM "I know." There it was, the shaky voice. And that half laugh didn't really cover it up. You gladly follow her to the couch though and let yourself drop next to her. And... then what? Being honest sounds like a good plan, but you honestly don't know where to even start. So you opt to just bury your face into her and let out a long-drawn-out noise. Coco 👑Yesterday at 10:01 PM "Shhh..." You just pet the mess in your arms. What can you even say about this whole mess? Not a lot. God knows he has every right t be fucked up over it. rootyYesterday at 10:26 PM

Oh hey is it getting wet or is that just you? No, it's totally not your face that's leaking. After a couple of minutes you actually manage to calm down some and turn, so you're lying somewhat comfy on Aradia's lap and just start babbling on your own as the silence gets unbrearable.

"So... you know... Sock being a Dave isn't really the problem. I've- I've talked with alternates before. That of other people and my own. The multiverse is a big and weird place. The issue is that he's, like, THE Dave. The- the one from here. I- I almost forgot this isn't my place... That I came from somewhere else. But... I didn't think he'd exist. He wasn't there. There was only Bro and- Fuck, Bro..." Your voice cracks, but you're not done yet.

"The shit he said about Bro. I thought he was a better one...." Now you're done, as your voice slowly dies in your throat. Coco 👑Yesterday at 11:05 PM This is actually the first time you have seen Dave become this undone and it's breaking your heart. Worst of all there's so little you can really do for him except for stroking his hair in a weak attempt to calm him down.

"You couldn't have known that about him though. You didn't know he's around when you arrived here right? Don't blame yourself for something that was out of your control."

Bro though... It hits you just now how little you actually know about this man beyond him existing somewhere maybe. That's about all Dave ever told you and Sock never spoke about him at all until just yesterday.

"How...How did Bro treat you then?"

rootyYesterday at 11:16 PM

Don't Blame Yourself is a real big fucking word for you. Aradia should know that. But then again, hearing that little reassurance from her was kind of helped. "Better than him..." This one did, at least. It's not that you wanted to keep anything hidden from Aradia this time, but more than you yourself were absolutely not ready to delve into whatever the fuck you left behind.

Coco 👑Yesterday at 11:25 PM

You know that's asking a lot of him but damn, there's nothing to be gained by blaming himself for everything all the damn time. "Well... Perhaps he wanted to make up for how he treated Sock? Whatever the reason, that's not your fault either." rootyYesterday at 11:34 PM

Your hand finds hers and just... holds it. Presses it against your head. The more contact, the better. The only way to make this all somewhat more bearable."This whole thing is a fuck." Coco 👑Yesterday at 11:39 PM

You other hand finds his cheek and gently pets it. Shhh... "It is. But it's not your fuck, you are just along for the ride. That and.. You don't even have the full story do you? Like why Sock wasn't around? Don't run away to earth before you at least talked to him okay?"

rootyYesterday at 11:43 PM

"I'm not, alright. I'm just... I don't know." The touch helped. Something nice you could focus on. "God, he must be freaking out..."

Coco 👑Yesterday at 11:47 PM

You can have plenty of touches Dave. "Probably, yeah... But he's at home, I'm sure he's safe."

rootyYesterday at 11:50 PM

But can you really be sure, Aradia. You sigh. "What do I even say to him.."

Coco 👑Yesterday at 11:51 PM

"Well knowing you guys... Some awkward introduction while you both pretend everything is fine until you eventually break down enough to actually tell each other what's on your mind."

rootyYesterday at 11:53 PM

You actually finally open your eyes and give her an annoyed look. Mostly annoyed because you know she's right. "Thing is I still don't know what's on my mind. It's all a mess. ..I don't wanna leave him hanging though."

Coco 👑Today at 12:01 AM

"Well we're here to try to sort your thoughts a little."

rootyToday at 12:10 AM

"Well uh. Here's a thought: I hate everything that's happening. I want him to be alright though."

Coco 👑Today at 12:15 AM

"Sounds reasonable. Sounds like there's no way around talking to him too though."

rootyToday at 12:19 AM

You gesture with your free arm. "Well yeah but how!! 'Hey Sock I know things are hella awkward but I appreciate you' doesn't really cut it does it?"

Coco 👑Today at 12:23 AM

"Why not?"

rootyToday at 12:24 AM

"..." You stare at her. "Does it?" Listen. Aradia should know you're bad at this.

Coco 👑Today at 12:30 AM

"It's a start isn't it? It's reassuring to hear that you still care for him!"

rootyToday at 12:31 AM

"I guess. I hate how everyone always makes that shit sound so simple."

Coco 👑Today at 12:38 AM

"It's not simple. It's really hard, but it's important. You just have to try to explain as best as you can and it'll be okay...ish."

rootyToday at 12:40 AM

"Okayish. Now that sounds realistic for once." Actually, okayish sounds pretty okay. Better than what's going on right now.

Coco 👑Today at 12:41 AM

"Okayish can turn into okay with time and some work you know? It doesn't have to be okay right away."

rootyToday at 12:44 AM

You make some frustrated noises. "Why can't it just be okay right away."

Coco 👑Today at 12:48 AM

"You can't just cheat your way past everything else, that's why." You get his frustration though. He get's a big forehead kiss.

rootyToday at 12:52 AM

You pout. "I can still try." But you've actually managed to calm down a bunch. Who knows, maybe not everything would go up in flames.

Coco 👑Today at 12:58 AM

Boop his nose. "Your cheap cheat codes won't work on your brain Dave. Can't glitch through that things walls either." He looks a little better and that makes you smile.

rootyToday at 1:02 AM

"Hey now. You haven't even seen half of what I'm capable of yet. The other half got stuck in the floor once." Her smile actually makes you smile. Damn those gross contagious feelings.

Coco 👑Today at 1:03 AM

"Did you take pictures of your messy glitchy brain? I'd love to see them."

rootyToday at 1:07 AM

"Yeah, but it all looks like vaporwave and dick jokes. Kinda lame, if you ask me."

Coco 👑Today at 1:12 AM

"Aw. I do like this silly brain of yours a lot."

rootyToday at 1:14 AM

"Getting quite mushy there, miss."

Coco 👑Today at 1:15 AM

"Oh no! I will turn it down!" You pull away your hands. No more pets.

rootyToday at 1:17 AM

Oh. No!!! Your desperate noises say that you liked that. Don't take hands away.

Coco 👑Today at 1:18 AM

"But Dave...I can't keep on touching you. That's mushy."

rootyToday at 1:22 AM

"Aw shit. That's a problem. What do you advise?"

Coco 👑Today at 1:29 AM

"Allowing me to mush you up"

rootyToday at 1:30 AM

You wrinkle your nose in fake disgust. "Aw man. Fine. Just this once."

Coco 👑Today at 1:35 AM

Kiss his cheek.

rootyToday at 1:37 AM

Oh. Oh no that's more mush than you expected. And makes you blush a little. Just a little.

Coco 👑Today at 1:40 AM

"Don't get all mushy on me Dave."

rootyToday at 1:41 AM

"Shut up. I'm not. You are."

Coco 👑Today at 1:49 AM

Kiss his nose.

rootyToday at 1:53 AM

Eeeeeeee alright that's getting too much for you to handle. "Okay alright yep." You sit up and rub your face. She can't see how much you're blushing when your back is turned to her. It's like for a moment you actually forgot how much of a crush you got on her. Whoops.

Coco 👑Today at 1:56 AM

"We already done with the cuddling?" You pout.

rootyToday at 4:44 AM

"Sorry girl, I know you can't resist me. I just don't want you to overdose on this Strider quality." Super smooth safe. Almost as if you didn't learn anything.

#logs

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aqua-harry · 7 years ago

Text

She’s Just Not That Into You » Part II (A Harry Styles Miniseries)

Miss the first part? Find it here.

Even if Nick did piss him off, Harry couldn’t help but be proud of his best friend whenever he was awarded opportunities. He worked hard, and it was nice to see that hard work pay off in the end. So, when Nick mentioned that you were having a viewing party for his appearance on The Big Fat Quiz of the Year, Harry feared that he wouldn’t be able to celebrate the milestone with him.

“Ask her,” he demanded one afternoon.

Nick laughed, his eyes widening at Harry’s insistence. After little pleading from his friend, Nick sent a text asking you if Harry could be his plus one for the dinner party. Once he’d sent it, Harry forced Nick to show him the text for proof, figuring that it was just like him to say he’d asked you when he didn’t, instead showing up to the party with Harry anyway, thinking it was funny to throw both of you for a loop. Nick’s phone dinged minutes later, your name lighting up the screen. Your response of “Sure.” had caused Harry to go into an existential crisis, the wrinkle in his brow deep as he pulled at his lips.

“She doesn’t want me there,” he grunted. “‘m not goin’.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harold,” Nick tried to console him, patting his head. “Go with me. I want you there, and ‘m sure she does, too.”

“Would’ve invited me in the first place if she did.”

“She’s not close with ye’,” Nick explained. “She would’ve invited you if she knew y’better, right? But she doesn’t. So I’m invitin’ ya, and I know she wants it to be everythin’ I want it to be. Even makin’ my favorite meal, so quit worryin’. You’re going.”

And, really, it wasn’t the blasé, one-word response that threw Harry off. It was the period at the end of it. So final, so complete. Sure. An exclamation point would’ve been appreciated, considering it was a party. Parties were supposed to be happy; they were supposed to be exciting, and the punctuation should match, if you asked Harry.

And yet, on the night of the party, he still picks up Nick, driving across town to your place, letting him talk his ear off while Harry focuses on the road. Hopefully, through his chatter, Nick doesn’t notice how nervous he is as he pulls at his lower lip. His oatmeal-colored sweater was appropriate, right? It was winter, after all. But Nick was wearing a typical button-up from Topman, paired with a leather jacket, and that made Harry feel bulky in his cable knit jumper. He should’ve known better - he should’ve worn that black shirt he had eyed after getting out of the shower. Stupidly, he thinks, he went for the sweater, worried that he might get cold throughout the evening and wish he’d gone for layers, rather than fashion.

“This is her building,” Nick says, breaking Harry from his self-deprecation. “Right here on the left.”

As the elevator rises higher and higher, Harry’s heart sinks further into his chest with every ding indicating that your floor was nearing. Pulling the cuffs of his sweater over his hands, he chuckles at Nick’s comment that he didn’t fully catch, his stomach dropping when the lift stops and the doors open.

“...think it’s probably more of a dog thing than a cat thing, but who knows?” Nick says over his shoulder while Harry follows him down the hallway, stopping in front of a door with a Christmas wreath hanging upon it. “How nice! She left the holiday wreath up for the cheeky viewing party!”

Harry clears his throat when Nick knocks on the door as he’s opening it, sing-songing his arrival through the laughter of the couple guests who had already arrived. It smells incredible, your apartment. A mixture of home and something else that he’d come to learn as your own unique scent wraps around Harry, and he instantly feels at ease. Following his friend’s suit, he kicks off his boots and lines them up neatly by the door, causing Nick to chuckle at his politeness.

“Always the gentleman,” he chortles, wrapping his arm around his best friend’s shoulders.

Harry chooses not to respond and instead lets himself be lead into the kitchen by Nick, where you’re carefully pulling a standing rib roast out of the oven like some sort of domestic goddess straight out of a housewares magazine.

“See?” Nick elbows Harry. “Told ye’ she can cook.”

Harry takes a second to eye your kitchen. He can appreciate how you’ve mixed the industrial feel of the appliances with the dark marble countertops, the white cabinetry bringing the room together in a way that he’d come to know as your personal style. You had a bowl of assorted fruit on the island, along with a bouquet of what looked like real flowers placed in the middle of the table that occupied the breakfast nook in the corner. He remembers reading about how you swapped counter clutter out for a simple bowl or vase when it came to your own kitchen, preferring to have your workspace clear for all of the cooking you did. It was in one of those articles that you had up on your website - one of the spreads that tried to get more personal than you were willing be - and he takes a second to remind himself not to mention how closely he’d been studying you over the holiday.

“Hi!” you grin, quickly pulling off your oven mitts and tossing them on the counter. “The man of the hour!”

“Didn’t ‘ave to go through all of this for lil ol’ me!”

“Oh, yes I did,” you laugh. “It’s not everyday one of your best friends is on the biggest show of the year!”

You kiss Nick on both cheeks, holding his face in between your palms. Harry looks on as you pull him in for a tight embrace, rubbing your fingers across the back of his neck and tucking your face into his shoulder. And, yeah, Harry will admit that it stings a little when all you do is grace your cheek against his and give a half-hug to greet him, instead of the obviously warm greeting you’d provided Nick.

“How was home?” you ask Harry. “End up getting Mum something special, then?”

He’s surprised, to say the least, that you remember whatever he was rambling about at Nick’s impromptu dinner party he’d met you at. He looks at you, your bare feet charming against the dark hardwood floors of your kitchen, your toenails painted a holiday red to match the mood. Your cheeks are a bit flushed, probably from the pressures of hosting, but you look refreshed and happy. Harry can’t help but want to kiss you, not only for remembering your previous conversation, but for looking so damn good in a simple pair of black jeans and a cream-colored blouse.

“Yeah,” he nods. “She loved it.”

“I’m glad,” you smirk, patting his shoulder before reverting your attention back to Nick.

Harry grumbles to himself in his head as he follows you and Nick, linked arms and all, into your living room. A pat on the shoulder? You might as well be wearing a chastity belt with a sign that read, “Anyone but Harry Styles!” in bold black letters pinned to your front. He hadn’t a chance with you - not a single one - so he might as well just give it up now. Throw in the towel and never look back.

When he enters the living room, three people he doesn’t know look up, including a clean-cut man who introduces himself as Cam. As he’s shaking everyone’s hand, he can’t help but notice the familiar scent of cinnamon enveloping the room. He scans the area until he spots it - a Diptyque candle lit in the center of your coffee table.

“You know about Diptyque?” he asks, not paying any mind to whatever conversations may have been going on around him. “They’re my favorite!”

“They’re the best,” you nod. “Can I get you something to drink? Stocked the bar…”

While you fix Nick and Harry their requested drinks - vodka soda for the older one and straight whiskey for the boy - Harry inspects your living room, noticing your vintage tour posters from the likes of Pink Floyd and the Eagles, tastefully framed and hanging on the largest wall of the room. He wondered if you just liked the look of the art or if you actually listened to the bands. Figuring you weren’t the type to choose something like a tour poster just for the aesthetic of it, he ponders your possible music tastes. The large bookcases that fit into the wall like they were made for it - were they? - house more books than Harry had ever seen in a home. A full set of encyclopedias, dictionaries, and every other periodical imaginable rests upon the shelves, and Harry enjoys picturing you delicately opening each atlas and planning on where to travel next. Humming, he sits down next to Nick on the plush velvet sofa that’s decorated with a bounty of throw pillows.

“Love the new rug,” Nick comments, running his sock-clad feet over the high-pile material. “Where’s the old one! Said I wanted it when you were bored of it.”

“I’ve got it,” Cam, the well-dressed man speaks up from his spot on one of two armchairs. “She gave it to me, mate.”

“Figures she’d give you her rug before I got a chance at it.”

Harry is immediately envious when the three of you - Cam, Nick, and yourself - erupt in laughter. He smiles, accepting his whiskey from you with a nod and a small thanks, keeping a keen eye on Cam.

He settles into the couch, observing and listening, smiling and nodding whenever the conversation called for it. Normally, he was the center of attention. Normally, people looked to him to keep the conversation going. Normally, he didn’t have to feel awkward about not exactly knowing anyone. But, tonight was different. It was about Nick, and even though Harry had met you and a handful of the other guests who hadn’t shown up yet, he didn’t want to outshine his best friend in his moment of glory.

And, maybe...maybe he didn’t want to say anything that would embarrass himself in front of you.

You seem to be the perfect host, putting out a charcuterie board with beautiful meats, cheeses, and chutneys to occupy the guests who continue to arrive - the final number totalling twelve, by Harry’s count. You have a propensity to please, sitting on the arms of the couches and armchairs instead of fully settling in, offering to refill everyone’s drinks without coming across as pushy. You stock the platter with more options whenever it was looking sparse, encouraging everyone to eat more, as eating a fancy meat and cheese plate by yourself would be too depressing to bear.

When you announce that dinner is ready, everyone begins to move to the dining room as you apologize for having to split up the party - you don’t have a table big enough to sit thirteen, so some guests will have to sit at the smaller breakfast nook in your kitchen while the majority of guests will be sat at the large dining table.

“Loo?” Harry whispers to Nick, and he points down the hallway in response. “Thanks. Be right back.”

He knocks on the door, frowning when he finds it occupied. He leans against the opposite wall, picking at his nails while he waits. You appear at the other side of the corridor, stopping abruptly in front of another doorway, gripping the wooden frame to pause and look at Harry in question.

“Occupied,” he smiles, pointing to the closed bathroom door.

“You can use the one in my bedroom,” you point in front of you.

“Oh,” Harry stutters, walking forward and then stopping himself. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course,” you nod, beckoning him over. “Just in here to the right,” you indicate with your hand, stepping aside so he can enter the room.

He thanks you quietly, noticing as he closes the door that you leave the room to give him privacy. He takes his time scanning the small powder room, noticing how organized it is, with your toiletries lined up neatly and the hand towels folded perfectly. He smiles at the small Diptyque candle next to your hand cream, this one rose-scented instead of the cinnamon fragrance that was burning in your living room. When he washes his hands, he takes note of how soft the towels are and how lovely the soap smelled. He flicks off the light, stepping back into your bedroom, smelling the lingering aroma on his hands.

Before he heads back to the party, he walks into your room, inspecting the details of your life. Yet again, a candle is lit on your dresser - pomegranate, now - next to a small vase of fresh flowers. He’d seen fresh flowers in your living room and kitchen, as well. He wondered if you always had real bouquets around, or if you’d wanted them for the party. He hopes it’s the former as he pictures you walking into a small flower shop every Monday, excited as you pick out a new arrangement for the week, thanking the florist you were on a first-name basis with.

A small stack of books occupies your nightstand, causing Harry to smile at the thought of you not being able to decide which one to read first. A pair of glasses sits on top of them, and he questions what you look like with them on. Do you need them only to read, or do you wear contacts during the day, switching them out for your glasses at night? Your bed looks comfortable - too comfortable - and for a moment, Harry allows himself to imagine what it would be like waking up next to you under the delicate white linens, your warm body stretching out against his own while you convince him to stay under the covers for a bit longer...

Whiskey serving as his bravery, he steps further into your room and stands in front of the vast bookcases that were clearly custom-built. Matching the shelves in your living room - save for the white-washed wood instead of the deep cherry that was in the hub of your apartment - he smirks as he inspects the items you’d placed upon display with intent. Not only were the shelves filled with books of every size, color, and genre, you’d also integrated frames sporting pictures of you and your friends or family, along with other mementos from your life.

He looks over those frames, trying to get a feel of who was most important to you. It seems as though you had siblings - maybe a sister and a brother. There’s a picture of you and what looks to be a younger version of yourself on either side of a tall man who shares your smile, all in front of a Christmas tree. Had the picture been taken back in Devon? He hopes he’d eventually become close enough to you to find out who everyone in each picture was. Maybe even be featured in a couple, if he’s lucky enough.

“Like what you see?” your voice coming from behind startles him. Lightly grasping his chest, he turns around and hopes his skin doesn’t look too flushed. He’d been caught.

“Don’t think ‘ve ever seen so many books outside of a library before,” Harry saves himself, pointing towards the bookshelf as if he needed evidence.

You speak briefly about your collection, knowing that it probably isn’t healthy to have so many books, especially when it was time to move. But, you’d said, they were a comfort. And you had read most of them. Some were there just because they were a good deal or they were gifted to you. You’d tried to get rid of some, you explained to Harry, but they had become an extension of your home - almost like they were a permanent fixture - so you’d kept them, regardless of how much space they took up.

“And you always have fresh flowers?” Harry inquires. “Or is it just for the party?”

“Always,” you smile. “Don’t think a room is complete without them, really. The florist down the way from my shop - his name’s Raul - he always gives me a good deal.”

Of course he does, Harry thinks to himself. Must have everyone under your spell.

“C’mon,” you motion your head towards the door. “Let’s get some meat on those bones.”

Dinner begins and Harry is unsurprised to find that everything is delicious. He’s sat at the larger table with Nick while you sit in the kitchen next to Cam. He’s almost thankful that he can’t see the two of you from his position, but every now and then, he’ll hear your distinct bubbly laughter which causes a pang in his chest. He’s not the one getting such a reaction out of you.

But did he even have the right to?

After dinner, once everyone is settled back into the living room to watch Nick on the television, you busy yourself with making tea and coffee for everyone. You pop up from your position on the couch during a commercial break, nearly running into the kitchen so you can quickly return to the party without missing any of the show.

“Need any help?” Harry peeks his head into the kitchen, endeared with how quickly you’re plating small pastries onto a ceramic tray.

“Yes!” you sigh, thankful for his offering. “Could you grab a spoon out of that drawer?” you point vaguely with your elbow, your hands preoccupied with petit fours.

He nods, opening the wrong drawer, hearing you audibly wince from behind him. You quickly wipe your hands on the tea towel next to you, placing soft hand on Harry’s shoulder while you reach to open the proper drawer.

“Now you know one of my dirty little secrets,” you smirk, winking at him as you pull a spoon from the cutlery drawer. “Everyone’s got one, yeah?”

He doesn’t know whether you’re talking about a dirty secret or the junk drawer, but he agrees anyway, as the only thing he’s able to properly focus on is how good you smell. You’d only been pressed up against him for a millisecond, but he’d give nearly anything to feel you that close once more.

It might be the drinks he’s consumed over the last couple of hours, or it may be your perfume completely mystifying him, or even all of the blood rushing to his crotch that he hopes to god you don’t notice, but Harry somehow gains enough courage to ask you - right then and there - to work with him on decorating his new house. Neglecting the fact that the house wasn’t even technically his yet, he blurts out the request, hoping that his broker is cinching the deal on the new property as he speaks.

“Sure, sure,” you nod, licking a bit of cream off of your thumb. “Call the store and Megan will take care of you. Set up an appointment and all that,” you slide past him and rifle through your junk drawer, which is less of a junk drawer and more of an organized catch-all. “Here’s my card.”

And while Harry is somewhat disappointed you didn’t give him your personal cell phone number, you’re professional, and he respects that. You’d had no indication that he was looking for something more than an interior designer, and if he’d learned anything during his time off, it was that he should take what he can get, in terms of most things.

Nick runs the rest of the evening, giving the party guests the play-by-play of what happened during commercial breaks. Harry’s proud of his friend - he can tell that he’s comfortable in this setting of people Harry has never met, which opens up another side of Nick he’d never seen before. A tasteful, more refined side, and Harry decides that it’s all because of you, whether that’s true or not.

Cam stands up almost immediately after the show is finished, announcing that he was in for a long day tomorrow. He shakes Nick’s hand and gives him a pat on the back before bidding goodbye to Harry. Harry sticks out his hand, noticing that Cam hadn’t offered his own first, and tells him that it was nice to meet him. The conventional man smiles and nods his head but doesn’t say anything in response - no, “You too, Harry.” or, “Likewise, mate.”

It ruffles Harry’s feathers a bit, although he’s not certain why.

He watches as you say goodbye to Cam on the outskirts of the party, but thanks to Nick’s boisterous cackling, he can’t hear the entire conversation. He does, however, catch Cam’s question of, “Still on for coffee tomorrow?” with a confirmation from you, followed by a kiss on the cheek and a tight squeeze, your head tucking into his shoulder.

With fully-ruffled plumes, Harry turns away from the intimate exchange and pretends to follow whatever topic the conversation had turned to. It’s a strange feeling for him - jealousy, was it? - and he’s not quite sure how to handle it. He certainly had no right to feel this way. No claim was made upon you by him, and you had definitely not staked one on him.

But, there was an undeniable pit in his stomach, indicating that he wanted that right. Harry wanted to be allowed to feel jealous. He wanted to be wary of every straight man within the tri-city area because he knew what a great catch you are and you were all his. He wanted to put his arm around your waist when he found others staring at you, wondering if they had a shot. He wanted to be the one to kiss you goodnight and confirm plans for coffee the next morning. He wanted to know whether your coffee order was contingent on the weather, or if you got the same drink year-round.

He wanted to be in Cam’s place, even if the man didn’t have the ability to be polite to someone he’d just met.

“Ready to go?” Nick asks him an hour later, after you’d begged them not to help you clean up, instead offering to make them another drink along with some light conversation.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. His desire to stay in your apartment any second longer had left as soon as he saw the way you laughed at whatever Cam had whispered in your ear.

And even though Harry had no right to be jealous - even though he barely even knew you, save for the glimpse into your world he received from looking at your bookshelves - he wanted to know you. He’d not felt anything resembling what he’d felt that night for, quite frankly, years.

As Nick thanks you for the party, giggly and clearly intoxicated, a book on the shelf next to Harry catches his eye. He thumbs the binding, tilting his head to read the title. A Little Life. He carefully removes the large novel, running his palm over the agonized face of the man on the cover.

“Have you read that?” you ask once Nick has successfully put his shoes on.

“No,” Harry shakes his head, looking up. “Been meaning to, though. My sister read it last year and wanted me to, but I never got around to it.”

“It’s one of my favorites,” you raise your eyebrows.

“One of hers, too,” he smiles, flipping through some of the pages. “Can I…”

He stops himself, not knowing if he knew you well enough to be borrowing your favorite books. But, then again, he was going to be seeing you a lot after he makes the appointment, so he looks up and gains momentum from your inquisitive smile.

“Would you mind if I borrowed it?”

“Of course,” you nod. “Just be sure to tell me what you think of it.”

His heart jumps in his chest with the certainty that yes, he will be seeing you again and yes, you will have something to talk about other than paint samples and cabinet finishes. He can hardly wait to get home and begin reading, picturing how excited you’ll look as you talk about your favorite parts in one of your most-loved books, maybe even over a cappuccino in a small cafe.

Tucking the book underneath his arm, he leads his best friend out of your apartment, waving goodbye to you with a knowing smile as Nick babbles on about one thing or another in slurred words, the alcohol he’d consumed making his accent thicker than usual.

“How well d’you know Cam?” Harry asks Nick as he drives away from your building.

“New friend,” he shrugs, tapping his fingers against the door.

“Mmm,” Harry gives a short nod.

“Why?” Nick hiccups.

“Wasn’t all that nice,” he shrugs.

“Nice t’me.”

“Well, she deserves someone who’s nice t’everyone,” Harry tries to mask his contention with a cough, running his index finger under his nose as he furrows his brow.

“‘arry,” Nick groans, running his hands down his face. “Ye’ really want ‘er that bad?”

“Why’re you yelling?” Harry avoids his best friend’s concentrated gaze as he turns a corner, speeding up as he drives down the less-crowded side street.

“Scale o’ one-to-ten.”

“‘m not gonna scale it.”

“Do it!”

“‘m not going to scale it,” Harry repeats, more forcefully this time. Sure, he introduced the two of you, but he had no right to demand such information out of him. Harry didn’t owe anything to Nick, regardless of how close the two of them were.

“Thought ye’ didn’t like ‘er.”

“I don’t,” the green-eyed driver frowns.

“Then why does it matter if Cam is nice to e’ryone or not?” Nick slurs.

“I don’t ‘av to like her to think she deserves t’be with someone nice.”

Nick’s quiet then, mulling over the thought of Harry concerning himself with the man you wind up with. Harry will be the first to admit that it looks suspicious - his want for you to be with someone respectful and kind - but even if he didn’t have a certain keenness for you, he would still want you to end up with a man who was pleasant on all accounts.

That’s just the kind of person Harry was.

“Issat why ye’ asked for th’ book?” Nick chortles, slapping his hand down on the center console. “‘Cause y’wanted t’ see ‘er again?”

“‘m gonna see her again without the book,” Harry clears his throat. “Made plans to meet with her for m’new house. Thinking she’s going to be th’ right fit.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Nick shakes his head. “Sure is gonna be th’ right fit.”

Harry makes a point of not saying much else for the rest of the drive, answering Nick with sounds and one-word answers rather than anything incriminating that he could use against him in the future. He shakes his head as he watches his friend fumble with the keys to his front door, waving wildly at him from the threshold while Harry drives away.

On the way back to his place, he replays the evening in his mind, wondering if he should’ve done anything differently. It had ended well, save for the exchange between you and Cam. What had he said that made you laugh so beautifully? Would Harry ever be able to elicit such a sound from you? He wonders, with a wrinkle in between his eyebrows, if he should’ve been more charming - he should’ve made more jokes, he should’ve been more insistent on helping you clean up the mess from dinner...he shouldn’t have snooped.

His house is dark when he arrives, the lack of light only magnifying how empty it was; how very much alone he was. He fantasized about how easy it would be to come home to you, lounging on his couch and telling him that you’d saved some dinner for him. He’d kiss the top of your head before walking into the kitchen, shouting to you over his shoulder, questioning about how your day had gone.

As he gets ready for bed, Harry recalls the hug you gave him goodbye, reminding him to call your office to set up an appointment. He memorized the way your cheek felt against his and how you squeezed his bicep before stepping away.

He could tell, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he’d already become addicted to that feeling. That want. That need. And he was looking forward to getting to know it very, very well.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurbs #harry styles concepts #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you

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tamiddyinyourcity · 5 years ago

Text

12:19am.

Good morning to those of you who are just waking up right now.

Monday, April 6th of 2020.

Feeling a little off tonight.

I guess just reflecting on things with my ex earlier had me feeling a certain way.

Just remembered that time we listened to Shes a Big Boy in his livingroom, with him laying ontop of me on his couch.

I think this was the song I listened to a lot when we first broke up, too. It was a nice ambiance, with the rainstorms that winter and everything.

It's grooving, sexy, and also a little somber as well.

A nice, slow vibe for a nice easygoing night, relaxing, letting go of some inhibitions with some wine or something nice, like.... chili cheese fries. God, I miss those. Those were delicious.

.....

Thinking about the baby photos of him in his livingroom too.

He was a weird looking preteen. Its odd, seeing the photos of him with a bowl cut.... I don't know how to describe the creepy expression he makes in his youth photos, but..... its just creepy.

He and his brother turned out attractive as hell, so whatever. Its just kinda funny, knowing that Patrick had a bit of an ugly duckling phase. His isn't as bad as my puberty was, but compared to the photo of him taken at 19.... All I could do was wonder, "How the fuck did you go from this to this?"

He really grew into his jawline and found flattering angles for him, I guess, but its a shocker. (His brother also was funny looking with a teeth gap, bowl cut, and very beady far apart eyes..... then he still turned out hot. They sure the fuck know how to turn lemons into lemonade, dont they?)

This isn't relevant to the thoughts I've been having tonight, but, its still worth mentioning. Wanted to get both of those facts off my chest for awhile now. (That Patrick was a funny looking child, the type that would get pushed into swimming pools, or one would steal pokemon cards from; and that his brother was hot as hell. Not like I'd hit on his brother, just saying....)

Also, I should unfollow his brother..... someday?

Whatever.

And his baby pictures, he was an oddly adorable child. I don't know, something kinda adorable about seeing the pale, big forehead, squinty eyed man you've come to adore, in his squinty eyed, plush cheeked baby phase.

It's trippy. It's always weird, seeing how someone looked as a baby, and grew up... Patrick looks the same, just like, adult mode. He went from cute lil baby taking adorable photos with his mom with an adorable grin, to a goddamned hippie that has an adorable grin and super stupid fucking lack of skills in the relationship department--

Anyways.

Whatever.

Cute baby.

And, idk, seeing baby photos of the guy I like does make my thoughts race a little. (A LITTLE, as in as slow as a car being pushed by three toddlers on low fucking gas.)

Like, "Oh, so thats how he looked as a baby.... I was a cute baby too.... If we collabed on a kid, then, what would it look like?"

It's not me actually considering a baby at 19, just a childish daydream. But, its not out of the question either, to wonder what a situation would be like in the instance that a guy you're monogamously seeing might one day have a slip with a condom, or might not pull out fast enough, you know? (Thank god he only wore condoms, he already nutted too damn fast with those...)

Even with Other Patrick, it came up the first time we had sex. There was a small incident, and so to resolve the small incident, a very small morning after pill had to be taken. He was more emotional about it than me, but he was very mature and considerate about it as well, to make sure I wasn't going to feel any guilt over it.

And we talked about it. If the hypothetical did happen. He mentioned leaning towards an abortion, and when I said "Oh hell yeah, most definitely", (since I wasn't gonna throw away my career and hourglass figure away for nothing,) he snugly sidled up against me and said "Yeaaaaaah, cause yknow, I ain't tryna have no kids anytime soon. I'm not quite ready to be a dad yet, hehe."

Then he was pretty taken aback to hear me say that if I was going to raise a child, I'd probably prefer to be a single mother than to have a guy around.

(I've grown out of this mindset, but hey, pick your jaw up off of the floor and listen.)

He sat up and asked why, clearly never hearing a girl say she'd want to raise a child on her own BY CHOICE. I basically said that I'd be too annoyed at the idea of any excess bullshit from a man I'm not married to, (baby mama drama, side chicks, abandonment, abuse, a lack of financial stability, a potential stepmother that could hurt my damn child,) and more... and that I'd much rather be the one to raise me and my kid to a level of safety and security in the world, since I'd trust myself most than any random guy I'd hook up with.

He was kinda accepting of it, but still let me know, "Well, if I ever did have a kid with a woman, then.... *nothing* could ever physically stop me from being with my child", putting his head against my neck and his arms around my waist in the bed.

......

Sweet guy.

Patrick #2 had a similar opinion. That even if I was pregnant, then I should at least give the man room to support the kid, especially financially, since it's the man's duty to take care of his kid. (I appreciate both of their maturity about it.)

Child support is fine, but if the father of my kid is dangerous, or would make my kid vulnerable, no way in hell would they be around them. (But otherwise, yeah, ideally I'd wanna be married first.... or not have kids for a very very very very long time.)

......

Anyway.

Patrick #1, I recall, was always a bit on edge. I don't know what he was so nervous for; I'm much too.... *not of fully sound mind* to have a child, and barely ate enough back then as is. He was BOLD to assume I'd want his children. (That soon, at least...)

I literally remember his mom showing me his baby photos, (seeing a 6 ft tall athletic ass man with abs of steel and biceps that could crush melons, back when he had chubby cheeks and plump little hands, is.... adorable,) and when I aaaawwwwed, and commented on how cute his baby photos were... Nigga must've had a Thats So Raven style flashback, since he just paused and said, "Can we focus on something else please?"

And a few other moments of asking his mom pregnancy related questions. (NOT FOR ME! WE WERE TALKING ABOUT HER FAMILY!)

I naively asked, "What would you say was the most challenging thing about childbirth for you?", when she brought up raising her sons as young boys and the surgery and all that.

And he gave me such a look across the kitchen, incredulously....

It was either:

1) why the fuck you wanna know?

2) tamia, did you forget that my mom had a miscarriage before?

It was both, but his mom was completely calm about it... I apologized profusely for even asking something like that and forgetting her past, and she accepted it.

Theeeeen when she eventually finished the breakfast gossiping and left to her room, Patrick got on my case, all paranoid I was gonna want to bear his kids??????? "What a straaaaange question you asked my MOM about there.... not like you'd be needing to know any questions for that now, though, hmmm?"

Moral of the story: don't have raw sex with girls who aren't on birth control, if you're gonna be paranoid every time she says a baby photo is cute, or talks to your mom about your childhood.....

Yikes.

But... I do wonder sometimes.

I'm pretty good at picking guys. I pick the smart and empathetic ones, or at least the logical ones who have a little bit of soul inside of them. I pick the type of guys to pay for a Plan B and that would discuss a gameplan for a pregnancy, not the types that would disrespect me, then dip if I ever had gotten pregnant. (Even if a nigga tried, the courts would GET HIS ASS, ASAP.)

I guess its just... yknow, one never knows where relationships lead. My most serious relationships came from guys I thought weren't gonna last. The relationships that started with high hopes ended with low notes. One cant predict things.

I've read so many stories about how one fling or text or accident lead to them meeting "the love of their life", or them being friends, and then a short fling, before suddenly the fling goes on longer than one would have thought.....

Then next thing you know, they simply continue.

And then oh look, the guy you meet at an ice cream shop ends up becoming your millionaire hunk husband that you raise five kids thirteen dogs and two kids with and live on your luxury yacht, traveling all of Europe.

(Once again, a daydream.)

Or how short term relationships resulted in marriages, or co-parenting, or super cute kids that turn out to be pyromaniacs and torment everyone in your local housing community. (Awww, imagine if they had MY eyes! Awww, beautiful!)

.....

Just kinda sad, yet wholesome too.

Having a crush and doing the typical "what if we... ended up serious... and we had kids... and had a life together years from now? haha just kidding haha...... unless? ;)" thought process to myself is nice.

And it only gets sad post breakup, when you have to mentally rip up any embarrassing daydream about a fuckboyish asshole being the hypothetical "someone" you'd spend the rest of your life with, some day.

So alas, sadly, I will not be having my ideal future with the last nigga I dated. As cute as a daydream as it was, it just couldn't be a reality due to the way things had gone down with him.

And alas, Patrick #1 isn't gonna be the hot husband with a 7/8 inch schlong to pipe me down on the beaches of Hawaii and Italy someday. (Does Italy even have beaches, though?)

Its a little sad knowing how many times I've had the highest of hopes and fantasies with someone, just for things to end at the mildest inconvenience due to them not seeing any of the same potential or actual respect inside of the relationship as me....

But whatever.

1:13am. I'll have my ideal suburban or beautiful Parasite style life with a daughter of my own someday, in a beautiful environment.

Whether or not the guy I crush on and idealize that fantasy with is around or not.... even if he leaves, my ideal family and life stays.

So, I see why I wanted to be a single mother.

I'd rather work for a comfortable and beautiful life with a girl of my own to raise to her full potentiall, (or boy/nonbinary, if that happens, lol,) than to think anyone else could get that for me.

I can always just get a sperm donor.

Plus, if I did have a kid or get married, you think I'd need their toxic ass around, near me and my child, ruining my life with them?

Hell the fuck naw.

Manifesting a beautiful life for myself as we currently speak.

Gonna go to sleep. Peace out.

#yalls #me

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