#thinking about people I don’t know and relatives I’ll never meet being sad feels like being stabbed

[pixlmonkeys]

with no exaggeration being hyper empathetic is one of the worst things to happen to me

[frvnkcastles]

Hi!! I read that you write for traumatized girlies so here I am, i don’t know if you’d like to write about other people’s experiences but I’ve never read anything about this and it’s sad because I can’t relate to any of the fics I love with Frank. So basically after being sa multiple times I developed sensory issues, specially with touch. Some fabrics feel like I’m being trapped, and specially, and this is the ‘request’ I don’t like how some skins feel like. It’s not about them being dry or soft or oily, I don’t even understand my brains criteria to decide I don’t like how someone’s skin feels on mine, so I don’t touch anyone ever, I wear gloves like that mf Kaz Brekker and that makes me very touch starved, and when I find someone who’s skin feels good, I’m clingy asf. So maybe frank is friends with reader and she realizes she likes how he feels? And he likes her but knows about what happened to her and was waiting for confirmation to finally touch her?

ONE MORE TASTE ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You don’t like being touched… until Frank comes along.

Warnings: MENTIONS OF S*XUAL ASS*ULT, sensory issues, alcohol, language, fluff and TENSIONNN

Word count: 2.1k

Author’s note: I hope you like this anon! I apologize for how long it took me to finish, but I’m really happy with how it turned out. I didn’t follow every detail (gloves aren’t mentioned) but I hope it meets your expectations nonetheless. Thank you so much for sharing your story with me <3

Frank liked to think he was relatively perceptive. Yet, despite inexplicably finding himself in the same room with you more often than he had anticipated, it took him all of 58 days to figure you out.

He could, of course, blame it on the fact that he wasn’t particularly touchy or handsy. Not enough to make you uncomfortable, anyway. When he had first met you through Matt who had insisted on introducing the two loneliest people he knew to one another, he had been holding a beer bottle and you were awkwardly fiddling with your dress — therefore, no handshake ever took place. And if anyone was respectful of personal space, it was Frank.

Still, he began to notice how you leaned away from him whenever he threatened to come closer. How everyone else hugged their friends, gave high-fives, just casually brushed hands… Just the slightest of touches occurred every day, every second, and you seemed to be missing out on all of it.

Get your shit together, Castle, he told himself, why are you obsessin’ over this like some fuckin’ creep? Maybe, he was just overthinking it, imagining things, fixating on how pretty your hands were and how he suddenly regretted not going for that handshake.

Then, one night, you were having a drink with Frank at his favorite bar, and none other than Curtis Hoyle happened to round the corner, slapping a hand on Frank’s shoulder as he greeted the man. ”Hey, man. Missed you at the group yesterday”, Curtis noted with a disapproving look, and chuckling, Frank scratched the back of his neck.

”Yeah, I, uh, I’ll make it to the next one. Promise”, he pursed his lips in a narrow smile before gesturing between you and his friend. ”Oh, this is Curtis”, Frank introduced him before giving your name to Curt, who reached out with his hand.

You nearly flinched, withdrawing into yourself while giving the two men an apologetic smile. ”Sorry”, you spoke in a timid voice, ”I—I have… a thing.” The worst explanation anyone had ever heard, but it was good enough for Curtis to back off, his hands lifted up in defense.

”Hey, that’s cool. I’ll leave you two to it. It was nice to meet you”, he smiled at you, and sheepishly, you returned the favor.

When he was gone, you squeezed your eyes shut and dropped your head against the bar counter. Frank frowned, but held back the urge to place a hand on your back, supposing that while he didn’t quite understand, he could still respect whatever was going on.

”You okay, sweetheart?” he asked quietly, genuine concern on his face as he eyed you up and down. His heart ached for you, and he goddamn hated the uselessness of his presence, the way he didn’t know what to do to make it better.

”I don’t know how to… how to even begin to explain”, you chuckled dryly, casting a look down at your hands, trembling ever-so slightly.

Frank licked his lips and leaned against the counter. ”Hey, I got all night. I ain’t sayin’ you owe me anythin’, but if you wanna talk about it… I got two good ears right here”, he offered, and with a look up at him, you seemed to review just how serious he was. A lot of people claimed to be open and willing to listen, but as soon as you shared, you could feel an irreversible shift in the air. But Frank? He stared right back at you, not faltering under your scrutiny, his hand wrapped around his beer as he waited for you to start.

”Okay, but you asked for it”, you warned him, earning a chuckle from him.

”I can handle it, sweetheart.”

You shrugged. ”Well, I won’t beat around the bush. I was sexually assaulted. Ever since then, I just… don’t experience touching the same way. Sometimes it’s different types of fabrics making me feel… trapped, I guess, but it’s people, too. I can’t tell what it is, why I can’t stand the feeling of some skin types, so I just… don’t touch anyone, ever”, you began to explain, glancing at your hands and then back at Frank to see if he was showing any signs of regret.

But he wasn’t. He was leaning in, listening attentively with his head tilted to the side and his eyes transfixed by you, not an ounce of judgment visible on his rough features. In that moment, he looked only kind and understanding, not even a little bit intimidating. Safe.

”That must be tough”, he muttered, sucking in a breath, ”you need me to take care of anyone, you just say the word.” You could see the clench in his jaw, and you swallowed, supposing that underneath the kindness directed at you was a whole lot of Punisher waiting to be unleashed.

”I’ll consider it”, you pursed your lips together in a weak smile, ”thank you, Frank.”

You waited a moment before speaking up again. ”So, you’re not… weirded out? Think I’m too much trouble than I’m worth?” you queried, unsure if you even wanted the answer, but before you had the chance to regret asking, Frank had spoken up.

”No.” He was direct and honest, not a hint of doubt in his raspy voice. ”Nah, you’re fine, sweetheart. Everyone responds to trauma differently, y’know? I’m a livin’ example. And it ain’t like you can choose to feel a certain way, yeah? It is what it is”, he shrugged before inching his hand towards yours, not enough to close the distance and touch you but enough to imply he wanted to.

”Don’t mean I ain’t a lil’ disappointed, though”, he whispered, and with your heart beating rapidly in your chest, you nodded.

”Me too”, you spoke shakily, wanting so badly to just be like any other person and shake his hand. Caress his cheek. Hug him, kiss him…

Dismissing the tension between you by pulling away and chuckling, you gestured for the bartender and then flashed a smile at Frank. ”Well, I say we get a few more drinks”, you cleared your throat, and lifting an eyebrow, Frank grinned at you.

”That usually work?” he asked before finishing his beer, and well-aware that it usually only amplified the need for human contact, you just gave Frank a smile that spoke on your behalf.

A few drinks turned into many more, and your conversation with Frank didn’t seem to have an ending in sight. Being with him felt so natural, so effortless — maybe it was the fact that there was no elephant in the room anymore, and you opening up got him to do the same for you.

Only when the bar closed, the two of you were practically kicked out, and still refused to leave each other’s side. ”I’mma walk you home. That alright with you?” Frank questioned while shoving his hands in his pockets, and breaking into a grin, you nodded.

It was mostly smooth sailing. But it seemed the drinks you had had were getting to your head, making it sway heavily, and before you knew it, you were stumbling on the sidewalk. You could laugh it off, until you finally tripped over air and flew towards the pavement, your body destined for impact if it wasn’t for Frank.

You found yourself reaching for him instinctively, and he didn’t hesitate to pull his hands out of his pockets and grab yours to keep you upright. Your fingers wrapped around his and he seemed to only be worried about you not falling flat on your face. You, on the other hand, panicked at the contact, and as soon as you were firmly planted on both feet, you withdrew from his touch and shoved your hands into your pockets with wide eyes.

”Oh, fuck”, Frank murmured as soon as he realized, ”hey, ’m sorry—”, but you cut off his apology with a rushed smile.

”It’s okay. It’s fine. Thank you for the help”, you insisted, and with a nod, Frank fell into silence.

In fact, silence was exactly what ensued between the two of you. He was getting wrapped up in guilt, sure that he had messed things up and broken your one very clear boundary. But you… you were trying to figure out why the feeling of his hands didn’t make you want to recoil in disgust. You wanted to touch him again.

You didn’t know how to express that in a way that didn’t sound too weird, though. But as soon as you reached your apartment building, you turned to face him before he could run off.

”Hey, wanna come inside for a while? I know it’s getting late, but…”, you offered, and before you could beat yourself up for the awkward line, Frank was nodding.

”Hell yeah, sweetheart. Lead the way.”

You were painfully aware of his taller frame behind you, making you fumble with your keys and only allowing you to breathe once you made it inside your apartment. You kicked off your shoes and took off your jacket, whereas Frank kept his on and simply wandered about the small space, inspecting all your little knick-knacks and decorations that made it truly you.

”Can I get you something to drink?” you asked with your nerves obvious in your voice, not to mention the fiddling of your fingers, which Frank noticed — just chose not to comment on.

He chuckled, though. ”Pretty sure we’ve drank plenty for the night, huh?” he pointed out while heading for your couch and gesturing for you to join him. ”Lemme clear the air. I didn’t mean to touch you like that, yeah? I apologize”, Frank went on, and with a swallow, you weighed your options. You could accept the apology and pretend like nothing had ever happened… but you knew that you’d always wonder.

”Actually”, you cleared your throat, ”can I do it again?”

It was obvious Frank was taken aback by your words. His eyes widened and his back straightened, but despite the moment of silence, he ended up bobbing his head in a nod. ”Yeah, ’course”, he spoke quietly, holding out his hand for you to take.

You only stared for a second, your stomach full of butterflies at the invitation right before your eyes, but eventually, you placed your smaller hand in his and gently squeezed. A smile broke onto your face as you brushed your thumb across the back of Frank’s hand, and Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, as well, enamored by the sight of you inspecting his scarred, calloused hand like it was the most fascinating thing you had seen.

Quietly, he moved but only to take off his jacket and roll up the sleeves of his button-up. You met his gaze curiously, and he simply gave you an encouraging nod, which was quite enough for you to trail your hand up his palm and across his strong forearm. He tensed under your touch and you swallowed at the veins protruding from his rough skin, but none of it was unpleasant. In fact, you were loving it.

”Can I touch you?” Frank whispered, husky and low, and quite enough to send a chill down your spine. You considered it for a moment, but agreed with a silent nod, one that wasn’t satisfactory to Frank. ”Need to hear you say it, sweetheart”, he noted, and with a shaky voice, you spoke up.

”Yes, please.”

Gently, Frank squeezed your hand before letting go and lifting his up to your cheek in a tender caress, his fingers soft and steady as he trailed down your jawline and to your neck. You closed your eyes and exhaled heavily, and without another thought, you let the words tumble out of your mouth.

”You feel so nice”, you confessed, and with a soft chuckle, Frank flashed a grin.

”Yeah?” he licked his lips. ”Shit, I’m real flattered, you know that?” he continued, and you could have sworn you could see him blush.

You hummed and took his hand again, choosing to be bold and interlocking your fingers. You sat there for a moment, just reveling in the feeling and the contact you hadn’t had in so long, and as you did, another realization dawned on you.

”You know this means I’m gonna be super clingy, right?” you pointed out, and snorting, Frank gave you a look.

”Pretty girl like you? Don’t sound like a problem to me, sweetheart. You just remember to tell me if it gets too much, aight? We’re doing this on your terms”, he reminded, and with a genuine smile spread across your lips, you nodded in agreement.

”You’ve got yourself a deal, Frankie.”

Mirroring your smile, Frank leaned down to give the back of your hand a careful kiss. ”Deal.”

[outofangband]

rambling/scattered thoughts at midnight about one of my least favorite topics; Morwen’s death

I will make an actually organized/elegant post but in the meantime

Feel free to skip over

Mentions of Canon death and suicide ahead

I will make a longer post when I feel up to it but I’m just mentally rotating Morwen’s death being seemingly non violent but at the same time utterly surrounded by the violence of decades (even the description of her right before, how she looks hunted!)

I think about how she flees from Glaurung twice and ends up in Brethil both times and the second time is to die, just as she implied would happen if she returned there from the first chapter.

I’m not entirely certain why but my brain connects that line about Brethil with Morwen’s seemingly calm declaration shortly before her death that she will die as the sun goes. Even though she is the only one of her family not to take their own life, it does sometimes read as her most strongly choosing to leave the narrative (this is not to say anything critical about the others obviously! Just something I was thinking)

There’s such a sense of fatalism and I don’t know which reading is more depressing to me; the fatalism of Morwen’s place as a character in a tragedy where ultimately so much of the fate of her and her family are decided by others or the fatalism of Morwen herself as a grieving and traumatized refugee, feeling the certainty of her death for as long as she can remember

And these things are not unconnected! They are intertwined just as Morwen’s pride is intertwined with her grief and trauma and certainty

Anyways I generally do try not to think about Morwen’s death because it makes me so so sad but I hope these rambling thoughts make sense and I’ll definitely add to them when I can

Two final notes:

I need to make a longer post specifically about this because I already brought it up once but it just devastates me how when Glaurung takes Niënor’s memory he takes any of the ways Morwen has tried to keep her culture or language or traditions alive in Niënor. Niënor loses all of that. (Along with memories of others living under occupation or after massive cultural destruction, songs of the Hadorians that Aerin would sing sometimes, memories of little drawings that relatives she could never meet did, etc)

Especially because Glaurung was instrumental in the destruction of Ladros I just find this so devastating

Oh and finally I think about Húrin’s line that Morwen was not conquered through the lens of her surviving of the Bragollach and the destruction of her people and culture. And the line in the Wanderings, “not even a wolf would do you more harm”. It kills me, just as it obviously kills Húrin, that no one can say this to Morwen until she is dead.

Anyways, screams

I wrote this up in like a minute and it definitely definitely shows but I hope to share my pain

[aidanyk]

I think a key contributor to the concept of “value” in my memories is the idea of scarcity, specifically how present something is in nature. I’ve thought about my own life - through my years of academics and music and hobbies and struggles and drama and stress - and realize that my core memories are products of events that I never expected to happen… ideas, thoughts, feelings, and effects that I didn’t expect to have the impact on me as they did. These moments of my life have been valuable, have shaped my personality, quirks, and values, and have been the moments that I still look back upon on nights like these… at 11:33 pm on a Thursday evening. And - as stated above - a common theme I’ve found is the common idea of scarcity… the short, fleeting supply of memories for which my character is built upon.

In my economics class, we’ve defined scarcity as essentially a lack of something - a short supply of a good attempting to meet the infinite demand of consumers around it. And thinking back to my own life, every core memory of mine has been one and done events: they’ve been random fever-dream like recollections in the back of my head, itching at my skull to be pulled apart and explored.

I remember fragments of these events throughout the years. A giant pancake shared between my family and I at the age of three at a random food cart somewhere in California. A tall tower of Christmas presents, presented to me in between the yells and foreign conversations of my old Chinese relatives. A walk with someone I used to know, in the middle of the snowy weather freshman year. A final calculus test, where I studied for over a week in order to secure a grade that didn’t matter in the long run. These events happened so long ago and so sparingly I barely remember the details of them - one sentence descriptions are difficult enough.

Yet what’s always stuck with me were not the specifics of every single moment, but the feelings they’ve invoked in me. The way I think back to moments with my family so fondly, remembering the pure euphoria I felt opening my pile of dollar store candy and clothes from my relatives. The way in which I now watch people’s dynamics in conversation, looking to see how people talk, feel, and think. The way in which l now walk alone, spending hours pondering about what to text people and what I would even say to some. These moments of my past are scarce. They don’t appear very often, and often disappear from my mind right as they appear. Yet they’re always weaved implicitly into my thoughts, acting as a roadmap in which I follow the path my heart and head create.

One memory in particular I still remember after all these years was a movie trailer I watched for a movie I don’t know of a movie I can’t remember the name of. I remember seeing vivid colors, dialogue that was beautiful. If I’m being honest, I’m frustrated, hating myself for not remembering the simple title of this story I’ve never seen. I don’t know the plot of it. I don’t know the characters. I don’t even really get the language. I barely remember any of it. But I remember the music. I remember the vivid colors and dialogue and score and theme that rang right from my old Samsung tv to my heart. And every now and then (like right now) I’ll remember it, and it evokes the same feelings of yearning and sadness all over again as the first time I watched it. You could call that W marketing.

I watched a tiktok today from American baron, who discussed the idea of things having value from only happening once. He discussed the idea of how living two lives would be boring, how one life of teenage years and careers and college and love and family and jobs is enough for one human being. He stated how one lifetime is more than enough. And although I fear death very much, I think I understand what he’s saying.

We’re human beings - individuals with complex thoughts, emotions, and feelings. And these memories in our lives that we find so valuable are the things that we hold so dearly to our chest… people and events and memories that we grasp onto for a fleeting moment, holding them close to our chest and pushing them close to our heart in an effort to never forget them. Yet these moments happen in this lifetime sparingly. That’s what makes them special. I don’t watch randomly emotional movie trailers every day or relive my old Christmas parties before Covid-19 or go on walks with my old friends anymore. Yet this rarity, this scarcity is what makes these moments and memories so special. It’s remembering them at 12:15 am on a Friday morning. It’s remembering the moments and friendships I’ve built over the past few years that have allowed me security in my social circle. It’s thinking about what I would do if I were to relive the 16 years of my life that had already happened, and it’s knowing that I only live once, and really only should live once. Why live life if it’s not full of scarce moments and resources? I guess that’s an oxymoron actually…

Anyways,

Gn :)

None of this shit makes sense but y’all are reading it anyways so

[maroonghoul]

Terror Time 2022: Days 26 thru 29

Home stretch! Here we go:

Abbot & Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948): One of the original Horror Comedies. I’m not sure if this is a Halloween staple for many people these days, due to it’s age. Not sure how much appeal this has for people who aren’t already fans of these incarnations of the three main movie monsters. A pseudo-parody film like this being the swan song of them should be embarrassing and sad. But while the humor is relatively solid for it’s day due Lou Costello’s over-top fearful reactions, it does this while not cheapening the monster by following the golden rule for all horror comedies after this; You can make it as funny as you like, but the horror itself is taken as a serious threat. 

That being said, the portrayals weren’t too perfect, if I’m being nitpicky. Larry Talbot’s inner turmoil is constantly jabbed, which even if you don’t believe he’s a werewolf, given how he carries himself in each scene, would you feel comfortable making jabs at his expense like Wilbur does? (Kinda worse in hindsight given the actor’s history of drinking)

Outside of the climatic chase, the Creature doesn’t do much other then rest and walk around at Dracula’s will. I know it’s the more marketable name, but it’s clear that Dracula is the mastermind and the more intelligent and powerful adversary. I’m not sure why he even chases them at the end, except that’s what he does at the end of every movie. Does electricity overload his brain and make him hostile to all around him? I’ll admit, the only Universal Frankenstein movies I’ve seen are the first three and this one, so I might be missing something. 

Another minor thing: the running gag that multiple women pursue Wilbur over Chick (though for ulterior purposes), is treated as weird by Chick...is that a bit fatphobic?

At this point in history, none of this is a deal breaker. It’s still a classic for the reasons I mentioned at the beginning. And whether comedic or not, scary or not, I’ll be happy having more and more films or specials with all the classic monsters in it. There’s always something magical about having them all there, as long as there is respect.

The Vigil (2019): A poltergeist story, though refreshingly, one based in Jewish horror rather then a Christian one. I don’t know how rather the Mazzik seen in this film is faithful to the lore, though given how it’s depicted in the film is menacingly enough. (You don’t see it’s face, it speaks through people the main character knows, etc.). 

In a way, I can see this as a compelling double feature with His House (2020), a film about a different culture but I feel tackles some of the same themes (generational trauma, the double-edged sword of assimilation, bigotry, ghosts symbolizing past sins, etc.).

And the last shot; I think it’s a sequel hook, more ambiguous then the jump scare variety I’ve seen, and the type I always want to see more of. I don’t know why the quiet ending is more unsettling for a horror film, but I like seeing a return of it.

Barbarian (2022): *SPOILERS*

The must-see horror movie of the year, or at least the past few months. I feel, though while it looks like a lot of horrors made over the past decade, reminded me in a few ways of the classics, both in old monster movies and Psycho, of all things. (might have to do with the bait-and-switch first act and the sudden death of the biggest name actor). 

We never get an answer to the Airbnb mix-up, though given our current climate, it might have been due to mundane incompetency after all. We DO get a lot of information on how all this was set up due to flash backs and suggestion (I appreciate that the fates of Frank’s victims were all kept offscreen, however horrific the implications were.). Given how it jumps back in forth like that, you could almost argue it’s the Pulp Fiction of horror movies.

AJ is a case of a more realistic and normal human villain/rapist, which in turn makes him and his thought process through all of this more scary and tragic (though not tragic enough to say he didn’t deserve what was coming to him). He’s just so ignorant and entitled to all he’s done, and what condemns him at the end isn’t that he’s done these things, but that he’ll continue to do them, even to a woman who’s done nothing but try and save him. After all, redemption and forgiveness are a nonstarter if he rather talk about it then do it.

I just find the thematic contrast between him and the Mother so fascinating. He’s constantly asking for sympathy despite ultimately unworthy due to rather taking short cuts rather then actually earn it. She, on the other hand, while looking and asking like a literal monster, it’s clear in her final moments how much sympathy we had for her after all. I mean, she’s the result of decades worth of inbreeding caused by a serial killer, not allowed to learn anything other then to be a mother. She’s practically had all kinds of misogyny thrown on her and cranked to 100. But, like with Frankenstein, because she violently lashes out, society gives her none, if it even acknowledges her existence. And like that and all other classic movie monsters, her end is not one of triumph but tragedy, having saved the woman from our male lead, arguably twice. I’ve seen horror movies flipped this script before, but with this, I feel we’re at the point where it can be done and we know why, without anyone hanging a lampshade.  All of that said and made believable with the looks instead of speeches, more then AJ’s jabbering ever could.

But that’s always been Horror’s real strength: It’s to the the point and knows when to put it’s money where it’s mouth is.

Zodiac (2007): I want to tread lightly here, given this was based on real events involving real people who died and who’s lives were ruined. But hey, better this then the new Dahmer show. At least with this, the actual person who’s killed actual people isn’t portrayed as worthy of any humanization or sympathy I don’t think this type of man should have. 

In fact, in here, the Zodiac might as well not be a character at all. He’s more of a wraith or a force of nature. Which would run the danger of making him seem “cooler” if it weren’t for the fact that it’s clear, if the film is completely accurate, it’s more lack of cohesion between all of the police departments then him actually being smarter then any of them. 

That’s sorta what makes Robert Graysmith’s journey in the last act of the film more noble, even if it’s clear he’s a very flawed human being; distracted and naïve to the point of putting himself in danger. He’s trying to make sure all the facts are together in one place finally. Though given the more we’re still learning about the Zodiac case, his final conclusion might not be the correct one. 

I ultimately see this movie as a story about three horrors one after another; first a homicidal madman (One who’s murder scenes actually stop relatively early in the movie), second is outdated system structures, and final is self-destructive obsession. In the end, the most any of us can do is find an answer that’s not complete, but one you can live with. Even Graysmith admits he can’t “catch” the Zodiac, but he wants to just look him in the face. Which, even if it turns out he didn’t, he believed it at the time, so it was a natural place for the story to end, at least before the bookend with Michael Mageau.

BTW: I did not plan to watch the movie about the real life serial killer that inspired Matt Reeves and Paul Dano’s version of the Riddler in the same year as that movie, but here we are. And I liked to believe that they were both equally pathetic human beings.

I got one last post and only three movies. If I don’t have it done before the end of tomorrow, I hope to finish my thoughts before the end of the week.

Thank you!

[eater-of-thoughts]

Tw: sh urges, abort!on, ss ideation, se>< and overall a shitty life

I just wanna start off by saying I’m not writing this to make anyone feel sorry for me. I don’t have any friends to talk to and I’m feeling incredibly lonely and sad. I need to take it somehow out of my system before I lose my mind.

Here goes nothing.

So on the 25 of dec 2022 I found out I have gastritis which was bad in and of itself, but than on 30th I found out I was pregnant and had to have an abortion since I’m 22 and barely managed to make ends meet. I’m in a 4 y committed relationship but we both agreed we couldn’t keep it. That was in my home country. I flown back to UK later that day. During the abortion they found a 5.5 cm big cyst on my left ovary and the doctor recommended that once I recover from the abortion I’ll have to come back and have that removed as well.

My partner is very supportive, but it became painfully clear that he does not fully comprehend my state of mind, even tho I did not want the baby at all, my hormones are all over the place and I feel like I’m losing my god damn mind. I can tell the lack of sex isn’t helping either.

I’m not even gonna start ranting about how terrible I was treated by the doctors and nurses or in how much pain I was during the whole procedures or that the doctor refused to give me a break when I was yelling in agony and begging him to stop.

Now I’m staring down at the surgery for the cyst and I found out there’s three small chances that, they’ll have to remove either one or both of my ovaries as they suspect it might be cancer. I’m beyond heartbroken and mortified of what’s to come. I’m not even mentioning the minimum 3 months of abstinence that will follow that procedure. At this point I’m too mentally exhausted to care about that. I care about my partner and how that’s gonna affect our relationship since we’re living together and have had regular sex over the last 4 years. I worry he won’t be able to put up with that since we already have to go through a month of absence due to the abortion and would ask to let him see other people to take it out of his system tho it’s not been mentioned yet.

I worry a lot… about the idea of cancer and being unable to ever have the big family I wanted. I worry our relationship it’s gonna go down the drain and that I’ll lose him. I love him from the bottom of my heart. I feel hopeless and my mental breakdowns make me wanna sh so badly. I considered walking off London Bridge on my way home from work today after I was sent home early due to a mental breakdown. If I lose him on top of everything I’ll have nothing.

I’ve got no close enough friends to talk to about this. The only person, apart from my partner, that I would’ve considered confiding in it’s going through a very very rough breakup herself and it’s struggling. I wouldn’t wanna burden her with this. The only person I can trust was my partner and after last night’s breakdown (3rd Jan) he said he can’t deal with them anymore as they are getting out of hand. Too much to handle I guess. The only people that know about this are the manager that saw the state I was in and offered a shoulder to cry on and my partner and parents. I just lost it in front of him (manager) and poured my heart out. I regret it so much. We had a very good relationship but I feel like the conversation we had changed his opinion over me tho he appeared supporting and understanding. I am not sure.

I’m now home alone, my partner won’t get home until the evening (as I write this it’s late morning). I told him what’s had happened at work, and that I was sent home. He’s a teacher. He can’t leave his work for this but I feel like I’ll end up sh at best. Doesn’t help that I also live in a skyscraper at a relatively high floor. The balcony it’s looking more and more appealing. I’ve never truly considered ss before. It’s always stayed at a “ideation” level. Where I wished I was unalived, and how much better it’d feel. Now it’s starting to look like a real option and it’s terrifying. I can’t stop thinking of how much it’d hurt him but in how much pain I am.

I don’t know how to end this… rant, I guess. I feel like nothing is worth the effort and energy. I feel like I’m gonna d!e anyway from some fucked up complication. In some way it feels comforting to know that if that’d be the case nobody can blame me for being too weak to deal with this shit. But I fear they’ll butcher me and my life will be completely ruined. I might update this as the situation develops and I feel like I can’t handle it. As I said, I don’t have people to confide in so writing my thoughts here feels somehow therapeutic as no distraction seems to manage to make my mind shut the fuck up.

I’m sorry.

[oddaodd]

· I Don't Go In For Sweets ·

Request: by a lovely anon "set after the events of season 3. Tommy can't handle the company, he's still grieving and he has to be there for Charlie so Polly tells him she knows a girl from a good family to get married He ends up agreeing (aunt Pol can be very persuasive) but even though he's married, this new girl isn't considered as a wife. He doesn't really make any effort but his "wife" understands, he's a widowed father who lost his first wife only a year ago. However since they are...in this, she wants to make her time as enjoyable as possible for the both of them and for Charlie too. But no matter what Tommy makes it a point of honor to not let her in, to not let her replace Grace so he ignores her, he works more, tries to spend as little as possible in the house. Reader stays patient, it will be alright and Charlie is making her quite busy anyway. One night, Tommy comes home completely drunk and maybe a bit high too, he can't even make it to his office. Thankfully Reader is still awake, she takes care of him and Tommy just...melts at how gentle Reader is, he may be able to keep his distant while sober but it's much harder in his state. He admits to her how he's been feeling and all. Ever since that night, something changed, Tommy feels some comfort, some solace being around her, she accepts him wholly, even his flaws, the bad side of his business and she tries to provide some sort of safe place for when it gets too hard." (I edited the request because it was very long, but I kept all essential parts in there)

Author’s note: I loved loved loved writing this and it ended up being SUPER long, but I’m very happy with how it turned out. As always, I hope you like it and have the loveliest of days!

Warnings: season 3 SPOILERS sort of, but not really, still read at your own risk. Arranged marriage, mentions of alcohol and drugs, angst.

·

“Thomas, you may not be able to see it, but you’re breaking apart” Polly spoke with a sigh as she lit a cigarette after everyone was dismissed from a family meeting.

Everyone had left Tommy’s office in arrow house rather gaily after receiving their fair compensations for partaking in the whole Russian ordeal, all except Polly, who remained where she sat, wishing for a word with her nephew

Tommy merely scoffed at her concern before lighting his own cigarette and taking a puff “I’ll be alright”

“And Charlie?” Pol pressed knowing Tommy’s mourning was not only affecting him, but Charlie as well. “What about him?”

“He’s fine” He said before turning around to look through the window, ignoring his Aunt’s heavy stare.

“You take too much after your mother” she sighed half angry half sad “she too loved pretending everything was alright and I don’t need to remind you where that lead her”

Tommy sighed deeply, he knew he could fool anyone. Anyone but Polly. “We’ll manage”

“Consider my offer” Polly said standing up and making her way to the door “Y/n is a good girl from a good family” she persuaded before leaving the room.

Tommy sighed at his Aunt’s words, he wasn’t ready to get married again even when he knew the woman he would be marrying was a nice one. He felt like he was spitting on Grace’s grave and he hated himself for even considering the prospect, but he knew a mother figure would be good for Charlie.

He spent the rest of the day pondering about Polly’s suggestion and remembering his own childhood in the shadow of the absent tortured presence that his mother had been. It didn’t take him long to decide he didn’t want that for Charlie, so that same night he phoned Polly.

“I’ll do it” was all he said before hanging up. There was no need for more words, Polly would know exactly what he meant.

Exactly a week later, Tom was standing in the altar of a church that was significantly smaller than the one from his first wedding. The fact that everything about this wedding was so obscenely different from his first did soothe his guilt a bit. And as he stood there he couldn’t keep his mind from traveling to the days leading up to his wedding to Grace. She had made sure everything was perfect and had made an effort to invite every single relative she could think of. She remembered her rambling on an on about fabrics, insisting that everything ought to be perfect when he in all honestly couldn’t care less, he just wanted to marry her.

All his thoughts vanished away with a poof when Y/n came into sight. And what a sight she was. She had insisted on doing her own makeup and on pinning flowers to her hair to compliment her headpiece and her elegant, yet simple white dress flowed almost mystically as her father gave her away. She had never imagined she would be marrying someone she didn’t know, but she wanted to look her best for getting married is not something people do everyday.

When she stood in the altar, she offered her to be husband a smile which he did not return, instead turning his attention to the priest before them. She mirrored his actions, her heart beating violently under her chest as the priest began speaking.

It all felt like a blur, she could swear it had only been a second since her father had given her away and yet, the priest had already uttered the dreaded “you may now kiss the bride”

Tommy barely brushed his lips against hers and soon the sound of everyone clapping invaded her ears. They had a small party afterwards in Y/n’s former house. Her parents had invited pretty much all of their acquaintances while tommy had only invited his close relatives.

When night fell Tommy was more than ready to leave “Are you ready to go?” was one of the few sentences he uttered to his now wife that night.

She again offered him a smile before saying “yeah just let me say goodbye”

The drive to arrow house was tense, although Y/n didn’t know Thomas very well she would tell he was unhappy. She wondered about what to say to him, but couldn’t come up with anything good enough and soon enough they were pulling over in front of Tommy’s stately home.

“Charlie must already be asleep, but I'll introduce you tomorrow” he said opening Y/n’s door for her.

“It’s alright” she said looking at him, not quite knowing what to do next.

“Your parents sent some of your belongings, I've already asked the maids to take them up to your-our room” he said

“Thank you, Thomas” she smiled as she walked into the big house not yet feeling close enough to him to call him Tommy.

His name falling from her lips caused an echo of bittersweet emotions to stir inside him but he masked it perfectly well as she introduced Y/n to the maids that went to the door to take their coats.

“Frances here will show you the way to the room” he said after having made introductions.

“This way, Mrs” Frances politely said.

Y/n began following her but stopped when she didn’t hear Tommy’s footsteps behind her own.

“Are you not coming?” she asked turning to look at him.

“Maybe in a bit” was all he said before he walked away down one of the many spacious hallways of the house.

After Y/n made herself comfortable in the room and changed into her nightgown she took the time to peek around the room like one always does when one is a strange place. After familiarizing herself with it she laid down in the big bed. She was nervous, she knew what happened on wedding nights. A small chuckle stopped at her lips when she recalled the stories her close already married girlfriends told her. If she hadn’t married a complete stranger she too would be looking forward to it.

Her thoughts ended up luring her to sleep after a while despite her nerves and the night went by in a ridiculously fast flash. The next morning she woke up alone and after getting ready she made her way downstairs. Tommy and Charlie were already in the dining room when she entered it.

“good morning” she said

Charlie immediately turned his attention to her, his eyes widening while his dad merely glanced at her while he muttered a “Good morning “ of his own.

Y/n sat down next to Tommy while he cleared his throat “charles, this is Y/n. We got married yesterday so she’ll be living with us from now on”

Charlie merely nodded in understanding before playing around with his food.

A tense air flooded breakfast until Tommy stood up, having barely touched his food and spoke turning to look at Y/n “I have to go now, if you need anything feel free to ask Frances”

“Alright” Y/n replied feeling a bit disappointed, she would love to get to know him, but she already knew it was going to be difficult.

“I have to go too” Charlie announced in a timid voice, interrupting Y/n’s thoughts. Despite her disappointment she understood, maybe he was just shy and his dad just reticent. They had lost a wife and a mother after all.

The first few days after that, Charlie avoided her nearly as much as his father did and Y/n remained in lonely patience until one night Charlie’s cries interrupted her focus on the book that she had just bought. She rushed to his room and called out his name as she entered not knowing if the boy would be comfortable with her or not.

“What is it?” she asked worried as she knelt by his bed.

“I miss my mum” the boy confessed looking at her with teary eyes as he clutched his blanket.

Y/n felt her heart give a small ache at his confession and in an attempt to comfort him she spoke “She’s not really gone, you know?”

“She’s dead” the boy sobbed.

“but people who die, don’t leave us. Not really anyhow” she said hesitantly rubbing his arm. “just because we cant see them doesn’t mean they are not here”

“I miss seeing her” he continued.

“Oh but you can still see her”

“how”

“before you go to bed just think about her, then she’ll visit you in your dreams” Y/n spoke as if she was telling a fairy tale.

“really?” the boy’s eyes widened.

“really” Y/n confirmed “But you have to think really really hard”

“I’ll try” Charlie said having calmed down a bit.

“very well” Y/n said as she stood up, but Charlie’s voice stopped her.

“can you stay till I fall asleep?”

After that night, Charlie hardly left Y/n’s side and she felt much better with his company for she was sure if he wasn’t there keeping her on her toes all day she would fall into a depressive chasm induced by her husband’s absence.

On the rare moments he was home she tried to strike up conversation with him over breakfast or late at night when he came home and she was burdened by insomnia. But Tommy only humored her with a few short responses before excusing himself or turning to face the other side of the bed.

It wasn’t only the fact that he avoided her as much as he could, but he also made it a priority to exclude her at all times. She was never invited into family meetings or night’s at The Garrison so she thought it was a miracle when tommy didn’t oppose to her planning Charlie’s birthday party.

She invited only Tommy’s family which instantly warmed up to her, noticing what a good influence she was and Polly wanted to slap Thomas for the way he had been acting throughout his marriage to Y/n. Almost feeling guilty for getting her into this mess.

When the party ended Tommy shut himself in his office like he often did when he was at home and though he had never given Y/n a reason to believe she was welcome in there of all places, she found herself allowing herself in after putting Charlie to bed.

Tommy looked up as she entered and let out a sigh before turning his attention back to some papers he had been reading.

“I noticed you didn’t have any” she commented not letting his sigh deflate her as she laid a plate with a slice of homemade chocolate cake on his desk. “it’s really good if I may say so myself” she mused sitting down in a chair opposite to his as she dug in with a fork in her own slice.

“I don’t go in for sweets” he stated.

“Not even chocolate?” Y/n tried, but tommy didn’t answer, instead he just shook his head.

“I still think you should try it, it’s not overly sweet, and…”

“is there anything you need?” he interrupted bluntly a bit harsher than he would’ve liked.

His tone caught her off guard and when she couldn’t come up with an answer tommy again turned his attention back to his papers.

“I wish you could let me in” She softly confessed after a few tense seconds.

“Well I wish we hadn’t married but I guess things don’t always go the way we want them to go”

Tommy knew he had crossed a line by the silence that again settled into the room. He looked up at Y/n with her parted lips and misty eyes. They exchanged glances for a second but instead of allowing him to see her like that any longer, she stood up setting her plate on his desk and walked away, only allowing a few tears to drop by when she was out of the room and his sight.

After that she stopped trying to get closer to him. He still loved his late wife and she understood, people in grief never mean what they say after all, but his words stung nonetheless.

She stopped trying to wait for him at night to see if he had gotten home alright and during breakfast she only uttered polite good mornings.

One night however, Y/n was yanked out of a peaceful sleep by a loud crash. She was on her feet in no time and after checking into Charlie’s room to see if he was alright she cautiously ventured downstairs. A few incoherent mumbles filled her ears before her husband came into sight, fumbling with his coat to get it off.

“need help?” she asked earning his attention.

“I’m fine” he said finally taking it off but as he went to take a step to begin walking the floor under him moved and he lost his balance, his knees crashing loudly against the wooden floor.

Y/n offered him a hand and helped him up. He smelled of whiskey and cigarettes, his hands were shaky, consequence of the snow, no doubt. “let’s get you upstairs”

“I can do it on me own” he slurred letting go of her hand.

“stop being so stubborn” she derided, snaking one of her arms around his waist as she helped him upstairs.

Y/n helped him into bed, tookoff his shoes and went to the bathroom to fetch a small towel and some cold water.

She dampened the towel with the cold water before dabing it gently on Tommy’s forehead. His eyes never leaving her face as she did so, making her grow a bit nervous. She continued, trying her best to ignore it until she felt his hand softly caressing her cheek.

“You are beautiful” he rasped.

“Stop it, Thomas” she said feeling her cheeks grow red when she felt a bit sad that he had to be completely drunk to compliment her.

Even in his drunken state he seemed to notice he was making her uncomfortable so he held his tongue until Y/n laid in bed next to him after turning on the lights.

“I’m sorry” he interrupted the silence “For the way I’ve been acting” the whiskey and cocaine making him more vulnerable and open “I guess I was afraid that if I let you in then she would disappear”

He didn’t expect her to answer, but then her voice came in a soft exhausted tone“ I don’t intend to replace her. You don’t need to act all defensive and secretive. Even if it’s not what you wanted, we are married.”

“I Know” was all he said.

Y/n expected him to withdraw more from her after showing himself that vulnerable to her that night but she was wrong. He began arriving home earlier, sometimes even asking if he could come along on the walks she and Charlie so much adored going on. And Y/n finally felt her marriage was going somewhere maybe it wasn’t based on love yet, but it was something.

One day she was at the stables while Charlie was taking a nap. She had always adored horses.

“I didn’t know you liked horses” came Tommy’s smooth voice causing her to jump.

“You never asked” she smiled petting a black horse as he walked closer to her.

“We could go out for a ride, I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t mind letting you borrow his horse” Tommy offered as he too began to pet the horse, his fingers brushing against Y/n’s for a brief second.

“I’d love to, but I am afraid I don’t know how to ride, Tommy�� she said, panicking for a second after having called him that. But she rested assured as soon as he spoke again.

“Well that can be fixed” he said opening the door of the stall and guiding the horse outside.

“You mean now?” Y/n asked with a laugh.

“Got something better to do?” he asked walking out of the stable with the horse. Y/n observed tommy as he prepared the horse. She had never seen him so gentle and calm before and she only realized she had been staring when Tommy directed his attention to her to ask her if she was ready.

“I think so” she said going to stand next to the horse wondering how the hell to climb up. But before she had any more time to think she felt Tommy’s hands on her waist giving her a push that allowed her to pull herself up on the animal. It was a good thing she had chosen to wear slacks that day, she thought.

“Goodness this is high” she said nervously looking down at Tommy when he began guiding the horse to move in a slow walk.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall” he promised repressing a mirthful tone at her nervousness.

He guided the horse with her around the property in the crisp evening air and Y/n allowed herself to relax with every step the horse took. Tommy’s presence made her feel safe and protected and she found it increasingly harder to look away from his figure. She wondered if he could feel her eyes on him.

When the sky began turning soft shades of purple and orange the pair returned to the stables. When the time came from Y/n to come down from the horse, tommy helped her again. Y/n began to love the feeling of him touching her and when her feet touched the ground in front of Thomas, he didn’t remove his hands from her waist right away and instead fixed his blue eyes on her, not wanting to stop looking at her.

She too fixed her eyes on Tommy as she felt a silent gasp in the base of her throat. That was the way she would’ve liked him to look at her on their wedding day. Tommy then leaned in, almost as if he were asking for permission before he tenderly pressed his lips to Y/n’s.

·

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @peakyxtommy @nyotamalfoy @writeroutoftime @babylooneytoonz @slytherinicequeen @lilymurphy03

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

So do you guys remember my post about Jedi meeting their birth families and being chill with it? 

I’ve been thinking a bit - a lot, for like a year - about all the headcanons around Jedi’s biological people, and there are really only two possible cases that seem to get explored: the pure of heart, flawed but loving, desperate parents who ‘had’ to give up their precious child to the Jedi and didn’t feel they had a choice (most commonly seen from the more Jedi critical parts of the fandom, but not always), and the horribly abusive no good parents at all who gladly dumped their baby onto the Order (which appears to be the way of some Jedi fans to ‘justify’ the adoption into the Order as legitimate, which really shouldn’t be the point because adoptions are just as legitimate without abuse factoring in).

What’s kinda sad is how little we’re willing to explore all the possibilities, maybe because we don’t want to be perceived as on the wrong side of the fandom by our own pals. We all deal with just so much bad faith discourse that we smooth out any sort of human drama and nuance to try and have clear cut narratives that are so black and white that they must prevent bad faith interpretations. Jedi have to be perfect pure angels that have never done anything wrong to be recognized as good, because we’re afraid that if we write them in an interesting way people will jump on the opportunity to accuse them of all sorts of stuff.

Well, I’m tired of vanilla fics and good guys vs bad guys when dealing with purely human everyday stuff. Bad guys are for the galactic battles, the epic clash of eternal forces. When dealing with how Jedi younglings come to the Order, we can have plenty of amazing, heart-wrenching drama and warm, happy moments where all sorts of good and regular people have different goals and meet and clash without anyone being at ‘fault’ or being to blame for it. I want to see (*sigh* to write) complex, difficult situations that can’t be perfectly resolved but where people do try and everyone feels like a *person*.

With that out of the way, what about:

- the unanimously proud communities, so honored that their daughter will represent their people and traditions among the Order, wear their clothing and bear their name

- the desperate mother with proud relatives, who doesn’t want to give away her child, but feels pressured into it by well-meaning relatives. The Master feels her reluctance and tries to reassure her, but she insists that it’s fine - and it is, she wants it to be, she wants to believe it’s for the best but it’s just so hard...

- Stass Allie’s parents, who saw their niece Adi GAllia go to the Order a few years prior. Their two families are influential on Coruscant, but with Adi already in the Order, do they need to send Stass too? Will people think they’re making a grab for power? Will Stass be better off over there, with her cousin? 

- Tiplar and Tiplee’s parents. How many children do they have, besides their twins? Is it easier to let your children go when you know they will be together? Did they make the Master promise they wouldn’t be separated no matter what? Did they dress them in matching outfits, or were the Jedi the ones to come up with that?

- the teenaged single mom who cries tears of relief when she realizes her baby will have a good life

- the single dad who can’t bring himself to let his daughter go, because she’s his whole world. The Master presses, not fully understanding, because she would would give up everything for the good of her Padawan, including her relationship with him if need be. The dad still says no.

- the struggling addict parent who is glad to dump that kid (but who still wakes up at night crying, cursing the Jedi, cursing themselves - who get their life back on track for their next kid, maybe? Who meets more Jedi and is thankful after all, or who never does and stays bitter, but better...)

- the family using the adoption for clout, and the consequences for the Order PR-wise, with the younger Jedi having to let go of the bitterness and the anger

- the communities with their own customs surrounding the Force that the young Knight or the wise Master’s inexperienced Padawan struggle to grasp and accept

- the happy parents who are mildly Force-sensitive themselves but didn’t know (or did know, and expected some of their children to be sensitive too), with the Master or the Knight pondering what their own life would look like as a civilian, maybe a parent themselves, maybe giving their own child to the Order like those are doing now. Would they do it? If they could met that hypothetical version of themselves, what would they say about the life they have? 

- the superstitious, incredulous or religious parents who are just glad to get a real explanation for the floating rocks, instead of all the theories and the judging and the gossip

- the ones who are desperately poor, and so very grateful, and the younger Jedi struggling with this, wondering if that’s why they were given to the Order as well. Struggling not to judge, because they wouldn’t be happy to give up their own younglings no matter what, right? Learning to be grateful, and understanding, and compassionate. 

- the parents who decide to give their child away against the community’s pressure, finding comfort in the Jedi’s genuine desire to support them

- the siblings struggling not to feel betrayed by their parents’ choice - and the jealous ones, the proud ones, the amazed ones, the ones who were just toddlers and spend their life holding onto faded memories

And on the flipside to all of that, what about:

- the Jedi who find a baby among dead bodies, like Mace and Depa, and are so thankful they could save this one tiny light

- the Knights filled to burst with warmth and pride as the three of them get this little toddler to giggle on the way home

- the baby who has been screaming in the Force for weeks, wanting to go home, and who finally gets to feel a presence caressing his mind gently, telling him someone is coming

- the Masters who hold the little ones at night, when those who miss their old home feel lonely or sad, rocking them and singing to them

- the Jedi who have their niece, nephew, cousin, or sibling arrive in the Creche, who call their birth family to reassure them that it’ll all be okay, and yes, ‘the child will know who I am, don’t worry, we keep our names. I’ll help them along the way, I’ll keep an eye on them.’

- the Knight who shows up somewhere and experience a supersonic boom because that’s the one, this little one will be his Padawan, he knows it

- the Knight awkwardly trying to comfort the parents, but she can see that they can see that the baby has already latched onto her, and she senses their turmoil

- the Master feeling that the child won’t be suited for the life of a Jedi, and saying that, even as it’s so hard to turn away from those sparkling baby eyes and that little mental tug 

- the Padawan balancing babbling triplets on his shoulders, because they’re from a species that makes a lot of babies

- the Master-Padawan pair visiting a child a lot during the transition period, and bonding with the other siblings as well

... Just... a mess of relationships and love on all parts, with understandings being reached, people finding peace and joy, and the opposite of all that, all acknowledging that there are no bad guys here, just complicated circumstances.

[finelinevogue]

Can you write something about when Harry and Y/N broke up but fans speculate that they got back together and they did get back together. They broke over something stupid, please. You don’t have to do this exactly it can be something like that.

let’s see how this turns out! hope it’s what you wished for?!

The last few months had been rough.

What had started as rumours of a breakup between everyones favourite couple, you and Harry, had turned into an actual breakup.

It had started by Harry spending more time with Olivia, due to press for Don’t Worry Darling. They were always hanging out with each other, even when there was no publicity stunt telling them to. You found it appropriate at first, wanting the movie to gain some form of reputation, but after a while you believed it turned South. It was becoming a definite friendship and not just because they had to. It was the way that Harry would bring Olivia over for dinner without checking with you first, or taking the dog for a walk with her not you, or even staying longer out on stunts than they needed to just because they wanted to.

So you challenged Harry on it. Hell, even the tabloids were challenging you both - claiming Harry had split from you for Olivia. You made him question whether he thought his actions were irresponsible and appropriate or not, to which he thought there was nothing wrong and thought you were being irrational. You didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day, only to find him later on the phone speaking to Olivia about how crazy you’d been acting about it all. So you showed him crazy and walked out.

Until today.

For over a half a year your sister had her wedding planned and Harry was supposed to be your guest. You were nervous about turning up without him, because your family were very judgy. Your sister couldnt help being the smarter and the prettier one, but she also didn’t have to parade it around so everyone knew of it. Your mum and dad thought you a disappointment for the longest time, but once you’d gotten a job and had moved out they were a bit more loving over you. Still didn’t hide the fact they desperately hoped for you to have a relationship. It wasn’t that you were bringing Harry along to prove that someone loved you, but more to prove that they would never fully be satisfied whether you had a boyfriend or not. There would always be a podium stand slightly lower for you to stand on.

However, they didn’t know about the breakup.

“Y/N, nice to see you. Where’s Harry?” Another guest asked you, relatives of your mum. It was the same question over and over again, no one really caring about how you are but instead whether you’re in a positive relationship.

“Oh um I think he’s just running a bit late.” Was your chosen answer to respond to said question. It was repetitive, but it kept people off your back.

The wedding was completely beautiful. It was in a beautiful church and was decorated to perfection. The theme was white and royal blue, something your sister had always dreamed of. Children played amongst the pews and family relatives mumbled to each other about gossip. There was still a heavy sadness to the event. Maybe it was because your sister hadn’t asked you to be a bridesmaid - instead, choosing her best friends instead - or maybe it was because you missed Harry so much.

He’d fucked up. He really had, but it didn’t take away that burning passion for him that spread like a wildfire in your belly. You missed him. You still loved him. Worst of all, you had to pretend everything was all alright in front of your family when actually you were breaking apart inside.

Harry hadn’t messaged saying that he was or wasn’t coming, but after everything that had happened you were confident he was going to be a no show, and you would be the embarrassment of the family once again. Your relationship had been very private and exclusive, but Harry’s fans were so investigative you wouldn’t be surprised if they knew that you’d broken up and were aware that you were at a wedding today without him. Neither of you had made a public statement about your breakup, but neither of your wanted to damage each other even more. Fans suspected though and rumours travel fast.

“Y/N how are you doing? How’s Harry?” Another aunt came and asked you, this time with your mother in tow.

“Oh he’s great, yes.” You smiled forcefully, not actually having a clue how your ex-boyfriend was doing. You didn’t keep up with his social media because you were afraid of what you might find.

“Where is he? Is he here?” Your aunt asked.

“He’s late, apparently.” Your mother answered for you, sneeringly. “You’ll be made a fool of if he’s a no show Y/N.”

“I know.”

“I hope everything goes well for you both.” Your aunt kindly said, before waiting for your mum to say something nice too. That was a mistake though.

“Well it’s unlikely she’ll find someone again!” Your mother laughed and pulled your aunt away from you. You furrowed your eyebrows and let your heart sink low.

What were you thinking, letting Harry go like that? Your mum was right, you were never going to find anyone else again. You were so lucky with Harry. He was so kind and so patient with you, but obviously he’d run out of steam towards the end. It doesn’t surprise you. You’ve always been told you’re a mighty handful and you need a lot of work put into looking after you, so you understand why you were probably too much for Harry. The showbiz life had never really been something you’d completely submerged yourself into, whereas you guess for Olivia it was rooted in her from birth. She understood Harry’s world the same way he did hers. They would match perfectly for each other, if that’s what they wanted.

You watched the room continue as usual, but you couldn’t keep yourself here. There was too much sadness welling deep within you that you wanted to just run and then keep running. So you did, only to get as far as the bench in the front courtyard. The outside felt calmer and more freeing than inside, you sat and absorbed it for a while, not realising that you were crying until your pretty multicoloured dress had grown darker with a pool of your tears.

“Shit.” You tried rubbing the tears out, but only made you cry a little harder. You thought about your makeup running and tried to compose yourself, fanning your face to calm it down from the heat now.

“And here I was thinking weddings were supposed to be happy.”

You stopped fanning your face to look at him. You couldn’t believe he was standing there, dressed in a beautiful white suit and salmon pink shirt underneath to compliment the colours of your dress - the outfit that you’d helped him pick out over a year ago. He’d remembered. He trusted that you’d still be wearing this dress. He was a sight alright. A vision of beauty and love.

“Harry?” You questioned, wiping your under eyes to clear away any running mascara, not quite believing he was standing there.

“So what was it? Bad music playing? No vodka? Or maybe there’s nowhere for you to escape to go read the book I know you have stuffed away in your clutch bag.” He stood at a distance from you, hands in his trouser pockets, to make sure you were comfortable.

“I brought vodka instead of the book.” You chuckled, reaching into your clutch to prove it to him.

“Lucky for you, i’ve come to save the day.” Harry reached to the inside of his blazer pocket and pulled out a Kindle. You’d always been debating whether or not to buy one, because the feeling of having a book to turn its’ physical pages is a feeling second to none. “Take it, it’s yours.”

Harry handed it out to you and you stood up to reach for it hesitantly. Harry assured you that it was okay and that you’d been reading too many books if you thought it was a trap of some sort.

“Thank you, Harry.” You spoke sincerely. You stroked your thumb over the cover and turned the case lid over to start up the screen. The screen lit up and it was set to a picture of your favourite quote, annotated just as you would have in your own book. You chuckled and let a few tears drop from the kindness of all of this.

“And then…” Harry unlocked the Kindle with your birthday as the password, before clicking on the library so you could discover what was waiting for you on your virtual shelves. Harry had downloaded all your most favourite books, whilst also downloading the ones he knew had been on your to-be-read list. He’d even added a few of his favourite books too, just because you liked reading his recommendations.

You smiled, but felt so lost.

“W-why are you here, H?” You asked, closing the lid and bravely looking up into his enchanting eyes. You had to control yourself not to comment on how wondrous they looked.

“To save the day.” He chuckled in repeat, until he knew you weren’t taking that for an answer. “Because I fucked up. Big league time.”

“Yeah.” You whispered, looking down at your shoes to see that they weren’t that far apart at all. He was so close to you, yet he wasn’t yours to catch.

“And i’ll never forgive myself for letting you walk out of that door. The promotion shit with Olivia? Done. I’ve finished. I explained that the movie isn’t as important to me as you. You,” Harry paused to breathe out, and took the risk of guiding your jaw up to meet your gaze with his soft hand, “you are real Y/N. You’re so important and key to my life and it bloody terrified me, still does actually, to think that you make me feel this way. I want everything with you. Marriage, kids, a home. A life. I was so worried I would screw it all up, though, to the point where I did screw it all up. I lost you and so I lost me. It’s selfish of me to ask whether any part of your heart still wants me, but—”

“Yes.” You quickly interjected before he could say something he’d later regret. “There is, yes.”

“R-really?” He stumbled over his response, not expecting you to react so soon but his words had got to you. His feelings were vulnerable and raw and it reminded you of how much you love him and feel safe with him.

“Why? Would you like me to say different.” You teased.

“No,” Harry rushed, stepping closer towards you, “God now. Stay, please. Forever, if you’ll have me?”

“I can deal with forever.” You leaned up to where his lips were, craving the taste of them against yours so badly. “Can I?” You looked between his lips and his eyes, watching his eyes coo in admiration of you. His arms snaked around your neck and cupped the back of your head, resting his ringed fingers against your skin delicately.

“You don’t have to ask, angel.” And with that you didn’t hesitate to reclaim your clips on his. He tasted as sweet and as soft as you could remember. The hint of mint sweets he kept in his car could be tasted all over his mouth, and he could no doubt taste the vodka on yours. He took no time in rushing to have his tongue exploring your mouth once mouth, biting on your lip when he got the chance to. He wanted you to remember this moment and how much love he has for you, and always will. Just as you do for him.

Hesitantly pulling away you smiled at him cheekily, feeling so much lighter and happier to have him here. With you in his arms so expertly.

“What?” He asked, leaving a quick kiss to your nose, inhaling his scent as he did.

“Just can’t believe you’re here.” You stroked his cheek with your thumb, and he leaned into your touch so comfortably. He had missed you so damn much, and it showed.

“Let you down once before and I wasn’t going to do it again.”

“So you’d have shown up even if I hadn’t?”

“Not happily, but yes.” He laughed thinking about it.

“Why?” You laughed with him.

“I’ve got to make my impression on your family somehow. Need to remind some of them how amazing and beautiful their special Y/N L/N is.”

“Some are going to need a lot more persuading than others.” You sighed, side-frowning over your words.

“No offence, but anyone who doesn’t treat you as a fucking diamond doesn’t deserve you and should watch out for kick up their backside from me.” You laughed over his empty threat and buried your head against his chest, listening to the heartbeat and rumble of laughter that came from within. This moment alone felt like home. Safe and warm.

“I love you, H.”

“Bloody love you too.”

Harry ended up returning to the wedding with you, much to your mothers surprise, and you both enjoyed the celebrations together. You shut yourselves out from everybody and just danced, talked and drank the night away.

You were so in love.

Later, photos got leaked of the wedding and it showed you and Harry dancing away in one of the backgrounds of the photos. It was supposed to be a shot of just the bride and groom, but you two have managed to get caught in it. You looked so caught up in each other that you still weren’t even aware the photo had been taken. You and Harry had determinedly avoided the camera all night, exactly for this reason, but a part of you was kind of happy that this one photo got leaked, because it showed the world that Harry was yours and you were his. It showed that you were together, or back-together as addressed by some FBI fans, and that you were stronger for it.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Best Friends My Ass (one-shot)

Synopsis: Being in love with your best friend whom you’ve had since childhood can be tough. Being in love and being dumb can make it tougher. Meet the Reader and Harry. They’re the latter. And everyone’s fed up.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, maybe little bit of angst, tiny bit smutty, but not a lot

Warnings: swearing, two idiots pining for one another

Word count: 7524

Even when Harry was little, he’d known he’d have an odd path in life. Just because it was odd, didn’t mean it’d be bad, but it would make him absolutely stand out in the crowd.        When Y/N was young she didn’t see herself having any extraordinary adventures. Sure, she’d travel and explore the world with its secrets, but she didn’t have any plans to draw the attention of the masses. That was until Harry’d come into her life.        They were both young, still kids in that tender age where childhood crossed into teenage years, when they met. For Harry, it was like one of those scenes in the movies where the pretty girl walks into a room and a billion fans make her hair look like the wind is sweeping through it, and her eyes glisten like gemstones. Also known as the 'love at first sight' scene.        For Y/N, it was hard to keep her breakfast down as she walked inside the classroom, twenty pairs of scrutinous eyes on her, trying to figure out if the new girl was a predator or prey.        Luckily for Y/N, the biology teacher wasn’t a total witch and didn’t make her present herself to the class, and just pointed to the free seat next to a curly-haired boy. Luckily for Harry, that free seat was right next to him.        With a sigh, she dropped her heavy backpack beside the chair, giving the boy a shy glance, and was surprised to see a genuine and large grin right back at her. It wasn’t the kind people gave when they had bad thoughts. It was the kind people gave when they were truly excited and wanted to give a good impression. Y/N’s chest grew warm at the thought she might actually make a friend that day. And she did.        “I’m Harry.” He extended his hand for her to take, the grin never leaving his face.        She gave him a big, relieved smile. “I’m Y/N.”        Ever since then they were not only lab partners in classes they shared (which was biology, physics and math), but also in mischief. Together they managed to enrage Anne, annoy Gemma and absolutely horrify Y/M/N, and whenever one went down, the other made sure to go down as well.        So when a few years down the line, Harry had told Y/N about his idea to audition for X-factor she wasn’t surprised one bit.        “I mean, as long as you don’t trip and break your nose on stage, you’ll be fine.”        For that, she received a slap on her arm from him.        “I’m just saying!” Y/N defended herself. “You’re great at singing, Mrs Aberdeen certainly thinks so, you don’t have two complete left feet, and you’re alright to look at.”        That for the first time since the decision and application had been submitted, made Harry smile. He loved how easily Y/N was able to lighten the mood, to take his thoughts away from the bad, and just erase them with her wit and smile.

       “Besides.” She nudged his shoulder with hers and then intertwined their fingers. “I, Gem and our Mums will be right there for you. Won’t even blink until the end of the performance.”        With how her insides trembled in excitement and fear for her best friend, it truly seemed to Y/N she hadn’t blinked at all on that fateful day. Her breath hitched when the judges were talking. She couldn’t even remember what they said, all of it turning into white noise.        And then he got through, and Y/N screamed so much she was sure she’d blown out Anne’s eardrums, and had hugged Harry so tightly she was afraid she’d broken a rib. But with his victory also came a fear, because, for the first time in Y/N’s life, she was terrified as to where she’d stand in Harry’s. Since day one it’d been secure, but now, with the newfound fame of X-factor and who knows what kind of an amazing future, she didn’t know if he’d throw her to the curb, simply forget about the mundane friend from high school or maybe use her for something.        But it wasn’t like that. Not one bit. After insane hours of rehearsals, Y/N was one of the three people he always called. It was her, his Mum and Gem. Always. And he loved to listen to her speaking of what was happening at school, how the lessons were, which teacher turned out to be hooking up with which. As much as Harry knew he was made for the extraordinary, he loved the ordinary Y/N brought in his life. She was his safe harbour. But what he never agreed with were her own thoughts she was meant for a simple life, so he took it upon himself to bring a little bit of eccentricity in hers, as he explained how he’d gotten united into a band with four other boys, now going by ‘One Direction’, and it was his mission to join his newfound friends with the most important friend he'd had.        “This is Y/N,” Harry introduced her to the guys after one of their late-night practices, one where they weren’t being filmed. “If you do anything that even mildly upsets her, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”        The slap against his arm made him let out an ‘Ow!’ while the rest of the boys laughed and welcomed her with open arms.        In a weird way, Y/N became part of the band. She didn’t sing or play any instruments, but she was always around, gave her input on songs and setlists. That kind of closeness made all of the fears and doubts about losing a place in Harry’s life disappear. She was his personal hype-man while at the same time knocked him down a few pegs whenever the fame started to get to his head.        She was there for his highs and lows, for the break-ups and break-off in the band, and watched as he ventured into a solo career as much as she could with school and all, but when summer break rolled around it was like Harry couldn't get rid of her even if he tried. Not that he wanted. Sharing the success and happiness with his best friend was one of the biggest rewards he could have.        And Y/N would never admit it because it’d boost Harry’s already elephant-like ego, at least that’s what she said, but she kind of liked the attention she received because of him, especially because most of it was pleasant.        Had she been terrified that being known as Harry Styles best friend would make people think she was just a gold-digger, seeking fame and leeching it off from him? Yes. And there were people like that. But ninety-five percent of what people said on her social media accounts was actually nice, some even said ‘thank you’ that there was a person like her in Harry’s life to keep things real, and most importantly – cared about him through it all.        Harry also saw those comments; he loved to read about how people saw just how much Y/N cared, and it kind of stirred something in him. He didn’t know when exactly, but it was around the age of twenty-four for him and twenty-three for Y/N when he started looking at his friend in a different light. And it bloody terrified him. He didn’t know if she felt the same, and the thought of putting his heart on the line like that only for the possibility of it being crushed was the scariest thing ever.        He did, however, have an inclination as to what incident had prompted them to surface. The feelings that were. It was a night after a party. Y/N was on winter break from her master’s at uni, which meant he used every opportunity to spend time with her.        The hangover was real, I mean it’s what you got by mixing vodka, tequila and beer into an empty Sprite bottle and chugging it. Harry stumbled over sleeping bodies on his way to the kitchen in search for some leftover pizza he was sure he and Y/N in their drunkenness had ordered, as well as to make two cups of black coffee. He knew she hated the taste, but cold junk food and bitter coffee always did the trick with her. That was when he’d found her.        Although he’d woken up in Y/N’s room, she hadn’t been next to him. Instead, as it turned out, she’d gone on a food search sometime before him and had passed out on the couch, a Cookie Monster onesie on her body, but most importantly his signature pearls around her neck. And one of her hands even rested against her collarbone, as if scared someone would take them away from her.        That’d been the first time his heart had flipped in his chest at the sight of her, but most definitely not the last.        He did however keep this change in his emotions to himself. He wasn’t really sure what it was, so it would be unfair to dump that on Y/N and have her figure it out for him because he didn’t know where she stood on her own, let alone do the work for him.        Luckily, despite the tornado of feelings, their friendship didn’t falter, and when his Vogue cover came out, he was incredibly nervous for people to see it, but especially for those who mattered the most to him, like his Mum, sister and Y/N. Especially Y/N, for her opinion had become the most important one outside his blood relatives. After all, all his thoughts went to – if we dated, would she be as proud of me as she was of me as a friend?        Her support meant the most because he was away in the middle of filming; he had no way of getting physical comfort, so all of the messages, calls, social media posts and FaceTimes was the world to him, especially when Y/N sent a picture of herself with three copies of the magazine, two beside her head as she laid on her bed and one clutched to her chest, which she also posted on Instagram with the caption ‘Can’t hug you for real right now, so this will have to do. When I do get to you @harrystyles, I’ll crush your ribs with my love. And that is a threat.’        Then the comments came in from the rest, and one stood out more than the others.        Bring Back Manly Men.        At first, he felt odd about it. It didn’t really bother him, but at the same time, it made him sad. He knew that he was seen as somewhat of a controversial figure, as he painted nails, wore frilly blouses and now full-on dresses, which were all typically categorized as feminine things, but he never understood why a nail colour or the shape of a shirt suddenly became exclusively for just one gender. Which is why he was so grateful to have Y/N in his life.        “I mean, anatomically speaking, men should be wearing dresses and women trousers. It’s you who have all the dangly bits,” she said through a bite of food. “The Scots have been onto it since the beginning.”        Harry threw his head back in a laugh, shifting an arm behind his head. “So I assume your favourite pic is the one in the kilt?”        “Well, it did remind me of that awful punk phase I had back in school with all those safety pins, only in a more tasteful way, but no. My favourite one is you in that brown, grey off-shoulder jacket thing.”        “Why?”        Y/N wiggled her brows at him. “Shows enough of your cleavage but leaves enough for imagination.”        “Of fucking course.” Harry snorted, shaking his head. “Objectifying much?”        “What? I’m not going to deny that my best friend is a sexy beast.”        He wouldn’t say it out loud, but when she called him her friend, it made his heart clench in a painful way. Harry had been trying to be a bit flirtier around her, but given his open nature as it was, Y/N hadn’t seemed to notice it, nor had she seemed to notice how he looked at her while she was frowning at her computer screen.        Harry’d had relationships with some women who could be considered the most beautiful in the world, but if he’d had to say, in his opinion, who’d receive that title, it’d be Y/N. The way she snorted when she laughed too hard, the way small crow lines had already appeared next to her eyes from how much she smiled and the way her forehead creased when she was concentrating. It enthralled him to no end. He could read her life’s story on her face, how she’d lived and thought and experienced, unlike so many people he met who couldn’t move a muscle.        Though the reason she was so concentrated in that moment was because thousands of people had tagged her in a tweet of a woman, she’d heard of for the first time in her life (because Harry had been trying to keep that one off her radar), and what she saw made all the blood boil in her body more than any other hate comment had.        Without hesitation, Y/N atted her and tweeted “Bring back manly men. Please! Millions of people would let him raw them WHILE WEARING THE DRESS. I mean you tried, so I’ll give you the gold star you so desperately want, but that was pathetic.”        At that same moment, a notification popped up on the screen of Harry’s phone. He only had notifications on for one person, and when he saw what was written, he gasped, looking at Y/N. “You did not just do that!”        “What?” Y/N shrugged biting down on the chocolate bar she’d been savouring for the last half hour of their conversation. “I just said what everyone was thinking. Besides what the fuck does ‘bring back manly men’ even mean? Go chop some wood? Fight a bear in the Siberian woods? Have your ‘friends’ stab you to death at a political meeting?”        “You’re a menace.”        Y/N winked popping the last bit of the chocolate in her mouth. “Only to those who dare go for the people I love.”        His heart fluttered at the last word, but all he could do was mask it with a large grin and shake of his head.        For another hour they spent talking, Y/N kept hyping Harry up, tried to get as many plot details of the movie he was filming, while he avoided as many spoilers as possible and attempted to steer the conversation somewhere else, but when that happened, Y/N jumped onto his music, which he had told her all about. In fact, there wasn’t a music video made without her approval, and neither would his next one be. “You’ll fly out to see me film for ‘Treat People With Kindness’, right?”        Y/N sighed, giving him a sad smile. She hated disappointing Harry. “I’d love to. But you know with everything going on, I don’t think I’ll be able to.���        “Phoebe Waller-Bridge will be in it.”        She gasped, in real excitement. “Well, why didn’t you say so from the start?!”        “So that’s what this friendship has come to. I’m just your gateway to celebrities?”        “Harry you’ve always been just my gateway to the people living in LaLa Land.” But she let out a small breath much like she’d done before. “I really do want to come, Harry. You know that; I miss you like crazy. But Phoebe or no Phoebe, I don’t think I can.”        Harry bit his lip nodding, but he still needed to try one more time. “Is there anything I can say or do to get you here?”        “Get me a private jet and a quarantine mansion?”        “Deal.”        “Woah! Wait!” Y/N pretty much jumped up from her position in bed. “That was a joke! Harry Edward Styles, I swear to God, if you try an –“        But with a giant grin, he just blew Y/N a kiss and ended the call.        She was quite terrified if she was being honest, that Harry would do what she’d asked. He already had once. It'd been around Christmas time while she was still in First Year at uni, and she’d seen a glistening necklace at a jewellery store display. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even uttered a word, but just seeing the sparkle in Y/N’s eyes, was enough for Harry to make the decision and gift it for her.        When the next day, around five AM her time, she got a call from Harry’s manager Jeff, she was ready to rip both of them a new one, an e-mail with a plane ticket popping up in her inbox.        “I swear I’ll poison your drinks when I see you,” she’d grumbled, but couldn’t hide the excitement as she threw everything she could in the suitcase. “And no one will find your bodies, mark my words, Azoff.”        He snorted. “Yeah, tell that to the FBI agent listening in on this call.”        “Fuck. Gave myself away,” she said softly, giggling right after.        “You know he’s stoked beyond belief.” Jeff piped up. “He literally jumped out of the bed this morning, and during the dance rehearsals he didn’t miss a step.”        That made Y/N’s heart warm. “Well, you can tell him to curb it a bit. Otherwise, I’ll just stay at the fucking mansion – which, by the way, it was a joke, Jeff! I’m pissed enough he’s spending money on me as it is, let alone such a chunk on the plane, you didn't have to get me an actual mansion.”        “You know, for you, he’d give away all of it.”        “Yes, well, he might need it for his funeral, if he keeps spending it on me and on shit like this.”        The man shook his head but didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t the only one trying to drop hints to Y/N that Harry felt something more, but he’d leave it to the man himself. He didn’t need to possibly ruin everything, and have her decide not to come. His client was nightmare enough without her around, because Harry was like day and night when Y/N finally arrived on set for ‘Treat People With Kindness’.        To say he enveloped her in a hug would be an understatement as he didn’t let go of her for ten solid minutes, having grabbed her by the underside of the thighs and sat down on the ground just so he could prolong the feeling of being with Y/N.        The fact that she’d actually gone for it and hadn’t scolded Harry too much for spending that insane amount of money, for having brought a small piece of home to LA with herself where they were filming, made him now fully acknowledge the true extent of his feelings, especially as she didn’t pull away from their embrace, rather hid her face in the crook of his neck.        I mean, in the end, he did have to let her go because everyone had to get back to shooting, but not before Y/N had stripped the meticulous jacket from him, and went to have a glance at herself in the large mirror, one of the costume designers playing along and adjusting the clothing on her body, as if she was going to be the one performing.        Harry felt someone slide up to him and he looked over to his left, a smiling Phoebe standing there. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”        He nodded, looking back over to where Y/N was still looking at herself in the mirror, wearing the heavy jacket as if it was nothing like it was made for her. “I’m a cliché, I know. But I can’t help it.”        “Of course, you can.” She squeezed his side. “All you gotta do is tell her.”        But it wasn’t that easy. Comparatively, getting Y/N to appear in the video was easier than coming to terms with the fact, all they’d ever remain would be friends if he didn’t do anything.        Yet the shoot for the video ended as quickly as it had started, and Y/N needed to fly back to the UK to defend her PhD paper, and Harry had to go back to filming ‘Don’t Worry Darling’, thousands of miles stretching between them once more. And Harry was a romantic, he couldn’t confess over FaceTime. Besides, he wanted to make it a special evening for her, plan something out, rather than risk a shitty connection cutting him off mid-word.        He hated it though. It’d been almost four years since Harry had realised his feelings had developed from just friendly into romantic, and still, he hadn’t said anything. Even the people who’d never met Y/N in person like Florence Pugh saw what was going on.        But unlike the cast and crew of ‘Treat People With Kindness’ who had to deal with his pining for maybe a couple of weeks, it’d been almost half a year for her at that point. Did she just want to call Y/N and tell her how Harry felt? Sure. She’d had enough of him coming into her trailer only to fall down onto her pillow and whine. But it wasn’t her place. So instead, she was going to figure out a way to get Y/N to the set and make him tell her himself.        Getting Harry’s phone away from him should’ve been the inspiration to the next ‘Mission Impossible’ script though, because it took her literally a whole day to fish it out from his coat's pocket, and she only had about ten seconds to find Y/N’s number (which wasn’t that hard given how it was the number with literally hundreds of calls next to it) and put it in her own phone.        Once their filming was done for the day, Florence rebutted Harry’s invitation to a movie night, saying a massive headache was coming on, so he wished her a good night and with slumped shoulders went to sulk on his own. Which is why she practically sprinted to her own trailer to finally call Y/N        An unsure ‘hello?’ greeted her ears before she responded. “Hey, this is Florence… Pugh.”        That stunned Y/N into silence for a few seconds before she spluttered out a greeting and said ‘hi’ as well. “Not to be rude, but how did you get my number?”        “Stole it from Harry’s phone. Look, he’s miserable. Keeps moping around, and I can’t take it anymore. Last night I found him crying in his pillow with your shirt over it.”        “What? Why?”        “Because it didn’t smell like you anymore.”        Y/N’s heart broke. “Why didn’t he tell me anything? We just talked, and he said he was fine. God, that man is so dumb sometimes.”        “Is there any way you could find a way to get here?” Florence asked biting down her lip.        She heard Y/N sigh at the other end of the line. “I’ll – I’ll try and figure something out. Have to know what’s going on at work, I mean it has been like two months since the video, so maybe…” She was more so talking to herself, but then remembered about Florence. “Listen, can I give you a message when I find out if my boss will let me?”        “Of course!” The actress was excited about the possibility of Y/N getting here, as long as it got Harry out of his depressive mood.        “Oh, and I’ll need to know what kind of restrictions are on set. I’ll figure something out with flights and quarantine, but I have zero clue as to what’s it like where you’re filming.”        Florence waved her off, even though she couldn’t see the motion. “Leave that to me. Just get your ass over here before the guy cries himself dry.”        It was a struggle though on all three ends – Harry was still moping, because not only had Y/N’s shirt lost its smell of her, but homesickness was hitting full force, Florence was getting more and more desperate as she attempted to take his mind off of things, but nothing seemed to work, and Y/N was trying to get on any possible flight to Harry while arranging two tests and an AirBnB she could self-isolate in for two weeks while attempting to set up her work from afar at the same time.        Two days after Florence’s call, Y/N sent her a message ‘Flying in tomorrow at 4 AM. Don’t tell Harry. He’ll feel even shittier cause I have to stay alone in quarantine. First test came back negative.”        She sighed in relief at the message and immediately texted back ‘i’ve got you a set pass ready, just need a picture. selfie will do. also, masks are mandatory on the lot, so bring those.’        Immediately Y/N sent a thumbs up, and a picture of herself she didn’t absolutely despise to be used on the ID card. All that was left was to pack. And spend two weeks in an attempt of not going crazy with anticipation before seeing Harry.        Those two weeks turned out to be worse than the two months between the music video shoot and going to the filming lot. Because throughout then, Y/N knew her only access to him would be through FaceTime, but to be about twenty minutes away from the man without the ability to touch him was pure torture, but at least Harry seemed completely oblivious to the change in her surroundings.        As they still continued on with their calls, not once did he mention her background, or how the paintings suddenly had managed to switch positions or the fact that Y/N didn’t even own paintings. She was sure she could’ve been missing an arm, and he wouldn’t have mentioned it with how tired he looked.        “Have you even slept, Har?”        “Not really,” he groaned, getting more comfortable in his bed. “We’ve had a bunch of early shoots and then late nights, ‘cause we need to get the continuity for the scenes, and then the day’s full of Zoom calls, and well, I can’t not call you.”        Y/N scoffed, scolding him. “You know damn well I won’t be offended if we sacrifice a couple of calls for you to get some proper sleep.”        “I know, but I will.”        Y/N sighed, knowing in a way it was her fault. She could tell him she no longer was hours of time zones away, but rather watched the same sunset and sunrise as him, but she also knew Harry, and he would be unable to stay away from her until her quarantine was over.        She was quite happy she’d sat through the fourteen mandatory days, because when she got on set, even though Harry was usually good at keeping his composure during a scene, despite the mask, he’d recognise Y/N anywhere, and all of the lines flew out of his head.        “Jack?” Florence’s hand came to cup Harry’s cheek, trying to bring him back on track. “You alright?”        But he didn’t even care about improvising to get out of the flub as his lips were split apart by a grin, and he dashed away, a loud ‘CUT!’ ringing throughout the set, but Harry already had Y/N in his arms, spinning the girl around.        “Best friends my ass,” Florence murmured as she went to the two.        Harry was speechless, Y/N’s face in between his hands as he looked her up and down. “How are you here? What? Why?”        “Thank Florence.” Y/N gave an attempt at motioning to the actress with her head. She set the whole thing up.”        Harry’s head whipped to his scene partner. “You knew Y/N was here for two weeks and told me nothing?”        “Your brain short-circuited when you saw her! You wouldn’t be of no use on set at all if I had.”        Harry scoffed, throwing an arm over Y/N’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get away from this meanie.” But as he walked away, he looked over his shoulder and mouthed a grateful ‘thank you’ to her.        All Florence could hope for was that he’d get it together and confess, but it didn’t seem like he was in any sort of a rush. Y/N was set to be there for three weeks, but the thought of the woman leaving without knowing how Harry felt, leaving him in a sea of his own heartache, made her miserable, especially after a night they’d all spent together.        Harry really wanted Y/N to get to know the people he worked with so he invited the ones closest to him for a movie night, during which he himself had been the first one to actually fall asleep, of course.        For most of it, as ‘Westworld’ ran on in the background, he spent curled up in Y/N’s lap, his head resting against her chest with her fingers weaving through the shortened locks. She had to get used to the length, motion automatically wanting to go on longer than it was possible to. Soon enough, the soothing motions lulled her to sleep as well, their bodies leaning into one another and perfectly fitting together.        As tired as Florence was of seeing Harry, a person who’d become her friend now pine for someone so hard, it was absolutely heart-melting to watch the two interact. Everyone could see Y/N had the same feelings as Harry did for her, only she hid them a bit better. A little, but not by a lot.        No friends acted the way those two did around one another. Sure, people could be touchy, but not like that, not with such intimacy behind the motions. She felt like she was being a little creepy as she pulled out her phone to take a picture, but it was too cute not to.        A loud noise from somewhere outside set made Y/N shoot up straight, and Florence held her breath as she clutched onto her phone, having swiped it accidentally into video mode and filming the whole thing.        “No,” Harry whined, a hand reaching up for Y/N and grabbing at her elbow. “Come back. ‘S too early.”        She just nodded, grumbling something unintelligible but possibly along the lines of ‘don’t make me throw hands’ before laying down and snuggling into Harry’s chest.        Florence let out a large sigh of relief and decided to get some sleep as well before their annoying four AM alarm woke them up for set.        This time it was the other way around, as Y/N whined for Harry to ‘come back and keep her warm’.        Florence watched as Harry slipped out of Y/N’s grasp, but not before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead and a whispered a promise to ‘see her when the Sun’s up’. The second the trailer door was closed, she slapped his shoulder, and Harry gasped in shock. “What'dya do that for?”        “Stop that! Stop that stupid dance!” She stomped her foot on the ground. “I’m sick and tired of watching you watch her with that dumb longing expression on your face. I can’t take it anymore. Why do you think I went through all that trouble to get her here?”        “I told you I would!”        She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, I know it’s not my place or anything, but she does like you. A lot.”        Harry threw her an uncertain gaze. “And how do you know?”        “Because that woman spent two weeks in self-isolation just to see you! She’s gone through how many of those awful Covid tests just to go and visit you! She’s dropped everything for you, has supported you through so much, and never fails to boost you up.”        “That’s what friends do.”        “No.” Florence shook her head. “That kind of loyalty… that’s what people in love give. I haven’t talked to my best friend in like a month. What’s the longest you’ve gone without speaking to Y/N?”        And with that question, she left Harry to ponder not only his feelings but the girl’s he was in love with as well. Because if he had to be honest, the reason he’d been dragging everything out, the reason he’d stayed pining for Y/N for years on end was that he tried to write everything she did off as something a childhood best friend would do.        The truth was more terrifying than anything because once that came to light, it’d change everything, and Harry didn’t know if he was ready. He wanted it, desperately so if it meant Y/N becoming someone he could love freely and openly, but not if by the end of it, she'd disappear from his life, leaving a hole the size of his heart in his chest.        His thoughts were cut short as someone knocked on the ‘Hair&Make-up’ door, and an assistant let in a pouting Y/N. Well, he couldn’t’ see the pout behind the mask, but he definitely knew it was there, making a smile come on his own face.        She plopped down in an empty sofa and crossed her arms. “I was cold.”        Harry snorted, wanting to shake his head, but didn't as to not ruin the hair stylist’s work. “You’re always cold.”        “And you’re a living furnace.”        “ ‘S that why you like cuddling? Leeching off my warmth?”        The same assistant who’d let Y/N in handed her a cup of coffee, which she was ready to kiss the woman for, but opted for a ‘thank you’. “We’ve established I only use you to get to other celebs. What makes you think I wouldn’t use you for those sort of things.”        For a moment, the trailer settled into silence, as Y/N enjoyed her morning coffee while the crew kept doing their own work.        “It’s so weird,” Y/N piped up, eyes racking up and down Harry’s body. “Don’t even wanna really look at you like that.”        He let out a mock gasp of hurt. “What d’ya mean? Am I suddenly repulsive to you?”        “No!” she let out a laugh. “It’s just odd seeing you without the tattoos. They’re such a huge part of you, even the dumb ones. Can’t really imagine you any differently.”        “Would you love me any differently without them?” The question was bold, even though he knew she did love him, he had to start making moves.        “No,” Y/N shook her head. “I don’t think so. I believe I’d be a different person then as well, but I’d love you all the same. As long as you’d do the same with me.”        Harry nodded looking down at his hands then back up at her, catching her eyes through the reflection in the mirror. “Don’t think there’s a dimension out there where I don’t love you.”        “I mean that is a bold statement,” Y/N said, sipping on the remnants of her coffee. “What if I’m like a weird, cat-skinning psychopath in one dimension? Would you love me even then?”        “Jesus Christ, Y/L/N, do you just normally come up with those gruesome scenarios or is it a hobby?”        She wiggled her eyebrows, standing up and throwing away the paper cup. “There’s a reason I have a VPN and clean my search history. I’ll see you in your trailer?”        “Yeah.” Harry nodded and smiled. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”        The next half-hour he kept hyping himself up, about how he was actually going to do it, but Florence intercepted him right as he was turning down the way his trailer stood. “How are you gonna do it?”        “I – “ Harry huffed and placed his hands on his hips. “In the beginning, I had like a whole romantic outing planned, but… I’ve dragged this on long enough, so I think I’ll just tell her.”        “Okay, good.” Florence nodded and slapped his shoulder in approval. “And if I don’t hear that trailer rocking, I will throw you in a ditch.”        Harry’s eyes widened at the statement, fully knowing she meant her words, but she was already half-way down the track, blond hair swishing behind her back.        It was then or never.        Slowly he opened his own trailer door as if it was Y/N’s place not his, but by the looks of how she’d sprawled out on his bed, she had made herself right at home. Just like she’d done it on the first day of school, but just with his heart.        “Hey!” She smiled looking at him. “You ready to film?”        “Yeah, but umm… I kind of wanted to talk to you beforehand.”        Y/N’s brows furrowed at Harry’s serious tone, so she sat up, nodding. “Sure. Is everything alright?” “It’s nothing bad, at least I hope you won’t take it in a bad way... I’ve actually been wanting to tell you this since that winter’s break party you had while doing your masters...” He let out a small chuckle but seeing Y/N’s eyes widen in a panic he stopped. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “You have a kid! Oh my God.” “What? No!” Harry spluttered. “Why the hell is the first thing you assume that I have a kid?” “I don’t know!” She was now standing facing him completely. “We’ve never had secrets between us, especially for as long as you’ve apparently kept them, what am I supposed to think? Maybe one of the girls you hooked up with got pregnant, and you’ve been hiding the fact you’re a baby daddy because you know I wouldn’t be able to keep the fact I can be the cool drunk aunt to myself.” All of that came out as is she’d prepared it ages ago. “Well, no.” Harry shook his head stepping closer so he could be chest to chest with Y/N. “I’m not anyone’s baby daddy. At least I don’t think so, but umm... when that moment would come... when I have a kid...” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed before lifting a gentle hand to cup her cheek. I wouldn’t want you to be the drunk aunt. I um...” There goes nothing. “I’d kinda like if you were the mom.” “Of course, I’ll be the Godmother!” Both of them said at the same time, making the other’s brain stumble over the words said. “Wait, mom?” Y/N’s question was breathless. “Like donate my eggs or some shit?” “No like, I’ve been in love with you for close to four years, and I wanna try and build a future with you, where you’re more than just my best friend.”        “Oh.”        That was all that managed to escape her mouth as he fully opened his heart, and Harry couldn’t lie – it shattered. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was more than that. “That’s...” Y/N huffed sitting down on the bed. “That’s a lot to take in Harry. Like a lot.” “I know.” He sighed and sat down next to her. “Which is why I’ve been pushing this away for as long as I could, but... it was time. It wasn’t fair to you or me to keep on living like that. Look.” Harry took her palm in his. “Whatever you want us to be, we’ll be that. I - I mean I’ll be heartbroken if you say you don’t feel the same, but no matter what you tell me now, I won’t let you leave my life. I love you, and I’m in love with you. This is your choice which way you chose to go with.” Y/N shook her head, interlacing their fingers and finally looking up at him. “I don’t want you to be heartbroken. It’s the last thing, I’d ever want to see you like. And umm well, if it takes me using the pair of ovaries I have to admit I’ve been in love with you too to change that, I guess I’ll have to say it. I’m in love with you too.” Harry’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears of happiness, as he looked at Y/N like she’d hung the stars in the sky. Not that it mattered. He always looked at her like that. “You mean it?” “Yeah,” she chuckled, wiping away a few stray pearls from her own cheeks. “I guess I always thought I’d end up the drunk aunt in your life, so that’s why I thought you’d ask me to be whatever future child’s Godmother. But I love you, and I’m in love with you too.” “Can I – “ Fuck, Harry was too giddy for his own good. “Can I kiss you?” And when Y/N chuckled, nodding he swore he already was in heaven. “Yes, please.”        At first, the touch of his lips was gentle, almost afraid, but the second he pressed them to Y/N’s, and she gasped at the sensation, it became full of lust as passion, years of pent-up pining and angst and just plain old stupidity surfacing and morphing itself into a steamy make-out session.        In a split second, she was sprawled out on Harry’s bed, his toned body leaning over hers and teasing hands moving along her sides, making her squirm and ache for more of his touch, but she wasn’t the only one who wanted to explore a body with a new mindset of what was possible.        As Y/N moaned from Harry’s tongue invading her mouth, her hand couldn’t help itself as it slid down his chest, and her finger flicked against the button of his trousers.        “Can I touch you there?” Y/N whispered against his mouth, and Harry eagerly nodded.        “Please. Been dreaming about this for literally years.”        Smiling, she allowed him to continue and explore her mouth with his tongue, intoxicated on one another’s taste. In fact, Y/N was so far gone just from the kiss, she forgot how a fly worked and needed Harry’s help to open it.        “Get back here,” she grumbled as he chuckled, having leaned up a bit to make it easier for her to get the offensive piece of clothing off. “We’ll see how you fare with a bra.”        “Oh, I’m an expert.” His hands trailed to her shoulder where he snapped one of the straps against her skin, making her yelp.        “You do not want to do that when my hand is an inch away from your dick.”        But the threat had no merit to it, as she dipped her palm behind Harry’s boxers while his mouth went to soothe the sting and leave a little mark on her skin, which he’d get to admire later on.        The second, Y/N wrapped her hand around his cock an involuntary moan escaped into the air, as she gripped him. Fuck, she couldn’t wait until he was inside her, because, and it might sound a little cliché given how they were best friends who’d fallen in love with one another, but she was one hundred percent sure, he was made exactly for her.        But no matter how much she twisted her hand or how gently or roughly she rubbed the tip, he couldn’t get hard, and Harry was on the verge of tears, which Y/N saw and instantly pulled away, cupping his face.        “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”        “Hey!” Y/N cooed. “None of that. It’s alright. Shit happens.”        Harry nodded understanding that she was right, but he still felt shitty and well, he felt insecure about it. “I just. Fuck. Usually, when I think of you, I’m hard in like a second.”        And although all Y/N wanted to do was smirk and tease him about the fact that he thought of her while wanking himself off, that wasn’t the right moment.        “I promise, you turn me on, you do." He sniffled. "This had never happened before.” But Y/N wasn’t offended or sad, and her laugh wasn’t mocking or trying to hurt him.        “Harry you’re dead tired.” She cupped his cheek with one of her hands, and if he’d been ice cream he would’ve literally melted. “You had to wake up at four in the fucking morning and won’t go to sleep until two the next day. Let yourself rest a bit.”        “But,” he whined and then huffed. “But I wanna love on you. Wanna show you just how crazy I am about you.”        “And you will. You know I’ll always hold you to your word. But this won’t be fun for either of us if mid-fuck you suddenly collapse on me asleep. I don’t need to go to the A and E and explain the broken nose is because my boyfriend decided to take a nap while shagging. A nap on my face.”        But Harry hadn’t really heard anything she’d said after Y/N mentioned the b-word, a dopey smile on his face. “I’m your boyfriend? You really want me like that?”        “I mean I would prefer if you were Phoebe…”        Harry pinched her side, making her squeal before tackling her in a hug. “Shut up!”        And that’s how the two fell asleep (and were woken up twenty minutes later by an assistant in a panic given how Harry was supposed to be on set in five minutes)  – wrapped up in one another’s arms, smiles on their faces, and no longer best friends, but lovers.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I loved writing this so much :)

P.S. my tags are always open

P.S.S. I don’t take requests, sorry. Also, please don’t repost my story on other platforms (wattpad etc) without specific written permission. 

[shotorozu]

hello! i love ur writings <3

wanted to request a hc of todoroki, deku, and bakugou and their reactions to the tiktok trend where those two girls are laughing and ppl put their friends/family members in the camera thinking it’s their friend or something 💀 (here’s a link to one of the videos https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMe6oFVx5/ )

once again, love ur work and hopefully i did this request correctly 😩🙏🏽

s/o’s friends laugh at them

character(s) : bakugou katsuki, midoriya izuku, todoroki shouto (bnha)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used, quirk’s not specific

headcanon type : crack, fluff (x reader)

note(s) : i always say that i’m going to upload more, since i haven’t in a day but i’m going to keep my promises this time. and maybe after my content dump, that’s when i’ll fix my masterlists

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bakugou katsuki

this prank was very risky just like the other pranks you’ve pulled on him but that doesn’t stop you at all

you decided to do this prank after seeing it on the fyp— and also because of the prank’s simplicity since all you needed to do was download the tiktok

you called katsuki over when he finishes working out, and it all seems innocent “katsuki! come over here.”

katsuki, irritated— as he had just finished his exercise, he marches over to where you’re seated “what now, dumbass?”

“i want you to meet my friends!” katsuki only raises a brow, because he’s PRETTY sure that he’s met all of your friends

“now??” he sighs, “i thought i met all of your stupid friends.”

“not all of them,” you grin “c’mon please, katsuki?” and it’s over when your eyes twinkle, and he can only sigh— sitting next to you

“okay, let me meet them” he asks, and you pull up with your phone (that’s now filming, and with the video playing) and show him your ‘friends’

“this is katsuki! my boyfriend,” you introduce him to your ‘friends’

and he’s SO offended when your friends burst into laughter, “WHAT THE HELL’S SO FUNNY, EXTRAS??”

man was really about to explode your phone into pieces— and i’m serious about that part 🧎‍♂️ his hands were creating mini sparks out of anger

you had to coax him that it was just a prank, and they weren’t actually your friends

katsuki’s just 😐 “what did i expect from you?”

promise him that the video won’t go viral, and it won’t be seen by thousands and thousands of people.

you were wrong, and the video AND the audio ended up going viral. and katsuki had to hear his voice on tiktok for WEEKS.

“YOU TOLD ME IT WOULDN’T GO VIRAL DUMBASS” he fumes, red irises zeroing in on you.

“WELL SORRY— I DONT CONTROL THE ALGORITHM, but at least you’re famous!”

“fuck off,” he doesn’t mean that. but he just needs to learn how to not fall for your shit again, despite being really whipped for you

midoriya izuku

you’d feel bad because izuku’s ALWAYS at the receiving end of your pranks 💀

similar to bakugou, you decided to prank him because of the simplicity of the prank— and he wouldn’t get TOO offended by the prank’s nature, right? wrong 💀

izuku swings the door open, a couple of snacks held in his arms, “hey Y/N! i brought some snacks— what did you need me for?”

“oh, i want you to meet my cousins!”

he immediately goes red, setting down the snacks he brought to your room “your c-cousins? oh no no no, Y/N why didn’t you tell me? i could’ve showered before hand— i could’ve fixed my face and wore something different—”

poor izuku. he’s gesturing to his post workout state, since he was in such a hurry to get to your room with snacks.

but you brush his concern off “don’t worry, izuku! it’s through call. they won’t be able to smell you anyway.”

he calms down, and this when you decide to start the tiktok. “i’m going to call them,” he only nods, quickly hurrying over to your side— to meet your ‘cousins’

“say hi, izuku!” he nervously smiles, showing his face to the camera and waving his hand— totally oblivious of the intentions

he’s stammering on the introduction, and that’s when the rather hysterical laughing starts

he blinks, the feeling of defeat courses through his entire body— the green haired boy immediately moves away from the view

why exactly is izuku genuinely sad from your ‘cousins’ laughing at him? well,, it was always a thing for him to try his very best to be likeable to your relatives

your parent(s)/guardian? they adore him. siblings (if there’s any) they’re also very fond of him. so while you say that they’re your cousins— it still means a lot if he made a good impression

“i,, should’ve changed!” he sulks, the fact that the laugh was quite hysterical didn’t aid the issue, “your cousins will never like me,,”

his mind is put at ease when you tell him it’s a prank— and they’re not actually your cousins. so he doesn’t need to do any redeeming, regardless of the fact that he ‘just met’ them

he sighs in relief, actually glad that it was all just another innocent tiktok prank (that did make his heart race 10x faster)

the video blows up, his distraught reaction being splayed across the fyp, it eventually getting onto twitter— his face being used as an reaction video

“you’re viral, izuku!”

he’s content, despite his distraught reaction being spread across the internet. but he just wishes that your actual cousins don’t see it 💀

todoroki shouto

is most likely aware of your tiktok pranks— but please 💀 this one looked realistic to him, so how was he supposed to tell??

anyways, you decided to do this prank because you wanted to see how he’d react to your ‘family members’ laughing at him. his reactions are golden though

it’s harmless, in a way— it’s mostly a harmless prank. shouto knows how to not take things too seriously, but you just wanted to see his reactions.

“shouto, could you please come over here?” you call for him to sit right next to you, patting his usual spot next to you.

“what is it?” he asks, getting comfortable next to you, kissing your temple— and that’s when you pull out your phone

“i want you to meet my siblings!”

shouto’s puzzled, because one— he always prefers to meet your family members in person, and two— he didn’t know you had siblings (or more siblings)

“we’re not meeting them in person?”

“oh wait! i forgot to mention that they’re working abroad. so we can’t really schedule a meeting in person.”

shouto’s skeptical, but you reassure him further “it’ll be quick!”

the dual haired boy chooses to believe you which was honestly really wrong of him, “alright, i’ll meet them.”

he moves next to you, peaking at the screen “say hi to shouto!”

he was expecting a few things but,, them breaking out into hysterical laughter was just something else

shouto’s so confused 💀✋ someone please help him, it’s like you spoke to him in simlish. that’s what his reaction would be like.

and he’s just thinking things like— why are you guys laughing? is there dirt on my face? i didn’t even say anything funny??

“why are they laughing? love, i didn’t even say anything funny??”

oblivious shouto. he’s not even aware that it’s all just a tiktok prank. but he must say— he’s a little bit disappointed that he already has a bad impression on your ‘siblings’

it’s your turn to laugh, making his thinking at a vague state— shouto’s trying to think of pieces of dialogue he might’ve missed

“it’s a prank, shouto— look,” you replay the tiktok of the girls laughing, and it comes clearly to him now

“oh.” 🧍 honestly, why is he so shocked? it wasn’t the first time you managed to prank him in such a similar nature.

he’s not mad though— rather, shouto’s impressed. “love, i adore you— but i’m not sure on why i got surprised.”

“right? i’d think that you’re used to this but i guess you’re not!” nah, he just believes you a little bit too easily.

but that doesn’t mean he WON’T be suspicious when he actually has to meet your siblings.

“these,, are actually your siblings? no pranks this time, right?” he just wants to make sure. he won’t fall for your potential pranks again!

also, the video does well, the comments being filled with “LMAO HE LOOKED GENUINELY CONFUSED” “shouto todoroki being confused for 20 seconds straight 🤠❓❓”

shouto is very confused on why the girls were just laughing, putting everything aside— he just doesn’t know the context of that tiktok 🧎‍♂️

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission

[songbirdstyles]

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’)  and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And - 

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

 --

 “I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar. 

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him. 

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

 --

 For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned. 

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

 --

 You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is! 

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does? 

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.” 

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

 --

 You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

 --

 Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat. 

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different. 

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

 --

 You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth. 

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation. 

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more. 

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

[amberwritesstuffs]

A touch of fire.

Summary: You have the power to control fire, you get an invite to join the Avengers; but what happens when they know the truth about you and your past?

Warnings: Little angst!/Mentions of death/Mentions of suicide.

Word count: 6k

Blurry.

That’s all you see. The trees passing by at a relatively fast speed before you… Or are you passing them? Are they running, afraid of you or are you the one that’s moving?

You try to focus yourself a little because all is extremely blurry and confusing.

“Y/N?” A voice asks and you do your best to just focus on where the voice is coming from.

“The tranquilizer must have been stronger than we thought” he says.

A tranquilizer. Right. You remember vaguely now.

The man sitting in front of you of the limousine is now your boss, Nick Fury, you can see his brow furrowed at you, concerned.

“Y/N? Can you tell me how you feel?”

You try and nod. “Everything is blurry… Where am I?” You tried to ask where they were taking you but couldn’t focus enough to say it.

“We are on the road… We should arrive maybe in half an hour” Fury says. Arrive… Where? “Y/N sleep a little… I’ll call Dr. Cho to tell her the tranquilizer was too powerful to you, she should change it immediately, so you don’t have any problems, alright?”

You nod, not exactly registering his words, so you focus on the trees moving outside, when your eyes give in.

You wake up in a room you’ve never seen before, it’s bright and the light is too much for your eyes, but you try to keep them open. Scanning the room, you realize your boss is there.

“Well, soldier I thought you’d never wake up!” he says smiling, you smile too, even though you are a little confused, mind still a little hazy.

“Where am I?” you ask sitting up.

“At the Avengers compound. Do you remember something?” he says carefully.

Remember… Ah, yes. You remember being on a medical bed, Dr. Cho telling you something about a new drug she created that was supposed to keep you relaxed so your emotions couldn’t go crazy, and your powers exploded.

“Yes, that’s exactly it. You remember why you need said drug?” Fury keeps interrogating, concern written all over his face.

“Not really…?”

“Well, it was the deal the government proposed when I got you out of their prison to bring you here.” Here… That’s where it clicks, you are on the Avengers compound, Fury said they needed to bring you here so you could train your powers and (as the government said) ‘not be a threat’.

You start to panic, your emotions getting the best of you as you start feeling fear and guilt all over again. They think you are dangerous, and you actually know you are, but it’s not what you want, you don’t want to be dangerous, you never wanted any of that to happen.

“Y/N I need you calm down, everything is going to be alright, you are safe now, I need you to focus on me and breathe or I am going to have to sedate you again” Fury says approaching you with his hands on either side of your face as he makes you look at him. When you do, you see concern and understanding on his features, so you try to do as he said. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

You open your eyes relaxing as the panic starts to flow away. Fury smiles at you proudly. “That’s it… Now… We need to go, they are waiting patiently for us but are dying to meet you.”

--

Maybe an hour later you are walking out of the meeting room following Fury being a nervous ball. He introduced you to all of the Avengers, having you stand by his side before the large table where everyone was reunited. Eyes scanning you did nothing for your nervousness so you just ducked your head and played with your sleeves, not really listening to what Fury was saying next to you.

You know he filled them in with general information about you but reserved the details like you asked him to. They know your powers appeared a year ago, there was an accident where your powers got out of control and there were casualties, the government captured you and you spent months on a maximum-security facility where they used a collar to suppress your powers. He didn’t talk about the worst parts, just that he was informed months later about you and he fought for your release until he made a deal that state you had to control your powers and in the meantime you had to take a sedative drug to prevent more accidents. Or that they experimented on you trying to know where your powers came from. Or that you almost gave yourself to the pain and was about to give up on life. He talked to you and gave you hope again.

“We hope we can make you feel welcome, if you need anything just ask.” Captain America, or as he said: Steve, told you as you soon as you were outside the room.

“We don’t want you feeling any pressure, we are all family here, and we are happy to have another member”, the famous Tony Stark smiled to you.

“Thank you” you said, feeling a little less nervous, knowing that they were trying to make your stay pleasant.

“Fury told us about you a few days ago, and we tried to accommodate your room, but you can always tell us if you want something changed; what about if we show it to you so you can relax and set in?” Tony spoke again, and his tone was like he was talking to a son, and you felt warm inside. You smiled and nodded.

“I can take her there.” A feminine voice said.

Holy shit. Wanda fucking Maximoff was volunteering to show you the place. You felt your cheeks heat up.

Of course you knew who the Avengers were. You remember watching the news and seeing them save the day, even on Instagram and Twitter you would see videos of people experiencing up close the battle.

But out of all of them, Wanda Maximoff always stood up at your eye. You knew she was relatively new and she lost her brother some time ago. But since, you’ve been seeing her everywhere saving the day. Not mentioning you found her terriblybeautiful and hot. You would fantasize about meeting her but now there she was, standing in front of you, a warming smile on her lips and her green piercing eyes watching you with kindness.

You did nothing but nod with a new renewed nervousness to have your celebrity crush smiling you like that. Her face lit up with excitement and she offered a hand for you to take it. You felt a blush creeping up your neck as you took her hand and let her guide you around the compound. You smiled and said a thank you to the people that were talking to you before Wanda dragged you through the corridors.

--

You almost gasped as you took in the room that was supposed to be yours. It was big, and modern, and it had everything you needed and more.

“So… You like it?” Wanda smiled shyly to you, with her hands behind her back and an amused smile on her lips.

You could only nod, mouth open in amazement. The bed was bigger than you ever had and you almost felt like crying since this was the first time in… A lot of time… You were going to sleep on an actual bed. The past months being on jail and barely sleeping on the bunk that was nothing but super uncomfortable. You sat down on the bed, feeling the softness and warmth of it as your fingers traced it. “It’s so soft and warm…” You echoed your thoughts.

Wanda stopped smiling slightly, hearing what you said. “Yes… That is your bed… You like it?” She chewed on her lower lip, remembering what Fury said about you being on a maximum-security facility, and feeling the need to read your thoughts as they were really loud, but she knew better, before she would’ve, but now she was better.

“Yeah… It’s not cold and uncomfortable…” She looked at you, sadness written all over her face, you being so deep in thought and overwhelmed with emotions. But this time was different, there were good emotions.

Wanda moved and knelt before you, taking your hands on hers. “Everything will be fine from now on.” She said staring right into your eyes that took your breath for a moment. “You are safe here and we are going to protect you and care for you… I really hope you can see us as a family, because right now we are accepting you.”

Your eyes filled with tears, and the only thing you could do was nod as you felt warmth on your hands, but it was way different from the warmth you were used to feel.

“I’ll let you settle in, alright? It will be almost dinner time and we would love to have you there, what’d you say?” You nodded again, and Wanda smiled with amusement at your loss of words. “If you need anything, I’m in the room beside you. The one in front is Natasha’s, and the one beside hers it’s empty, we kinda separate from the boys for our commodity.” She explained and felt a little relieved to know there were only women around you.

But you felt hella intimidated too.

Natasha fucking Romanoff and Wanda fucking Maximoff were your neighbors. This was both intimidating and awesome.

Wanda left your room with a shy “See you later” and you fell completely on the bed, feeling overwhelmed again but in a good way now.

After thinking about it, you went to take a shower and change your clothes, and right after you fell asleep almost instantly. Someone knocked on your door and you stirred awake.

“Come in”. Wanda peeked her head into your room, smiling.

“Hi, Y/N, can we come in?” You furrowed your brows, we? You nodded, standing up, just as two women entered your room, and your eyes widened.

Natasha Romanoff was standing right next to Wanda, a friendly smile on her lips.

“Hi, Y/N, I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you and Wanda after the meeting, I had to make some paperwork for Fury. I’m Natasha” She held out a hand, and you took it, starstruck by both women.

Both women giggled when you said nothing, and you cleared your throat. “Hi, I’m Y/N” you blurted out awkwardly and they giggled a little again.

“So, dinner is almost ready, you hungry?” Wanda said, feeling joyful.

“Yeah, I am…” You said quietly but smiling. Wanda offered her hand again and you took it as Natasha guided you with her hand on the small of your back.

Normally this would be scary. Holding hands with someone for more than a second, or the proximity both women offered you would just give you anxiety. But this time was different, they seemed to not fear you, instead, they had kind eyes and warming smiles that just made you feel safe even when you knew them for a few hours.

--

Dinner was quite something, everyone joking and laughing as someone was telling some story, or Sam just said something funny mostly towards Bucky, as he was the loudest and Bucky the quieter. It felt like home, and you were grateful for it as you missed the feeling. No one asked you intrusive questions, nor pushed you to talk, they sensed you were feeling shy and instead, tried to make the environment more welcoming for you.

After it, you head up to your room with Natasha and Wanda beside you, talking about nothing.

“So” Nat begun “Tomorrow we start with your training, please be ready at 8 am, yes?”

“Yes” you said, a little more confident to speak this time. The women smiled at you and were parting to their rooms when you felt the need to talk. They’ve been so sweet and caring for you, and you only got out a few words towards them. “Um…” You began, not sure of what to say, both stopped and looked at you carefully. “Thank you… For, uh, for everything you did for me today… It’s a little overwhelming… But I’ll try my best.” You were looking down and playing with your sleeves all time, until Wanda used her hand to lift your chin so you could watch her.

“I know it’s overwhelming, no one is going to push you, you are safe here.” Natasha agreed putting her hand on your shoulder. You nodded, feeling loss at words again. They smiled again and said their good nights before disappearing into their rooms, you did the same, feeling relaxed and at peace for the first time in a long time.

--

You almost overslept, the bed was comfier that you thought and rested what you couldn’t in a long time but you were ready just in time when a knock came to your door.

“Y/N? Are you ready?” You heard Natasha’s voice on the other side. You opened the door and smiled, saying a “Yes, Nat”. She smiled at the nickname and motioned you to follow her. Before heading out, she knocked on Wanda’s door. “Wanda? Are you ready?” Wanda shouted an “Yeah, give me 2 seconds!” and short after she was stepping out with a smile on her face.

“Good morning, Tasha, Y/N” She greeted and both Natasha and you said the same. “Let’s go, it’s a big day today” Wanda seemed to be excited, but you could only feel nervous and anxious. This was going to be the first time they see your powers, and you could only think they were going to be scared and kick you after. Wanda, being the telepath she was, sensed your troubled mind and touched your arm kindly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah…” You said, not feeling sure. Wanda smiled cutely.

“Hey… Everything’s going to be okay, we are here to help you, okay?” You nodded.

When you arrived at the training area, Steve, Bruce and Tony were already there. They greeted everyone and Bruce addressed you.

“Fury told me to give you this, but he didn’t quite tell me why, he said you needed to explain.” You stomach made a turn and felt heavy as you took the vial you recognized as the tranquilizer Dr. Cho created for you. Everyone eyed you carefully, questioning looks on their faces but said nothing.

“They are… Tranquilizers… They are supposed to make me feel relaxed.” You said sadly. And the Avengers noticed it. Tony tried to lighten the mood.

“Banner, I think you could ask Fury for some of those, they would be quite handy.” Everyone laughed slightly at Bruce’s face that reflected confusion, indignation and irritability.

Steve talked. “Well, Y/N, show us what you can do” when he finished, everyone started to back off, you looked at Wanda and then Natasha, they had reassuring smiles on their faces, as if saying “You got this”.

You sighed, and the anxiety came back, you didn’t want anyone to be harmed, and when you used your powers, that happened. Wanda must have sensed your doubt, as she approached to you. “Y/N, everything is okay… You can do it.”

“I don’t want anyone to be harmed” you whispered. Wanda touched your arm reassuringly.

“No one is going to be hurt, I promise you, I won’t let it.” You finally looked at her eyes and almost gasped at the intensity they reflected. You don’t know why, but you knew you could trust her. It was maybe that she felt what you felt a lot time ago, when they accepted her as one of the Avengers, maybe she understood, that’s what made you give her the shots.

“Please… If you see something going out of control with me… Just take the shot, this should calm me instantly.” She took them and nodded. Then she smiled and you felt a little better.

She backed up again and you took the chance to do it.

You brought your arms before you and tensed your fingers, concentrating. Then it happened. A little flame came out of your fingers and quickly became a full fire floating around your hands. You closed your palms before the fire could spread and looked at the Avengers, scared of what they might think.

“Can you do something else? Like throw them? Fire balls or something?” Tony asked, genuinely concentrated.

“Yes… And I can throw fire from all of my body too, but hands are the easiest.” You responded, shyly.

“Can you-“

“Tony what the hell, she can’t throw fire here, it can be dangerous.” You flinched at Bruce’s words… He was scared… You thought they were different, but here, you could see it, he thought you were dangerous…

“No, she’s not” Wanda spoke above their voices. You jerked your face up to see her. She had an annoyed look on her face as she walked to you. You only watched her until she got in front of you, a decided look on her beautiful eyes. “I can help. Throw them to me” Your eyes widened.

“What-?”

“Trust me” She whispered. But you didn’t know. Throw them? To her? What- was she crazy? “Y/N, trust me, I have powers on my own.” She said teasingly and you nodded, still doubtful.

She backed up a little, being opposite to you, and got into position.

“It’s okay” She said, still sensing your doubts. “You can do it, throw them. I’m ready.”

You were still scared but prepared to do as she said. You tensed your fingers again and the fire grew, then you separated your hands so each hand had a fire ball. Then you threw it.

You regretted it the moment you did, what were you thinking? It’s fire, it’s dangerous, but it was too late now, the fire ball went directly to Wanda. But she then used her powers to create a barrier that suffocated the fire ball when reached to it. You were dumbfounded. She just extinguished it? She smiled at you. “Told you.” She said happily as her eyes drifted from red to green.

After that, it was settled that Wanda would train you, since she was the one that could take the hits safely.

--

You grew extremely close to Wanda. Natasha would see you train too, always being pending on what you needed. She assumed this motherly figure to you and you were really grateful for it. But for Wanda…

Both of you would train for hours and you grew more confident of your powers because of her. She figured out a way to teach you how to use your powers correctly, and how to control your body temperature, as when you used your powers, your hands would end up burnt, and Wanda bandaging you carefully taking extra care. You were getting better and better at not burning your own skin.

It was a matter of time for you to develop strong feelings towards the witch. You already had a sort of celebrity crush but getting to know her personally up close was a totally different story. It was with her that you learned about a new way your face would heat up as you spent most of the time blushing because of her, as if it was a compliment or Wanda’s laugh. You spent a lot of time together and did everything together; she was the cook for the team and quickly you became her assistant, the team would constantly tease you because every time you both cooked, you would linger on it playing around.

The time you realized you were in love with her was when you were making Bolognese pasta for dinner and you started to play around pretending to play an accordion like the “Lady and the Tramp” as you sang the most horrible way possible just to make her laugh. She quickly picked up as she laughed to sing along with you; her laugh, combined with her melodic voice, became your favorite sound on the whole world. Then, as the last part of the song came, you took a single noodle in your mouth and motioned her to take it, she blushed but took it as you progressively went closer, stopping only until you were inches away, you stayed like that for a few seconds until you pulled away coughing awkwardly trying to hide your blush, Wanda giggled and served a plate only to push a single meatloaf your way, you catch the reference and quickly feel your neck heat up as you giggle, staring lovingly at her eyes. You stayed like that a moment, both of you unable to tear your gazes apart until Nat came through the door asking for the food. Both of you coughed awkwardly before Wanda blurted out a “Yes, it’s ready”, as you took the plates to take them to the table, feeling all your face go red. Nat only watched as an amused smiled grew on her lips. Since that day you were certain that your feelings for the witch were bigger than you thought, and it confused you since you weren’t sure if she felt the same way or she was just being friendly.

Your friendship with the team grew progressively quick as you kept training. When the team saw more control over your powers they started training you in 1v1 combat too, telling you that you needed to know how to fight too. Natasha was the one to help you with that, and every time you fought with her, Wanda was close to check on you, earning a knowing look from Nat as she teased how you weren’t able to be alone anymore, normally you’d laugh to hide the blush covering your cheeks. Everything was going just fine, until Fury came one day.

He claimed you weren’t taking the tranquilizers and scolded you for that, because that was the part of the bargain. But you didn’t like taking them, they made your mind hazy and affected your life inside the compound, not being able to socialize or train properly with the team.

Your argument got heated (quite literally) as you felt your body get hotter. He feared you. You were dangerous on his eyes and that’s why you had to take the tranquilizers. He did not care about you getting better at controlling them. He feared you could go crazy again and murdered everyone.

You got out of the conference room and headed straight to the training room hopeful you could calm down on your own and not with the stupid drugs. That’s when Nat came in and saw you punching the punching bag with steam coming out of your hands. She tried to talk to you but you were blinded in so much pain.

You tried. And it wasn’t enough for him. Him… The person that got you out of the misery. Without him, you’d still be at the hands of the government or dead. But still, no matter how hard you tried. You. Still. Were. Not. Enough.

Nat tried to get your attention but all she did was to burn her hands as she tried to touch you. When she screamed, you finally registered her presence, when you saw what you did to her, you got scared. Not her, you didn’t want to hurt her. Any of them.

“Nat, I’m so sorry.” You said, panicked, she tried to smile but only came out as a crocked smile, still holding her hands, you tried to come closer to her and grab her hands to see the damage, and she allows it, only to scream again when your heated palms touched her wrists. You look down and see her wrists red, as the smell of burn flesh invades your senses. “I’m so sorry, Nat, please.”

She sees you with terrified eyes, and you try to approach only for her to back off, trembling in pain. She didn’t want to be scared of you, but the hurt was making her act out of pure instinct. When you saw the fear on Natasha’s eyes, you panicked, and then ran off to your room, not seeing how your feet were leaving little flames everywhere they touched.

When you got to your room, you nearly set up everything on fire, everything you touched got burnt at some level. You went on full panic attack mode, where you grabbed your head, feeling a burning sensation as your palms were still heated. You tried to concentrate but the guilt came back, making you hate yourself, as you tried to stop thinking. And the familiar feeling came. The one you felt back at the maximum-security facility. The guilt fueled at maximum level and your mind trying to take it out. You stopped to see your hands and after a few seconds, lit them on fire, just for you to start bringing them to your own head, it would be easier, to just stop feeling. It would just hurt for a while, then everything would be at peace.

Then you felt something, a pinch, and your mind became blurry as your powers shut down. Someone dragged you to the bathroom and placed you under the shower. You felt cold water as your body poured out steam as it went back to it’s normal temperature.

--

You wake up feeling your head hurt. And when you open your eyes, Wanda is right next to you, eyes teary and a sad smile on her face. You try to smile and ask what happened when you see a burn on her right cheek. It’s red, and even though it does not look as bad at what you did to Nat, you can still see the damage. You try and reach before stopping yourself and dropping your hand again, afraid to hurt her.

“You are okay. Don’t worry, you are okay.” She must have sensed you wanted to ask, so she answered. “I shot you the tranquilizer, then got you into the shower. We all heard Tasha’s screams and went to check on her, but everything is alright now. She is fine.” You saw something in her eyes and you knew there was something she wasn’t telling you. But before that, you pointed her check.

“Did I do that?” You asked, scared of it. When she nodded, you felt even worse than before. You didn’t want to hurt any of the team, but Wanda and Nat were the ones that had a place in your heart. But knowing you hurt Wanda… The girl you fell for, just added to the feeling you had earlier. However, your mind was still hazy from the tranquilizer, so your powers remained shut down. “How… How did I hurt you?” You asked barely above a whisper, feeling your throat clench and your eyes starting to burn.

“I’m not sure… I entered the room and saw your hands on fire, and I listened what you were thinking and trying to do, so I just took the shot as you told me, but I think it was a reflex, as your hand brushed my cheek… Then I tried to take you into the shower but you were extremely hot for me to touch you directly, so I used my powers to do it. You fell asleep short after… You’ve been asleep for half an hour.”

“How’s Nat?” you asked after a little silence.

“She will be fine, Bruce treated her wounds and he said she will be fine.”

“What are you not telling me, Wanda?” You asked, sad all over your face. She sighed.

“You almost burnt the compound…” Your eyes go wide and the tears that were forming started to fall. “You left little flames with your feet. And it started expanding. Thanks to Tony and Steve everything was controlled, and didn’t go big…” A silence comes next, and you feel worse than before.

Then you start crying, “Not again…” You say, covering your face with your hands. “It is all over again, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” Wanda moves from where she is sitting at the edge of the bed and climbs with you, making you lay on top of her. You tense, afraid of hurting her again, when she says “I’m not afraid of you. You could never hurt me.” And then tears come down full force as you hide your face on the crook of her neck as she hugs you tight.

When you calm down, she says “Since I met you, I felt this guilt and fear inside you… Fury never told us why they captured you and were on jail at a maximum facility.” You tense and she continues “I felt what you were going to do, you were going to use your own powers to kill yourself… And that wasn’t the first time you thought about it… What happened? Why are you so scared? Please talk to me, Y/N, I want to help you.”

You remain silent for a moment, after you decide it’s time to tell her, at least her.

“My powers came to me after being exposed to a weird animal. My parents used to work to the government in some place they had weird creatures they were experimenting on. There was this kind of Phoenix I always felt attracted to, I didn’t know why. My parents used to let my little brother and I go to their laboratory for us to see what they were working on. But this creature was so fascinating to me, I made the mistake of wanting to watch it up close. It was cute at first as the creature was friendly. And then it bit me. I felt sick at the very moment and my parents treated me the best way possible.” You make a pause, and snuggle closer to Wanda, which only hugs you tighter. “They kept it hidden to their bosses and everyone, but eventually my powers emerged. My parents did not want any trouble or for me to be captured and experimented on, so we all kept it a secret. But they kept growing and getting stronger by the second. I would release little amounts of energy with little balls of fire or just a flame to light the stove or to lit up the chimney. But one day my parents and I got involved in a big, big fight.” You took time to compose yourself, knowing this was the first time you actually talked with anyone about this, and Wanda, sensing where this was going, only sighed and hugged you closer, afraid that you might break.

“The fight began with me telling them I wanted to go to college and make some friends. After the incident I was quarantined on my home, not being able to see anyone else than my parents, and it was killing me, even though it happened merely a month before. They said no. I wanted to go. They said it was too dangerous. I said I could control them and be normal. And they screamed that I wasn’t normal and I was dangerous. And then I lost it. I think it exploded… All of the energy kept inside me… My emotions got the best of it… And I just let go…” You flinch again, remembering the scene and starting to cry uncontrollably again. Wanda says nothing as she feels her own tears stream down her face. “I just… Remember after seeing their bodies… What once was their bodies, burnt… Dead… Because of me… My father, my mother… My little brother… I didn’t mean to-… It was an accident…” And then you couldn’t talk anymore, as you crumbled in Wanda’s arms, crying, pouring your heart out. The woman beside you only hugs you and cries silently. But she sensed there was more. Seeing you couldn’t talk, she asked: “Can I look inside your head?” She tried to say it as gentle as she could so she didn’t disturb you. After thinking about it, you nodded, and her hand went to your temple and her eyes lit up red.

She saw everything, the moment the creature bit you, the moment you gained your powers, the frustration you felt of being kept, the argument, the accident, when they captured you and experimented on you, suppressing your powers with the collar, the moment Fury came to you offering an opportunity. She saw and felt everything. After it, you just cried until you fell asleep on her arms.

Wanda couldn’t sleep that night. She was afraid that someone could rip you away from her. All the fear that you felt during everything was stuck in her brain. She understood you. She lost her parents and her brother too, but this was different, very different. She could only imagine the amount of guilt you felt. “Don’t worry, princess, I’m going to take care of you from now on. This is a promise.” She couldn’t deny it anymore. She was so deep in love with you. Since the first day she felt drawn to you, being the newest Avenger until you arrived made her want to be close to you, and she only wanted to know you better and better, until she couldn’t deny it anymore. Seeing you grew out of your shell, from the quiet new girl to the newest member of the family, she loved everything about you, and she was not going to give up on you. You suffered enough, you deserved to be loved.

The next morning Wanda carefully slipped out of your embrace to go to the kitchen to make some coffee. She was tired but she didn’t want to leave you alone.

When she reached the kitchen, Steve was already there, leaning against the counter.

“Wanda” he said when he saw her, and she knew he wasn’t going to say something good. “We need to talk, come with me to the conference room, please.” She followed him without saying much.

--

“You can’t do that!” She yelled at the team. When she arrived to the conference room, everybody was already there, and they filled her in with what the team decided. They were going to throw you out and back to Fury.

“It’s for the best.” Tony spoke, tired.

“How is it for the best?! How is she going to be better out?!” Wanda was starting to feel desperate.

“It’s not the best for her… It’s the best for us…” Bruce said quietly. Wanda got quiet as she saw everyone in the room. Last being Natasha. She had her hands and wrists covered in bandages, sitting quiet on the corner of the room, eyes glued to the floor.

“Do you agree with them?” Wanda asked her. Natasha said nothing. “Tasha… Seriously? After everything?”

Nat finally lift her gaze and met with Wanda’s. “I don’t… But this could’ve gone wrong…”

“That’s why we are here! We all agreed to help her! Why are you turning your backs to her?”

“We are scared…” Bruce spoke again, quietly.

“As scared as I was when I murdered my own family?” You spoke gaining everyone’s attention. Wanda felt your presence earlier, so she said nothing and just sighed clenching her fists, looking down.

Everyone was shocked to hear what you said, Nat watching you with surprise. “I’m sorry?” She asked, disbelieved.

“I think it’s time I tell you what Fury didn’t.” Wanda went to your side and intertwined your fingers, giving you her support.

--

Some time later, everyone watched you with surprise and horror on their features. Except for Wanda, she was watching you lovingly.

“I-I’m sorry, kid.” Tony spoke first. “We had no idea.”

“Yeah, I know, and I don’t blame you. I just wanted you guys to know the truth before you ask me to go.”

“You are not going anywhere” Nat said with conviction. Wanda and you eyed her surprised of her tone. “I’m sorry. We are your family, and it’s not fair what we are doing to you. We are supposed to support you, not leave you when you need us the most.” Nat started to tear up. “I’m sorry I even thought about it. I was scared… But it’s no match to what you are feeling. I want to help you feel like home, to know that you are safe and you can count on us. Please, forgive me, Y/N” She was tearing up at this point, moving to sit beside you, taking your hands with hers that were still bandaged to show you she didn’t fear you. You nodded, feeling overwhelmed again as she hugged you tight, telling you sorry.

Everyone apologized and made an effort to make you feel like home again. It wasn’t just Wanda the one that helped you train anymore, all of them helped in their own way. Bruce helping you control your emotions given his situation being similar. Tony helped to make the training room safer for you to use your powers freely. Steve and Nat trained you on 1v1 combat. Fury came back and both of you apologized, you agreeing to take the new medicine Dr. Cho made that it was significantly lighter than the others. Everything was fine again. Except one thing you had left to do.

--

You were sitting on the roof with Wanda, both of you admiring the stars, and chatting while eating a pizza you ordered before. You used to do that since the night you told Wanda the truth; she dragged you to the roof to watch the city lights and enjoy the company of the other one; Wanda was decided to show you the beauty of life and had a lot of events planned just for you and her. Eventually your eyes drifted to the witch beside you. She was gorgeous and you couldn’t control your feelings anymore. You were in love with Wanda Maximoff.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” She teased and you laughed at her comment.

“Nah, I prefer your live beautiful face.” You said back and she blushed. She scooted over to you and cupped your cheek with her hand. Since the incident where you burnt her, you wouldn’t touch her, afraid to hurt her again, but this time, Wanda took your hand and kissed it. “I’m not afraid of you, princess.” Your breath hitched at the pet name.

“I can’t deny it anymore, Maximoff, you made everything take meaning again… You did so much for me… You make me want to live, to actually be happy, to forgive my past and move on… And I can’t deny anymore that I’m so deeply in love with you.” She smiled beautifully as her eyes sparkled.

“Y/N, I’m glad to hear that… Because I’m so deeply in love with you too.” You dreamt of those words, and now you were hearing them directly from her. “I’m going to show you a world full of love, because you deserve it, and I’m going to help you heal.”

You smiled, knowing that you were already healing from your painful past.

She then leant and captured your lips on a sweet kiss.

You knew you were far from being good and at peace completely with your powers and your past. But this was a great start.

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Life Without Colour (PART FIVE)

Soulmate AU: Your vision is in black and white until you meet your soulmate. You and your boyfriend, Steve Rogers, aren’t each others soulmates but you love each other. He introduces you to his friends, the Avengers, and a very odd thing happens.

Characters: Steve Rogers x Plus Size Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Female Reader

Note: ignore that i don’t even question bucky being able to get through security at the airport, i couldn’t think of how he would be able to get through the airport security bc of his metal arm so i’ve skipped that detail completely. i hope it doesn’t detract from the story! 

this is nearly 6000 words!

Taglist:  @domainoflostsouls​  forgetthisbull  handon-h-art  yourspecialcrush  giulsgotmusic  mrsbarnes-rogers  luosymekawa  linzeyzarcone  forgetthisbull   calamityreads  talgra   marina-darling  btsforlif  lamoursansfin  classic1985  lovesicksofi  fandomsfallnomore  thebivirgin  classygladiatorcupcake

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours. You had long since stopped trying to figure out what state you were in and where you were headed. Bucky had been driving non-stop aside from two bathroom breaks at a small gas station in the middle of nowhere. You had stopped crying a long time ago, too drained and too tired to continue. You felt horrendous. You hated this, you absolutely hated this but you had no choice in the matter. The car had been silent for the whole way aside from the quiet chatter on the radio. Bucky hadn’t wanted to speak in fear of upsetting you further. He had been driving you out of state to go to an airport that would be a little harder to find. It had been Fury’s idea, to go to an airport that Hydra wouldn’t look for straight away. It gave you a little more time to get away without being watched.

You took a break from watching the blur of trees and roads to glance at the clock on the dashboard; 13:42. You hadn’t eaten yet, barely had anything to drink either and you knew that you weren’t far away from a dehydration migraine. As if on cue, your stomach rumbled loudly. Bucky, without speaking, reached behind his car seat and produced a rucksack and dumped it on your lap with a, “Here. There’s water and some snacks in there. We’ll get a proper meal when we’re at the airport.”

You dug through the bag, producing two bottles of water. You opened one and offered it to Bucky, he accepted with a nod, draining half before handing it back to you. You offered him a muffin but he shook his head. You dropped the bag to between your feet and began to have your water and muffin. It helped curb the hunger, at least for a while, and you felt a lot better once you had something in your stomach. After a while, you sank back into your seat with a yawn.

Bucky glanced over at you, “We’ve still got a few hours to drive, you can sleep if you want.” You looked at him and he gave you a small smile, “It’s okay. I’ll wake you up when we’re there.”

You thanked him quietly before closing your eyes. It didn’t take long before you fell asleep and your soft snores filled the car. Bucky looked at you for a couple of seconds, smiling to himself. Man, it’s gonna be a long few weeks.

It only felt like you’d closed your eyes for a few minutes when Bucky was saying your name, gently shaking your shoulder. Groggily, you opened your eyes to meet his blue eyes and it almost gave you a fright seeing them. Sometimes it still surprised you to see colour and especially when Bucky was around... colour seemed to be brighter and those deeper blue eyes seemed so bright in person.

“We’re here,” he said, pulling back quickly, not wanting to upset you by being too close. Bucky was very careful of boundaries, he always had been but especially after the Winter Soldier incidents. He knew what it felt like to not want to be touched or have your personal space invaded so he was always careful to not overstep.

“You’ve got the fake passports and stuff, don’t you?” You asked him, yawning and stretching in your seat.

He nodded and told you that they’re in his bag. In order to help the process of becoming anonymous, Fury had fake IDs and fake passports made for the two of you. They’d even gone so far as to create two new backstories for the pair of you just in case anyone ever questioned the pair of you. You and Bucky got out of the car, your legs ached from having sat in the car for hours upon hours. It was dark outside now, you didn’t know the time. Bucky grabbed the bags out of the car and handed you the two passports to hold. As you walked into the airport, you flicked to it. Miss Jane Smith and Mr John Smith. Two very common and obvious fake names but you hoped that it wouldn’t be picked up.

The check in process was much easier than you anticipated, the passports passed the ID checks and soon, the two of you were through security and heading for the food outlet. Bucky had told you to keep your head down for most of the time and to avoid direct eye contact with cameras. The airport was relatively quiet which was good in the sense you didn’t have to worry about people around you noticing Bucky. Bucky led you to a small café which was quiet and the two of you sat at the back. Everything was kind of passing in a blur and it only seemed like a few seconds until Bucky was back with your food.

You began to eat in silence and it was then you realised where you were going, “Estonia?” You asked quietly, making sure to not be overhead.

Bucky nodded as he took a bite of his burger, “Managed to find a secluded house, already furnished. The owner agreed to let us stay for a discounted price as well.”

“I’ve never been,” you shrugged, taking a bite of your food, “Where are we right now?”

“Pittsburg,” he said, glancing around the café to make sure no one was taking notice of the pair of you, “Steve thought it would be a good idea to leave from an airport a few hours away from New York. Hydra and Rumlow would check New York airports first once they realise you’re out of town.”

You smiled sadly as you looked down to your food. Leave it to Steve to think of everything. Bucky told you that the flight would be leaving in an hour and it would be a long ass flight but it was okay because you were exhausted and you could absolutely sleep for a good portion of the flight anyway.  

You sighed, “When can I take this stupid disguise off? I’m so uncomfortable!”

Bucky studied you carefully, “When we’re in the safe house.”

“Do I look stupid? I feel stupid.”

“You look... different. Not bad just different,” he paused before speaking again, “I prefer you as you are though, without the wig, contacts and flashy clothes. I think you look much better when you’re being yourself.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that with anything other than a nod. It felt foreign and wrong to receive a compliment from him, even though it was a genuine, friendly compliment, it felt wrong. The two of you didn’t say much after that.

After eating, you and Bucky went to get some plane snacks. You grabbed some water and some treats, you also wandered to the book section and picked up a book. As you were walking to the books, you saw a little boy and girl pass wearing matching Captain America t-shirts. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched them pass. It seemed to hit you in that moment that this was real and this was truly happening.

“(y/n)?” Bucky asked appearing behind you.

You turned to him, “Sorry... I just can’t believe this is happening.” 

Bucky nodded before gesturing to the check out, “Let’s get this all checked out and then hopefully we’ll be able to go to our departure gate.” He didn’t really know how to help you without overstepping or potentially upsetting you. He didn’t want you to get upset in public so he thought that he could keep you distracted and that would help ease your worries. It helped, having him there to guide you and distract you from possible sad thoughts helped a lot actually.

You found your airplane seats quick, the two of you were bang smack in the middle and you were both in a two seater section. Bucky let you go in first, saying that he preferred not to look out of the window when taking a flight. You sunk into it, keeping your head down and wrapping your arms around yourself to get warmer. As Bucky sat beside you, tapping his foot and his hand on the armrest impatiently, you looked at him curiously, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “Just... not a big fan of flying.”

You pulled out the magazines which were in the pocket of the chair in front of you and handed him them, “I find that reading the safety procedures always helps. Also reading the magazine where you can just check out the meal deals and the perfume deals help a bit.”

Bucky took them off of you and began to flick through them. In the meantime, you closed your eyes. As the plane began to move, Bucky tensed beside you and you opened your eyes to look at him, his hands were clenched around the arms of the chair, jaw clenched too.

“Hey, show me that,” you said, sitting up straighter and pointing to the magazine. He looked at you and then handed it to you. Bucky had been helping you out by distracting you from being sad, the least you could do is distract him from being anxious. You leaned over, probably a little closer than you would’ve felt comfortable with in normal circumstances. Bucky stiffened as he smelled your perfume when you came closer. You took no notice of the closeness.

“Look at that!” You said, pointing to the menu that they were offering that night on the flight, “What would you have?” Bucky shrugged and you rolled your eyes, “C’mon. I’d have the chicken curry and the cheese and ham panini and then I would absolutely have the tiramisu afterwards. What about you?” You held it closer to him for him to study.

“Uh... I mean, I suppose the lasagne sounds nice. The breaded mushrooms too, I like those. Never had tiramisu but it sounds nice enough so I’d give that a go too.”

“No way,” you said shaking your head, “I would order the tiramisu and you would order the chocolate and raspberry mousse and we’d share them both.”

Bucky snorted slightly, “Sure thing, whatever you want.”

You flicked through more of the pages, “Ooooh,” you said noticing the deals on the perfumes, “I love airplane and airport deals. I only ever buy my perfume from duty free, honestly. No point in buying it full price anywhere else.”

“I still find it crazy that there’s a shop on an airplane.”

You nodded, “I mean, it’s pretty weird but I’m not complaining about the deals. Some of the stuff you can buy is so bizarre though. I was on this flight once, going on holiday with my family when I was younger, and they were selling t-shirts with a picture of the airplane we were in on them saying ‘I rode in this plane and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’.”

“That sounds like it’s a total dad shirt,” Bucky laughed slightly. He looked a lot younger when he smiled. He was always so stony and serious but when he smiled or laughed, it knocked years off him. He was already a handsome man but when he smiled, he was just... wow.

You burst out laughing as he said it, “My dad did buy it and he wore it so proudly!”

Bucky laughed with you, finding his nerves easing up as he spoke to you. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to you about anything other than the fact you were soulmates so it felt rather nice to talk to you on another level. It was still prettty strange but it was nice. Steve always told him that you were easy to get along with so he wasn’t too surprised. As you continued to chat, you gasped audibly when you came to the ‘collectibles and merchandise’ page, “There it is!” 

“No way!” Bucky grinned as he looked down at the picture of the t-shirt exactly like the one you described, “Oh, god, it’s hideous.” The two of you lapsed into laughter again, talking and looking at it before Bucky happened to glance out of the window, “We’re in the air?”

You looked out, “Yeah, we took off about fifteen minutes ago actually.” Bucky breathed out an impressed laughter, “My distraction technique always works. Keep the mind occupied on something else like the ugliest t-shirts in the world.”

Bucky smiled, “Thank you and thanks to the ugliest t-shirt ever-” it was then that a man wearing the exact t-shirt you had been slating got up from the seat in front of you and shot you a dirty look as he walked past, “Oh, shit.” It was hard to keep your laughter in but somehow you both managed it.

As you calmed down, Bucky sighed, “No, really, thank you for that.”

You smiled as you handed him the magazines back and sunk back into your seat, “And now, I sleep.”

When you woke up a few hours later, you found yourself to be sitting alone with no Bucky Barnes in sight. You looked up to see a flight attendant coming down the aisle, “Excuse me,” you said with a smile, “do you know where the man sitting next to me went?”

She smiled, the same warm smile that every flight attendant has, “Yes, your husband is in the queue for the toilet, he should be back in a few minutes.”

You nodded, she went to leave when you caught her again, “Sorry, can you do me a favour?”

When Bucky came back, he was pleasantly surprised to see you sitting awake, smiling at him, “Good sleep?” You nodded,  “Don’t worry, you didn’t snore... too loud.” 

Your cheeks burned as he teased you, “Shove it, Barnes,” you scoffed, “I bought us a present.”

He frowned, “A present?”

You grinned as you held up two t-shirts, the exact same one that you both said was the ugliest shirt in the world, “No way!” He laughed, clapping his gloved hands together, “Oh my god, they’re worse in person.”

You laughed as you handed him his, “You’re so welcome. I will make us wear these at some point by the way, don’t think you’re getting out of it.” You’d never seen Bucky smile so wide with pure joy radiating from him. It was nice to see; it made you feel a lot better about the situation that was happening. You and Bucky hadn’t broached the subject of being the other’s soulmates, you actually really didn’t want to have that conversation anytime soon, but it was nice to know that at least you got on a little bit.

The fact that the pair of you were laughing so soon felt wrong. It felt like you were betraying Steve for merely getting along but it was nice. You were scared of what was going to happen and Bucky had been anxious about flying so the pair of you had nothing to do but talk to each other. Sure, it wasn’t a particularly interesting conversation but it was something. It was still a little awkward and a little weird at times but you could look past that for a few minutes to just appreciate the fact that Bucky was doing this.

Soon, you were curled back into your plane seat, your own jacket draped across you, “Thanks,” you said quietly as sleep began to take over,  “for doing this for Steve. I know that it’s not ideal and I know you probably don’t want to be stuck with me for weeks. I appreciate it, Bucky.”

Bucky nodded and didn’t say anything. I’m not doing it for only Steve, I’m doing it for you too. He watched you for a moment longer before closing his own eyes and resting into his own seat.

The rest of the flight went by in a blur, you slept some more, read your book and ate some food. It wasn’t long before it was time to land and Bucky could not have been more happy than in the moment the wheels of the plane landed on the runway. The airport was a relatively quiet which meant that security and getting your bags was a lot faster than anticipated.

Soon, you were waiting with Bucky in line to get a rental car. To your surprise, when it was your turn to speak to the receptionist, Bucky slid a wad of cash over the counter, “I want a car to keep and I want it off book.”

The receptionist, who was a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair, eyed Bucky with narrow eyes and Bucky stared right back at him. You glanced between the two men wondering who would give up the staring contest first. After a pregnant pause, the receptionist shrugged and dug around in the drawer next to him before pulling out a car key, “Grey sedan in Lot C, registration plate ends with RUS. It’s old and a little worse for wear but for this price, best I can do.” He glanced from left to right before sliding the keys across the table. Apparently he seemed to accept the bribe. You raised your eyebrows, looking between the man and Bucky.

Bucky thanked him with a nod before taking the keys and picked up his and one of your bags before walking away with you in tow, “Wait,” you said quietly, rushing to keep up with him, “You just bought a car?!”

Bucky nodded, “We needed a car. This one will do for a while, keeps us off of the radar for a while.”

Finding the car was easy, the hard part was trying to keep up with Bucky. He took long, quick strides that were hard to keep up with. The car was parked alone in Lot C. It was a little old, with some dents and scratches in the doors from previous bumps and accidents and some of the paint had chipped but aside from that, it seemed to be fine. Bucky loaded the bags in the trunk before getting into the driver’s seat. You settled into your seat and Bucky said that it would be a forty minute drive but could do it in half the time if the road’s were quiet. Then, you both set off.

You couldn’t stop staring out of the window, looking at every single detail of Estonia. It seemed like a dream that you’d be waking up from any second now. Your hands fidgeted with your jacket sleeves as you stared out to the vast unknown. What would become of you and your relationship, you had no idea. You didn’t know what was going to happen and you had absolutely no clue where you would be going. A wave of uneasiness crashed over you as you tried to swallow down the nausea. 

The drive seemed to simultaneously be the longest and shortest drive ever. Seconds felt like years and minutes felt like nanoseconds. You just wanted things to go back to how they were two months ago when things were easy and simple and life was without colour. You glanced over at Bucky, wishing that it had been anyone besides him that was your soulmate. Bucky was a decent enough guy from the short time you’d been with him, I mean, he was willing to take you to a safe house for god knows how long after meeting each other less than three times so obviously he was a good guy but... even if you and Bucky ended up friends, ended up falling in love... nothing could ever happen. You just couldn’t do that to Steve. 

Oh, Steve. 

You wondered what he would be doing just now. He would probably be in the gym with Sam, boxing his feelings and emotions about the whole situation out. That’s what he usually did when things were tense or when he was stressed, he would go to the gym and work out for hours. Sam would usually go with him, being his comic relief to make things less stressful for him. You had never been so thankful for Sam Wilson than in that moment of realisation. You had been so focused on what this meant for you and how this would affect you that you’d practically overlooked your boyfriend’s feelings.

Steve would be blaming your kidnapping on himself, even though it wasn’t his fault that Hydra were dickheads. He would be devastated that he’d had to send you off with your soulmate, knowing fine well that you could easily come back home in love with Bucky. It had been so hard for Steve to make that decision but it had to be done. He wished that he could’ve came with you but it was his mess to clean up and he couldn’t just let his friends do it. He wasn’t that selfish even though he wished he could have been. Steve would rely on Sam pretty heavily over the coming weeks. Sam had been such a good friend to Steve in the few years they’d known each other. Sam understood Steve, they shared the same values and same morals and that was something you liked about Sam. Sam wasn’t afraid to stand up and fight for what was right. You knew that Steve would be in good hands with Sam at his side.

Little did you know, Bucky was thinking of Steve Rogers too as he drove. It was surreal that he was driving with you, through Estonia, to a safe house where you’d be for weeks, potentially months. It scared Bucky, honestly. He liked you, not in a romantic way (yet), but he had heard all about you from Steve. All of those months that Bucky was in Wakanda, Steve called every week to check on him. Every week, Steve would talk about you. He remembered the things he would say about you. ‘She’s great, Buck. She’s got this smile, this really wide smile that I’ve only seen a handful of people have in my life. You know the one I mean. That genuinely happy, makes you smile when you see it smile.’, ‘You gotta meet her, Bucky. She’s everything I’ve been looking for and even though we’re not soulmates, we are.’, ‘It’s crazy. After Peggy, I never thought I’d fall in love again but (y/n) came into my life when I needed her most. Every day, I wake up thankful for her. My god, you have to meet her. You two will get on so well. She keeps my on my toes and is hilarious.’

Bucky glanced at you, a familiar pang of guilt shooting through him. You were his best friend’s girl and he could never do anything to pursue you because he cared about Steve too much. Steve was the one person who had given him a chance and had stuck by him through everything. Steve deserved you, Bucky didn’t.

It wasn’t long before Bucky pulled into a driveway. You looked around, realising that you were deep in the woods. It was an off road cabin that seemed to be pretty far from civilisation, “This is it.” Bucky cut the engine before getting out of the car. You stayed put, staring at the cabin in front of you. From the outside, it looked a little run down but very liveable. It was made with a dark oak wood which blended in well with the trees. Passers by would have to do a double take at first because of how well it blended in.

You got out of the car, grabbing the rucksack that had been by your feet. Bucky appeared beside you, carrying all of his and your bags, “Ready?”

You didn’t look at him, eyes stuck on the cabin in front of you. This was it. This was your future. You were unusually terrified as you stared at it. As soon as you stepped into that cabin, your future would change forever. Everything would change. Life as you knew it with Steve would completely change as soon as you walked into that cabin. With your heart beating fast, you took a breath and nodded, following him up the stony path and to the front door. He unlocked it and swung the door open before disappearing inside. You hesitated at the front door, staring at the line on the floor to mark the cabin’s entrance.

“I love you, Steve,” you whispered before stepping into the cabin and closing the door behind you.

The cabin had an old musty smell to it, the smell of emptiness. Clearly, no one had lived here for a long time. The décor was simple and pretty outdated but it was nice. Bucky had flicked the lights on throughout the cabin and was checking each room just to double check. You wandered through each room. The living room was simple with a couple of recliners and a small couch with a small TV on an old coffee table. You’d be surprised if the TV still worked with a thick layer of dust coating it. There was a large fireplace in the middle of the side wall which would be nice on a cold night. The kitchen was nice with everything that the pair of you would need to get started in the wooden cupboards and on shelves. It had a small table in the corner of the room, looking out of the window. Bucky told you that tomorrow, he would go get some shopping and food supplies until then you had the water and a few more snacks.

Next, you ventured into the bedrooms. Yours and Bucky’s separate bedrooms were adjacent to each other. Bucky had dropped his bags in the slightly smaller room. You went to object but the look on his face told you not to even bother. Bucky’s room was smaller yet still spacious enough for a double bed and a wardrobe. Your room was pretty much the same though as well as a wardrobe you had the chest of drawers as well. The shared bathroom was beside your room and it was... well, it was just an outdated bathroom. And that was it.

The cabin wasn’t particularly big or luxurious but it was much than you had expected. You seriously were expecting to sleep on the floor on a bug infested hotel but Bucky had done pretty good. You’d long since abandoned your disguise, feeling much better when looking like yourself. As you wandered around again, checking cupboards, finding extra duvets and pillows in the wardrobe in your room, you remembered something important. You dug around in your bags until you found it; a picture frame. Bucky knocked on your bedroom door. You turned to him, “You don’t need to knock,” you said.

“Come so I can show you something.”

You followed him into the living room as you held the picture frame in your hands. He stopped in front of a painting on the wall moving the painting to reveal a safe, “Oh, wow,” you said surprised.

“I got this safe installed and I’m putting this gun inside it, okay?” He told you, taking a gun from his back pocket. You jumped slightly, not expecting him to wield a weapon in front of you, “This is for emergencies, got it? I’ll teach you how to use it but for now, I’m locking it up in here, okay?”

“I don’t want to use a gun-”

“Neither do I,” Bucky said, cutting over you, “but I have to at least show you how to use it just in case, okay? The code is 0407-”

“Steve’s birthday.”

Bucky faltered before nodding and continuing, “Yeah, Steve’s birthday. Type that in,” he typed it in, “and it’ll unlock.” He dropped the gun inside of it before closing it over, “Re-type the code and it locks. Got it?”

You nodded.

“I always have at least one weapon on me at all times, okay? I have my gun and I have my knife. I’m only putting this here and showing you just in case, okay? We’ll probably never have to use it but it’s just in case something happens, just so I know that if I can’t get to you, you can have some way to protect yourself.”

Again, you nodded. Bucky eyed you carefully, making sure that you were okay with this. You didn’t really know how to feel about it. You weren’t surprised that he had weapons but it scared you the thought of you having to use them. Hopefully it would never come to that though. He could see the toll this was taking on you and you’d barely been gone a day. He was about to ask what you had in your hands when you wandered over to the fireplace and put the photo atop. It was a photo that you had once upon a time hated. It was you and Steve laughing as you posed for a picture in front of your Christmas tree. Nat had taken it on Christmas Eve. You wore a dress that hugged your curves a little too tightly for your liking but Steve had loved to see you in that dress. He always said the colour complimented your complexion so well and now that you could actually see colour, you could see where he was coming from. You loved that picture now, you remembered the night fondly where he twirled you around, telling you how beautiful you were every other minute. So yeah, you could see your protruding stomach and your bigger arms but you loved it. You smiled as you looked at Steve’s smile, heart soaring as you looked at him. Steve could make you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. With him, you truly believed it. Your weight never defined your worth, you defined it.

Almost instantly, Bucky lunged for it, grabbing it and almost tumbling into you,  “What the fuck?!” You hissed, leaping backwards. You hadn’t expected the dark haired super soldier to lunge from across the room, almost knocking you off of your feet to grab the picture frame down.

Bucky released a sharp breath, “The window,” he said gruffly. He pulled the curtains shut quickly, “We can’t put any photos up.”

“Why the fuck not?!”

He rolled his eyes, Steve had warned him that you could be stubborn, “In case we’re being watched. If someone’s tailing us, they might look through the window and have our identities confirmed if we put photos up.”

You rolled your eyes, “If someone’s tailing us then I’m pretty sure that they know our identities already. Give me it back.”

“Fine but you’re not putting it there,” Bucky said.

You glared at him as a bubble of anger boiled in your stomach, “My god, how am I meant to stay here with you for weeks if you’re such an arse over a photo?!”

“Yeah?” Bucky scoffed, “I didn’t have to come here, (y/n). I came because Steve asked. I came for you.”

You were breathing heavy as you glared at each other, “Yeah well maybe I don’t want you here.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be here!”

“Keep the stupid picture.” You turned on your heel and stormed into your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. You knew that you weren’t angry at Bucky, you knew that the two of you were tired and hungry. You knew that you were a flurry of emotions from having your life flipped upside down. You knew that Bucky was looking out for your safety but you were pissed and he was the only person near you so he would have to deal with it. 

Bucky sighed heavily as he fell onto the couch, pursing his lips and pinching the bridge of his nose. Yeah, Steve, she’s fucking brilliant. 

It was hours later when you rolled over with a huff. Sleep wasn’t coming easily. You were still too pissed off and because you were still so pissed off, you were only getting more annoyed. You knew that if the anger faded, you’d probably end up crying and you didn’t know which was worse so you just stayed angry. You wished that Bucky would’ve just been able to talk to you normally instead of treating you like a child. You would’ve absolutely understood the picture fiasco had he not leapt over the table and yanked it like a dog stealing someone’s dinner from the table. 

You sat up in bed. Usually, if you couldn’t sleep you’d watch TV or go on your phone but you didn’t feel up for watching the tiny TV in the living room and you obviously didn’t have a phone so you couldn’t do much than think. You’d need to see if there was a cheap CD player and CDs in town so that you could at least have some background noise. The cabin was eerily quiet at night. It was a different surrounding in a different country and everything just felt a little uneasy. You were used to New York where the hustle and bustle was part of every day life but the woods was so quiet aside from the rustling trees... it would take some getting used to.

With a huff, you grabbed your dressing gown from the bag on the floor and made your way into the kitchen. You grabbed a glass and filled it with water before taking a long drink. You didn’t know why you wandered into the living room but you found yourself venturing in and it was then you noticed, in the dim light from the moon, you saw a note and the picture of you and Steve that sat on the coffee table in front of the TV. You picked up the note.

I’m sorry about freaking out over the picture, it’s been a long day. Steve warned me you were stubborn but I wasn’t prepared, I guess. Let’s not put it on the fire place until we’re absolutely sure that no one’s tracking us. Until then, it can go here where it’s not facing a window. Hope that’s okay. It is a lovely picture of you and Steve... Again, sorry. - Bucky

You smiled slightly as you read it before slipping the note into your dressing gown pocket and going back to bed. So Bucky Barnes was decent after all.

[carelessannie]

Thunderspider anon here: omegaverse, maybe Thor and Peter meet and have a sort of flirtation happening, but Thor holds back because he thinks Peter is with Tony. He finds out they are not together then... Idk

Sorry this took a minute, sweet Anon! I’ve been in love with Thunderspider the past few weeks and... alright, I hope you like this.

There also might be some more sweet Peter and Thor coming up soon...

Warnings: mmm only for Omegaverse and misunderstandings

---

“So, uh... where did you say you were from again?"

“New Asgard, off the Southern shore of Norway."

Peter hums in interest, “And how did you meet my Alpha?"

“Did he not tell you?"

“... mm, no. I don’t think so."

“We are work partners, and I owe Tony a great debt for assisting in the resettlement of our people."

They’re relatively close on the couch, knees touching, and Thor feels a bit uncomfortable. The boy in front of him is charming, stunning, but sadly, completely unavailable. It apparently doesn’t stop the younger man from leaning closer and resting a hand on Thor’s knee.

Peter's eyes brighten in recognition, “Oh! I didn’t realize that was your country, I’ve heard a bit about it, but I usually don’t get all the details, you know?"

Thor does know. His mother would often complain about being left out of important delegating decisions. So he just reaches down a pats the pretty Omega's hand comfortingly, holding it lightly and enjoying the slight warmth.

Peter blinks up at him and shuffles closer, squeezing Thor’s hand, “You can tell me more about it, if you’d like,” his delicate fingers rub slowly across Thor’s skin, “I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Thor agrees. He already feels lost in those soulful eyes— a silent plea to give this man the world. His scent is alarmingly sweet, addictive. If Thor didn’t know better, he would think that the young Omega was in heat.

But Tony Stark would never let his Omega socialize with other Alphas if that were the case.

“So what do you think, Alpha,” Peter purrs, batting his eyelashes, “wanna take me up on it?"

This feels... wildly inappropriate and suggestive. Thor tries to slide away and avoid the Omega’s advances, but he’s quickly cornered against the arm of the couch with a lap full of Peter.

“Oh... oh, I don’t...”

“Didn’t my Alpha tell you why you’re here, Thor?"

His name sounds like sin coming from those sweet lips, and Peter shifts in a way that has Thor making a very dignified, manly squeak.

“T-to meet his Omega, while he’s away...”

Peter is still squeezing his hand, and uses his other to card a few fingers through Thor’s beard, tilting his head in admiration. “And I thought you agreed? Didn’t my dad fill you in on the details?”

“Your... no,” Thor shakes his head, trying to move the squirmy Omega off his lap, and sighing in frustration when he holds on tight, “No, I haven’t spoken to your father yet.”

“Oh.” Peter pouts, finally letting himself be moved. His perfect skin, porcelain and soft, warps into a frown, and Thor finds himself pulling the Omega closer to pet his hair. He hates seeing such a pretty Omega so sad, and rumbles comfortingly when Peter starts to sniffle. “I’m sorry then. I didn’t know that you didn’t want me.”

Thor feels so confused, but he places a light kiss on the boy’s hair anyways, “I’m sure there’s no one in the world who wouldn’t want you, darling Omega.”

“Then... does that mean you want me, Alpha?"

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Peter looks determined, and grabs Thor’s shoulders. “Okay. Let me get my dad, and we can iron things out.”

Oh, gods no. “I don’t think...��� Thor tries to protest, but the Omega is up and off the couch in a flash, sprinting out of the room and leaving Thor in a heap of confusion.

He has no idea what Peter’s father will say, but it’s almost certain he’ll refer to the Alpha’s judgment— the judgment of Peter’s mate— before just letting Peter drape himself over another man.

Actually, on second thought, it might be best for Peter’s father to step in.

Standing to his feet, Thor’s surprised when Peter bursts back into the room, smiling timidly, with an annoyed Tony following behind him.

“Okay,” Peter chirps, coming to a stop next to Thor and motioning to Tony, “I brought my daddy. Can you two just talk it out?”

Thor stutters, “D-daddy? I... okay,” he’s definitely heard that term for a partner, but it’s still a surprise, so he turns to Tony, “I don’t... I don’t mean to overstep, Mr. Stark.”

Tony waves him off and turns to look at Peter, “Do you like him, Pete?"

“Yeah, Alpha,” Peter gives him a wink, “I like him a lot. He’s big.”

With a chuckle, Tony loops an arm around Peter, pulling him close. Are they really... are they considering...

“I didn’t think you would be apt to share, Anthony.”

“Share?” Tony and Peter exchange a look, “No, Thor. I don’t share. Was it not clear? Peter would be yours.”

“I think I need a drink.”

Thor sits back down on the couch, rubbing his head where he feels the beginning of a migraine setting in. His? Over all his years, he has never heard of an Alpha just giving away their Omega like this.

As he thinks about it, a spark of rage ignites inside his chest, “What type of Alpha are you, Stark?”

“Excuse me?” Tony’s eyes are wide, and Peter looks offended.

With an amused laugh, Thor gestures between them, “You would just give up your Omega to a random Alpha?”

“... well, not random...”

“I need to talk to his father about this. He should be aware of how careless you’re being with his son.”

There’s a pause. Tony crosses his arms, “Alright, wise ass. Tell me exactly what I should be doing with my son.”

“Dad, I don’t think...” Peter steps in, and it suddenly clicks.

Oh.

By Odin’s fucking beard.

“Peter Stark.”

Peter looks to him, “Yes?”

Oh.

“And your father is...”

“Me.” Tony says, frown deepening, “Who did you think he was?”

Thor sighs, scrubbing his face. “All I knew was that you wanted me to meet your Omega. I had assumed you meant your Omega mate.”

Another pause. And suddenly Peter is exhaling sharply, smiling, and then breaking down into heaving laughter, holding his stomach. Both Thor and Tony smile, enjoying the sweet Omega’s amusement.

“Oh god,” Peter wheezes, wiping tears out of his eyes, “I’m so sorry Thor, you must be so confused, poor Alpha.”

He sinks down onto the couch next to Thor, settling a hand on his shoulder and wiggling closer. Peter still scents so sweet— joyous laughter just adding to his already gentle Omega scent. Thor looks up to Tony for help, and the other Alpha just shakes his head.

“I thought you knew about Western mating procedures, but I shouldn’t have assumed that, so it’s my bad. My invitation— our invitation— was for you to court Peter and, if he chooses you, join him for his first heat.”

Peter ducks his face, hiding it in Thor’s shoulder, while his scent blooms with embarrassment. The young Omega murmurs, “Daddy says you’re the best Alpha for me, and I wanted to see for myself.” His eyes are wide as they peer, beseechingly, up into Thor’s face, “and I like you a ton, Thor. Offer’s still on the table.”

He feels confused still, but Thor’s focus is set dead ahead. He knows what his answer will be before he gives it— this Omega, with all his beauty and complications, has to be his.

“Tell me what I need to do, and it’s yours, Omega.”

At his words, Peter sways a bit, leaning on him fully as his scent shifts, this time more aroused and interested than embarrassed. It’s alluring and Thor can’t look away.

Tony clears his throat, “We were both prepared for you to take him back to New Asgard at the end of the week, if you end up choosing each other as mates. Let’s talk more later— I need to get back to the call Peter yanked me from, and I’ll leave you to... mingle.”

“Dad,” Peter whines, hiding his face again as Tony heads for the exit, leaving the two of them alone in the living room. Thor, at a loss for words, just pets the Omega’s hair, enjoying the soft weight of his body, how easily they fit together.

Peter is easily only a fraction of his size, yet their compatibility is almost flawless. Two pieces of a puzzle, stars circling in the night.

“Are you gonna mate me, Alpha?” Peter whispers. His voice is timid and unsure, and Thor gives him a soft smile, hoping his scent is reassuring as well.

He turns them both so that the Omega can lounge across his chest, making sure his hands are above the generous swell of his ass. Thor takes a deep breath and begins to rumble, coaxing Peter to join him in a steady purr.

It’s been a long time since he’s had an Omega purr for him.

“If you’d like, Peter. It would be my honor to mate you, to be your Alpha.”

“My Alpha,” Peter hums, closing his eyes and snuggling further into Thor’s arms, “I’d like that a lot.”

Thor can’t help but agree.

[spiderlilyserendipity]

Hey Violet, could you do some soft nsfw yoongi scenario occurring after they make up from a fight?? Loved your previous yoongi pieces

Thank you <33 I had a lot of fun writing this one so it got long haha. Enjoy! This one is called I Need You. (*Cis female reader for this one*)

WC: 2668

Warnings: some arguing (nothing intense), explicit nsfw content

Genres: angst, fluff, smut

You wish you could be stubborn when it comes to Min Yoongi, but both of you know it’s impossible for you.

You are both relatively calm people, but sometimes Yoongi gets on your nerves. You hate how nonchalant he is sometimes, how he pushes people away that he knows care for him. You hate that after all these years, he insists on handling his problems on his own, never confiding to you.

When a nasty rumour spreads about Yoongi, you don’t hear about it until it hits the news outlets. And you don’t even realize it’s on the news until you visit Yoongi at the studio one day for lunch and all the staff give you pitiful looks.

Everyone knows about the slander against Yoongi. Everyone knows it’s all lies and that the company will handle it. Yoongi tells you it’s not a problem, to not worry. But how can you not, as his partner? Why do you have to find out from the fucking news about the problems your boyfriend is facing?

It leads to an argument where both of you say things you don’t really mean. Yoongi says you’re too emotional, that you’re going overboard when even he isn’t that bothered. You get sarcastic with him, saying “oh I’m sorry for caring about my boyfriend.” You tell him if he wants to keep being the man, he can handle his worries on his own from now on, that you won’t bother him anymore like you obviously have been doing.

You storm home and lock yourself in the bedroom, crying into a pillow that you wish was Yoongi’s chest instead. You cry for so long that you fall asleep, still on top of the blankets.

When you wake up, it’s ten p.m. You wake up to the sound of the shower running and realize Yoongi must be back from dance practice. You briefly wonder if he’s eaten when your own stomach rumbles. 

You get up and go to the kitchen, looking for last night’s leftovers. But then you find the container on the counter, with a pair of chopsticks still in it. Yoongi had eaten them, and there was nothing else to eat in the house.

Do I really mean that little to him? You wonder, fighting tears for the second time that day. 

“Y/N.” Yoongi’s voice calls you back. He’s standing in the hallway that adjoins the kitchen in a tee and sweats, towelling his wet hair. 

“Let’s break up.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. Yoongi’s eyes go wide. 

“Baby, what are you talking about?” He asks, stepping closer. He holds your arms, looking you in the eye. “Y/N, we’ve been together so long. You’re my--”

“Just because we’ve been together a long time I have to stay with you?” You spit back. “You want to pretend to care about me now? What about when your staff and your friends were all looking at me like I grew a second head because I didn’t know anything. When that happened you just wanted me to leave you alone. I’m giving you that and it’s still not enough? What do I have to do to be fucking enough for you, Min Yoongi?” You raise your voice and it cracks.

Yoongi pulls you into a tight hug. You fight his hold but he’s stronger than you are. He cups the back of your head with one hand and wraps an arm around your waist. You are crying now, loud and ugly sobs wracking through you. You take your breaths in sharp gasps, angry that whenever you breathe you smell his shampoo. Everything in your life seems to be connected to him, but he just doesn’t feel the same. In fact, he likes keeping you away from his work life. Why? Was it embarrassing to date a noncelebrity like you? 

“That’s not true, Y/N.” Yoongi says. You’re confused for a second until you realize you said your last thought out loud. “I’ll never be embarrassed by you, baby. I love you.”

“Then why don’t you ever tell me things?”

Yoongi takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Because I know how much you care. I know you would do anything to protect me. I know and I feel the same, but this isn’t your burden. I’m the one that chose to be a celebrity. Of course people are going to hate me and spread rumours, that’s part of the job. I know that and I’m used to it. I don’t want you to get worked up and cry over something some asshole said.”

You keep crying as he explains. “I understand, but I still want to know. Even if I can’t fix it, I want to be here for you.” You insist, holding him at arm’s length. When a new tear rolls down your cheek, Yoongi thumbs it away. His eyes are stormy and sad when they meet your own.

Yoongi guides you into the living room and sits you down on the sofa. He takes a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. He wipes your eyes for you even when you mumble that you can do it yourself. “I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I didn’t mean for us to fight. I just want to protect you because I’m your boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry, too.” You say, taking his hand. “I didn’t want us to fight either. I just felt bad because it felt like you didn’t trust me anymore. Kind of...like you didn’t want me around.”

“Never.” Yoongi says immediately, squeezing your hand. His dark eyes fix you in place. “I trust you more than anyone, Y/N. Please believe me.”

You nod, pulling him into a hug. This time, you’re the one that is hesitant to let go. Eventually, Yoongi is the one who pulls back first. “I wasn’t sure if you ate because we didn’t pick up groceries this week, so I bought this on my way home for a late night dinner.”

You turn, noticing the takeout container on the table. It was jajangmyeon, your favourite. Suddenly, you feel guilty. “What about you?” You ask.

Yoongi shrugs. “I ate the leftovers in the fridge.” You get up, but he grabs your wrist. “Where are you going?”

“To get two bowls. This portion is a bit bigger than I can eat anyway. Let’s both eat.” You say, ignoring Yoongi’s protests as you go to the kitchen. You grab two bowls and pairs of chopsticks.

You separate the portions roughly in half, giving Yoongi the bowl with more. Noticing right away, Yoongi swaps, taking the bowl with less from your hands. “I already ate. You can have the one with more.”

The two of you smile at each other fondly. 

You and Yoongi take turns telling each other about your days (minus the drama). You sit back against the couch when both of you are done eating, smiling as Yoongi tells you about the song he worked on today and the choreography for their new title track.

Suddenly, he stops talking. His eyes move down to your lips. He leans in and his thumb swipes over your bottom lip. He grins as you get flustered, licking the bit of sauce off his own thumb. He leans back, starting to talk about choreography again when you cup his face. You pull him into a kiss. He reciprocates instantly, and the two of you melt into each other. He leans back, laying down and you climb on top of him. Yoongi kisses like how happiness feels, warm and honest. One hand cups your face and the other rests on your lower back as you lay on top of him.

Eventually, both of you are panting. Yoongi’s dark eyes peer up at you, full of lust and love. His lips are swollen and his voice is deep and rough when he says your name.

Before you know it, clothes are off. The living room feels cold, but Yoongi’s skin is burning hot against yours. He kisses you gently, along your neck. He trails down your collarbone and you tighten your hand in his hair, making him groan. He makes lovemarks on your collarbone and lower, on your chest and just above your breasts. Places no one else will see except the two of you. 

He takes your breasts in his hands. He licks at one nipple until it gets hard, rolling the other between his fingers. Then, he alternates and does the same to the other. You’re whining now, grinding down on his bare thigh. You’re sure he can feel how wet you are through your soaked through panties. 

“Lay back.” He tells you. 

You pause. “Can’t I ride you?” You ask breathlessly. Yoongi usually lets you do that, enjoying watching you get worked up and teasing you. But tonight Yoongi has different plans.

“Let me take care of you.” Yoongi whispers, placing small kisses all over your face. He lingers when he kisses your lips, no tongue this time. Something about it makes you feel electrified, the tenderness of the moment despite your mutual desperation for something more. You know Yoongi is holding himself back tonight for you. To ease your doubts and worries.

You let Yoongi press you back against the sofa and work your panties off. He works his way down your chest, kissing along your tummy and on the sensitive stretch of skin just above your mound. He laughs under his breath when you shiver at his delicate touches. His hands push your thighs up and hold them. He presses a kiss to each knee. He kisses the insides of your thighs, working down further towards the place you need him most. 

“Yoongi.” You breathe, shaking under his delicate touches. 

“Relax, baby. I’m right here.” He says. You wriggle, but his strong hands pin you down. He looks up at you, waiting for your consent to go all the way. You nod.

But when you notice Yoongi lowering his lips there, you stop him. “C-Can we go faster?” You ask, blushing. The truth is you’re not sure if you’ll last if he eats you out for too long. Some nights Yoongi does that, teasing you until you’re almost crying, begging for him to give you the relief you need. Those nights are fun because they’re all about power and play, and you like that side of Yoongi. You don’t think tonight will be one of those nights, but you’re not taking your chances. Tonight, you don’t want Yoongi to play any character. You just want him the way he is.

Understanding what you’re saying, Yoongi nods. He sits up to get his own underwear off, leaning over to kiss you. You melt into his touch and he strokes your hair gently. “I won’t make you wait, but I still have to prep you, okay?” Yoongi asks. You nod, knowing the stretch will be painful if he doesn’t prep you first. 

Yoongi sits back on his heels, watching your expression for any wariness or discomfort about going all the way. When he finds nothing but your needy expression, he smirks slightly. Then, he eases a finger into you. The middle one, and the longest. You groan, hating your boyfriend’s cheeky tendencies. “Ugh.” You complain, making Yoongi laugh breathlessly.

But then you start to ease. Yoongi continues pressing kisses everywhere and playing with your breasts. He doesn’t let you do anything tonight, doesn’t even let you touch him. You suppose that should make you feel frustrated, but it doesn’t because you know he’s looking after you. Even at his own expense, Yoongi makes sure you know how much you mean to him.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He says, interrupting the string of needy whines and moans you’ve been letting out. You look down, surprised to find he can already pump three fingers in and out of you with ease.

He takes one of the sofa pillows and places it under you to angle you comfortably. You spread your legs, pushing your thighs back towards your body to give him room. He plants his hands on either side of your waist and lines his cock up to your entrance. “Y/N.” He says, making you look at him. He kisses you deeply as he eases into you. You bury your hand in his hair, the other gripping his wrist. 

Wet sounds fill the room as the pace picks up, desperation starting to take over. You whimper Yoongi’s name and he lets out yours in deep moans, continuing to kiss your body whenever he can. “Fuck, how did you ever think I wouldn’t want you around? Look at you, you’re fucking perfect.” He growls, picking up the pace.

“Yoongi, ah fuck.” You groan, burying your face in his neck.

“Almost there, baby. You’re doing so good.” He praises, caressing the space between your shoulder blades lovingly. 

“Nnn, please Yoongi.” You plead, knowing the two of you are close. He reaches down, rubbing at your clit. When you come, you squeeze your eyes shut, clenching hard around Yoongi. You shiver, hips lifting off the pillow to get him closer and closer. You are almost crying in pleasure when Yoongi comes a split second after you, filling you up. 

Yoongi collapses on top of you, holding you close. The two of you pant against each other, skin sticky with sweat. Yoongi holds you like you are the only woman in the world. You hold him like he is the only man in the world.

Yoongi sits up after you both catch your breath. He grabs more tissues and pulls out carefully, making sure no come ends up on the leather sofa. He cleans you first, then himself. He reaches down and grabs your panties off the ground, putting them on for you. You lift your hips as he helps you. Then, he leans over and kisses you. 

“Don’t ever doubt that you’re mine, okay?” He asks, eyes full of sincerity. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” You say, sitting up. You grab Yoongi’s shirt off the ground instead of yours, tugging it over your braless chest. 

“Ah, I was gonna wear that.” Yoongi grumbles halfheartedly, but he’s smiling at how cute you look in his clothes.

“Like it matters now.” You say, smiling back. “We both need a shower.”

Yoongi makes an ‘O’ shape, which makes you laugh. “Ugh, my girlfriend is such a genius. Shall we take it together, m’lady?” He asks you, wiggling his eyebrows.

“We can take one together but no second round.” You say, grabbing the empty takeout container. You toss it in the trash as Yoongi puts the dishes in the sink. You stand at his side as he quickly washes them, helping to dry and put them away.

“I think you kind of broke my hips just then.” You whisper in his ear when you get to the bathroom, making him laugh. You strip of your panties and Yoongi’s shirt, tossing them in the laundry basket.

“Oh no, that’s no good.” He says as he takes his boxers off. He places a hand on your lower back as you get in the shower together. 

“Can you pass my loofah? And the body wash?”

Yoongi takes your puffy bath tool and spreads your body wash on it. “Turn around.” He says, scrubbing your back for you. 

You giggle. “Taking care of me because you broke my hips?” You tease.

He giggles back. “Of course. It’s no good if my precious girlfriend isn’t in good health.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I need you.” He says. The way he switches from joking to serious makes you turn around to look at him. He smiles down at you. “I need you, Y/N. You’re my forever.”

You kiss him sweetly. “I need you, too.”