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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

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“you make me so angry sometimes”

idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe.

A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!

Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation

When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.

She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.

So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?

Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.

Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.

Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.

Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.

She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)

She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”

He snickers, “Y’like it?”

She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.

He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”

“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.

He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”

“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”

She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.

“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”

“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.

“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.

She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.

His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.

“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.

He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.

She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”

He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.

“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.

She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”

He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.

“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”

“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.

“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.

“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.

“S’a little rude.”

“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.

“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.

Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.

“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.

She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.

She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.

“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.

Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.

“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.

“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.

“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”

Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.

“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.

“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”

She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.

Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.

“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.

She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.

“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”

He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.

“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.

“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.

“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.

He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.

She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.

She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.

“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.

“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.

“Seriously. What?”

She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.

He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.

She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.

His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.

The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.

“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.

She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.

“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”

He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.

“I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”

“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.

She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.

She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”

“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.

“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”

Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.

“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”

He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.

He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”

“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.

“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.

He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.

“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.

When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.

Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”

She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.

“You’re late!”

“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.

It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.

“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.

Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.

They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.

Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.

On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”

She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”

They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.

Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.

“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.

He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.

As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.

He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.

“Do not,” she warned.

“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.

She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.

“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.

Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.

“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.

She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”

A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”

The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.

After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.

“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”

Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.

“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.

“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”

“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.

Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.

“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”

He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.

She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.

She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.

“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.

“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.

Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.

“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.

Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.

“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”

“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.

“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.

Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.

“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.

Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.

“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.

“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.

Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.

“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”

Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.

“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”

“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.

She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.

“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”

“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.

She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.

“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”

Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.

“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”

She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.

“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.

“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”

He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”

They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.

“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.

“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.

He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”

“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.

As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.

He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.

By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.

She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.

“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.

He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.

“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”

He pauses again and she continues to work silently.

“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”

“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.

Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”

“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.

The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.

She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.

“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.

She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.

“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”

“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”

“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.

At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.

“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.

“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.

She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.

Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”

“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.

Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.

As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.

Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.

They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.

Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.

All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”

In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.

When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.

He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.

He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.

“Stop that,” She muttered.

“Stop what?” He smiles wider.

“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”

“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”

She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.

She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.

Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.

On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.

Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.

Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.

Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.

Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.

She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.

“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.

“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”

Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.

“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.

Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.

She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.

He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.

Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.

“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.

She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.

“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”

Harry hums and unclenches it.

He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.

“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.

“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.

He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”

He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.

“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”

“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.

The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.

When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.

She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.

Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”

Lisa nods, “Apologize.”

“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”

Lisa smiles.

At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.

His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”

“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.

She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.

She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.

She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”

“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.

“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.

He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.

She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?

“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.

Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.

“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.

She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.

“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.

“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.

“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.

He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.

“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”

He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”

“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”

“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.

“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.

Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”

She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”

She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”

He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.

20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”

He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.

He types back: “Of courseeee”.

“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”

A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.

At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.

“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.

“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.

She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.

“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”

She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.

“Hi,” he exhales.

A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”

“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”

“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.

He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.

“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.

She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?

She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.

“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.

“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.

“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.

A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.

They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.

“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.

Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.

“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”

“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.

Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.

“Effect?”

“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.

“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.

They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.

“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.

The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.

Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.

Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.

But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.

“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”

He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.

Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”

His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.

It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.

“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.

“Which part?”

“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.

“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.

“You know, so why don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.

She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.

She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.

“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”

Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.

“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.

“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”

Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.

“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.

“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”

“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”

She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.

“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”

Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”

She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.

“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.

“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.

“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”

“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”

Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.

Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.

“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.

She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.

He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.

“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”

“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”

She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.

In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.

She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.

Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.

“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.

“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.

His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”

“You’re stubborn,” she notes.

“So are you,” he counters quickly.

“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.

“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“That’d be nice.”

They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.

Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.

“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.

The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.

“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”

She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.

“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.

“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”

Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”

Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.

“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.

“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.

“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”

“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”

“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”

His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.

“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.

“Passion.”

Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.

She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.

She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.

His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.

Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.

Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.

“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.

Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.

Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.

They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.

So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.

Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.

His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.

Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.

“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.

“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.

“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.

“Great. You?”

“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”

A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.

“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.

“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”

“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”

Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.

When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.

It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.

It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.

“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.

“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.

“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.

She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.

“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.

“What?” Harry laughs, confused.

“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”

“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.

“How are you?” She continues.

“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.

“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”

“The one who’s obsessed with me?”

“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”

“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”

“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.

“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.

“So you do?”

“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”

“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”

“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.

“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”

“No one said anything about nudes!”

“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”

“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”

“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.

Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.

“Because you called me,” he says confidently.

“I call everyone.”

“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”

“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”

“Or does it?”

She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Yes!” He repeats happily.

She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.

“See you soon, Harry.”

“Not soon enough.”

On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.

Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.

They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.

“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.

“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.

She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.

“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.

And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.

The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #enemies to lovers #dwd!harry #idk I always feel like theres more I need to put in here but idk #pls leave feedback and reblog

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yostresswritinggirl · 4 years ago

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Researching...

ZETA

You need to see this first then this

The alchemist had been trying all remedies to shake off the stress and fatigue in his system and they all seemed to fail, no amount of sketching or discoveries can pull him away from it. So when you offered a solution he hasn’t heard, he’d jump at it immediately. “You know, some people say having intercourse with someone is a good stress-reliever.” “Intercourse? If it’s true, then please, I wish to have intercourse with you.” “Wha- wait Albedo, do you not know what that is? It’s only done between lovers!” “Convenient, I love you, anything else?”

Pairing -> Albedo x Female Reader

Word Count -> 2944

Themes -> Smut, PwP, PwF, Woohoo, the "thing", the "do"

Series -> #Bonafide Specials (100 followers event)

Warnings -> NSFW CONTENT, DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE UNDERAGED! (this is awkward because you two have no experience, jsyk)

(Z,E)-9,12-tetradecadienyl acetate (TDA, also known as ZETA) are usually emitted by females to attract males for mating. Sex pheromones are defined as odors, produced by either males or females that stimulate one or more behavioral reactions in the opposite sex, bringing the males and females together for the purpose of mating.

The foldered papers at the mahogany desk met with a soft plop at its weight, and you noticed the Alchemist suddenly straighten his back from his spaced out daze on the noise, whipping his head towards where you stand. Albedo's teal eyes were wide from the sudden intrusion, but his eyelids drooped over them once again upon the realization that it was just you who entered as it loses its light once more. This worried you.

The Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius has been in a dilemma recently. And all of Mond knows of this.

Albedo naturally holds himself in a regal and composed aura that draws people to him in admiration and trance. But this Albedo lacks such gait, with shoulders tense and eyebrows furrowed, steps heavy and head hanging low.

He has hit a wall in his never-ending research. And the effect was obvious on him.

Days he'd be cooped up in his laboratory staring at nothing, glaring at his setup. Days he'd be gone beyond the walls with his easel and sketchbook, only to return with unfinished artworks meant to be forgotten. Sucrose had tried placing experiments that are easy to handle and give him at least a sense of self-confidence for solving, but even that cannot pull his mind away from his obstacle.

"You know," leaning on the table with arms crossed, you watched the Kreideprinz drag his foot to where you were, aiming to check on the folder that you just submitted, "Some people say having intercourse with someone is a good stress-reliever." Such words smoothly flowed out of your mouth despite the masked embarrassment you expertly hid through a haughty smirk.

That someone was Kaeya, and that Kaeya threw out that same comment next to you when you two saw Albedo walk through the headquarter's halls like a zombie a few days ago.

The sudden pound of fists on the table at either side of you startled you, expertly caging you in as you looked up. Albedo loomed over you with eyes brightly catching the sun, giving it the luminosity that carried the same curious look he had when faced with the unknown. "Intercourse? If it's true, then please," oh no, "I wish to have intercourse with you."

Excuse me? "Wha-" suddenly, you were hyper-aware of just how close you are to one another. You slightly hiked yourself up against the table, as to preserve what little distance you have. "Wait Albedo, do you not know what that is? It’s only done between lovers!”

And without skipping a beat, he mused, "Convenient, I love you, anything else?" That familiar smirk displayed on his face.

Contrary to his face tho, you greatly contest to Diluc's hair. Really a normal reaction- to this guy suddenly confessing! Your head is already whirling around in confusion and your eyes couldn't set itself straight at him, still mindful of the distance of which reminded you why you were in this predicament in the first place.

Albedo attentively watched your eyes stray to the side as he stands there in silence, seeing it land at the entrance to his laboratory. Ah of course, he thought he'd made a discovery, as he leans away from you to make his way towards the door.

And shut it with a click.

"Wait, wait, why did you lock the door?!" You finally mustered up the courage to speak (breaking away from the shock of his confession) as he finds himself where he stood over you, eyes filled with confusion.

"You were quiet after my confession. I know such moments of romance are intimate and with your eyes, I only wanted to give us privacy," his brows furrowed with confusion before his shoulders dropped, a sharp sigh escaping. "Normally people would express their reciprocation by now," he breathed as he starts pulling back and away, "but voicing your rejection would have been appre-"

Quickly with a yelp, you reached out for his departing form, pulling him back by the grip on his shirt. Albedo's eyes only widened a little as he was quick to grip the table's edge to stabilize himself, one arm wrapped around your waist to ground you. "No! I do- do love you too!" You finally squeezed out the embarrassing confession, "You were just so sudden, it surprised me so much!"

And suddenly he was laughing openly, full of relief and humor, as his shoulders slackened at the validation. The heavy weight on his shoulders eased as if a physical matter left it, the bout of removed tension making him slump on you.

You cradled the tired Albedo in your arms as you let him place his chin on your shoulder. This man is your lover now, you thought as the fact finally dawned on you. The brilliant and most loved in Mond now tied down to you.

Basking in the presence of a person now his, Albedo found himself breathing in. There was a scent to you that always soothes him which now feels emphasized at the closeness. His pupils dilated as his face buries itself closer to the junction where your neck and shoulder meets.

Ah, what was this? Was this the pheromones you once talked about in your research on zoology that attracts those to them? He mused in his mind as those teal eyed fluttered shut, nose brushing at your neck for another whiff.

While Albedo indulged himself with the natural scent of you, you stood there with weak legs, trembling and red from the notions. Oh gods, you whimpered at the feeling of his lips brushing at your skin, you're whipped for this man.

"I'm waiting," you had to hold the shiver when his words vibrated against your neck, "for your answer on my offer, I think it would be good to try." Ah the 'intercourse'. You placed your hands flat on his back as he leans away to stare in attention, and then you finally explained to him what you meant, what you'd do, and what it entails to.

Albedo nods in understanding at your every clause and explanation. And his bright mind understood far too easily how it would help. "We are lovers now," his eyes twinkled at the cute scrunch of your nose upon the embarrassment of the fact, "sooner or later we'd end up doing it anyways. When shouldn't be a matter."

Albedo always make a good point.

With your consent, Albedo slowly lays you on the surface of the table as his other hand makes quick work to swipe away the items that would be in the way, thankfully the carpeted floor prevented anything from breaking. His lips found yours almost naturally as you urged him to take off his coat and you worked on your own, the thoughts spiraling in your head for every clothing that is shed:

Albedo has little to none idea on how sex works between humans, and you had your base knowledge from the things you learned from academics; in short, you're both inexperienced and you are his anchor.

How funny how the master role quickly switched, you thought with an inward laugh before it died in your throat at the sight— he stands there with his undershirt unbuttoned, belt and shorts caught by his knee, and his apparent bulge outlined by his boxers. Your thighs instinctively closed, you don't know what's considered average in size for such things, but you know for a fact there's gonna be some difficulty.

"Is something wrong?" His raw and calloused hands (gloves long gone) softly landed at your squirming thighs, the contact sending a shiver all over. "Am I doing something wrong?"

No, you breathed as you urged him to step closer and settle between your legs at the edge of the table, his form forcing you to spread your limbs apart.

The intoxicating scent that Albedo indulged in earlier was stronger now, drowning him and clouding his thoughts. The waft plunged through his senses so forcefully that he stumbled a bit on you, hips hitting as he grips your sides to keep him steady.

Next came the warmth that touched his sensitive length as it laid between you, the contact had forced out a cute squeak from you and an airy groan from him. His hips buckled to catch the sensation as he finds himself rutting between your folds with ragged breathing.

So good, it felt so good. Albedo finds himself struggling to keep his eyes open from what he now identified to be pleasure, and as he looks up to check on you, you were struggling just the same. Your chest rises and falls in quick successions as you covered your eyes with an arm, whimpers coming out of your slightly parted lips.

Fuck. If only he wasn't so engrossed, he wanted to capture this image through painting. "Am I-," he cleared his throat of the hoarse voice, "Am I hurting you?"

You gasped at the cold and wet feeling swipe from your chin to the corner of your lips, licking the trail of drool you didn't even notice when you opened your eyes to see Albedo's up close. With a shake of your head, you gripped the ponytail of his braid to pull his head for a sudden kiss.

Staggering over your form as your legs hiked up to hook around his waist, you guided the tip of his length to your entrance as he ravaged your mouth without restraint. Lips bruising each other, tongue tracing the underside of yours gingerly before it licks at the roof of your mouth— all the sensations had fogged up your consciousness so badly that you didn't feel an ounce of pain when he finally entered into you, guided by a shy gentleness to his ministrations.

It is only when his tip finally touched the opening of your cervix did you whimper; the way you're being stretched and the fullness of his length in you making you writhe under and around him, the friction only making rousing him more.

Albedo produced a low growl against your lips as he bit down on the bottom one, his trimmed nails digging to your soft-skinned hips as he pins it down. "Stop- nghh- stop moving around so much," a sudden warmth pooled into your stomach as you tightened around him.

Mistake number one: You didn't expect for his gentleness to be gone.

Spurred on by your tightening grip and the pleasure shooting up him everytime his tip came in contact with your edge, Albedo went into a relentless pace, pounding straight into you to hit that spot. Your pants turned into breathless chokes everytime he comes in contact, forcing your raw moans out of you. There's a dull pain by your entrance everytime he grinds against your walls, and he whimpers your name in pure ecstacy every stroke.

Your back arcs as he smacks into you, pulling back halfway through before burying deep into your hole once again. His brutal pace gets sloppy at times, before his strength comes back again to pull you closer. Halfway through Albedo produces a feral growl as he grips one of your legs behind the knee, pushing it closer to your body and slightly angled to the side.

And the moment he thrusts in with the new position, you cried out his name. The tip of his length reached far deeper with this new angle, and had plunged the top right into your cervix— your hips trembled as Albedo's whole body shivers at the new sensation, fingernails digging into your thigh as his other hand intertwines with yours, pinning it down on the table as leverage.

"Ahn," he whispered your name tiredly with tears pricking at the edge of his eyes, for the first time staring at your eyes after he had started, "How are you? Is it okay? Is it..."

Good, you mumbled with a tired smile at his consideration, bumping your hips to emphasize on it- which drew a sharp gasp from the both of you, he was already in so deep, your hips bruised and touching.

He rolled his hips to test out, his thickness rubbing at the walls as he stirs your insides. The sweet moan you produced spurred him on, and he was once again staggering into you, his hips slightly elevated in an angle meant to pierce through you.

The sound of flesh smacking against each other overpowers even your loudest moan as Albedo pleasured himself inside you desperately, the smell of sex filling your sense of smell. He chases the way your hole drips and wafts with the scent, drawing in a huge breathe whenever your mixed cum spills past his tightly locked dick in you.

And soon his pace became more desperate and short, as he makes quick work at hitting you in your most sensitive part to barely give you time to gasp for air. Your walls clenched down on him so tightly as you came, a cry of his name passing your lips as your back arched—

the pressure made him buckle and he thrusts in deep one last time, tip breaking past your cervix, as his climax enters you in thick strings of warmth.

That was mistake number two: you didn't bring protection with you.

But at that moment you couldn't care less (your cycle just ended anyways, you should be fine), watching him whimper your name in full pleasure as his teeth grinds against each other, his forehead and eyebrows knit and furrow as he releases before it relaxes after he is done.

And then he falls face first to your chest, the renowned Alchemist running out of the minimal stamina he had with him. Buried between the valley of your breast, Albedo had the most serene (almost drunk) expression on his face, lips pressed against the skin over your heart where it beats with fervor from your activity.

He tested another experimental thrust, lighter this time, as he felt your mixed fluids moved around the tiny space. You gave a wailing moan at his action, and he breathlessly laughed at your reaction.

Albedo stayed in you and on you for a few more minutes after that. Still trying to regain strength as your tired pants became the white noise that night.

"Albedo..." he hums against your chest as his arms tightened around your waist, enjoying the peace your hands brought to him as you stroke his cheek. "Albedo, I need to clean up." He jests that you should just keep it in you and you responded with rapid pats, whining at the notion. He chuckles.

It took him a lot of willpower to get up and he made it obvious as hell, taking his time to remove himself off your chest, grumbling that his bed was complaining too much. You let out a cute snort before smacking his arm. Albedo grips your hips as he gently pulls out when he stops suddenly, realizing that the liquids would pour out and make an obvious mess if he were to do so.

His head passes around the immediate area as he pinpoints a peculiar object, plucking it from its plastic package, still new from the bubble wrap. A sharp gasp suddenly comes by you at the cold and hard sensation that replaced Albedo inside you, only a few inches deep as the Alchemist walks off to get tissues. Wary, you looked down to see the object, choking out when you saw its end sticking out past your crotch:

A test tube, pristine and clean, was preventing the fluids from dripping out of your hole.

When Albedo came back with the tissues and spare cloth in hand, he muses at how your deep red face was smacked tightly against your palms. He offers to clean up, a gentle hand carefully pulling out the tube, but you refused and got quick work on yourself. That was enough embarrassment for tonight.

Unbeknownst to you with your busied self, Albedo held the glass vial in close inspection and curiosity. The translucent white liquid barely blocks the night light and produced the same strong scent he'd been chasing the whole night— he sticks his tongue out to taste, ah, slightly salty and sticky.

Albedo wonders what kind of experiment he can do with this.

The obvious lift on the shoulders of the Chief Alchemist was greatly acknowledged by everyone in town who were aware of the impasse the young man had troubled himself with for the past few days. The bags under his eyes were gone, and the tealness he has shined with newfound vigor. Besides the mood shift, many of the knights had also noticed the time spent between the two of you. Missions and expeditions were always coinciding with each other and people barely saw you separated, giggling and smiling to yourselves in your pink world.

One day they finally found out about your relationship when a knight barged in to his laboratory for an urgent matter. Blurting out the Chief Alchemist's name before he realized that you were there, lips locked against each other.

The news spreads fast with that little detail and everyone congratulated you on your relationship.

Behind your bashful smiles, you and Albedo sighed in great relief, thankful to the archons that the knight didn't took notice of your hand under his big white coat that time.

This turned out like this cuz alchemy boy very new to things u_u and little stamina, he needs to exercise more ehe-

@creation-magician @dandelion-dreams @zelos-simp @struggljng @youroffical-weirdo @your-local-venti-simp @indigodreamtime47

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshots #genshin impact x reader #exile.flower #genshin impact albedo #albedo x reader #Albedo #not for children #bonafide specials #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa #author.exe stopped working #author scared #*glares* part two will wait a lil longer #female reader

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somewhataveragefangirl · 3 years ago

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Okay so the thing that was making me too busy to write or draw has ended! I'm editing my Aloy x Erend one-shot again! Because of that! here's a sneak peak to my first draft of the flashback of Erend’s marriage proposal to Aloy!

Erend proposes to Aloy!

Author's Note: This takes place at least 3 years after HZD, whatever events of HFW have already taken place, and Aloy now lives mostly in Meridian. Erend has a focus now as we saw he had one in the first HFW trailer.

ALSO this is literally from my barely edited first draft! There will be grammar errors! And still contains some [Insert stuff here] notes!

The final draft will definitely look and read differently! Please understand this does not reflect on my final draft writing quality!

This is also my first big Tumblr post with a fic so if it's formatted weird please forgive me (^▽^;)

And now without further ado!

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

Aloy thought back to Erend’s proposal.

Talanah had dragged her out of town for a Lodge Hunt, which ended with Aloy drenched in blaze. Instead of just rinsing off in a nearby lake, Talanah had insisted they visit a local bathhouse.

As repayment for her getting drenched, Talanah had helped Aloy re-plait her braids and even gifted her some Carja Silks to wear home as her armor was still drenched and in desperate need of repair. Aloy had fought it every step of the way, but in the end, she was glad she had gone along with Talanah’s plan.

She returned to her house later than she wished, the sun already beginning to set beyond the Forbidden West. On approach to her home, she noticed the door open a crack, which was unusual as Erend had made her an Oseram lock. She activated her Focus, expecting an intruder, instead, it was just Erend, which wasn’t uncommon these days as they spent most of their evenings together, the uncommon part was his pacing.

She pinged his Focus and she watched as his form whipped around to her direction as he received her signal with his Focus.

The first thing she noticed as she entered her apartment was that he had pulled her meal table away from the wall to the center of the room, and on it sat all of Aloy’s favorite Carja and Oseram foods as well as a few traditional Nora foods, where he had gotten those she had no idea.

“Aloy!”, he said on seeing her, his face lighting up into a huge grin. He was missing his traditional armor and was instead in just his Vanguard tunic and trousers. “You’re back! I was wondering if Talanah would ever bring you all back.” He laughed nervously, lifting his arm and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Well, now that you’re here, would you like to have dinner together?”

They’d spent the evening eating and talking. She learned that he had been the one to make the traditional Nora food. He told her that now that the Nora were free to leave their Sacred land and return as they wished, some had been visiting Meridian to visit the memorial. Erend told her of how he had noticed them on his rounds. When he mentioned to a few that he had wanted to surprise her with some traditional food, many had volunteered to help him please their Anointed.

She had grimaced at the mention of her Nora title, and Erend had noticed, she was grateful when he stood and pulled her out of her thoughts and seat to take a walk around the city. As they walked they reminisced of their many adventures. They spoke of their travels to the ruins of the Metal World, their journey out to the Cut as well as the Forbidden West, and the final defeat of Hades and Silens. As well as Aloy’s continuous work at Gaia Prime. Erend also spoke fondly of their more calm adventures, the times they had traveled out to a Vantage point simply to watch the sunset or stayed in Free Heap to get away from the busyness of Meridian.

As they were laughing at the memory of the first time Erend had ridden a strider, Erend had stopped to admire the view, he put his hands on the railing, staring out into the distance, still smiling but distractedly. Aloy realized they were on the middle of the bridge to the Palace; she hadn’t even noticed as this was a common path they took whenever she joined Erend on his rounds of the city. Out in the West, the final rays of sunlight could no longer be seen peeking from behind the mountains, above them, the moon was already high in the sky, its full-faced light shining down on them.

“Aloy, we’ve had so many fun times together, I know I’ve definitely gotten my two minutes”, he said referencing her words after they had fought Dervahl, “and while I don’t know Nora customs all too well, this isn’t really Oseram traditional either, I was hoping it would be alright if I ask for more of your time” before she could ask what he meant, he held her hands in his and continued, “These last few years together have been amazing! Sure, we’ve both had our fair share of struggles, both ups, and downs, but it’s been us, side-by-side against whatever the world has thrown at us, and I was hoping that it could always be this way. If I’ve learned anything from our time together, I know it’s you I want to spend my life with. So,” he got down on one knee, leaving Aloy speechless, “Aloy Rostdaughter, will you do me the greatest honor and be my wife?”

[They kiss]

#ereloy #ereloy proposal #erend x aloy #aloy and erend #aloy/erend #hzd #horizon zero dawn #horizon forbidden west #hfw #my fic stuff #my fic post #fanfiction #fanfic #erend proposes to aloy #I'll probably add more tags later #aloy x erend #my writings #a carja wedding fic

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thewinedark · 5 years ago

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Unique Dark Academia Fashion Ideas

By now I think we all know that silk shirts, oxfords, and old blazers are staples of Dark Academia fashion. Here are some ideas for fitting your wardrobe to the aesthetic that I haven’t seen a lot of.

Tops

Silk button downs are great, but if you want something perhaps less fancy and simple, here are some ideas:

Cardigans. Specifically, tighter button down cardigans. While they are very similar to silk shirts, they aren’t quite as eye catching, and usually not as bright. I have a cream silk blend cardigan that I’ve been wearing under blazers instead of silk; it’s warmer, for one, and doesn’t make me feel so pretentious when my classmates are all in sweatpants.

Cotton. Especially for warmer months, a good cotton shirt looks great tucked in a pair of high waisted shorts or trousers. I would suggest one with buttons as an accent, to avoid it being too plain. You can also roll up the sleeves for peak “disgruntled professor/lawyer” look.

Sweaters. I don’t just mean a black turtleneck here. Turtlenecks are of course great for winter and fall, but other sweaters are great also. I especially would suggest sweaters with interesting weaves or embroidery, as without the turtleneck they often need a little something extra to dress it up. There’s also the classic look of putting a button down underneath and pulling the collar out. For colors, jewel tones are always best in my opinion: deep reds, emerald greens, midnight blues. But you know yourself best, and if your hair looks great with cream, or light blue makes your eyes pop, go for it. Be sure to tuck over sized sweaters into your bottoms to avoid losing your figure.

Bottoms

Bottoms are a little easier, as they’re usually not the statement piece of an outfit, especially in dark academia. Still, high waisted, pleated, 100% linen trousers are hard to find in thrift stores, so here’s some alternatives:

Black jeans. Personally, I avoid low waisted pants like the plague. Unfortunately, it’s hard to find high waisted suit pants in thrift stores, especially ones with the tighter fit that I prefer. Often, I go for my pair of good quality, 100% cotton, extremely high waisted black skinny jeans instead. Avoid jeans with rips or that aren’t a uniform color. I definitely would suggest black if you’re going to wear jeans, though that may be my inherent dislike of blue jeans talking.

High waisted pants of any kind. When it comes to tucking shirts in bottoms, you want a high waist. I can tuck the bulkiest of sweaters easily into my jeans, because they are high waisted and made of a thick material. Thin, flimsy material is hard to hide the lines of your tops in, and lower waisted pants often can’t hold the hem long before the top gets untucked.

Skirts. I prefer more masculine clothing, but I do have quite a few skirts that I wear on occasion. And good lord, if they aren’t the most comfortable pieces of clothing I own. Specifically, long flowing skirts made out of 100% silk, cotton, or wool. Wool is great for winter months, and adds an extra layer of protection from the cold. Cotton and silk is best for the hot summer time, and if you’re having trouble with staying in dark academia fashion when you’re sweating out of your fingernails, consider skirts. A long skirt can dress up something like a t-shirt if you do it right. Sandals, a long breathable skirt, and a tied up or tucked in shirt is a great go-to when the sun is sucking away your soul.

Shoes

I still don’t own a pair of oxfords.

Boots. I’m a boot person. For dark academia, I would avoid taller boots; ankle boots or calf-length boots are the way to go. Go for leather, and tighter fits. A great way to pull your outfit together is to match your shoes and your belt or bag, and well as the hardware. If your belt is black with a silver buckle, go with black boots with silver accents. Try to avoid mixing metals (silver with bronze, etc.) if at all possible.

Ballet shoes. I don’t own any, but personally I think they’d be a great alternative to simple flats; especially if you lace the silk ribbons up your shins a bit. These are definitely best for summer months though, I would not recommend during the winter.

Accessories

A single accessory can completely change your outfit and aesthetic. Personally, some of my most used clothing pieces are not what you’d call dark academia. My go-to jacket is a bomber jacket with patches, and my usual boots are heavy Harley Davidson biker boots with metal caps. Here are some accessories that can turn your everyday outfit to something more dark academia-esque.

Suspenders. I would recommend suspenders for everyone honestly. I was having trouble with a pair of trousers, because I needed to keep them high on my waist and tight to tuck in my shirt, but they had no belt loops. Suddenly I realized someone had solved the issue centuries ago, and used my suspenders. It worked perfectly, and also added a whole new level of dark academia to my outfit. I like using them in a subtle way though: under a jacket or blazer usually, that I might take off if it gets hot and just so happen to show off the suspenders underneath. Or, never even take the jacket off and just let people get subtle looks at them. Drawing attention to suspenders makes me feel like a douche for some reason; maybe it’s the images of fedora tipping that flood in.

Satchel or book bag. I know this one is a staple, but listen. Buying leather satchel changed everything for my look. I might have a bomber jacket, skinny jeans, and biker boots but a satchel thrown over one shoulder shifts everything about my appearance. If you are able to buy one new, Amazon has some great options under $100 dollars. If not, keep your eye out whenever you go to the thrift store.

Hair accessories. Try silk ribbons. Pull your hair back with them, braid them into your hair, or use them as headbands. Learn how to braid metal cuffs into your hair if you’re up for a challenge.

Scarves. Scarves are such an easy way to dress up an outfit, as well as keep you warm. I would suggest long, silk scarves that have enough width that you can style it around your head/hair, which I think is a great look that also keeps your ears warm. Jewel tones are definitely suggested here, especially if you’re wearing all black it’s a great statement.

Jewelry. If you’re religious, I would highly suggest jewelry with some sort of religious symbolism. Religious imagery is something I defiantly associate with dark academia. If you have any jewelry pieces that were passed down to you, try them. I like rings a lot, but for my right hand I cover all my finger with heavy steel rings that cover my knuckles (for punching purposes). On my left hand, I have rings from my family. I would again suggest not mixing metals, though it can look eclectic if that’s a look you like.

That’s all I could think of at this moment, but feel free to add your own or message me! Go forth and dress to make yourself confident, whatever that may look like.

#dark academia fashion #dark academia tips #dark academia #clothing tips #dark academia clothing #grey academia #light academia #dark academia ideas #dark academia inspiration #fashion #dark academia aesthetic #dark academia style #my posts #thewinedark

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autumnslance · 4 years ago

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This is @onyrica‘s fault, as there was discussion of Emet-Selch in her Discord the other day and this old idea I’ve had kicking around got sparked awake. Takes place sometime during Shadowbringers 5.0, a little moody Emet-Selch for you all. Under the cut for those who prefer Tumblr.

The Scions were off on more of their foolish adventures in a land still smothered by Light, and so Emet-Selch meandered around the Crystarium, bored. He had already quit the Ocular on an appropriately dramatic note, though in retrospect should have perhaps drawn out the conversation longer if this was to be the result.

He would learn the Crystal Exarch’s secrets yet; he needed but a little more time to unwind the wards the stripling wizard had placed upon himself and the Tower.

It was his Tower, the same one Emet-Selch had centuries ago overseen the construction of in the Source, though how and why it and its keeper were here on the First now…

“Back foul beast!” A reedy voice caught Emet-Selch’s attention, alongside the claps and cheers of a small crowd. He paused his ambling to glance idly toward the sounds.

Lost in thought, he had wandered near the schoolyard. It was currently set up with rows of benches and chairs in a wide half circle before a low temporary stage. Several of the smaller children gamboled upon it, their classmates and teachers fluttering behind flimsy sheet backdrops to the sides and rear.

The adults had sewn and braided cloth and soft leather into simple costumes, built padded weapons and other props and set pieces with wood, bone, stone, and metal, perhaps a little plaster here and there; scraps insufficient for use by the artisans of the Crystalline Mean, saved from going to waste in this manner. The backdrop had the lines of scenery sewn in, but like the props and other lightweight stage furnishings, the young actors had obviously painted it themselves. The results were sloppy, eye-searing combinations of bright hues that nevertheless lent further charm to the stilted, clumsy production on exhibition.

Ah yes; it was a popular fairy tale rendition of an earlier Minfilia’s tale, depicted by students for the patient amusement of their parents. He wanted to sigh and laugh at the ironic frustration of how the story was stripped of the actual woman’s desperate actions to preserve a fragment of this world, making it possible for his own plans to complete its Rejoining to the Source, furthering the goals of himself and his brothers.

And yet…

“Hades, come see what Hythlodaeus has made for our play!”

“Did you create this concept yourself?”

“I did! It’s still a little rough, though. I was hoping you would have an idea on how to improve it.”

“Hmm. I just might, although…”

“Will it get us in trouble with the Matron?”

“Possibly; not that that’s ever stopped you, my friend. Nor Hythlodaeus from encouraging you.”

“Haha, no need to tease! You’re as eager as we are, besides. Come, let’s hear your idea for my concept, and put on a play our elders shall remember years from now.”

Emet-Selch caught himself smiling as the small child playing Minfilia expressed glee at “defeating” a slightly bigger classmate in the role of a sin eater. The little thing was so excited and overwhelmed by the cheers of the audience that a teacher had to prompt the next lines. He clapped along as yet another child playing the former Eulmoran General came to take Minfilia onto destiny—and death, but nevermind that; the schoolyard play ended on a cheerful note, the class lining up unevenly to take their shy, awkward bows as their friends and families cheered.

“Bravo,” Emet-Selch called as well, noticed by only a few of the participants, just another adult in the crowd.

It was a ridiculous, crude little affair. Nothing like his hazy piecemeal memories of his own long ago youth, let alone the demonstrations of Amaurot’s students in later years when he served on the Convocation, their nascent concepts hints of their later talents, nurtured by the elders who guided their course.

Yet a small part of him found something charming in the clumsy little production, the attempt at bringing to life a story with script and props and the energy of children.

A paltry display, a larger part of him hissed. Nothing like what they could, should be capable of if they were whole.

Still; he was ever interested in the mortal need to create, to strive for more than their clumsy hands and stunted imaginations could conjure. That they sought to reach the heights of their forgotten ancestors, yearning to bring to existence that which they only saw within their minds’ eyes.

It was all the proof he needed that he held to the correct course. That they wanted to be Rejoined, wanted to create instantly with a simple thought that which took their crude methods time to draw in only rough approximations.

“I have been looking forward to this showing for moons, Hythlodeaus. Your pestering about the Convocation’s latest decisions shall not distract me.”

“I wanted a bit of gossip, not the politics, though I suppose they could be one and the same—don’t frown at me like that.”

“I shall frown all I wish, though you should hope the play changes my mood.”

“Hehe; we both know it shall, you have ever been a fan of such stories. Or is it the flair of how the stories are told?”

“Perhaps a bit of both. There’s a magic to theater that is wholly different from mine own.”

“Tis a shame our friend has left again, and shan’t return for quite some time, rather than accompanying us.”

“Yes, but we all have our roles to fill.”

“Didja like our play, mister?” One of the little urchins was at his feet, looking up at Emet-Selch with a gap-toothed grin, still in slapdash costume.

He stared down for a long moment, then allowed a small smile, playing the part of indulgent grandfatherly figure. “I have ever been a fan of the theater,” he told the child. “A finer production I’ve not seen in this world.”

Not even a lie; he had not yet had the chance even while in Eulmore.

The child squealed in delight, spitting out a quick “Thank you!” before responding to a parent’s call.

Emet-Selch watched the child dash off, trying to ignore the old, hollow ache in his chest and the brief spark of warmth the interaction nearly kindled within it.

The child was inconsequential; he could have snuffed out the tiny half-life with a snap of his fingers and it would not matter a whit to the universe—in truth it would even be far kinder than the inevitable destruction of Rejoining.

But perhaps the children would put on another of their clumsy little plays before that happened. Another small proof of man’s eternal striving to reach for the heights they once knew when whole, and would know again once he had his way.

“I swear, with your penchant for theatrics, you should have become a playwright, or an actor, Emet-Selch.”

“I may someday, dear Azem, when your own antics force me into retirement for my sanity’s sake. Now please, aid me in resolving this matter lest Loghrif truly does murder me at our next meeting...”

The echo of his old friend’s laugh rang in his ears, annoyingly tinged in the current reincarnation’s voice, as he ambled away from the schoolyard.

He found himself pausing to look back at the bright little stage and realized he was still smiling.

Emet-Selch shook his head. A momentary lapse; how annoying.

The stage was set, his script was written; the actors had but to find their marks, their actions against the Lightwardens unwittingly hurtling them ever closer to the final curtain call.

Then they would understand, and would remember the dazzling spectacle, the possibility of true creation.

In the meantime, these too brief, imperfect reminders would have to do, as he had told himself countless times before in his centuries among these fragmented worlds.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #Shadowbringers #Emet-Selch #Crystarium #Theater

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magicalgirlfan666 · 4 years ago

Text

Alfea's Magical Girl Fairy School (Winx Club Reader Insert)

Chapter 1: First Day & Dormmates

This Winx Club Fanfic was brought to you by DragonStar sponsored by Winxwasmychildhood.org which was made possible by viewers like you enjoy

Fair warning: not everything that's going to go down in this will be from the tv series since I like doing my own thing with fanfics that I write so just so you don't get confused I placed this here as a heads up. Now you know.

P.S this is a reader insert that means you are the Main Character of the story.

______: First name

(I will be giving you an eye color I hope that you don't mind ^^')

(h/c) Hair color

(Same with skin color again I hope you won't mind)

I will be giving you the last name this time.

_______________________

Finally, I have now come of age to attend Alfea, it was something that I have been looking forward to going. In hopes of improving upon my magical powers and gaining what I need to be a good queen to my people. My Mother and Father also warn me to not only study but to be on look out for any royalty students attending as well so that I may make good relationships with them to help further prosper our kingdom.

But to only seek out royalty anything other than studying and bettering myself is unnecessary thus deserving no further attention, and I had no plans on going against it for nothing else piques my interest.

For I was taught to have nothing else to gain my interest other than my kingdom: Frozonia, if it prospers I prosper. Anything and everything I do is for it and it alone. No desires for myself no wants or needs for myself other than the want and need for a glorious kingdom.

It didn't take long for me to arrive to Alfea, there were a bunch of other girls at the front waiting for Griselda to finishing verifying if rather or not they belonged here. One girl was having a bit of trouble since Griselda was having trouble finding her name on the list and it wasn't til the girl told the older woman how her name was spelled did she finally spot the name and allowed her access.

The red head in front of me appeared to be worried as the two whispered about something, I saw the blonde female rip apart a letter for a reason unknown to me before approaching Griselda.

"Hello Ms. G this is Princess Varanda the princess of Callisto" I glanced to the redhead who was acting funny, I found it odd about how she was acting when being introduced but wrote it off as none of my concern, Griselda argued over the blonde who's name I now learned was Stella, return to Alfea especially after what she did to their science class to which Stella replied on how her parents did pay for some of the school's new stuff.

I was getting a bit annoyed at having to wait for the pair to finish their chit-chat, have preferred that they have this kind of personal chat when she doesn't have to allow access to a bunch of girls waiting to get in but since I have been taught to keep these sort of things in check so I knew not to voice this.

Though I was also taught to offer my honest thoughts and opinions and to be blunt a queen as no time for beating around the bush since I was not asked there was no need. My people though blunt and truthful with what we say, we tend to be a silent and quiet bunch only speaking when spoken too or when necessary.

I didn't deem now necessary, finally, they finished and I was finally next. "Name?"

"_____ Frosthart Princess of planet Crystria" I answered with a stoic face and a voice void of any emotion.

"Ah yes I see your name right here, go right ahead" I wasted no time walking through the gates and into Alfea, soon the head mistress Faragonda showed up and give a big speech before we were allowed to go inside when she finished. I quickly located my room and it appears two of my dormmates where already here.

One was a orange-blonde hair girl with a bob-cut hairstyle and hazel eyes, the other a fair-skinned girl with long, chest length brown hair with neatly brushed bangs above her eyes, while she has a strand or two hang over her shoulders with sea blue eyes. Both girls appeared friendly enough as they greeted me.

"Hi I'm Amaryl and this is my friend Francine" The two offered a kind and friendly smiles as they stuck their hands out for me to shake. I stared for a brief second before accepting their kind gesture.

"So would you happen to be Looma or ______?" Francine asked, before I could respond another voice spoke up. All three of us turned to the entrance of the room where the voice originated from.

Standing there a was brown hair, green eyes girl with her hair styled into a tight bun and two braids in the front. Her eyes shone bright with kindness and excitement. "Hello" She greeted kindly, placing her right hand on her chest. "I'm Looma and it would seem that from now and we will be dormmates"

"Ah so then that would make you _______" Francine said before returning Looma's greetings, as they started to converse I went to my room and used my magic to unpack everything. It wasn't long before Looma walked in still smiling.

"Looks like you already picked your side of the room" She said as she walked over to the other side and did the same as me with her magic as she unpacked I noticed she had a lot more clothes than I so it was safe to assume that she was really into clothing and fashion. She also had a few other things to make her own clothing.

"You weren't there when I told the others but if you ever need any clothing or some specially made feel free to ask all I need are some cool stuff to make them out of or if you want just buy some off me, it's really no trouble since I'm always making more than I really need" She gave an awkward laugh when addressing her lack of self-control on making clothing.

I don't really think that I will be needing any clothing specially made from her or to purchase any off her anytime soon but did make sure to keep note of it just in case. You never know when this knowledge might come in handy.

I nodded to let her know that it was acknowledged, she smiled in returned and started going over to the desk she unpacked and got to designing something that I can only assume was clothing.

I didn't have anything planned so I just sat down on my bed reading as my roommate hummed while drawing which I didn't mind since I would only tune it out once I get adsorbed onto the book. And in no time at all I was soon lost into a land of my own.

That is until a rabbit came out of nowhere and hopped right onto my book and soon a girl's voice shouted out a name that wasn't mine or any of my dormmates.

"Kiko!" She came rushing in and stopped once her blue orbs landed on the gray little bunny who was smiling sheepishly, they soon turned to me as she took notice that he was standing on my book.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know why he went running off like that" She appeared to be genuinely sorry for her rabbit's actions as she stared into my icy blue eyes.

I looked at her for a bit before turning my gaze to her rabbit and picking him up, the moment my hands made contact with his tiny little body he started to shiver but it wouldn't last too long since he would soon be in his master's hands as I handed him over.

"It is fine any damage done I can easily fix but do try to be careful next time" She nodded as she took the little bunny in her hand's as he immediately started to warm up.

"Right it won't" She nodded as I returned to my book. She got the hint that I didn't wish to speak anymore and soon left as I picked up where I unwillingly left off.

I finally reached the end of my book and was left wondering why did the main character make such a choice? Why did they choose to abandon their kingdom for someone else? It didn't make sense, no matter how many times I read books like this I could never figure it out.

Since the day I was born I was told that the kingdom and the people's welfare were to be placed above all else which means doing whatever was necessary to make sure that our kingdom was prospering.

So for her to make such a decision only leads to one thing for me to believe since it was the only thing that made sense, her tutors didn't educate her well enough at all, I just hope that other kingdoms in this story learn from this and never hire that person again.

I sighed as I placed my book onto the stand next to me and soon realizing that it was now night time, I must have missed lunch.... I look over to check on Looma and she was still drawing, I get up to tap her on the shoulder which startled her.

"Oh it's you, sorry you kind of scar-" Her eyes glanced around the room before landing back on me. "Um.. is it night time?" I nodded.

"Darn that means I miss lunch" She pouted before looking to me again. "Why didn't you say anything?" I pointed to my book.

"After finishing my book I was only now made aware" She looked over at my stand(no that's not a jojo reference) before nodding and then smiling.

"I guess that means we are sort of alike only we get far too absorbed in different things" She giggled before yawning. "Well not that it matters now I'm far too tired to eat anyway" She stood from her seat heading over to her bed.

"I'm going to head off to bed, night" She hopped into the bed pulling the sheets over her as I soon deiced to do the same as well.

Closing my eyes I soon drifted to sleep, one that was dreamless as usual for me they normally were anyway. It happens so often that I can't remember if I ever had dreams before or maybe I just simply can't remember them... whatever the case it doesn't really matter all that much anyway.....

___________

Okay so, this has already been posted on my watt pad and quotev, and is how it will be staying, the next parts will be drafts and possible outcomes

#Winx Club #AU #Yuri #Lesbian Romance #Bloom #Bloom x Reader #Diaspro #Diaspro x Reader #Chimera #Chimera x Reader #Reader Insert #fanfic #FanFiction #Chapter 1

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le0watch · 4 years ago

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A Flower for Your Thoughts

The night is still young, the palace filled to the brim with young women hoping to catch the prince’s attention. Each young lady has her own dress, and the colors range from white to black, and the sizes from large and puffy to thin and flat.

They’re all so loud and persistent, and hardly give Prince Langa the space he desires. He doesn't even want to be here- it was a decision made by his mother and chamberlain back in their Kingdom of Snow. His mother was beginning to get worried that he was too lonely, and his chamberlain had suggested that they come here to try and find him a suitor. Because then, with a wife, Prince Langa wouldn't be lonely again.

And while Langa would love for a wife, this feels too forced, and not natural. The women here only care that he's a prince, and for the enormous amount of wealth and fame that comes with marrying him. None of them actually care for him… just his title.

He sighs heavily, sitting on the edge of a fountain somewhere in the large palace garden. He's been here a while- no one has been able to find and annoy him as of yet, and the sound of the trickling water was soothing compared to the yelling and calling of the women in the castle. He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, the loneliness he'd come to know so well back him settling in his gut.

“It's the same here…” he mutters quietly, staring at the cracks in the ground and the ants crawling through the grass.

Suddenly, someone flops down beside him on the fountain’s edge, her dress a brilliant blue that spills around her legs and feet. It splays out across the edge of the fountain, some of it brushing through the water beneath them. He flinches, ready for yet another suitor to try and woo him for his wealth.

“Where is everybody?” the girl says, and Langa is struck by how cute she sounds. He hasn't looked at her yet- afraid if he does, it’ll break the spell and she’ll start fawning over him. He feels her eyes on the back of his head a moment later, staring at him. “Did you get lost?”

A reflection of light catches his eye, and glances down at the ground eyes widening as they land upon a gorgeous pair of glass heels. He's never seen glass slippers, or shoes for that matter, but they go wonderfully with her dress.

“Pretty…” he mutters, before he realizes what he's doing.

“Huh?” the girl says, taken by surprise.

“Your shoes. I've never seen any made of glass before,” he explains, and finally works up the courage to look at the girl’s face. He nearly gasps, because she's even prettier than the shoes or dress she is wearing.

Her bright red hair is pulled into two braids that trail behind her shoulders, the rest of it a mess of curls on the top of her head. Her eyes are a gorgeous honey amber color, and they sparkle even in the dark of the night. Freckles pepper her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and before he realizes what he's doing, he's looking at her lips, a soft, plump pink.

He has to tear his gaze from her lips as they turn upwards into a bright grin. So bright, Langa momentarily believes her to be the sun, and that morning had come early. Her beautiful blue dress contrasts prettily with her red hair and eyes, sparkling gently beneath the stars.

“Oh, you meant the shoes,” she says sheepishly, chuckling lightly. What a beautiful sound. He almost wants to take back what he'd said, and tell her that no, he'd actually meant that she was pretty.

“Yeah,” he responds instead, because his brain is slow and sluggish as always. This doesn't phase the girl, however, but makes her tilt her head to the side with a crooked grin.

“How long are you gonna stare?” she asks, making Langa jump out of his skin. Oh, great. She’d caught him staring at her like a buffoon- very unprincely indeed. But she instead exclaims, “Let's dance!”

That takes Langa by surprise. She was being so bold- she's not even asking him, she's just saying it like it would be the natural thing for them to do. “With me?” he asks, quite stupidly. Who else was there for her to ask? He blames his short circuiting brain on her and how pretty she is.

“Is anyone else here?” she says pointedly, her grin only widening. She sounds excited, and she grabs his hand, hopping to her feet and pulling him along with her.

He lets out a noise of surprise as he stumbles to his feet after her, surprised by her straight forwardness. Wasn’t he supposed to ask her to dance, if at all? Yet, he doesn't pull his hand away, nor does he say anything negative in response.

Once they're both standing, the girl waits patiently for him to get ready, bouncing on the balls of her feet. When he rests one of his hands in her hand and the other on her waist, her face flushes a pretty red, and she sheepishly chuckles.

“I uh- I’ve never actually danced before,” she tells him shyly, and he blinks down at her. She’s shorter than he is- but not by too much. Her head reaches just above his chest, and is peering up at him through her pretty red lashes. “So uh- could you teach me?”

Langa’s cheeks grow warm at her shy but excited demeanor, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at her pretty face. She flushes, and squirms a little under his gaze.

“I'm sorry- I shouldn't have asked if I didn't know how-” she begins to apologize, slowly pulling away from Langa.

But the prince quickly catches her, keeping her close. He smiles down at her warmly- the first time he's smiled in years since his father died- and gently guides her hands to their proper places, one on his shoulder and the other lightly gripped in his. His body buzzes from their intertwined fingers to his toes, a warm happiness settling in his gut.

He hasn't felt so infatuated in a long time- or ever, for that matter. But somehow, this adorable redhead had caught his attention. Maybe it was from how she treated him like an equal, or maybe it was due to her sunny disposition. Anyway, Langa feels as if his heart is going to burst from his chest at any second.

He's never felt in love before, nor has he ever experienced a crush. These are new sensations and emotions he's experiencing, but he's highly enjoying them.

“Your hands go here,” he explains, meeting her amber gaze. Her eyes seem to glow, like a pair of stars in the night sky above them. “And I will lead. Just follow my steps, and you'll catch on pretty quick.”

“Oh- okay!” she exclaims with one of her bright grins. He nearly melts under its warmth, but begins the most basic of waltzes, as to not overwhelm her for her first time. He listens to the faint music playing from the distant castle, taking the first few steps. She stumbles for a moment, and trips over his feet, but he steadies her each time. She flushes and apologizes sheepishly when she steps on his feet, but he reassures her with a small smile.

“Wow, you're a good teacher.” She sounds whimsical, and it makes him smile again.

“You're learning it on your own,” Langa points out. “I'm just guiding you through it.”

“Guess you're right about that!” she exclaims with another bright grin. He loves when he smiles and grins; she smiles with her whole face, eyes scrunching at the edges, the tips of her lips stretching to both of her ears. “Now, who might you be, anyways. I've been dancing with a stranger this entire time.”

“Wait, you don't know?” he asks in surprise, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline. Everyone who’s come to the ball is merely there to meet him and hopefully get him to pick them as his wife. Does she really not know- or is she just acting?

But no, in the short amount of time Langa has known this mystery girl, he knows for a fact that she wasn't acting, somehow. The genuinity shining in her eyes coupled with her curious smile proves that to him.

“Should I?” she asks, a teasing edge to her voice. She draws in a sharp breath of surprise when Langa twists her outwards, before pulling her back close to himself again. He smiles down at her, and she smiles back up at him, holding tightly to his hand. Her hand seems to fit almost perfectly in his.

“I suppose not, if you don’t,” he replies. She doesn't have to know right away, right? That would probably break whatever magical spell has set over them, and turn her from a fun young maiden to one just as desperate for his wealth as everyone else. “But you may call me Snow. That's what my mother calls me. And your name?”

The girl hesitates, her dress fluttering around her legs when Langa twirls her, holding his arm high to allow her room. When she’s pulled back in and they fall back into step, she finally says, “That isn’t too important.” Her smile dropped while she said this, making Langa’s heart plummet into his stomach. Oh no, he had upset her. Or, she just feels as if she is inadequate beside him. He has to remedy this instantly.

He opens his mouth to do just that, but the girl beats him by saying, “Why don't you tell me more about yourself, hm? Like why you're outside all alone.” She smirks up at him, her previous negativity disappearing in an instant. She's masking. Langa’s familiar with masking. He was basically raised to always have a princely mask over his face. He doesn't like her masking one bit. But he also knows he can't force someone to stop.

“Needed to get some fresh air,” Langa replies honestly. “It was much too crowded and loud inside, so I stepped out for a moment.”

The girl doesn’t respond until he's finished spinning her through the air, gaining a beautiful burst of laughter from her. Once she’s on the ground again, her laughter tapers off, but a smile remains on her face.

“And what are you doing here, hm?” she asks, and Langa's mind instantly begins rushing for an answer. “I thought only the maidens of the land were invited to the ball, not the men.” She’s teasing him, fluttering her pretty lashes at him.

He swallows heavily, butterflies in his stomach. This girl has to have magic, how else could he be feeling so much because of her all at once?

“That is true,” he says, wetting his lips nervously as he dips her low. She gasps before giggling, latching onto his arm to keep herself from falling. Even though he would never drop her. He doesn't want to tell her he's the prince, yet. Soon, but not now. Just a while longer as another random guy at the palace. He is enjoying it. “I work here. In the palace, I mean. I'm… an apprentice!”

Her eyes widen and she grins up at him, her flowing dress brushing against his knees. The blue of her dress contrasts amazingly with her bright red hair, and he thinks the color suits her.

“Snow the apprentice,” she says. Langa likes the way she says his nickname. Or maybe he just likes her voice. Maybe a bit of both. “I like it.”

Langa lets out a breath of laughter, and dips her for the final time in their waltz. They break apart, and he bows while she courtesies low to the ground. Her dress is like a halo around her, and she looks much like an angel on earth.

Once they've both straightened back up, Langa glances towards the palace, biting his lower lip. He’s sure that he is not yet missed- he could show her around the garden. Maybe even give her that flower… yes!

He holds up a hand in offering, and asks, “May I show you around the garden?”

She hesitates only a moment before she takes his hand, dipping her head shyly. He smiles, and she smiles back at him. He leads her through the garden, pointing out the plants he knows the names of.

“Those are my favorite flowers,” he says, pointing to a patch of blue flowers. “They’re called forget-me-nots. The story behind them just makes them all the more special.”

The mystery girl looks down at them, before releasing his hand to crouch in front of them. She picks one of the many buds, before turning back to him. A light flush colors her freckled cheeks as she stands on her tiptoes to slip the stem of the flower behind Langa’s ear. His breath catches in his throat at her close she is- her breath mingling with his, and he can see each time her pretty lashes flutter, and the way her lips hanging slightly open.

Once satisfied, she draws back, looks over her work, and then grins brightly. “It matches your hair!” she exclaims, and he's taken by her all over again. She retakes his hand, and he has to draw in a deep breath before he can speak again.

“Th- thank you very much,” he says, clearing his throat. He's sure he's blushing. His face is hot enough. He then tugs on her hand, “Now I want to show you something.”

“Haven’t you been showing me the garden?” she teases, but follows after him obediently.

He doesn't answer her, looking this way and that for the flowers he has in mind. Finally, he spots them: red hibiscus flowers. He tugs her along quickly, and she lets out a surprised laugh, stumbling a moment to be able to keep up with him. Once he's reached them, he gestures for her to sit down. She raises an eyebrow at him, but does so anyways, her dress pooling out around her on the grassy ground.

“Hope this doesn't ruin my dress,” she mutters, more to herself than Langa. He hums in response, but focuses on the task at hand. His father had taught him how to do this as a gift for his mother when he was younger, and they constantly did it for her when Mother’s Day rolled around.

He gathers a hand full of the brilliant red flowers before he steps to stand behind her, dropping onto his knees to reach her hair. He sets the fistful of flowers on the ground beside himself, and takes his gloves off. He then combs his bare fingers through her puffy hair, eyes widening at how soft it is beneath his fingertips. She stiffens at first, before relaxing as he gently cards his fingers through her hair.

Langa begins to part bits of hair into two sections, throwing the right side over her shoulder. She stays silent as he works, and when he looks at her freckled face, he finds her eyes lightly closed as she soaks in his soft touches.

He smiles softly at her relaxed expression, before beginning the braiding process. Each time he loops one large strand of hair over the other, he weaves a flower or two between them. He continues this until he's finished the first braid, smiling at his work. He guides the large braid over her left shoulder, and then quickly picks another handful of hibiscuses.

As he focuses on the right braid, the pretty girl in front of him hums softly. “Didn’t think you knew your way around a woman’s hair,” she says softly, lightly tracing the braid with her finger. “This is beautiful.”

“Just as you are,” Langa says before he could think it through. He hears her take in a sharp breath of air out of surprise, looking at him through the corner of her eye over her shoulder. He smiles at her with a wink, and her face turns a deep red similar to the flowers weaved into her hair. “My father taught me, so I could do this sort of thing for my mother. She's always loved it when I do it, so I thought you would as well.”

“I think I do,” she whispers, running her finger along one of the flower’s petals. Langa watches her for a moment, getting caught in how gorgeous she is just looking at the flowers in her own hair. Then, he shakes himself inwardly and gets back to work, weaving more and more flowers into the second braid.

When he's finished, he guides the second braid over her right shoulder. She traces this one as well, before turning to face him, grinning brightly at him, blinding him all over again. “Thank you very much, Mister Snow!” she exclaims, and grabs one of his hands. Their fingers weave together, and he looks at their interlocked hands with wonder.

“And thank you for letting me do it, fair maiden,” he answers courteously. She giggles at him, and he slowly brings her hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips against the back of her hand. Her breath catches, her face flushing an even deeper red. Man, red really is her color. “I've had such a wonderful time with you- please, I must know your name.”

She wets her lips nervously, her amber eyes sparkling with anxiety. He lowers her hand, and begins to lightly trace her knuckles with his thumb. She watches this for a few seconds, before drawing in a deep breath. She steels herself, before meeting his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” she says, and he unconsciously scoots closer to her, his knees brushing through the grass. He stops at the edge of her dress, not wanting to drag his knees across the well sewn stitching or fluffy layers. She leans in close, like she's about to tell him a secret, and he leans towards her without noticing, holding his breath with anticipation. “My name is-”

She cuts herself off when the loud bong of the nearby clock tower sounds, her eyes going wide, grip on his hand tightening. He stares at her questioningly, still waiting for her to say her name, only for her to suddenly be pulling away, pushing to her feet while brushing the front of her dress off.

“I have to go,” she says, taking Langa by complete surprise. His mouth falls open as she begins to quickly walk back they way they’d come, dress swaying around her wildly. Her expression is one of regret, but she doesn't stop going, turning back for one moment to tell him, “It was a fun night. Thank you very much.” She does a small curtesy before taking off in a full on sprint.

Langa almost can't do anything at first. All he could do was stare where she'd just been, his hand, now empty, held out uselessly in front of himself. The grass where she'd been sitting has an indention in it from the grass laying across it.

Then, he snaps out of it, and scrambles to his feet, taking off after her. “Wait!” he calls after her. His heart is hammering in his chest- they were having such a good time, why did she have to suddenly leave? The ball isn't even over for another two hours. They had plenty of time, and he wanted to get to know her more. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“I'm sorry!” she calls back, disappearing around a corner. Langa runs as fast as his legs could take him, and finds her already halfway down the steps of the palace. Her dress flares out behind her in a mess of blue, brushing across the tops of the steps.

At one point, Langa’s heart stops when she seems to stumble and nearly trip over one of the steps. He hardly even notices the large amount of noise growing behind him; everyone inside must have taken notice of his plight.

But the girl catches herself, pauses to look back, and then takes off again. Langa stops at the spot she had- spotting one of her beautiful glass slippers. His eyes widen and he crouches down to pick it up.

Bad idea.

Because the girl manages to get into her carriage and the carriage takes off as soon as the door is closed. His heart plummets and even though he knows it's in vain, he still gives chase after the carriage as it pulls away.

“Wait!!” he shouts after the receding carriage, to no avail. He glances around for his horse, but is stopped when his mom appears beside him, panting.

“Who was that?” she asks breathlessly. Langa’s mind buzzes; no no! He doesn't have time to talk! He has to get his horse and get to her before he loses her! But his mom catches his wrist before he could run, stopping him in his tracks. “Snow!”

He snaps out of his daze, and looks down at her desperately. Kojiro suddenly appears beside his mother, looking between them with confusion. “She- I- She's the one, Mom! And she hasn't even told me her name!” he manages to exclaim.

His mother’s eyes widen, and she looks at Kojiro, who seems to understand her look. He peels away from them towards the palace guard, hopping onto his horse.

“Calm down, sweetie,” she tells him soothingly. He's trembling, he realizes. He doesn't want to lose this mystery girl and her pretty face and kind personality and the things she makes him feel. He’d just met her and started smiling again! “Kojiro and the guards will go and bring her back, alright? Just wait right here. They'll be back soon.”

Langa wets his lips, biting his lower lip anxiously. He tightly grips the glass slipper she’d left behind, the only connection he has back to her.

His mystery princess.

#sk8 #sk8 the infinity #snowgear #reki kyan #renga #langa hasegawa #cindereki #my writing #my drabbles #long post

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avaritia-apotheosis · 4 years ago

Text

Phantom Children Pt. 5

Hey guys, it's been really busy for me at university so I have no idea when I'll have free time to write this month. Chapter 5 is actually still unfinished, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging, so here's the first half of chapter 5.

In Which: Another deal is struck upon the ice

AO3 | Prologue | 4 | [ 5 ] | 6

THE PIT SINGS. A low, groaning thing. Muffled like how sounds distort underwater. It reminded Danny of the sounds of Jupiter he would listen to when he really needed to study; the sounds heavily mixed to be more ambient yet still echoing traces of the original, haunting melody of the universe.

The Pit calls for him. No, not the pit—the ectoplasm in the pit is what calls him. Pulls the waves toward him as if he were the moon, bright and full, whispering with garbled voices hello-hello-hello. His core whispers back the same words every time he is near it. Hello-hello-hello. The Pit lingers in the back of his mind and sings in familiar words he does not understand.

Talia calls it a fascination. Ra’s calls it a connection.

A visceral link. Like calls to like. Strange ectoplasmic middle fingers to the laws of the universe—to the great equalizer that is death.

(Danny thinks Ra’s is wrong. Not completely wrong, but not right either.)

When his ghost form is no longer trying to cannibalize his human self, Talia dials up his training. Before, she was merely an observer. Now, she fights him in the ring, teaching him how to dodge with bruised ribs and broken bones. Brutally correcting his stances with harsh jabs and quick strikes. Sweeps him off the floor with a twist of her leg when he forgets how to use his feet. Each day left him with such bone-deep fatigue that mor more once he fell asleep during his sixty minutes in front of the monitor.

They know, now, that the Pit has no adverse effect on him. That he can use the pit more than once.

Bruises and fractures, cuts and scrapes; injuries mean nothing when a dip in green waters will wash everything away.

Even the possibility of insanity starts to feel far-fetched.

Danny should hate this. He should really hate this.

He loved it.

Phantom had always been a fighter. A protector. An underdog matched up against bigger and stronger foes but always somehow coming up on top. He was popular. Liked by the citizens of Amity Park despite his dumpster fire of a reputation near the beginning. Somehow in the year and a half since Phantom’s conception, he went from town menace to this larger-than-life figure. (Ha!) The hero of Amity Park with all of the expectations and responsibilities that came with it.

But Danny—plain, ol’ Danny Fenton—wasn’t any of that. Wasn’t allowed to be any of that. Because Danny Fenton was a wimpy kid who tripped over air and regularly got shoved inside lockers. He was the ghost hunters’ son who was deathly afraid of the paranormal. A C-average student in a family of geniuses.

A persona unwillingly crafted and carefully maintained, because at least this way no one other than Jazz or Wes will be able to connect Fenton to Phantom. Who would believe it?

But here, in Nanda Parbat, he was neither Fenton nor Phantom— he was something more. He had no secret identity to keep from the people who have vigorously researched him. He had no need to hold back.

Here, Danny was free to be Danny.

“Daniel.”

Even if he was called by the wrong-right name.*

Danny floated up from the pit, his transformation seamless as he stepped onto the edge on quiet feet. Tahlia threw him a knapsack. “Ready yourself, we have places to be.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I get my sixty-minutes after the Pit, remember?”

“I did not forget.” She smiled, resting her hand on her hip. “I simply thought that by beloved child might relish a change in scenery.”

Danny perked up, hands tightening around the straps of the knapsack. “We’re going outside?” Tahlia nodded. “Like—outside-outside. With the sky and trees and—and the stars?”

Amusement softened her sharp features, jade eyes sparkling with mirth. “The very same. Though the place we are going to is quite fickle in nature, and I am unsure if we will get another chance to go. But if you really insist on it then—”

“Wait!” He snapped his mouth shut, clutching the bag closer to his chest.

(Family, his core whispered. Family-safe-safe-protect-need-see-confirm-family-home)

The sixty minutes he gets to see his family was…precious. One of the few times the restlessness in his core would draw back; melt away like frost in the spring, leaving some sense of contentment behind. It was his refuge. Sanctuary. Physical proof that what he was doing here—(staying away-away-why-go back-back-return-home-family-home-protect)—meant something.

But.

Outside.

The Pit might have increased his training regiment, but it also allowed him to leave (escorted) the walls of his rooms. And this—

Danny could go outside.

He could go outside.

If he didn’t accept this now, then who knows when the opportunity would arise again? His family wouldn’t mind, right? Jazz did say something about how spending time outdoors is good for one’s health.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. “My…my family will be alright, yes?”

Tahlia cocked her head. “Why wouldn’t they be? You have done nothing wrong that goes against our agreement, and you have progressed wonderfully in your training. I am quite proud.” At Danny’s disquieted expression, she sighed. She raised her hand. “I swear on the blood of the demon—on our blood—that I will honor our agreement and do no harm to the Fentons and your friends during our trip.”

She lowered her hand. “Are you satisfied, habeebi?”

Reluctantly, Danny nods. An agreement from Tahlia is probably the best he could do at this point. “How much time do I have to prepare?” “Everything you will need is in that back. Though, it might do you good to dress very warmly.”

----------

Danny’s first breath of fresh air was biting. It filled the lungs crisp and clean, chilled him to the bones though he could feel no cold. Each warm exhale expressed itself in swirling mists, disappearing into the slate gray clouds above. A facsimile of his own ghost sense.

Fenton did not think much of breathing; Phantom did not need it.

Danny had never realized how wonderous it was to breathe.

“We head northeast,” Tahlia called out. Like him, she is bundled in thick black layers with long leather gauntlets strapped at the end of the sleeves. Her bag secured tightly, and a sword strapped to her back. Her long black hair is bound in a tight braid beneath her fur-lined hood.

The path is covered with snow, deep enough that his first few steps past Nanda Parbat’s gates sinks his leg midway up his calf with a loud crunch. It was hardly as deep as some parts in the Far Frozen, but over there Danny had the choice to simple float over. Tahlia trudged through the snow with a preternatural grace. The path ahead was marked only by the faint traces of footprints almost—but not quite—covered with fresh snow.

Among the many things the League had taught him, this was one: the devil is in the details.

They speak little on their trek. Not that Danny particularly minds, absorbed that he was with world around him. Nanda Parbat, he learned, was built high in the mountains. Cocooned from the rest of the world by the snow-capped mountain ranges that surrounded it. A fortress of wood and stone that seemed distinct yet so carefully hidden. The high walls protected the buildings within from view. Its roofs—elongated and curved—and tall towers modelled after east Asian architecture. Though which country, Danny does not know.

Their destination—past a large protrusion of stone that covered the fortress from view once crossed—was a lake. Frozen a pale blue with ice, surrounded by more mountain walls and the opening of a cave off to the side.

Perplexed, he said “What, are we gonna go ice fishing? Just so you kno, I’m not that big of a fan. The last time I went with my dad I was nearly eaten by a sea monster.”

“We should have enough food for this exercise, Daniel. And you need have no fear of sea monsters, this lake is devoid of any such creatures.” Once they reached the mouth of the cave, she unstrapped her bag, setting it against the stone wall. Danny mimicked the motion. “We are here to train.”

“With…?”

She gestures to the katana strapped to his back.

“With swords.”

A nod.

“On the ice?”

She smiled, leading him to the edge of the frozen lake. “It has become something of a family tradition of the al Ghuls, to cross blades upon the ice.” She plants a steady foot on the lake, walking towards the center with long strides.

Danny followed behind her with some trepidation. He wouldn’t die from frostbite, he was sure, and if he fell he could always fly himself out. But that didn’t stop him from flinching at the rumbling sounds the ice made beneath his feet.

“My father trained both your father and I on this lake.” Tahlia unsheathed her sword as she took her place across from Danny. “And as your father no doubt trained Damian on his own lake, I have the pleasure of training you.” She slipped into a stance. “On your mark.”

Danny slipped into his own stance, feet apart, both hands on the hilt. Then, something nudged at the back of his mind. “Who’s Damian?”

Tahlia tilted her blade, the polished sword gleaming and sharp. “Your brother. Now—begin!”

“Wait, wha—” Danny barely managed to parry the blow.

Sparks flew as blades crossed and Danny twisted off to the side.

He slipped. Head meeting the ice, the deep crackling sound of the lake making him tense.

Tahlia points the tip of her blade against his chest. A single elegant brow arched high in dissatisfaction. Danny glared at her, brushing the fringes of his hair away from his face. “To be fair, you shouldn’t say stuff like that right before a fight. You caught me off guard.”

“If you find yourself in a fair fight, you have failed to prepare enough.” She sheathed her sword before extending an arm to help Danny to his feet. “The goal of a fight is to end it—no matter the cost. Now, take you place.”

Danny picked up his sword, then, hesitates. He looked up at Tahlia. “Did you mean what you said?” Do I have a brother?

Tahlia smiled, drawing her blade once more. “Impress me and you’ll find out.”

Danny narrowed his eyes.

“Now—”

He adjusted his stance. You’re on.

“Begin!”

Danny lunged.

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #dp fic #phantom children.txt

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hualianff · 4 years ago

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Untethered III 《II》

Hold On – Park Yun Seo

White noise rings through Xie Lian’s ears, replacing the brutal assaults of battle until they fade away into the background. Beads of rain make contact with Xie Lian’s face, soaking his hairline and his clothes. But nothing else matters in this moment besides the ring Crimson Rain holds hostage, away from Xie Lian’s heart.

“It’s common courtesy to answer when someone asks a question, little Prince,” the pirate captain sings, pulling tighter on the ring until the chain feels like it’s going to snap.

“No!” Xie Lian gasps worriedly. His hands fly to grasp the ring, effectively unhooking it from Crimson Rain’s sword, but cutting his right hand in the process. Blood immediately oozes from the small wound, cleansed by the rain and sliding down to splash onto the deck.

Xie Lian grimaces while inspecting his hand. His other palm closes around the ring protectively, pressing the cool surface to his lips. The prince unconsciously closes his eyes, memories flooding his mind, letting through five year’s worth of forbidden euphoria.

He envisions the grungy tavern on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Xianle, where Shi Qingxuan had convinced him to sneak out to explore outside the palace walls. He can taste the muskiness in the air, hear the drunken pandemonium. Shi Qingxuan had eventually gone off to gamble–particularly well-versed in wagering despite being of nobility status–leaving Xie Lian sitting at the bar alone, unsure of what to order.

Xie Lian remembers a mysterious figure taking the seat to his left, draped in a red overcoat with an eyepatch covering his right eye. The stranger did not hesitate to call the bartender over, ordering two beverages with a slight lilt in his baritone voice. Xie Lian awkwardly fixed his gaze onto his glass of iced tap water, hoping his common robes, untied hair, and makeup-less face would go unrecognized.

That, and the fact that he had no experience ordering or drinking alcohol, even at twenty-years-old.

The bartender brought over the eye-patched man’s drinks, setting them down with a thunk! Xie Lian was content to watch for the stranger’s drinking partner from his peripheral vision, perhaps even pick up on how to drink in the proper manner. He would be damned if he didn’t learn one useful thing during this night of freedom.

However, Xie Lian was not prepared for the man to grab one glass and slide it in his direction. Xie Lian froze in his seat, sitting with his back ram-rod straight, hands neatly placed in his lap. Should he kindly refuse the offer? Unsupervised drinking was certainly risky. Or should he take a cautious sip? He would think that was the polite thing to do.

But before Xie Lian could react, the man casually angled his body towards him, leaning his elbow on the bar and propping his face with his palm.

His next words made Xie Lian’s heart come to a complete halt.

“Good evening, Your Highness.”

Xie Lian’s memories abruptly shift, and he is transported to the day when he first saw Ghost Ship. It appeared out of nowhere, easily twice the size of the traveling ship Xie Lian had taken to a neighboring kingdom. When the royal guards jumped to attack, Xie Lian simply held a hand up, stopping them in their tracks.

The prince walked to the side of his ship, assessing the Ghost Ship with keen eyes. Ghost Ship was traveling at a faster speed, quickly passing the royal ship by with no intention of initiating battle. When the better half of its length sailed beyond Xie Lian’s sight, the man steering the wheel came into view. As if in slow motion, Xie Lian locked eyes with the man, who donned familiar red and an eyepatch, and also wore a signature captain’s hat.

A captain. A pirate captain, Xie Lian remembers thinking, captivated by those broad shoulders, tattooed skin, and eccentric clothes. The same pirate captain circles in on him like a hungry shark, scimitar scraping along his arms and back, tearing the drenched fabric of his robes.

“Who knew the Prince of Xianle cares so much for a plain piece of metal?” Crimson Rain continues spitting his words like poison.

Xie Lian curls in on himself, trembling.

When pirates began uncharacteristically wreaking havoc on the docks of Xianle’s ports, Xie Lian often rushed to the scene to fend them off himself. Specifically, a pirate who could give Xie Lian a run for his money when it came to sword fighting, but always escaping with an evil smirk painted across his lips.

When Xie Lian had nearly drowned, those same lips had pressed against his own to breathe air into his lungs.

That had been his first kiss.

A few months later, Xie Lian had snuck out of the palace once again to the very same dock at the end of the port, where a certain pirate awaited him.

The images flitting through his mind now blur together, becoming unrecognizable except for the sensations imprinted on his body.

A warm body claiming him in a king-sized bed, among silken sheets and the pale glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. It was almost too dark to make out the man on top.

Almost.

One lust-filled eye bore down at Xie Lian.

“You like that, Your Highness?” the baritone voice growled into his ear.

Xie Lian hears his answering moan play inside his head and inhales sharply.

Between the secret meetings came secret letters specially addressed to the prince. They appeared with the changing winds, anonymously delivered under the pretense of confidential mail sent from other royalty. But no one could imitate that atrocious handwriting, nor invoke the same joy from Xie Lian when seeing his favorite red, butterfly seal.

Isabella’s Lullaby – Takahiro Obata

“It’s from someone special,” Xie Lian grits out, hanging his head low. The ring–presented to him with the most tender gaze and gentle hands–symbolizes hope. A promise of unconditional love.

“Trust me,” a low whisper ghosted against Xie Lian’s temple. “I’ll come back for you.”

And Xie Lian believed him.

That was one year ago. The spontaneous visits stopped, and so did the carefully crafted letters. With no one to confide in, Xie Lian spiraled down underneath everyone’s expectations and his own realized failure. He had been foolish. Blind. Naive.

Within that one-year period, Xie Lian lost faith.

Not in his love. Never in his love.

But in destiny. In free will. In god.

The one thing, one person, he needed most in this lifetime, was no longer within his reach.

Until now.

“Where will you run now, dear Prince?” Crimson Rain’s voice brings Xie Lian back to the present. His eye holds none of the familiar warmth it once did when he slipped the very same silver ring onto Xie Lian’s finger.

The rumbling and squeaking of footsteps make their way towards the pair, Xie Lian’s royal guards abandoning the protection of the ship to come to their prince’s aid instead. But even as Xie Lian gazes up at Crimson Rain’s, brandishing that strong jaw and classy smirk, the prominent eye patch, and the shimmering eye that radiates insanity, Xie Lian feels a certain sense of peace wash over him.

It’s finally time.

Xie Lian gives the pirate captain a hostile smirk of his own, taking out the white ribbon holding up his hair and letting the rain weigh down his brunet locks.

“Hua Cheng,” Xie Lian croons knowingly, widening his eyes in faux innocence. The instant look of surprise on Crimson Rain’s face is all Xie Lian needs before kicking the pirate’s sword to the side, scattering it a few meters away. Xie Lian dives for the exact sword, adjusting to the new weight and shape of the weapon. His palm throbs where the cut splits further open, blood staining the hilt.

Xie Lian swiftly points the sword at Hua Cheng’s jugular, their positions now switched.

Now, it is the pirates who are yelling chaotically, demanding their captain not let a rotten prince get the best of him. Hua Cheng simply clicks his tongue, signaling his men to retreat.

“Your Highness...” the pirate captain murmurs. Xie Lian digs the sword more insistently into Hua Cheng’s skin, forcing the pirate back. Xie Lian herds him onto the official plank, where traitors are typically executed, sentenced by the prince himself.

“Back. Up,” is all Xie Lian offers bitterly, his long hair curtaining his face, body still tense even though he has the upper hand. Hua Cheng holds his hands up in surrender, his hair drenched with rain, the long braid crooked where it cascades down his right shoulder.

“Xie Lian,” Hua Cheng addresses in a sweeter tone. “My dear Prince, if you could see yourself now.”

Xie Lian swallows thickly.

“You are a beautiful sight,” Hua Cheng rasps out, no more than a whisper. Yet, Xie Lian catches every word, and his heart clenches painfully.

Of course, Hua Cheng would think that.

Xie Lian’s sword wavers, but only because the pouring rain has stolen every bit of warmth as it washes down his body, making him shiver. The prince knows everyone’s attention is on them, the royal guards cheering their prince on in hopes that this conflict will end in their victory.

But they remain unaware of their biggest defeat.

The Prince of Xianle had fallen in love with a pirate.

With an unbearably heavy heart, Xie Lian draws his sword back. Tears leak out of his eyes and stream down his face, mixing in with the rain. In this very moment, Xie Lian feels the most suffocated he’s ever been, and wonders if this is truly what it feels like to be on the brink of death.

As if it happens in slow motion, Xie swings the sword with all the power he possesses. Hua Cheng’s arms stretch open in vulnerability, lips forming into a small, understanding smile.

“Gege.”

Something inside Xie Lian shatters. The familiar term of endearment is for Xie Lian’s ears only. His heart pounds against his rib cage with the ferocity of an imprisoned soul, screaming at Xie Lian to ask not what he would wish for in death, but what is he willing to live for?

The answer is right in front of him.

“I’m back.”

《Bonus I》

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #xie lian #hua cheng #pirate & prince au #TBC #cerdrabbles #tian guan ci fu #xie lian is going through some things #forbidden love

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honestgrins · 4 years ago

Note

could you do a continuation of chapter 29/49??

I'm glad you liked Reflection and Retribution, but I think I'm done with that universe. Could I interest you in Private Investigator!Caroline hired to infiltrate a criminal organization instead?

Also, many thanks to @recyclingss for being a kind ear and a supportive voice as I try to find my writing groove again. Thanks for the love, lovely (and sorry it’s not a new chapter of Burned)!!

Wanted || Klaroline

A squeak of hinges was all she had in the way of warning. Hurrying to tuck the files she'd been snooping through back into their respective cabinets, Caroline needed an excuse for her presence in the boss's office - and she needed one fast.

To give herself a bit more time, she slipped into the private bathroom. Her purse was lighter than her usual go-bag for an investigation, but that was the peril of working undercover. She shuffled through it anyway, only to find the makeup she needed to reapply between shifts, her wallet, car keys, and Taser. Fortunately, she had learned to be resourceful, and a plan quickly formed with what she had.

Unfortunately, the plan could go very wrong. As footsteps sounded through the door, however, her time to improvise had run out. Slathering on a fresh layer of lipstick for luck, Caroline fluffed her hair and made her presence known. "Sorry to intrude, Mr. Mikaelson, I just— Who the hell are you?”

Her winning smile had fallen flat at the stranger making eyes down the line of her mostly bare leg. True, the outfit had been meant to draw attention, but he wasn't her intended target. She'd been expecting the fastidious Elijah Mikaelson, with perfectly tailored suits and a too polite charm that just screamed serial killer underneath. This guy was far messier with untidy curls and the paint-splattered jeans. Cute, though. And that smirk.

"Mr. Mikaelson," he answered cheekily, "but please, call me Klaus." Making himself a drink from the bar cart, he poured a second glass for her. His brow arched when she refused. "Come to ask favors of the boss, but you won't drink his liquor. I assure you, he only buys the good stuff."

"I'm fine, thanks." She narrowed her gaze as he draped himself over one of the armchairs, giving her another appreciative look. "I thought the brother's name was Kol?"

His nose scrunched. "Unfortunately, there are five Mikaelson brothers. A sister, too. Nosy for a dancer, aren't you? Most of those 'Lijah keeps on the roster know to mind their business."

A mild panic took over; she was usually better at playing it cool. Now, she was going to get busted for asking too many questions. If she couldn't handle the unexpected brother, she really had no chance at taking on the mob boss himself. "Not a dancer yet," Caroline answered, aiming for sheepish with her hands tucked into the tight back pockets of her shorts. "I'm just a waitress until a stage shift opens up."

Ideally, she would be long gone before that happened, if only to avoid breaking an ankle in the heels. Not even her most rigorous pageant training could have prepared her for the skill those things took to work. That, and she needed to tidy up this case fast to get Damon Salvatore off her speed dial. And Stefan - she never would have accepted the job had he not played the friend card. Her only solace was the fact they agreed to double her usual rate for a job like this.

The tips were pretty great, too. Even just waitressing had earned her some nice spending money to splurge on clothes and pampering. Had the high-end strip club not been a front for Elijah Mikaelson to launder his ill-gotten gains, she might seriously consider moonlighting once the gig was over.

With the way the boss’s brother was eyeing her, though, that might happen sooner than she’d like. It wouldn’t do to get found out before she could track down what Damon asked her to find, and she did not relish the idea of handing back the hefty check he’d already given. Bristling, she crossed her arms, hoping to annoy him off the scent of her subterfuge. “Can I help you?”

Klaus, however, seemed unperturbed by her attitude. “If it’s better pay you’re after, I might have an opportunity for you.” When she gave an outraged splutter, he merely waved her off. “Not quite what you’re thinking, love, though I apologize for any offense. I’m in the market for a new model.”

“For your burgeoning porn empire? No, thanks.”

“I’m an artist, I would like to paint you,” he clarified with a wry grin. Leaning forward on his knees, he lowered his voice as though letting her in on a secret. “Any wardrobe choices — or lack thereof — would be entirely up to you.”

Sensing his interest wasn’t entirely aesthetic, Caroline figured she might as well learn what she could from the cad. “Don’t try to play me. The girls at the club talk, you know. I heard a rumor the Mikaelsons were, like, connected. The whole starving artist thing doesn’t really add up, so I’ll pass.”

Again, his gaze focused on her in an assessing way, lips still curled up. He took the bait. This was almost too easy. “I do alright, family connections aside,” he joked. “Perhaps you’d like to see some of my work...” Trailing off, he left her with an expectant look.

She pretends to cover a flattered expression with irritation. “Candy.”

“And if I were to check Elijah’s meticulous hiring paperwork?”

A beat passed. “Candice,” she relented with a sigh, reminding herself to buy Bonnie something gorgeous to thank her for crafting a bulletproof identity, complete with an otherwise authentic Social Security card and active social media accounts. “Candice Moore.”

That smirk of his spread to a full smile, and she was a bit stunned to see the utter delight on his face. “Funny,” he said, standing to move closer. Without meaning to, she swayed toward him in return, only to catch herself when he gave a teasing tug to her tousled braid. All her attention snapped to the mere foot between them, then to the intense blue of his eyes. "You look more like a Caroline to me."

Rearing back, she blindly reached into her bag. But Klaus was calm and collected as he plucked the Taser from her grasp. "Now, no need to panic, Ms. Forbes. I merely want to talk."

"Bullshit," she huffed. "How—”

He sat back in his chair, watching her with obvious amusement. "You're good. The cover might have worked had your application not been flagged by my security team. Don't feel bad, they're very thorough.”

The pieces were falling into place faster than she realized they were even missing. Unfortunately, she couldn't make herself focus past the first big answer. She finally took the drink he'd poured for her and downed it in one gulp. More potent than she thought, her voice was hoarse after a bracing cough. "Your security team."

His smirk was positively evil. "You seemed determined to learn the particulars of my organization, sweetheart, though I'm sorry to disappoint that Elijah's file cabinet wasn't able to satisfy your...professional curiosity. I, however, am more than interested in your questions."

With a snap of his fingers, the office door squeaked, and Caroline caught only a peek of the guard she hadn't even noticed lurking outside before the lock clicked into place. Alone with an underground kingpin without a weapon, she fell back into the other chair like the sitting duck she was. "I don't suppose I could distract you by accepting the modeling offer," she tried with a weak laugh.

Ever the surprise, he chuckled with her. "Always. But if you tell me what I want to know, I can offer you a far more lucrative employment. Good private eyes are hard to find, and you're the first to get this far without ruffling feathers."

"I ruffled yours, didn't I?"

If his smirk was evil, his bright smile was disarming. "Who hired you? I believe I owe them a nice thank you for this introduction."

Caroline watched him carefully, confused at the game he was playing. "My clients pay for results and discretion," she answered politely. "If you were to secure my services, with a healthy retainer fee—"

"Of course."

"—I would promise you the same. Unfortunately," she sighed with a pout, "I think this little mishap constitutes a conflict of interest. But thank you for your interest in Forbes Investigations. Can I go now?"

He leaned forward on his knees, his hands folded in front of him. "You know, I might be of some help to your current clients. Were I to assist in your investigation, there would be no conflict at all. The opposite, in fact."

Chewing her lip in thought, she shook her head and decided to cut her losses. "It has nothing to do with the business, not really," she promised. "I've been tasked with finding someone, someone I thought your brother might be supporting with some creative accounting. That's all."

"Don't tell me," Klaus groaned. "Katerina conned your clients then clawed her way back into Elijah's good graces to hide from the consequences of her own actions."

She scoffed. "Says the guy who lets the world think his brother is a criminal mastermind while he's pulling the strings behind the scenes."

Smirking, he didn't seem offended in the slightest. "Elijah's better with paperwork, but his decision-making is unreliable. I think Katerina is example enough of that."

"Fair." Caroline only met her once, but everything she had learned since Damon hired her painted quite the picture. That, and the fact she all but disappeared after he gave her an heirloom engagement ring, despite the fact she was openly gunning for Stefan throughout their entire relationship. "But it sounds like this was a surprise to you, too, so you probably can't be of much help to me in finding her."

"Reverse psychology is beneath you," he flirted. "And I've already offered to help. You're the one being stubborn."

With a roll of her eyes, she finally stood to pour herself another drink. "Yeah, I'm the stubborn one. You probably have a hundred investigators already on staff. What do you want with little, old me?"

He just smiled. "You want my secrets, you'll have to earn them, love. Now, do we have a deal?"

Oh, she was going to regret this; if only she wasn't so damn intrigued. Draining her glass, she set it on the table between them with a thunk before stretching out her hand. "Deal."

Klaus shook her hand with a firm grip, the contact distracting to say the least. Then, he just had to open his mouth. "The modeling job is a standing offer, by the way."

"Good to know."

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #fic: wanted #anon anon #to rely on the kindness of strangers #miss me?

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anonniemousefics · 4 years ago

Text

The Nine Terrifying Moons | Chapter Three

Fandom: The Folk of the Air | Jude + Cardan

Synopsis: Based on the response to this post. :) Jude’s not sure what she expected motherhood to be like, but it isn’t this.

(SO MUCH FLUFF HERE. Really. Just. The fluffiest. I can’t help myself.)

Chapter Three: The Third

I think maybe I am meant to be a cautionary tale, not a happy ending.

I think that someone who has manipulated and lied and schemed as much as I have is destined only for tragedy.

And now it’s finally come for me.

I think this over and over again, like a spell I’m chanting to grant myself some measure of grim acceptance, while Cardan and I ride a ragwort horse all the way to the mortal realm. It’s the best course of action we can come up with in the moment of panic.

The moment I knew we were facing a potentially devastating complication, I wanted – no, needed – a human doctor.

Pregnancy is rare among the Folk, and I now find I’m not interested in trusting faerie midwives with a decidedly human condition. If there is something wrong with me, or with our baby, I want to know what it is, everything about it. I don’t trust anyone who might want to strike a deal for my child’s wellbeing or concoct some potion that, while saving the pregnancy, also gives our baby a third eye or snaggle-teeth or an appetite for blood. I’m also having flashbacks of a conversation long ago with Oriana, when she divulged details of Oak’s horrific birth. How there’d been complications that had cost Liriope her life. How Oriana herself had carved the baby out of her friend’s stomach.

I shudder hard at the recollection and press my cheek hard against Cardan’s back as we ride, my face between his shoulder blades. Hard pass. On every bit of that. Just – one massive hard pass. We are finding a real doctor.

Cardan didn’t even argue. Though he insisted it was time to tell The Court of Shadows, if only for safety reasons while we made an unannounced, unplanned emergency run to the mortal realm.

Nothing goes like either of us had hoped. There are no tears of joy. There are only tight, grim expressions and tense words while plans are made. How we will prevent our enemies from learning of the child and our absence. How we will remain protected while among mortals.

I have hardly a word of help to offer, and that alone is horrifying. I have always schemed and survived – it’s what I am. But there, instead, I can only sit with a hand at my flat stomach, my sole focus on willing this little rebel in me to hear her mother’s first command.

Don’t go. Please. I love you.

Please stay.

Please.

I’ve resented this for weeks, and now I’m begging for the nausea, the aches, the exhaustion to stay – all of it. Any reassurance that I’m not losing this newfound love before I’ve even really gotten to know it.

But I also wonder if I should just accept fate. I have always felt from the beginning that I did not deserve this. That I am stealing a happiness that I have not earned.

“How are you faring?” Cardan asks me over his shoulder, the whine of the wind in my ears. We’re somewhere over the sea, jostled by the roll of the ragwort horse’s gallop beneath us.

“The same,” I answer. Sick. Dizzy. Terrified of what comes next. Unconsciously, I grip his body to mine harder. He’s tense, every muscle on edge. This is unlike any journey we’ve made yet. There’s nothing to fight, and still everything to lose.

“Nearly there,” says Cardan, but it sounds like he’s saying it more for his own benefit. He hates the journey over the sea, the precariousness of ragwort horse travel. I’m not in any state to offer reassurances, or even tease him to lighten the mood.

Sure enough, the clouds part, and the city lights along the coast of Maine wink up at us. It’s evening, and dark beneath a heavy rain cloud, and as soon as we’re low enough, we’re being pelted with sheets of rain. By the time the ragwort horse alights its oaken-hooves on the pavement, Cardan and I are both soaked to the skin.

We dismount, invisible beneath a glamour, at the far end of a hospital parking lot. The sign at the entrance glows with a red cross and the name, Down East Community Hospital. It was the best I could think of to do at a moment’s notice: instruct the ragwort horse to find us an emergency room.

I wrap my arms around myself as Cardan holds out a hand to gather up the horse. The leaves of its mane and the bark-like coat of its body begin to curl in on itself, like a plant rolling in on itself for the night. A moment later, it’s only a few leafy twigs that Cardan can hide in his pocket.

We both look absurd, and I’m just now realizing it. We look like we’ve just run out of a community theatre dress rehearsal for a low-budget melodrama. Cardan’s tried to dress down, but he’s still Cardan, and he’s wearing tight black trousers and tall boots over his calves. He’s thrown one of the zip-up hoodies I keep in my wardrobe for trips to the mortal realm over a loose white shirt. He also must have been feeling particularly festive this morning after last night’s romp, and he’d gone and added a bit of kohl to his eyes before I’d woken up and shit hit the fan. And he’s still wearing gold rings all over his fingers and in his pointed ears. Combined with his soaked, inky hair, he looks a bit like a member of an 80’s rock cover band who’s recovering from being pushed into a pool.

It’s kind of nice. He rarely looks a mess. It makes me feel like we’re in this together, at least.

For my part, I didn’t let Tatterfell braid my auburn hair today, and now it’s just long and windblown, so I’ve tried to pull it all to one side to keep it managed. I’m wearing a simple pair of brown trousers with little silken flats that were my least flashy pair of shoes. I’ve got a shirt and olive-colored vest on beneath a hoodie similar to Cardan’s that was supposed to keep me warm, but now it’s sopping wet.

We both pulls the hoods on our sweatshirts up over our heads as we make a mad dash for the automatic sliding doors of the ER, racing against the onslaught of rain. Once we’re inside the vestibule between sliding doors, I stop a moment to grab Cardan’s arm and gather myself. He puts a bejeweled hand over mine, his expression tightened in concern.

“I’ve never done this before,” I confess, breathless. Hospitals, emergency rooms, doctors. It’s all foreign to me.

“I’ve done it even less.” Cardan’s looking more pale by the minute. The rising terror in both of us is palpable.

“I should call Vivi,” I spout, and Cardan’s nodding furiously in agreement, for once graciously not pointing out how he’s been saying this very thing for weeks.

But when I look around, there’s not a phone in sight. There’s only a poorly lit waiting room on the other side of the glass vestibule, and bored-looking nurses waiting at intake windows. Shit. Shit. How do mortals do this? How to they get treatments for mortal ailments and weaknesses and not fall to pieces fretting over their inherent, inevitable vulnerability in the process?

Suddenly, the surety of immortality is looking rather cowardly by comparison.

“Maybe one of the nurses will let me commandeer a phone,” I mutter, and I let my fingers slide from Cardan’s arm to his hand. My palm is starting to sweat when he laces our fingers together, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

The glass door to the waiting room slides with a hissing whisper, and inside there are people crowded in the cheap chairs lining the walls. Somewhere, a toddler is wailing out of sheer boredom while the evening news anchors jabber on a TV mounted in the far corner above a potted plant. Cardan’s already drawing stares with his ominous, messy appearance. He found a beanie in the pocket of the sweatshirt to cover the pointed tips of his ears, but there’s still kohl streaking his prominent cheekbones. I’m gonna need to clean him up at some point.

Right now, all I’m focused on is slipping into the first open intake seat and figuring out how in the hell I’m going to see a doctor for the first time in my mortal life. I am going to be brave. I have trained for nothing less.

“Hi, how can we help you today?” says a warm-looking middle-aged nurse behind the desk. She has short grey hair and floral scrubs, and a pair of readers perched on the bridge of her nose. Her badge says her name is Josie.

“Um.” My mouth feels dry, but I push on anyway. “I am—I am pregnant, and, um, I’m having some…” I draw in a shaking breath. Why is this so hard? “Some bleeding. I think I need to see a doctor right away.”

“Of course, honey,” Josie says, and peers over her readers. “Have you spoken with your OB?”

“I don’t have one,” I shake my head, my face starting to flush as Josie’s concern increases. I’ve never felt like I belonged in the mortal realm, and it’s never felt more apparent that I’m an outsider.

“Okaaay,” Josie says, slowly, adjusting her readers as she turns to her computer. “Let’s get you registered. Name?”

I hesitate again. I’ve never given my name in any sort of official capacity here among mortals. Especially not since I’d gotten married. What do I want to be called?

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar,” I hear myself answer. From the chair beside me, Cardan titters a little amused laugh to himself and then bites it back when I shoot him a look. He likes the sound of it, too.

“Okaaay,” Josie says again, pecking at her keyboard. “I’m gonna need you to spell that for me, honey.”

I appall Josie further as the registration process yields the fact that I have neither a driver’s license nor an insurance card. With each of Josie’s judgmental sighs, I can sense Cardan stiffening with repressed irritation next to me, and it’s only stressing me out more. I should have had a talk with him first about promising not to curse anyone. I’m half-expecting Josie to sprout cat ears at any minute.

“While we can’t legally decline services based on insurance,” Josie says, doing little to suppress her concern, “I will need you to sign this agreement that says you understand that, since you are not presenting insurance today, you will be personally responsible for the entire cost of today’s visit.” And she shifts a clipboard toward me.

“Oh, look, love,” Cardan suddenly chimes in. He slides a wet leaf from his pocket across the registration desk as his voice takes on the heady, dangerous quality of magic. He’s conjuring a glamour. “I think you can see all of the insurance information you require here.”

“Oh, good, you found your card!” Josie exclaims, delighted, as she takes the leaf and begins happily clacking away at her keyboard.

“Do not get carried away,” I hiss at Cardan while Josie’s distracted. “That should be a one time thing.”

But Cardan just slits his kohl-lined eyes at me, looking like the smug bastard he’s always been, and leans an elbow on the registration desk, throwing Josie a coy smile. The glamour in his voice when he speaks again is just as sinfully seductive.

“And Josie, my sweet,” he says, “you’ll let my wife borrow your phone to speak with her sister, won’t you, dearest?”

“Of course, Mr. Greenbriar,” Josie replies, with the charmed-sweet smile of the glamoured. She shifts her desk phone to me, handing me the handset. “Just press nine for outgoing calls, honey,” she tells me.

I’m frowning at Cardan’s wicked smirk as I accept the phone.

“I don’t think that was entirely necessary,” I whisper to him while Josie types away. He grins at me. I don’t really want to admit that he’s just been pretty useful, and he knows it.

Regardless of how ill-gotten this privilege is, I do need Vivi. I dial her cell phone, one of two numbers I know, and wait while it rings.

And rings.

“She might be screening her calls,” I say to Josie, sheepishly. “Her father is…” Oh, how to describe what Madoc is like these days. “…over-bearing and tricky.” And I hang up and try again. Josie gives a tight, uncomfortable smile, peering over her readers.

“You are not concerned about how unusual this is,” Cardan tells her, the glamour dripping off his voice, and I smack his arm to get him to stop. Josie settles again as the phone keeps ringing.

I have to hang up and dial two more times before Vivi finally picks up. She sounds irritated when she answers.

“Vivi, this is Jude,” I say, slumping in relief that she’s finally answered.

“Jude? Seriously? What?” The annoyance in her voice vanishes as she’s scrambling to understand. “You’re calling me? Where are you? Are you ok?”

“I’m at the Down East Community Hospital emergency room,” I say. “Can you come?”

“Oh, my God.” It sounds like Vivi’s suddenly frantically looking for her keys. “Yes, I’m coming. I’ll be there. Why are you there? What’s going on?”

“It’s a lot to explain over the phone,” I say, slowly, white-knuckling the handset. “I’m ok, and Cardan’s here, but I just really need you.” I hate it more than anything, but I can’t keep the frightened younger sister out of my voice now that I’m actually talking to Vivi about this. The first rush of relief hits me when Vivi replies without hesitation:

“Ok. It’s gonna be ok. I’m on my way.”

I let out a long breath as I hand the phone back to Josie.

“The nurse will call you back when they’re ready for you,” says Josie, and gestures to the crowded waiting room. “Have a seat.”

“Or--” Cardan starts, leaning forward, and I know he’s about to throw out another glamour to speed things along. In the blink of an eye, I clap a hand over his mouth before he can say another word.

“Thank you,” I tell Josie, through a gritted smile, and urge Cardan to move along.

“Your moral stance on glamours ought to have a loophole where our child is concerned,” Cardan gripes as we shuffle to the nearest available two chairs.

“You Folk are like addicts with glamours,” I snap back as we take a seat. “You don’t know when to stop.”

“I believe I’ve proven myself capable of great restraint,” Cardan says, looking miffed for a moment until a People magazine on a nearby table catches his eye and his curiosity of mortals gets the better of him.

He has the right idea, I think. Distraction would be the key to getting my mind off the blood and not falling apart right now. I’ve done everything I can at this point, and now we must wait.

I busy myself for a moment by wrapping the cuff of my sleeve over my fingers and wiping off the rain-splattered streaks of kohl off Cardan’s face, so that the father of my child looks less like the troubled D-list celebrities his People magazine is trashing. He’s not drawing any less attention, but there’s not much either of us can do about that. If you’re not accustomed to the allure of the Folk, it’s nigh impossible to not stare and stare and try to decipher what it is about them that’s so otherworldly. But at least now they’re staring for the right reasons and not at his ruined eyeliner.

With nothing more at arm’s length to distract me, I rest my head against the wallpaper behind me and let my vision go unfocused in the general direction of the TV in the corner. I don’t want to think about the whining toddler in the room, who’s mad at his mother for not bringing the right stuffed animal with them to the hospital. What would I do with a half-human child in Faerie who fell ill or wounded? What would we do? Would the land let Cardan heal him? Would we have to make this journey again? What if I forgot the right stuffed animal, too??

Amazing that I’m suddenly assuming this child is going to survive whatever’s happening now, I realize, and this worry spiral is helping no one.

Once upon a time, I’d been the girl determined to become a thing feared. What has happened inside me, that I’m now this terrified woman? I hate it. I hate it, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“You’re not afraid of that everything will change?” I remember asking Cardan, three moons ago. I had thrown out the last of my birth control that day. We’d snuck away from a revel to lie beneath the massive tree that grew out of the top of the palace of Elfhame, staring at the stars above and dreaming of what they could hold.

Cardan looked to me, his hands behind his head in the loam, his crown slightly askew. He smiled, and the moonlight made him almost too beautiful to bear.

“I cherish every change you’ve ever brought me, Jude,” he said, and he stretched out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers softly lingering at its rounded edges. “I don’t see why this should be any different.”

“You’ve not always felt so gracious about the changes I’ve foisted upon you,” I pointed out. “And you don’t get to exile me now if my parenting pisses you off.”

I’m not sure what I thought he’d think of such a statement, but it was out in the night air anyway. His gold-rimmed eyes darkened as he pulled his hand back, folding it over his chest. I watched him as he stared up at the stars again, waiting for his response, and with each second, regret began to sink in.

“I consider myself fairly thick-skinned,” he said at last, “but that was uncalled for.”

“I was teasing--” I started, but he shot me a dark look.

“There was a measure of truth in your voice,” he countered. “You don’t lie as well as you think you do.”

“I don’t see what you’re so put out about,” I huffed, pulling back to glare at the night sky. “You weren’t the one living in exile.”

“Not this again,” Cardan groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Five years, Jude. It’s been five years,” he sighed into his palms.

“And now we’re discussing children, and it’s a very large and potentially aggravating change,” I said. “Maybe I am a little wary.”

“Of me?” The moment I saw the unguarded devastation on Cardan’s face, it was like I’d slapped him, and not in the fun way. I wanted to be swallowed down by the loam, covered in a grassy grave. Everything about this was awful. I wanted children with this man. Why was I dredging up ancient history?

But Cardan had been right. There’d been a measure of truth to it. It’s been a deliriously wonderful five years, but we are not entirely new people. We have a terrible past. And I feared what demons a significant change like this could summon.

When I didn’t answer right away, Cardan sat up so his back was to me, burying his head in his hands.

“Cardan…” I shifted so that I was propped up on my hands.

“What else can I give you to make this right?” he fretted to the ground in front of him. “I have given you everything. Every part of me, everything you see before you. It was wrong for both of us to take our games as far as we did, but I would have thought by now--”

“It was an off-handed comment made in poor taste.” I wanted to put a stop to everything that was happening. Rewind the whole evening.

Instead, he looked over his shoulder at me, visibly aching.

“I will not be like my father. I refuse it,” he retorted, and when I cocked my head to the side, not understanding, he went on. “Eldred collected consorts and sired children the way some people curate shoes: to suit his vanity. And I have that in spades already; there’s no need to spawn more. What I would want for a child, more than anything, is to not know what it is to grow up as an accessory. To not fear that his mother will be discarded. Jude, if you cannot trust so little of me, then this is poorly timed. Perhaps we need another five years. Or ten. Or however long you require.”

I sat up and scooted next to him, tucking my chin against his shoulder.

“I trust you,” I assured him in a whisper, and, as if he couldn’t help it, his eyes closed as he leaned his head towards mine. He smelled like oakwood and leather, like everything I’ve ever wanted. “I would not still be with you if I did not trust you.”

I wanted to push back the thick curls from his forehead, and so I did. And held my palm against his jaw as I leaned my forehead to his while the stars twinkled overhead.

Five years later, and sometimes we’re still finding little bits of armor that need to come off. For me, becoming a fearsome thing is not an option for handling motherhood, just as Cardan refuses to mirror his father’s vanity. But when I take off this bit of armor, this need to be feared and respected, it feels as if there is nothing underneath yet. Only vulnerability. Only terror.

I think of it now, in the ER waiting room of the Down East Community Hospital, while I snake my arm through his, looking at him while he’s ogling People magazine. He looks a mess, and there is no one I trust more. I’m still not convinced we’re shining examples of excellent would-be parents. But I’m afraid and vulnerable in the worst ways, and there’s no one I’d rather see me through it.

“Eldred would never have done something like this for any of his consorts,” I point out to him in a whisper, and he looks back at me with a pleased smirk.

“You are my wife,” he indicates, and gives my cold knuckles a swift kiss before turning back to whatever filth is engrossing him in People.

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar?” There’s a nurse at the emergency room door calling my name. I draw in a breath. Here we go.

The nurse in blue scrubs takes my vitals and makes us somewhat comfortable in a makeshift space where we’re surrounded by taupe-colored curtains on three sides while I wait on a hospital bed. There’s a squeaky grey plastic chair for Cardan to sit on, and no more TV or People magazine – just the assurance that a doctor will see me soon. And then we’re left with our dread to stare at the taupe curtains around us, listening to the squeak of hurried shoe soles against linoleum and the occasional beeping of hospital pagers. The air is acrid, like someone’s tried to scrub it clean, and it’s making my stomach lurch. It must show on my face as I swallow hard against the rising bile, because Cardan swiftly hands me a blue plastic barf bag that the nurse has left him in charge of. He’s wary of my empty threats to aim for his shoes.

“Jude, are you decent?” calls a voice from the other side of the curtain. “You have visitors.”

The curtains scrape against their tracks on the ceiling, and I can’t hold back a relief grin at the sight of Vivi and Heather.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” It’s all Vivi can say as she sweeps in to wrap me in a hug.

“Hey,” Heather graciously greets Cardan while the two are awkward to the side. She’s looking effortlessly cool, with her shoulder-length pink hair in soft waves. She has holes in her jeans in all the right places, and she’s wearing a breezy, colorful boho top that shows off her brown shoulders. I try to give her a wave while Vivi is squeezing the life out of me.

“What are you doing here?” Vivi demands when she pulls away, holding me by the shoulders. She’s given her golden hair a short, edgey chop that almost hides the pointed tips of her half-fae ears when it falls the right way. She tends to favor t-shirts and jeans, but today she’s in tight black pants and a grey v-neck under a jacket, and I’m hoping I haven’t interrupted a date.

“Well.” I shift a glance between the two of them, simultaneously gladdened that they’re here and nervous with how I now I have break the news. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out…” And then Vivi gasps.

“Are you pregnant?!” she squeaks.

“Oh, my God, V,” Heather rolls her eyes. “You can’t ask people if they’re pregnant.”

“She’s right, though,” I interject. “I am.”

“Jude!” Vivi exclaims, fondly, and takes my face in her hands, and, for a brief moment, I realize this is all I’ve been wanting for weeks. I grin, sheepishly. Then Vivi narrows her cat-like eyes at Cardan.

“You knocked up my sister?” she jabs.

“Bold of you to assume it’s mine,” he quips back, and Vivi feigns a disgusted gasp as throw the empty barf bag at him.

“Force of habit,” Cardan tells Heather with a shrug.

“Congratulations, Cardan,” Heather replies, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“But why are you here?” Vivi turns to me again. “Does Taryn know? Does Madoc?”

“No on both counts,” I shake my head. “It’s early. And we’re here because--” Ugh, I hate this. I hate this. “I started bleeding.”

“Oh, no.” Heather’s face is etched with genuine concern. It’s been a roller coaster of a few minutes.

“But why are you here?” Vivi tries again, and I see what she’s getting at. Why not be seen to by the royal midwives?

“I’m mortal,” I say, quietly. “This is a mortal thing. I felt like I needed a mortal doctor.”

And Vivi takes my face in her hands.

“I completely, one-hundred-percent agree,” she says, whole-heartedly, and there’s relief there, too. She’s always wanted me to spend more time in the mortal realm.

We crowd around the hospital bed for a while to catch up. Heather makes a run to the vending machine to bring back some snacks, and soon the tightness in my chest is releasing and unwinding. This was the distraction I needed. For a few minutes there, I could almost forget what had brought us to this weird, curtained-off corner to begin with.

But then the curtain scrape on the track again. There’s an orderly waiting there in blue scrubs, pushing a wheelchair.

“They’re ready for you in ultrasound now, Jude,” he tells me, and indicates that I’m supposed to ride in the chair. I bristle at the gesture. I’m not sure of the last time I’ve been asked to do something so vulnerable and humiliating. I am not ill. I don’t need this.

Vivi notices and puts a hand at my arm.

“It’s just standard hospital procedure, Jude,” she says, in her tone of voice she uses to convince Oak to eat vegetables.

So I comply. Heather and Vivi tell us they’ll wait for us to get back, and then we’re off. Cardan follows the orderly, and every once and awhile, I hear him having to jog to catch up – he’s easily distracted by what all the mortals are up to in this place.

I’m wheeled into a dark room with an exam table. Next to it is a bunch of strange equipment I’ve never seen before – screens and wands and all sort of buttons. A technician waits for us there, a woman in pink scrubs with a badge that says her name is Brenna. Her dark, curly hair is pulled back tight against her scalp, and she has kind brown eyes that smile when she tells me to make myself comfortable on the exam table.

“And is this Dad?” Brenna wants to know, cheerfully waving Cardan in to have a seat on a grey plastic chair next to me.

“Not my dad,” I say, not understanding the question at first. Then it dawns on me. “I mean, he’s the father, yes. Of the baby.” Oh, my God. This is off to a great start. Cardan’s trying very hard to not laugh outright at me and failing miserably. His laugh comes out like one long snort.

“Happens all the time,” Brenna says, with another cheerful wave, which makes me wonder why she’s still asking it, then.

“First baby?” Brenna now wants to know, making small talk while she’s queuing up her equipment.

“First everything,” I reply, hoping that will explain my nerves. “First baby, first ultrasound, first try.”

“Oh.” Brenna sounds impressed and looks to Cardan as she wheels around in her swivel chair. “Nice shootin’, Tex,” she tells him, with a wink.

“Thank you, Brenna,” Cardan accepts graciously, puffing out his chest a little. I roll my eyes.

“This may be the only time I’m ever complimented on my marksmanship,” he tells me. “Let me have this moment.”

“All right!” Brenna interrupts. “Let’s see what you’re cookin’ in there, mama.”

She rolls up my shirt and tucks in some scratchy paper into my leggings. Then squirts some cold gel across my abdomen. I watch in fascination while she rolls her device over my stomach, and then she turns her screen to us.

“And here’s your little guy,” she says. “Or gal. Can’t tell yet, obviously.”

For a moment, time stops.

Next to me, Cardan draws in a breath.

Something squirmy and alive curls and stretches in the grainy black and white pixels of Brenna’s screen. It doesn’t look quite human. Or fae. It looks kind of alien, if I’m being honest. But I can see its tiny limbs and the outline of its perfectly round head, and it’s moving. Like a manic little seahorse, our little shrimp is bobbing all over the place, alive and well.

“Looking good,” Brenna says, and Cardan barks out a surprised laugh. I’m smiling so hard my face might break.

“Oh, I was sure I’d stabbed it,” Cardan sighs in relief, slumping in his seat, and it’s my turn to laugh.

“That’s not actually possible,” Brenna tells him, and maybe now he’ll believe it. “Let’s see if we can hear the heartbeat.”

She clicks and clacks at some buttons, then turns a knob. Pushes a little harder on my abdomen.

A fluttering, steady whooshing sound fills the speakers in the room. I don’t know when I grabbed Cardan’s hand, but I’m squeezing it hard now. I glance at him. He’s utterly transfixed on the screen, his dark eyes wide, his lips parted. He looks like how I feel when I’m in bearing witness to great and ancient magic.

This isn’t all vomit and exhaustion. This is happening. This is real.

We are making something new. Something entirely unique. Like magic.

“Ok, this might be your issue.” Brenna breaks the enchantment, zooming in on something dark on her screen. My heart, which moments before felt like it might burst, squeezes and contracts in panic now.

“This is a sub-chorionic hematoma,” she says, pointing to the screen and making some notes. “The doctor will explain all this to you.”

“What is it?” Cardan’s voice is tight, panic thinly-veiled. “Is it dangerous?”

“They’re pretty common,” says Brenna, not looking at us while she takes measurements and notes. Like she drops these kinds of bombs regularly. “It’s basically an accumulation of blood between the uterine wall and the fetal membrane. It can cause bleeding, especially as the baby gets bigger and jostles it around. They usually resolve without much issue.”

“Usually?” Cardan’s not assuaged.

“Well, again,” Brenna says, looking at him sidelong, “the doctor will read this and give his advice. But it can increase the risk of miscarriage in some cases. Not always, though. The doctor will tell you how he wants you to treat it, but it usually involves some bed rest or limited activity, nothing too strenuous or crazy. Don’t go horse-back riding!” And she laughs as if only a crazy person would get on a horse while pregnant.

I look to Cardan. He looks to me. It’s hit us at the same time.

The ragwort horse.

How the hell are we getting home?

“Huh.” I barely had time to digest my realization about the ragwort horse before Brenna was back with more. She swivels the device on my stomach around some more. Cocks her head to the side.

“Are either of you a twin?” she asks.

Cardan points at me like I’ve done something wrong he doesn’t want to be blamed for.

“Why?” I ask, slowly, cautiously.

“It does run in families,” Brenna says, and turns the screen to us again. “And I’m seeing two babies here.” She looks back at Cardan. “And on the first try, Tex,” she says, looking impressed again.

Now, nothing feels real. I think I might leave my body. There are two squirmy aliens in the black and white screen, the lazier of the two now floating into view. Brenna adjusts the knobs some more to bring the new heartbeat into focus, just as strong as the first.

“Jude.” I can’t decipher what Cardan’s feeling now. He looks unlike I’ve ever seen him before. Something between elation and sheer dread is warring between his wide eyes and furrowed brow. He grips at the beanie over his hair like he’s trying to keep his own head from flying off.

“Are you and your twin identical?” Brenna asks. I nod, stupidly.

“These, too,” she nods, and points at the screen. “See: they’re sharing a sac.” She draws in a deep breath. “This does elevate the risk more, with the hematoma. The doctor will go over all of this with you. But I’ll bet he’ll want you on some kind of bed rest. Weekly check-ups. That sort of thing.” And then she squints hard at the screen. “What is that?” she wonders aloud. “Is that a tail?”

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, but he’s so flustered and shell-shocked, he’s forgotten to use the glamour.

“I think I might, though.” Brenna squints harder.

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, louder and hurried, this time with the weight of magic heavy in his tone. “Everything you see looks normal to you.”

A glamoured smile flutters over Brenna’s pleasant features as she lifts the device from my belly and clicks off her equipment.

“Everything looks normal,” she hums, happily. “Congratulations, you two.”

“Everything but the hematoma, right?” I cock my head to the side as she rolls away her swivel chair. “The doctor will speak to us about that.”

“What hematoma?” Brenna’s still smiling as she stands with her clipboard. “Everything looks normal. I’m going to call an orderly, but pretty much you’re free to go. Congratulations!”

“Cardan,” I accuse under my breath as she leaves, leveling a glare at him.

“You are carrying twins.” He’s just agape at me, either unaware or unrattled by how the poor wording in his glamour just muddled everything.

“The doctor won’t know about the hematoma now!” I exclaim.

“We’ll scrounge up another one somewhere,” Cardan waves me off. “Jude. Twins.”

It’s not helping me feel any better, him saying it over and over again. I slump into my hands, weighted by disbelief and frustration. What am I going to do? This can’t possibly be real, can it?

“I am going to get so huge,” I moan into my palms in self-pity. I know it’s vain, but at the moment, it’s all I can think. In the land of willowy Folk, I already stick out like a sore thumb. Now I’m going to be a sore and massively swollen thumb.

Cardan’s shifted to stand in front of me on the exam table. And he runs his hands up and down my arms, almost reverent.

“You are magnificent,” he reassures me, softly, and presses a kiss against my head.

“Why are you not freaking out?” I ask, and pull him by the hoodie pockets so I can hug him again if I need it. I think I may need it. “This is two babies. We don’t even know Thing One about taking care of one baby, and now there will be two.”

“We may require a few more house cats,” Cardan jokes, and when I scowl, he asks, “That’s still not amusing? I shall persist. One of these days.”

“You know, I hear that’s a mortal fatherhood trait,” I point out. “Persisting over and over with the same unamusing joke to the embarrassment of everyone around you.” And I wrap my arms around his waist as I look up at him. He’s warm, and everything is a little more bearable when he’s close and smiling.

“I think you are implying that I’m excelling at fatherhood so far,” Cardan grins down at me, and I’m surprised to see it looks as if his gold-rimmed eyes are glistening.

“Are you all right?” I ask, softening at the sight. He blinks, furiously, as he buries his long fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, holding me close as he looks over my face.

“I just--” His voice is hoarse when he starts, so he clears it and tries again. “This is more than I ever dared to consider,” he says. “I did not dream that this kind of life would ever be an option for me. Family that looked after each other, that loved each other – that always seemed to me to be a strictly mortal gift. As if the Folk had bargained for everlasting life long ago and forsook all hope of familial love in the process. I had accepted that it wasn’t mine to have. But you.”

He shifts his hands so that he holds my face, and I feel swallowed by the adoration in his admission. All I can do is close my eyes as he holds me. I can think of nothing else when his nose brushes my forehead.

“I am overcome by all you have given me,” he whispers, and I think I might cry. My hands twist in the fabric of the sweatshirt he wears.

“I love your words,” I whisper back, “but you give me too much credit.” I pull back to look at his mirthful, glistening eyes and say: “If it were left up to me, I would never have given you twins.”

He laughs outright, unguarded and thrilled.

“Lucky for me, then,” he says, and kisses me.

I have kissed him hundreds, maybe thousands of times. We have shared passionate, unbridled kisses and desperate, devouring kisses. We’ve kissed at quick partings, and we’ve kissed with soft, gentle comfort. I like everything about them all. But this is something entirely new, something that surprises me still. It’s filled with gratitude and promises and dreams of the future, and though it is intimate, I would not have felt ashamed if someone had walked in.

It’s the kiss of complete trust, and in that moment, I feel assured that, in Cardan, I have not made a mistake. There is much to figure out still. But this is right.

So, we will have twins. I will meet this challenge with resolve. For right now, anyway, the quantity of babies is the least of our concerns.

“How in the hell am I supposed to get home?” I ask, the moment we pull apart. Cardan rests his hands on my shoulders, screwing up his beautiful mouth in thought. The ragwort horse. The bed rest. The doctor we must scrounge up somewhere. There are a dozen new bullets swirling on a to-do list, and none of them lead us back to Faerie any time soon.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” he confesses. “Which further complicates matters, because there is absolutely no chance that I am leaving you here.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” I say, and press back a smile. “And also glad,” I add.

Cardan meets my smile with a little wicked smirk of his own.

“Is it time we scheme together once again?” he asks.

We cannot get home until this is resolved, and we cannot leave Faerie ungoverned. I have no idea where to even start on this problem.

But that’s certainly never stopped us before.

There’s a knock at the door. The orderly has arrived with the wheelchair to take us back to Vivi and Heather. I give Cardan a secret, knowing smile.

“I suppose it is,” I agree.

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

Tag list! Let me know if you’d like to be added: @yellowavocadopit, @dagypsygirl, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @booklover-sleeplover, @mwejh, @courtofjurdan, @faeriequeenofwest, @sugawsites, @loveyourselfsolid, @owl0y0s, @feelinglikecleopatra, @akaloto, @charrise, @persephxnecoven, @raging-bisexual-alert, @rteme, @nahthanks, @emmabookworm08, @elorcanislife, @snusbandxknifewife, @poeticbrownmermaid,

#the folk of the air #tfota #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #jurdan fanfic #vivienne duarte #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #post-qon #babies!#baby fic #pregnancy fic #fluff #jurdan fluff

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kuronanox · 4 years ago

Text

My own fae - Fuegoleon Vermillion

(Author note: Reader is a fairy with wings, you can imagine however you wanna look. Warning not edited)

It was a cold winter night; Fuegoleon was just about to head to bed when there was a loud thud from outside his window. He was a little grumpy because of how late it was and he would be enraged if he finds to see some of his men just pulling a friendly prank.

Opening his window the strong gust of wind flowed through his hair as he looked around to find nothing. Assuming it was a branch or so till he saw a shimmering light from below.

It had wings and fair skin, back faced towards him the creature seemed distressed and weak as it only had a cloth wrapped around its body.

Heading down below the creature had features that were fairy and elf like to him.

"Miss are you alright?" Fuegoleon ask offering a hand but she looked at him in the eye and tried to fly away only to fall back down as she hissed in pain.

Gazing over to her back it seemed like a part of her wings were fractured. "Cold." She finally says looking back at him desperately.

Fuegoleon a bit mesmerized by the fairies beauty realized she only had a cloth that hid very little. Clearing his throat he took his cape off and wrapped it around her.

Before he could she somehow hid her wings as it disappeared.

Waiting on the floor she looked up at him. "I need help." She then says staring at her feet.

Fuegoleon being a gentleman as he is effortlessly picks her up bridal style. "May I get your name?"

"(Your Name) my name is (Your Name)." She says and stares into his eyes.

Fuegoleon was royalty and considered high in social status so looks from men and women usually didn't bother him, but the way she looked at him made him self conscious. He didn't know why but she was definitely different.

Luckily it was late at night and everyone had a curfew so no one was out, he would have to place her at his private quarters.

Dropping her softly on his bed he placed a robe for her to use.

"We'll talk in the morning. Good night." He says and leaves to his main office to sleep on the couch. (Your Name) doesnt say a word and watches his back leave.

It was early morning as Fuegoleon awoke he peaked into his room to find the fairy still sound asleep. Her hair was splattered and on her back was deep scars he had missed to see last night.

Awaking her eyes she turned to see him peering above her. He had never seen such eye colors before, they were dream like and ethereal.

"I-" he begins to explain but she giggles a bit and leaps out of bed in front of him. (Your Name) examined his face and features. He had royal blood running through his vain. Reaching up to his face she cupped his cheeks and closed her eyes before opening them and meeting his eyes.

"You were asleep for a long time." She finally says and then reaches to his arm that was cut off. "But you've grown stronger."

Fuegoleon lost for words stuttered "H-how did you know."

"I just know things." She simply answers as there was a long silence between the two. Not one moving an inch.

"Um well follow me." He says and brings her to a closet filled with Mereoleona old clothing she didn't wear anymore. "Just pick whatever you like."

After situating her clothes she followed him out and into the clover kingdom. She didn't say one word and followed silently and obediently. Fuegoleon didn't think she was a threat.

They met with the Wizard king. "Julius she is the lady I told you about." Fuegoleon says as the man... well boy at the moment eyes brighten up.

She hesitantly stepped up and showed the Wizard king her scars and wounded wing.

"Interesting, I've never met a fae in real life. What brings you to Clover kingdom?"

(Your Name) didn't know she just knew she was banished from her home.

"I- Well I was banished from home, I don't know how to get back. We aren't suppose to show ourselves to anyone but unfortunately I had to pay the consequences for that."

Fuegoleon studied her features, it was no wonder she was dreamy like.

"I see well! I don't see any harm coming from you. But we do need to place you somewhere safe do you have magic?" Julius asks curiously.

(Your Name) nods and lightly touches Julius forehead. He slowly turned back to a 40 year old man until she moved away he became tiny again.

"Interesting! It seems like you can see through most things. Luckily for you we are a kingdom based on magic so I think you will fit in just well." He assured as she smiled at him.

"I wish to stay by his side." She then says looking back at Fuegoleon.

"That is if he wishes so too?" Julius says looking back at the Crimson Lion captain.

"Of course. However our guest feels most at home. Then you will join my squad."

On the way out (Your Name) was shown to Owen to help mend the scars. The wings would have to heal over time.

"So you really don't know how to get back home?" Fuegoleon curiously asks the fairy as she looked around the kingdom.

"Not one clue but I don't mind. It is a beautiful place where I come from but, rules were super strict there. It doesn't seem to bad here. And if nothing works out I can always find my way home in nature." She assured him as they head to the market.

He doesn't say anything else as they shopped around the market so she could find her essentials. Observing her Fuegoleon could see she was a free spirit and nothing was holding her back as she helped a lot of the commoners.

He saw that she noticed a little girls flowers were dying. (Your Name) wriggled her fingers as yellow sparks came out and the flowers grew 10x healthier.

By sunset he would have to tell his squad that another member joined.

Dinner time came and the hall was rowdy as usual, he silenced the hall and made a few announcements.

"As many of you guys know now we have a new edition for the Crimson Lions. I would like you to welcome (Your Name)."

Curiously she hid behind him and poked her head out. "It seems as she is shy in larger groups that draw attention."

"I won't disappoint, please treat me kindly." She then says and gives a small smile.

"ANIUE! Something about her seems so dreamy. How did we get so lucky!" Leopold yells excited for the new member.

"I wonder the same." Fuegoleon says as the hall went back to a loud musical room.

"What troubles you?" (Your Name) asks as they entered his private quarters. Although it seemed scandalous Fuegoleon was drawn to her since the first time he set eyes on her.

"Just work, you are welcome to stay until the guest bedroom is prepared."

She walked from behind him and grabbed his two shoulders and laid him down on her lap. "It's about the demons right?"

Fuegoleon didn't even question how she knew but he nodded. Running her hands through his hair and braiding them she hummed. "Don't worry. Even the fairies fear them but that doesn't mean there isn't hope and courage." She soothes him as he closes his eyes and embrace the moment.

"You have trouble sleeping because you're afraid you won't wake up again when you were in a coma. It was dark and scary for you." (Your Name) says as he sighs.

"It scares me how much you know about me. It seems like you're the only who understands." Fuegoleon says as he looks up to her hues.

"Don't trust all fairies you come across not all of them are like me." She warns slightly.

"What if I don't wanna met any other fairy when I have one already?" He questions and she laughs kissing his forehead.

He was a grown men but physically touch hadn't been in his library to do list in a long time. Fuegoleon liked how gentle she was with him. "Are all fairies like this?"

"Hmm maybe, maybe not. I put a spell to make you sleepy. Get some rest." She whispers as he drifted off only remembering her looking down at him.

It had been a few months since (Your Name) was welcomed to the Clover Kingdom and she learned the culture simply fast as she fit in hiding her nature identity.

Fuegoleon and everyone that were magic knights were having a celebration. There would be a feast and party along with music and games it was a celebration for all their hard work and a break to have some fun.

He really wanted to invite (Your Name) as a date but was to shy to ask. Usually he was very straightforward but something about her made him smitten.

"What's wrong Aniue?" Leopold ask as they trained one morning. "Something on your mind?"

"It's nothing concentrate on your target don't get distracted!"

"FUEGOLEON!" (Your Name) yelled running towards them carrying a basket of fruits and flowers. Her dress flowing as her hair wrapped tight in a flower crown.

"Aniue watch out!" Leopold shoots as Fuegoleon fell onto the floor. "Ha! I knew it! You were distracted and I got you!" The younger Vermillion cheered.

(Your Name) helped Fuegoleon up as she then patted Leopold head. "Good job little one."

"Thanks! Well I'll leave y'all two to be!" He says running off giving Fuegoleon a wink.

The older Vermillion grumbled and looked towards (Your Name). "Your day off?"

"Yeah I went out and picked some stuff up!" She showed him the different varieties of fruits and flowers, placing a white one in his hair.

"You have a question for me?"

"Huh no I don't!" He denied and looks away as she giggles. "Yes you do. Just ask me. What is it?"

He sighed in defeat. There was no hiding from her. "Well we are having a Magic knights celebration and I wanted to bring you as my date..."

"I'll go! I was going to go anyways."

"But you'll go as my date?"

"Yes I will!" She assured and walks past him to set the fruits down in the dining hall. He grinned like a teenage boy and followed right after.

That night there were many people out and (Your Name) had a bright smile on her face. She was fascinated with the food and music that were surrounding her.

Fuegoleon smiled down at her as she pointed to many different things.

"Fuegoleon." Nozel says from behind as they turned around. "I see this is the commoner you've had in your squad.. you've been hiding her. No one know what she looks like."

(Your Name) looks at Nozel up and down and says "Aren't you his rival? Interesting."

"Why does she speak to me like we are the same level?" He sneers looking down at her and she tilts her head.

"I'm the fae he's been keeping a secret. I'm pretty sure we know who's more of a higher status." She then says and excuse herself.

Fuegoleon sighs and gives Nozel a look. "Seriously?"

"Hmph shes a know it all I see."

"You don't know how literate she can be sometimes." Fuegoleon says and smiles at her back as she plays with Leopold and his friends.

"So she isn't a commoner but rather a fae. Quite interesting how you came across one. I've never seen one in real life."

"Me too, she told me they aren't allowed to show themselves but she stuck here now. (Your Name) doesn't know how to get back home."

There was silence between the two as the two royal men watched her curiosity along side making new connection with other Magic Knights.

"So no one knows?"

"Only a few people know. She knows things on her own. She knew about my coma, the elves and demons. She even transformed Julius back for a few minutes."

Nozel eyes widen and then narrowed. "You sure she isn't a spy?"

"I highly doubt it."

Although she was Fuegoleon date she couldn't help but venture off and get to know more people.

"You are Nozel younger sister." She says to Noelle as the young teen watches Asta and Leopold afar dance to the music.

"I-I'm royalty yes!" She blushes at the older women. Noelle felt a sense safe in her presence, almost like a motherly figure.

"You like him." (Your Name) looks at Asta and smirks.

"I do not!"

Grabbing Noelle hands they dance together with Leopold and Asta. Noelle shy at first blushes and looks down but gains confidence because (Your Name) guided her.

"Ahh Noelle!" Asta yells as he and Leopold connects arms with her. "Yuno! Mimosa come join us!"

(Your Name) backed away and watched from afar, they seem happy.

A arm snakes around her waist as she looks up to find Fuegoleon watching the kids. She smiles at him and grabs his hand. "Let's dance too. We are known to like music and dancing."

He hesitantly follows. "I'm not sure about dancing."

"Just follow my steps." She encourages as he nods and follows her pace.

There was a comfortable silence between the two as they moved back and forth the ballroom. Looking around (Your Name) saw a lot of people were staring at them. She shyly hid her face in his chest.

"Why are people staring at us?"

He chuckles and takes the initiative moves now, twisting her around to wrap his arm around her.

"It's because they are jealous. I haven't been seen out with a lady in a long time."

Turning herself back around she touched his chest. "You are nervous, your heartbeat is fast."

He takes her hands with his and kisses it lightly. "You can see everyone else's feelings but always deny mine."

(Your Name) blushes and grip his hand tighter.

"I do know your feelings. I make you feel like a teenage boy chasing after a girl."

"Well if you put it that way..."

"You aren't allowed to be with someone not royal. Isn't that by law."

Fuegoleon smile fades as he caress her scar back and pushes some of her hair out of her face to see the little tiny pointy ears before hiding them again.

"You already know I don't care about status. I don't care what other people think about us either."

"Fuegoleon has been smitten over me since the first day we might." She teases as he grins a bit.

Pushing herself up she brings him down for a kiss that shook the entire kingdom.

"Does that answer your question?" She asks as he sheepishly nods and gives her another kiss.

"Oh I might go blind." Nozel says in disgust as he slightly smiles for his rival.

"Tch that means it's time for you to find yourself a girl." Mereoleona says crossing her arms and watching the two new lovers embrace in the crowd.

"As if, no one here is worthy!"

"Worthy of the braid." Yami cuts in as Nozel sends him death glares.

Meanwhile on the side Charlotte is staring at Yami hoping it would be them one day.

"Let's go aniue! I knew it was from the start!" Leopold cheers running between them and hugging (Your Name).

The night came to an end perfectly for them as the two new lovers left impatiently to discovering new beginnings.

#black clover x reader #black clover imagine #black clover imagines #fuegoleon vermillion #fuegoleon #leopold vermillion #mereoleona vermillion #nozel silva #julius novachrono #black clover asta #noelle silva #yami sukehiro #black clover #black clover oneshot #black clover oneshots #black clover fuegoleon

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slothgiirl · 4 years ago

Text

percolating gently (noah x mc)

au in which jane marshall lives and mc and noah and jane run off to live happily ever after a family of three and also smut (if you don’t want to read that skip the section that goes “its christmas, technically”.

title from a tennessee williams quote

15k

It's the three of them in the end. Jane. Noah. And you. Just like it started. Just like it had been.

Always you caught up between the two Marshall twins; Jane’s hand in yours gripping tight and never backing down as she poured water into dirt to make mud. At nine, and never having shared Jane’s attention before, Noah had snubbed you on more than one occasion, shooting down watching Resident Evil just because you had suggested it.

It was funny how you'd befriended Noah first. Jane had a fever the week your parents moved to Westchester (to study some microbe that was super rare or some other incredibly niche nerdy thing). You'd been left to roam the neighborhood on your own as per usual, drawing trees and pets you wished for in chalk, and then Noah.

Noah.

Redfield- Jane’s let up at least a little. You're no longer stuck to that awful chair in terror but griping Noah's shoulders, your fingers clutching the fabric of his denim jacket because he can't, you won't let him take her place.

He's been through so much already.

They both had.

“Noah,” you stammer out, chilled to the bone from terror or the fact that you were in a damp and freezing underground chamber--probably both. “Noah, you can't!” You tighten your grip on him even as his frown deepens, anger clear on his features as he glares down at you.

You cut him off before he can snap at you. Looking over at Jane, no longer blazing, but hovering around, a shadow spilling into the corners of the room, eyes a cold blue without an ounce of friendliness or curiosity.

“I'm sorry,” you tell her, because this was all your fault. You should've never encouraged her. You should've saved her. You should've done more: anything but brush the memory of her away instead of dealing with the events of that summer. Denial had long been your method of choice but here Jane was. It had all been real.

You owe her this much.

And Noah-

“I promised I'd be there for you,” you think of the whistle, “I promised I'd protect you so that's what I'm going to do now,” you say even as your hands shake. “Let me take your place.”

You move to stand, but Noah doesn't budge, his head shaking as his agonized wide eyes meet yours. There's always been a sincere quality in the warmth of Noah's brown eyes that put you at ease and had you feeling like you two were the only people in the world and you could never say no to him; not now. He's a mess (just how you feel), beanie about to slide off his tangled hair, tear tracks down his cheeks. There's a pull in your chest, the painful need to throw your arms around him and hug him until the world stops being this shitty but you doubt you'd ever leave his side if you hug him now.

Noah shakes his head. “It should be me,” he utters into the eerie acoustics of the chamber, the horror of the situation audible in his voice. “It should have been me then. I can finally make things right.”

Your lip grumbles as you cry out, “don't say that,” your hand reaching up to cup his cheek, “don't you dare say that bullshit Noah-we were kids! None of this,” you look around, look at Jane, “this shouldn't have happened to anyone. And it wasn't anyone's fucking fault!”

If-when you got out of this, you were going to throw hands with Mrs. Marshall.

You used to wish she’d been your mother.

The shadow that is Jane inches closer.

Right.

It had to be you or him.

His skin was warm against your hand and you don't-you don’t think you can live in a world where Noah isn't there and he's had the shittiest time and you could've reached out but you didn't and he doesn't deserve this because he thinks he deserves this.

Noah thinks he should've died.

Fuck.

This was all so fucked up.

“It's okay,” Noah whispers softly, his hand covering yours before gently removing your hand from his cheek, removing your hold on him. “It's okay.”

“But-” you look at Jane.

You didn't know what was worse, a world without Noah in it or a world where Noah became some twisted monster the same way Jane had over the years of loneliness. No one started out a monster.

You shake your head, reaching for Noah's hand, “I promised I wasn't leaving you again.”

His eyes widen in shock, giving him that doe eyes look that sort of made you want to kiss him, as if he'd forgotten all about that moment, as if he thought he wasn't worth it but Noah deserved more than death. He should get to go to culinary school and deal with shitty customers at Baby Jane’s.

And it was too late to save the day.

If you were being honest, it was nine years too late. It was all about doing the best you could in impossible circumstances because Jane didn't deserve to spend an eternity alone and scared and a monster either.

Intertwining your fingers with his, you swallow thickly before replying in a steady voice, having made your choice the moment Noah had been willing to go find Dan alone, when he'd opened up to you at the shop and you realized all this time it hadn't just been you dealing with the repercussions of Redfield, “Together.”

You weren't going to fail Noah again.

Noah is speechless.

But Jane was always able to go with the flow. A shadowy limb ghost over both your hands, in the vein of those cheesy moments in anime when a best friend speech got everyone through a big battle.

“Allll play too g etherR.”

“Yeah,” Noah says sadly, accepting that there was no version of this ending that didn't end in tragedy. “together.”

At least this way, you could be monsters together.

“It's okay Jane,” he tells his sister, his hand squeezing yours, “we’ll take over from here.”

You wake up cold, thinking that you'd left your bedroom window open (not that you were doing much sleeping in that room after the Dan night terror) again, but you're greeted with the sight of Jane curled up asleep between you and Noah looking the same as she had at the many sleepovers you'd have at their house. You don't know if she's real or if this is a dream or if you're dead and this is just a figment of your new reality, but you don't care.

Finally, you understand the ending of Inception.

You don't want to wake them up, still exhausted yourself, but Jane keeps shivering and you can only imagine how worried your friends were. Your phone’s dead.

You couldn't stay here.

“Noah,” you whisper, the sound echoing throughout the chamber. “Noah…”

He grumbles in his sleep, but doesn't wake up.

“Noah,” you hiss.

“What,” Noah slurs, shifting as he lifts his head, jostling Jane at his side but your friend who was dead, was previously dead, continues to sleep looking like a particularly angelic little girl.

You can tell when the situation dawns on him: the twitch of his lips as his mouth settles into a frown, brows becoming drawn in thought.

It's day outside.

You're not sure which day.

Noah's phone is also dead.

Both of you stumble through the woods half asleep, Noah carrying Jane as if she was the most precious thing in the world which she was because she had been dead but now she wasn't and you were beginning to hope this was real and not a trick and that Jane was getting a shot at a normal childhood.

“We should go to my house,” you offer, keeping your voice low as to not disturb Jane who continued to sleep, no wonder Andy and Ava had been able to draw so many mustaches on her back in the day. “It's closer.”

And also you had no way of explaining how Jane had suddenly come back to life. That was something to process later. First a warm bed and sleep and then you had to let your friends know you weren't dead and figure out the whole Jane being alive with Noah. But first, sleep.

“Yeah, okay,” Noah answer’s, clearly still in shock. “Sounds good.” He says as if you two were discussing the weather and not sudden resurrection.

Then again, was this really that big of a leap considering everything that happened in the last few months?

You kick off your shoes and curl up with the Marshall twins to sleep.

“Why are you so much taller,” Jane asks once you’ve all woken up and yes, Jane’s still there, flesh and blood and the idea begins to solidify that she’s alive and well, well maybe not, you don’t know how much she remembers if at all and you still don’t know what to do with her but for now Noah’s rifling around your sparse kitchen, sending you a judgemental look at the half empty pancake box mix that expired a month ago but there’s no gross mold or anything so he uses it anyway, unwilling to leave Jane alone for a second.

Noah smiles easily, which has you smiling, “I’m not tall,” he replies to his sister, “you just shrunk.”

She frowns, nose wrinkling and you had forgotten she did that when she was upset, her nose wrinkling up as her lips turn downward. It was adorable. Then in classic Jane fashion she decides, “that’s a lie.” And sticks her nose up in the air, her fingers continuing to do whatever in your hair. It feels nice, her small fingers weaving clumsily through your thick hair, but Jane had never actually learned to braid so you’re pretty sure she’s just tangling your hair up but you wouldn’t refuse Jane anything right now.

It’s been days since the dance.

You have countless missed calls from your friends, texts getting increasingly and increasingly panicked, and nothing from either of your parents.

“Turn around,” Jane squeaks, tapping your shoulder urgently.

“Alright, alright,” you say, shifting in your seat. She’s tiny. All red hair and freckles and she hasn’t left your side since waking you up, knees in your side as she’d yelled that she was bored and wanted to play so loud it had woken Noah up.

Jane looks at you with a frown. “You’re big too.” Then her lower lip wobbles.

Shit.

Hastily, you pull her onto your lap, wrapping your arms around her.

“Why am I still small,” she whispers, looking up at you with the same wide brown eyes you were so used to.

“Uh,” you swallow thickly, trying to figure something out because maybe she didn’t remember and wasn’t that for the best? Wouldn’t that be the best case scenario? The only problem is you’re barely eighteen and not at all prepared to handle a nine year old. Had you really been this small when your parents decided to fuck off? “It’s because. . .you’re special, like Peter Pan.”

She crunches up her nose for a second, thinking. Then in her child innocence, she nods, deciding she likes the explanation. “You should’ve come with me,” Jane pats your cheek sadly, “grown ups are so boring.”

Noah wheezes, a pancake slipping off the spatula as his shoulders shake with laughter.

You hadn’t had time to talk about what had happened, what he had done, and you certainly hadn’t had time to process your feelings on any of it, but you were always glad to see him laughing.

“Someone had to take care of your dumb brother,” you reply, legs kind of going numb with her weight.

Jane nods sagely, “Noah is dumb. Because he’s a changeling.”

When you were kids, you’d both been obsessed with goblins and trolls and fairy tales. You two would dig in the dirt looking for hag stones. Sticks would double as magic wands and swords. The old fur jacket Jane liked to play dress up with was her selkie skin and you would take turns hiding it around the house.

Noah rolls his eyes. He hadn’t liked your weirdo kid games the first time around, he liked them even less now and you can’t help but grin at his expense. “You’re the redhead in the family.”

Jane blows a raspberry.

What a way to win an argument.

It’s past midnight before Jane crashes.

You’re on your third watch of frozen which had seemed like a great way to keep Jane inside the first time when you’d suggested it (kids loved that movie) and had become the worst, as Jane made you watch the movie again and again, singing “do you want to build a snowman” at the top of her lungs. That hadn’t stopped you and Noah from helping her find all the pillows in your house to build a castle with. Your living room has become a pillow castle fort.

During the second watch, Jane had dug around through your closet, before finding a blue hoodie you didn’t even remember you had and tying it around her shoulders. “You’re Anna,” she’d told you, giving you pigtails when she gave up on braids.

Now, she was asleep on the couch, drooling on her pillow.

Noah immediately turns off the TV. “You couldn’t have put on Shrek?”

You’re sitting next to him on the floor, finally giving into the urge to look at the news on your phone. You hadn’t risked it while Jane was awake. She was a nosy child.

You frown, “we need to tell the others.” Because this was really happening. Jane was alive and you didn’t know what to do with that. She needed. . .fuck-she needed school and parents and probably therapy if she remembered any of it. You were just eighteen. You had no idea what to do.

Noah’s responding frown mirrors yours. “What? Why!”

“She just came back from the dead,” you reply quietly. “She needs-fuck what are we going to tell your mom?”

His expression turns angry, brows furrowing. “Fuck her. She doesn’t deserve to know.”

“Noah,” you sigh, not wanting to argue with him because what was there to argue. His mom was a shitty parent. “Dan, Andy. . .they think we’re dead. They deserve to know after what happened. They deserve an explanation.”

He flinches.

“And besides-we’re in high school! What are we-what the hell are we going to do with her,” you say gently because you couldn’t keep her cooped up in your house. You had things like high school and maybe college if you could salvage this quarter. You didn’t have a job. “She needs parents. And school. And. . .” You throw your hand sup in the air. You had no clue what she needed. You weren’t a functioning adult. You didn’t know what kids need.

“She has me.” Noah hisses back.

You roll your eyes. “I know that-fuck Noah,” becuase he was getting angry with you when all you were trying to do was help. God, he could be so freaking dense sometimes. “She deserves a normal childhood. How the hell are we supposed to do that for her? Does she remember any of it?” You cross your arms over your chest and stare at your feet. The garish pink nail polish was still intact.

Didn’t people need birth certificates and stuff?

Lucas would know.

Lily could probably do her computer thing and help with that.

He falls silent, glaring at the blank TV screen.

Noah’s breathing is harsh and you wait patiently.

“I can drop out,” Noah finally says quietly. “Get a job. . .”

“I’m going to call Lily,” you reply. “We need groceries anyway.” Like hell were you leaving Jane for even a second. This time, you mean to keep your promise.

Jane bursts into tears when she sees all her friends grew up without her, eyes turning red as tears streamed down her eyes and she buried her face in Noah’s chest, refusing to budge. He rubs his hand comfortingly against her back, carrying her upstairs.

Even from the living room, still a mess, you can hear her sob upstairs.

“What the absolute fuck,” Lucas utters, taking a seat, resting his head in his hands.

“Explain,” Stacy urges, already unpacking the groceries you’d requested into your kitchen.

You do.

You go over the last couple of days, most of which you spent sleeping.

“I think it says a lot about how fucked our lives are that this is only like the second craziest thing to happen to us,” Andy mutters, pacing around the room. “I mean,” he says stopping near the kitchen island, “the whole town got brainwashed!”

“Does-does she remember,” Lily asks.

You shrug, “I. . .I don’t think so. Clearly she doesn’t know why we’re all older. Maybe it’ll come back to her?” You hope it doesn’t.

“So what are we going to do,” Lily says, looking around at everyone.

Dan speaks up, “Jane could have blocked out those memories. My therapist said that can happen with traumatic events.”

“That makes sense,” you find yourself saying, slumping in your seat. You think you could just finish high school at home. It’s not like your parents would know, or care. They’re not here. That way Noah can finish high school and you can look after Jane. But then what?

“Just so we’re all on the same page,” Ava asks rhetorically, “we’re just going to ignore the fact Noah tried to kill us?”

You flinch.

“Jesus fucking christ Ava,” Andy snaps, looking just as agitated as you’ve all felt for months.

“One crisis at a time,” Stacy complains, closing the cupboard door with a hard thunk, “I can only handle one crisis at a time.” Then she looks over at you, “are you-is. . .you can stay at my house if you need to.” No one suggests Noah and Jane going to their own house.

You shake your head.

At some point, you were going to hash things out with Noah, but it wasn’t exactly anger at Noah that you felt. It was hurt and the raw heart crushing betrayal. You know you hadn't been there for him when he needed you--for years-- but you thought, you wish he had just told you about Jane being Redfield.You would have helped, you would have done anything to help Noah and Jane and maybe no one would’ve needed to play are you scared at all. Fuck.

But no. You don’t feel scared at being here with him which was what Stacy was asking about. It hadn’t even crossed your mind even once.

But it feels too private to tell them that the three of you have been inseparable since the ruins. You’d spent last night curled up on the living room floor with him. But that knowledge was yours. You weren’t about to share that.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You don’t feel fine. “She can’t stay in Westchester can she?” Because you’re tired and want someone else to tell you what to do for once.

“Probably not,” Lucas answers tightly, still looking freaked out, eye twitching.

“It’s not a trick or anything. . .” Andy glances around.

You shake your head. Slowly, a plan forms in your head. Your parents would pay for your college, you’d apply out of state and take the Marshall twins with you. Instead of a dorm, you’d get an apartment. It could work.

Somehow.

“Have your parents called,” Dan asks gently.

“No,” you wave off. They weren’t important. Jane was.

“Have you thought about how you’re going to explain this,” Andy asks.

You wince. “Sort of. . .I don’t know.” You put your hands in your head.

It's Ava who wraps her arm around your shoulders, “we’ll figure this out.”

“Thanks.”

It's a familiar type of awful that Noah’s mom doesn’t really care that he’s spent the last six months living at your house.

With a great deal of arguing at 2 in the morning while lying next to a sleeping Jane, you’d managed to convince Noah to finish high school. And you’d promptly switched to homeschooling.

Lily had come through with Jane’s paperwork, now in your bag as your friends drop you off at the nearest regional airport.

You hold Jane’s hand, the only thing keeping her from running off as she takes the sight of the airport in. She’s thrown countless fits about being cooped up. But it was too risky for her to be seen in Westchester, a small town where everyone knew she’d died. The most you could do was your backyard.

So of course you’d made up for it by letting her pick your college.

“Someplace warm and sunny,” Jane had shouted excitedly, mind going crazy with plans as your acceptance letters came in.

Months on, it’s way less awkward even if Ava and Lucas have settled on ignoring Noah.

Andy hugs you hard. “Call when you land!”

You snort, “duh.”

Lily smiles and adds, “I might visit for spring break.”

“That would be great,” you tell her, tightening your hold on Jane as something catches her attention.

She pivots to Noah, who had the backbone of a toothpick when it came to telling Jane no which is why she keeps getting to skip brushing her teeth in the morning which was gross and she hated you for trying to chase her down, “I want that stuffed animal. If you give me that narwhal, I’ll eat my veggies.”

“You’re eating your veggies anyway,” you reply back, dragging her along.

“You won’t have to watch frozen tomorrow.” She continues, targeting her brother ruthlessly.

Noah’s already fishing his wallet out.

“That’s what you said about the hair color,” you point out, opting to carry her when she goes limp. “Don’t you dare Noah.”

Ava grins at you, amused and unhelpful.

“It’s just a toy,” he replies.

You roll your eyes.

“You two are such parents,” Andy laughs.

“I hate you,” Jane huffs. “We’re not friends anymore.”

“She told you,” Ava snorts.

Jane beams. Then reaches for Noah, who takes her from your arms without complaint.

You hug Lily one last time, and then. . .you’re going through security.

“I get the window seat,” Jane declares once you get past TSA.

“Go for it,” you tell her, belatedly realizing it’s going to be hell if it turns out she doesn’t like planes.

She nods, satisfied.

Tampa is no less humid and hot and awful a month in then it was when you first got off the plane but Jane loves it and there’s a park next to the building your living in: a tiny cramped apartment with only one room which went to Jane obviously which you and Noah had originally planned for you and Jane to share but both of you had capitulated to Jane’s demands within the day. She deserved being spoiled.

The A/C in Ikea was a godsend.

Sleeping on the floor with the bare necessities was not it and with you starting school next week, it was time to take your meager savings and get some furniture.

“Remember,” Noah says, pulling up the list on his phone. It had started with him grocery shopping since he cooked and needing to make a grocery list to Noah just taking over figuring out how to make the money your parents sent and his own contribution from his new job work. “Sofa bed. Bed for Jane. Blankets. One lamp. And a mattress.”

“Weren't you complaining about only having one pan this morning,” you ask as Jane drags you along to the first showroom, practically bouncing with energy.

Noah shrugs. “I can make it work.”

“Buying an extra pan won't kill us,” you counter. “We can just use my credit card.” And not eat out for the rest of the month, you didn't add.

“Let's play hide and seek,” Jane says with excitement. “I'll seek.”

You exchange glances with Noah.

Tomorrow you had to go sign her up at school. You had to go over the story with her again. Just to make sure you didn't all get in trouble.

Jane covers her eyes. “One. Two. . .”

You look around the tiny space, thinking of where to hide. Between school and Jane you weren't sure when you could or even if you could get a part time job. Noah was working at a diner during the evenings. You had gotten your classes early in the morning so you could be home with Jane while he worked. The problem was finding the extra free time to work.

Ugh.

Being an adult was hard.

But how much of an adult could you be when your parents were paying your tuition?

You head for the tiny bathroom which has a neat looking toothbrush holder and isn’t that something you need to buy? There were so many little things like a bath mat and towels and a dish rack that were only just occurring to you that were sort of essentials and jeez you really had one foot in adulthood. You don’t even hide behind the curtain, worried that Jane won’t find you easily and freak out and there’s weirdos everywhere. It was your job to look after her now. Not that Noah had asked for your help, but it was a given.

“Eight. . .nine. . .” Jane’s little voice carries and you’re struck by a flood of emotions that has your eyes tearing up.

Noah steps into the bathroom next to you, “we need a cutting board,” he says so seriously you can’t help but snort.

“What,” he asks, shaking his head at you.

“Nothing.”

He tilts his head.

You shrug, “just thinking. I don’t know. I don’t feel very grown up. And I took all the dumb towels my parents stockpiled for granted.”

“We should’ve raided your house,” he agrees, the corner of his lips lifting, “purge style.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I never get why everyone jumps straight to murder. What does Ava always say? Redistribute the wealth, rob a bank.” You roll your eyes, scoffing, “murder.”

Noah snorts. “Pretty sure that’s Lucas. Ava’s more of a go straight to cutting people’s heads off.”

“Robespierre style,” you grin.

“Robes who?”

“Robespierre. From the french revolution.”

“I think that’s the class I must’ve ditched,” Noah admits.

You frown. “You could do community college,” because you had to corner him at some point. Noah was very good at avoiding subjects he didn’t want to talk about. “We could make it work. Do your G.E.’s”

Noah shrugs.

“Noah-” Because he said he wanted to go to culinary school and you get the urge to drop everything and buy a ranch in utah and live with Jane for the rest of your lives except Jane would hate that and grow up and leave and how are you going to afford spoiling her if you can’t get a decent job? Noah deserved to go for his dreams too.

None of you had to be defined by your incredibly shitty childhood.

Jane pops in, “found you!” She giggles in her Baby Yoda t-shirt and leggings, “you two are bad at this game! My turn!” Jane grabs Noah’s hand and drags him along to the next showroom that catches her eye, “remember,” she lectures you both, “no peeking,” before shooting off.

“What did you end up choosing for your major,” Noah asks, as you both fail to keep your eyes closed, looking over at the sofa section. It would be so freaking nice not to sleep on the carpet anymore.

“History,” you admit, “though I’m not sure it’ll stay like that. I don’t know exactly what I want to do after college. Or if I even like history enough to major in it. . .it just sounded fine at the time.” You had done well in APUSH. That had to mean something. But you had also liked your economics class. . .maybe you should do economics? “I really have no clue. Has it been ten seconds?”

“Probably,” Noah says with a smile, “nine, ten, coming to find you,” he calls out.

It’s a living room showroom, and yet Jane had managed to squeeze herself right behind a floor lamp and the TV stand. She’s a slip of a girl, but her red hair makes her easier to spot. Thank god.

“Let’s go pick out things for your room,” you offer, because you still have to go downstairs and find all the different pieces and then still go home and put them together. Thank god for uber. Oh shit, did this mean you had to get a car at some point? How do people buy cars?

“Okay,” Jane nods, immediately taking off, and she has you and Noah speed walking after her, on the border of a full out run. It was hard to be annoyed when you were still so happy to wake up in a world where Jane was alive and here and who cares that it took three hours to get her to stand still long enough to comb her hair and putting her to bed was a long drawn out affair of a bedtime story and a snack and needing to be tucked in and checking on all her toys and deciding she needed a glass of water next to her just in case she woke up thirsty.

It was worth it.

You liked not living alone.

You liked not being alone.

You weren't sure who was more exhausted as you finished washing the dishes. Jane was sleeping, thank god. The nice thing about Florida was it was fall and it was still warm enough to spend the evening at the park so Jane could tire herself out while you read fifty pages of your history and sociology textbook. It was what all the other moms did and you winced when Jane asked to join the soccer team that practiced at the park by your building because you didn't have the money and you could only hope she didn't ask Noah because he came home tired enough but for Jane he'd take more shifts.

There was laundry you didn't want to do and a quiz in english which was a nice class even if everyone was half asleep at 7:30 in the morning because your professor was somehow awake enough to engage and rant about short stories that thankfully weren't the same ten dead old white men you'd read in high school but actual people alive today whose english you could understand. It's night, so you don't bother drying the dishes before turning off the light. Noah had brought food which showed how tired he was. Yesterday's leftovers had saved you from attempting anything because you sucked in the kitchen as your poor microwave could attest: aluminum foil and microwaves don't mix.

Noah’s already asleep when you slide into bed next to him. You can still smell the scent of oil and grease on his skin even as you stay decidedly on your side of the bed.

It's mid september in Tampa and it's still warm and it doesn't stop you at all from curling up with a blanket.

The window panes are cracked open letting in the soft moonlight and you lay in bed, brain melted from class and reading, and look at Noah's profile and how much lighter he looked compared to a year ago. The lines around his mouth from frowning had eased; Jane teasing out a side of him that had previously shriveled up.

It's done him good to get away from his mom. To have his sister. You just wish you could do more for him.

Like he was doing for you and Jane.

You drift off to sleep. . .

“Move over,” a small voice asks, and your eyes crack open to the dark of the room and Jane a hair's breadth away with wide scared eyes, a pillow hugged to her chest. Her voice is raw, as if she'd been crying.

You move over, brain sleep addled, to make room for her.

She slips in besides you, immediately curling up in your chest the way she does when she decides she's done walking for the day: the way she runs up to Noah when he gets home from work.

“Did you have a bad dream,” you mumble, not wanting to wake up her brother.

“I don't know.” Jane admits, “I just don't want to sleep alone.”

“I thought you wanted your own room,” you tease, a little more awake now.

“I do,” she cries out loudly in the dark of the night.

You can just imagine her pouting even if you can't see her, your eyes falling shut again. “Okay. You can sleep over tonight.”

“Yay,” she whispers back. “We should draw a mustache on Noah.”

You snort, “too late. He hasn't bothered shaving in like two days.” It was a good look on him: stubble. You'd teased him ruthlessly, almost choking on your water when he'd gone pink.

Jane giggles.

“Go to sleep,” you tell her. “You have school.”

“So do you.”

“Sleep.”

“Tell me a bedtime story.”

“Jane,” you whine, rolling over away from her, because she sure wasn't going to stop. “Sleep.”

“Where the fuck are my shoes,” Noah says, as he stumbles around trying to find his things.

You should've folded the laundry last night. Instead, it was a pile on the floor, clean, but a mess. You had parent teacher conferences today, and of course you were rushing at the last minute. Between finishing a paper for sociology and ditching class because of the conference and it's not like your statistics professor took roll call, you were still in a towel, freshly showered.

“Check the hall closet. I told Jane to clean last night and I'm like one hundred percent sure she just stuffs everything in that closet. Dan's right, we're fucking her up by spoiling her too much.” You search the pile of clothes for a nice dress. Was that right for a parent teacher conference? You were 18, what did you know? Besides, you were like guardian adjacent. Not a parent.

“Okay,” Noah replies when you hear the door open and why can't you find any clean underwear, you just did laundry this is insane and you have like five minutes to leave or you will be late, “but why'd she only put away one shoe?”

“Don't goblins only steal left shoes or something,” you reply, finding clean underwear but giving up on the bra. You'd go with a blue and white plaid dress. It wasn't too revealing for school even if it was one of those back of the closet dresses you never actually wore.

You slip your underwear on under the towel as Noah reappears in jeans and a t- shirt, freshly shaved. “What if they ask too many questions?”

“They won't,” you wave off. “And if they do we can just lie.”

“You're a bad liar,” Noah teases, rifling around in the kitchen.

You toss the towel aside, trying incredibly hard to act cool and calm when you weren't anything but, as you go to pull the dress over your head. It's not like you were flashing him. You sleep next to Noah every night.

But then why did you feel so flustered right then. “Am not!” You squawk indignantly, turning over to look at him as your dress goes over your head and your boobs are no longer hanging out for the world to see (there was a point to curtains after all).

Noah goes bright pink when he realizes your half naked in the living room, as if he hasn't slept next to you for close to a year now but then again, you used to sleep in an old shirt and underwear and now you've got matching pjs because Noah and yeah you should probably do something about that like you had wanted to since the party ages ago now but there had been Redfield and Noah admitting he was in a terrible headspace and it wasn't the time and now. . .you brush the thought aside for now. You roll your eyes (because your cool and calm even if your heart’s beating erratically) and grab your purse, before joking, “so are you going to get a haircut or are you going to do the man bun thing.”

Noah groans, “Jane told me I looked like homeless dog.”

“Ouch,” You laugh, “when she say that?”

“She woke me up again last night but I got her to go to her bed this time.” He admits as you walk to Jane’s school.

“Again?” Fuck maybe she was having nightmares after all. “It has to be nightmares, but. . .” you trail off.

“I don't know,” Noah shrugs, “she says she doesn't remember. Just wakes up. But like why else would she keep waking up if it's not nightmares,” he frowns.

“Do you think they could be,” you purse your lips before continuing not wanting to be the one to bring it up but you sort of had too, “you think it's redfield related.”

“I really don't know,” he says, looking over at you with a sad smile.

Smiling softly, you squeeze his hand as you wait for the white pedestrian sign, “hey, she's got us. She'll be fine.”

Which makes you think about how Andy was right. You were such a mom. Had you mom-zoned yourself? That was good, you'd have to text that to Andy later.

Then you sigh, realizing that if you had a nightmare back then, your parents wouldn't have even been home for you to wake up. There had been weeks spent at Pine Springs and driving over to some niche science conference in Rochester or over to New Haven for a lecture.

“What,” Noah asks, intertwining your fingers with his as you cross the street.

“Just realizing how shitty my parents were,” you offer with a sad smile. What could you do about it now? You'd grown up.

“Just now,” Noah quips with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, “shut up.”

Jane’s teacher, an older black woman who's style leans close to Lily's own preppy academic choices, looks at you both skeptically. “You’re here for Jane Marshall's conference?”

Both you and Noah nod.

She doesn't look reassured.

You bump Noah's knee with yours, hoping he'll say something to clear things up. Neither of you looked old enough to be her parents. You had a serious case of baby face.

“Uh,” he says, still an eighteen year old who's spent most of his life bowing down to teachers authority. You understood, still feeling strange going to the bathroom during lecture without asking for permission. “I'm Jane’s brother.”

You nudge him again when it's clear he's done taking.

“Noah,” he manages.

You roll your eyes. “We’re her guardians,” you had gone over the story hundreds of times, “their parents passed,” you look down at you lap trying to look sad, “a few months ago.”

“Oh,” Jane’s teacher, Miss Sanders, says sympathetically. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah well,” Noah trails off.

“Well Jane is a very outgoing girl,” Miss Sanders says, launching into her talk, “she's made lots of friends though sometimes getting her to be quiet during class time can be a challenge. She's at her grade level for reading and math. She does need more practice with writing longer sentences and,” she shuffles papers around, flipping through a red folder, before taking out some childish drawings. “These had me worried but in light of the loss she is going through, I think it's understandable.”

Each drawing is a variation of a theme: huge black blobs make up most of the page, with occasional stick drawings differentiated by hair color. Jane is obviously the girl with the red hair and triangle body. Redfield, she remembered something then.

Could it be subconscious?

You feel the blood leave your face as you look over at Noah. He looks just as shaken as you.

“It's normal for children going through the loss of a loved one, especially parents,” Miss Sanders tries, “to work through it in drawing and writing. But we could always let her talk to the school psychologist. Mrs. Hernandez is a wonderful child therapist.”

“Do you think it would help,” you ask, wondering if it was a good idea when Jane’s actual problem was of the supernatural variety. Maybe they would just assume that was her imagination, or her way of explaining away a loss.

“It couldn't hurt.”

You look over at Noah, slipping your hand into his, giving him an encouraging squeeze in his palm. It was his sister. It should be his call.

He pulls his hand out of yours, straightening up in the chair. “Yeah. That could be good.”

“Okay. I'll let Mrs. Hernandez know. That and make sure Jane’s reading books for AR. Her goal this year should 40 points if she wants to be part of the end of the year celebration.”

“I'll figure out where the library is,” you nod, “I'm sure she can find books while I study.”

“Sounds perfect. Any other questions.”

You look at Noah who shakes his head. He was starting to need a haircut. Even if you did like the way he looked with his hair loose.

“Alright then. It was lovely to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Marshall.”

“Oh,” heat builds up in your cheeks.

“We're not-”

“I'm not-,” you stammer, “I'm just a family friend.”

“Oh,” Miss Sander says, “I'm-sorry for assuming.”

“It's fine,” you manage, starting to leave. “Thank you. It was good to meet you.” You shake her hand, wanting to die inside.

“Nice to meet you as well,” she shakes Noah's hand and then you can finally leave.

You both hurry out the classroom, out the school.

“So that was,” Noah says, raising a brow.

“awful,” you finish. “But there were no red flags and we got free therapy out of it.”

Noah laughs, “I think we probably all need some therapy.”

“Rewatching arrested development isn't cutting it anymore,” you grin.

“I do feel like Gob most days.”

“Good,” you laugh.

“Really?”

“I don't trust people who identify with Michael. No self awareness.”

Noah laughs, “they are all horrible people.” His face becomes drawn, as he tucks loose strands of hair behind his ears. “How much do you think she remembers?”

You shrug, placing your hand on his arm. “I think it's probably bits and pieces. She did spend years and...she doesn't have nightmares? That's a good sign right? It's been months, she's not some creepy horror movie child?”

“Of course not,” he nods, looking down at you, with a frown. “She's fine. Jane's good.”

You smile shakily. “We're doing amazing. And she's happy if she hasn't stopped watching disney vlogs. No clue how we're going to swing that one if she asks.”

Noah matches you’re unsure smile, “take her to those rich people parks and call it disney.”

You snort. “It's Jane. That won't fool her.”

“It's Florida. We can just go to the beach.” He says with a shrug. “It'll be just as good.”

“Aren't there alligators though?”

Noah laughs at your expense. “Those are in the lakes and rivers.”

“Shut up. Want to go for pizza before you go to work?”

“Let's go get Indian food actually. There's this place I've been meaning to try but Jane’s-”

“Picky as fuck,” you say pointedly. “Like you used to be.”

Noah blushes. “Okay so my mom just cooked like kraft mac and cheese. That wasn't my fault.”

“And those pizza bites! I loved those,” you add, thinking back on all the sleepovers at their house as a kid. “I think when Jane came over was the only time I'd get to use peanut butter.” Your parents weren't around, but your nanny was philippina, you ate spice before kids discovered hot cheetos were delicious.

He snorts, running a hand through his hair. “We should probably get a car at some point.”

“Face it bro, we're broke. I keep wanting to tell you to get a haircut but we're broke.”

Noah raises a brow. “Fuck off. I look like post-Beatles George Harrison.”

“You wish you looked like George Harrison,” you tease.

The food was amazing. Lunch indian buffets were where it was at. And since you don't have a class right after, you offer to walk Noah to work, “I've got to walk off the food baby,” you tell him, before you head back to pick Jane up.

Noah laughs, “The malai kofta was just too good.”

“I should've stopped at three plates but buffets always make me think it's a food contest,” you admit. “My nanny would take me to this seafood buffet with her family around lunar new year and we’d spend all day there to try and eat our money's worth.” It had been your favorite holiday as a child, after your parents had decided you were old enough to be left behind, only a handful of years after they decided you were old enough to bring along with them, and you hadn't seen them even at christmas.

“Damn,” Noah says with an easy smile, “at least I had good times with my parents.” His smile is so fragile. That just means it hurt him more when things fell apart.

“I had nice times too. . .with your family.”

Noah cackles.

You cross the street to the diner he works at next to a retirement complex with what you think are the best waterfront views next to the hotels you can't afford.

It's strange.

Your entire life, Noah has been this huge part of it and you've always lived in a tiny town so you knew everyone he did and knew what he got up to just by living near him in a town of like 500 people or what felt like such a small amount, your elementary school only had one class for each grade but now you hug Noah goodbye even though he always tenses against you, as though he's unused to the physical affection and that just makes you hold him tighter, then he's heading inside and greeting people you probably will never know and he's having this whole part of his life your not a part of and one day he's going to go on and live his life without you and it hurts: watching him laugh with some waitress that's tall blonde and beautiful in a way you've never been.

It hurts but you suck it up and go pick Jane up from school.

“Don’t worry,” your friend says, holding your hand once she realizes you've been standing at the water's edge. It's warmer than you'd imagined as it laps at your bare feet.

Jane has not stopped smiling since you'd bought her a bathing suit at Target: a pink one piece with sloths. You'd been more nervous, not knowing how to swim. You also felt every single bite of pasta you'd had last night in your black bikini.

Damn Noah for being so good at cooking.

“I've got you,” Jane says, leading you out further into the water, over to where Noah's out, up to his waist and you're pretty see it's deeper than Jane is taller, but if Jane can do it-a wave, a massive looking wave comes crashing towards you both.

You don't hesitate to run away.

Noah points and laughs.

You flip him off once the wave passes, leaving your hair wet.

Jane grins. “It's okay. I won't let you drown.” She pulls you back out again, a perfectly happy water baby. She always had been fearless. And unlike you, as the water deepens, she starts to swim alongside you.

“See,” she laughs, “it's easy.” Then she pops down under.

You make it to Noah, figuring the water wasn't that crazy. No tsunami like waves to pull you out to sea and drown you.

Jane comes up for air, “I'm Jaws,” she yells at Noah, tackling his side.

“Ooof,” he says, exaggerating, “oh no, a shark, I'm. . .dead dying. . .”

Jane giggles.

“Do not,” you warn her. “I'm barely here as is.”

Noah rolls his eyes and you have a feeling there about to roast you: both of them.

“It's just a little water,” he teases.

“It's not even that deep,” Jane adds. “It's the beach!” She pops back down under the water as another wave rolls towards you.

“Fuck,” you mutter, tensing, as the wave soaks what's left of your dry hair, splashing salty water into your mouth.

Jane pops her head back up, strawberry hair plastered to her head, smiling so wide. It's November and it's still warm enough to go to the beach. Even the rain here isn't cold that way it was back home.

The world was so much bigger than Westchester.

Noah reaches his hand out to yours. You take it easily, stepping closer to him, pushing your wet hair out of your face.

He had the right idea, now looking more like the fifth beatle than a shaggy haired hippie. Less to deal with at the beach.

“You okay,” he smirks.

“Shut up. I can't swim. You know that.” You'd complained about it a hundred times as they both forced you off the pile of towels where you had planned to read through your notes. Studying, it was gross.

“You're,” Noah rolls his eyes, “it's like three feet. You're not going to drown.”

“What if,” you counter, “I trip and swallow water and drown.”

“That's not going to happen. What you can't stand up?”

“Don't,” you warn.

He smirks, “it's because you're short.”

“Asshole,” you say, smacking his bare chest. Nothing you haven't seen, you tell yourself. Act normal, you reminded yourself.

“It is!” Noah crouches down a couple inches to your height.

You roll your eyes-

-and laugh when Jane launches herself onto her brother's back.

“I'm an orca!”

Noah lets go of your hand to regain his balance. “Wow there shamu.”

Jane frowns. “Sea world is evil. Ava and I watched Blackfish.”

You vaguely remember some orca documentary that you had mostly slept through. Taking care of Jane was hard and you had fallen asleep in those early weeks whenever you got the chance.

“No seaworld then,” you shrug.

“But I do wanna go to Disneyworld. I wanna go on the star wars ride!”

“You don't even watch Star Wars,” Noah points out.

“I would if we went to Disneyworld. My birthday is coming up.”

“No it's not,” you frown. They were April babies.

“I think you mean my birthday,” Noah says playfully.”

“I was born first,” Jane yells.

“So, I'm taller.”

You roll your eyes, sinking down to your neck. The water was nice. “You better throw yourself into the water if I start drowning,” you warn Noah.

“Yeah yeah,” he says with a soft smile, “I'm not going to let you drown.”

Jane nods in agreement, “I'll kick him if he does.”

You laugh, happy to spend the days with the Marshall twins.

Bells don't ring, but the whole class knows when class is over, shoving their papers away into bags as soon as there's a minute left.

You leave English happily enough. It was a fun class, with plenty of movies and conversation that you were able to make friends in, unlike other lecture heavy classes where you had five minutes before class to talk during.

Sasha and Kevin both walk with you out of the lecture hall. “Have you started studying for the midterm,” Sasha asks, “I really don't want to write two in class essays. Multiple choice is where it's at.”

“I'd rather have an in class essay,” Kevin says, “and Professor Laux said it's just one. But he'd give us two prompts.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I love english I just hate the writing part. Or rather the long essays.”

“At least your not a computer science major,” Sasha counters, “physics is so much worse.”

“Not as bad as o chem.”

“O chem is not that bad,” Sasha counters.

You shrug, “art history major,” you grin smugly.

Kevin shakes his head, “just wait until you have to find a job.”

“Grad school. Both my parents love that shit. They'd help me pay for it.” They both had Ph.Ds.

“I wish my parents helped me pay for school,” Sasha complains again, “they are such hard asses about school but they want me to pay for everything, and live at home-can you imagine how many house parties I've missed to work at the movie theater.”

“Speaking of house parties,” Kevin pushes his glasses up his broad nose, “we're throwing this pre thanksgiving bash at my place. Beer. Snacks. Weed.”

“Shouldn't you be studying for midterms,” you ask, shaking your head. You also hadn't figured out what you were doing for the holiday. You had Jane and Noah now. It had to be special.

“Pfft. I will,” Kevin says. “You're only twenty once am I right?”

Sasha shakes her head. “Okay. But I'm stealing some weed.”

“You in?” They both look at you.

Noah's off Monday and Wednesday, when you get out too late to go pick up Jane. You can't leave her by herself, not that you would want to. You were looking forward to going to waste time at the mall and buy snacks at target: your usual Friday night.

You shake your head, “Can't. I've got Jane on the weekends. Babysitters are expensive.”

“Just tell your parents to look after your sister,” Kevin says petulantly.

You hadn't really explained things. It was complicated. Redfield had really messed up your life. Jane should be your age and going to house parties with you. But you'd have her alive in any shape or form so long as you got to see her. “Umm, actually,” you decide to explain a little, the practiced version, “her parents died a few months ago. They were-they were really close family friends and practically raised me so,” you trail off, thinking about how exactly to explain Noah. He was your best friend, a childhood friend, and. . .that was it.

“Oh shit, I'm sorry.”

“Yeah-”

“Well, if you're even able to figure it out,” Kevin says, “hit me up.”

You wave them goodbye and rush to your next class.

Noah's hair is still damp as he lays down on his side of the bed.

You were still going over your art history notes, wanting to go over the dates of the list of paintings you'd have to identify on tomorrow's quiz. The names were easy since styles even within art movements varied so much. It was a little harder in regulated art worlds: the buddhists of southeast asia didn't go outside their geometric ratios.

“You've been studying all day,” Noah says with a yawn. He no longer smelled like burnt oil.

“Yeah, I have a quiz.” You're sitting cross legged on your side of the bed. “It's on art identification.”

“That's what googles for,” he snarks back.

It was past midnight. Jane had been asleep for three hours.

“Smart ass.” You shut your notebook. The numbers had started swimming in your eyes a while ago. Nothing more was going to stick in your brain.

You turn off the light on your side.

“You're the smart one,” Noah laughs, “I'm just an asshole.”

“Oh,” you smile in the dark, highly aware of his body laying next to you, carefully keeping your leg from brushing against his skin. “You're self aware too!”

“Dick.”

“Takes one to know one.”

You lay in silence, listening to the sounds outside your windows, the cars passing by even at this hour, Noah breathing next to you. It was soothing, having people you loved with you. It wasn't lonely being home all the time.

Noah shifts onto his side: facing you.

You stare up at the ceiling, black from the curtains pulled right even as the window let the breeze in. It had been raining the past few days, but the cold days don't hold a candle to Westchester this time of year.

“Thank you.”

“For what,” you ask, smiling freely.

“What do you mean,” he pitches his voice higher, “for what? For everything.”

You giggle. “I haven't done much.”

Noah's tone is dead serious the next time he speaks. “You didn't have to help . . .with Jane. I don't know how I would've made it work without you, so yeah. Thank you. I didn't even ask-I wouldn't have asked you to give up college and partying-”

You have to stop him right there. “I didn't give shit up Noah.” He could be so dumb sometimes. If he had just told you Jane was Redfield, you would've helped him from day one to save her. But there was no point in bringing that up: just more salt in the wound. “And you didn't have to ask me: I wasn't just going to let you flounder alone. I wanted to-I wanted to be with you and Jane. That was never a question.” Heat flares up in the skin of your cheeks and nose as you smile, before you turn onto your side, looking over at Noah in the dark.

You can't really see him at all.

Thank fuck.

It's bad enough that you feel so flustered you might explode from the emotions swirling about in your chest. You don't know what to do about Noah, about your feelings for him.

Months ago, you would've just bitten the bullet and kissed him, but he'd also opened up about not feeling ready at all about relationships and you will not fuck things up for either of you. It had been easy with Connor when all the lights were green as he was clearly into you and responded right back.

It had been light and a way to not think about the terror of your day to day life for a few moments.

But it wasn't Connor you thought about so much your skin got all hot as you looked out the window during lecture.

You swallow thickly, squashing those feelings into some back corner of your mind.

“Thank you though, I don't know what I would have done without you.”

“Don't be dumb. It's getting rid of me that'll be hard.” You could admit now, “Now that I know what it's like to have people in the house to kill spiders, I'm never leaving,” you felt lonely in your childhood house all through high school.

“I don't think Jane would let you leave.” Noah laughs.

“True,” you sigh. “it's nice not to come home to an empty house.”

“Our childhoods were so messed up,” he replies softly.

“It's like the gift that never stops giving. But hey, who cares. I have you two and my parents monthly deposits-and FAFSA!” You laugh, because what else could you do, wallow in self deprecating angst like Noah? You weren't sure you could beat him at his own game. “As far as I'm concerned, you're my family now. . .both of you.”

“When did you become a walking talking greeting card?”

“Asshole.”

Noah laughs.

It's a sound you love. For so long, it had been so rare. It warms you up, blots out all the horrible shit you've gone through and makes everything okay.

You fall asleep smiling.

Sasha settles in your ikea bland table with her bag full of notebooks and textbooks. “I wish I had my own place.”

Next week was finals.

Next week was going to kick your ass.

Matthew looks up from his calculus solutions manual for the first time in an hour, “it really depends on the roommates, mine eat all my snacks.”

“Hide them in your room,” you suggest, opening your computer up to the study guide the TA had sent out last week. “With your underwear or something.”

Jane giggles as she watches spongebob on the TV. Fourth graders had it easy. The upcoming winter break meant Jane was practically doing arts and crafts all week.

You open up a notebook to a fresh page as you write down all the key items from the study guide, underlining key items. You wanted to knock the art essays out of the park. It wasn't as easy to bullshit those as it was to make up themes for an english paper.

Fuck, you were already pretty much done with a semester at college.

Jane had almost been back for over a year.

“Can I see your midterm,” Sasha asks, “I want to see what comments you got.”

You fish it out from your binder. “Go for it.”

Matthew looks up from his pages worth of calculus, “I hate math. I should've just done an anthropology major.”

“Sucks to be an overachiever,” you snark, annotating your notes with a pink gel pen. You had never cared to study much in high school, but a major you actually cared for made all the difference in the world. You wanted museums and van goghs and the asmr of cleaning paintings like in youtube videos.

“I didn't think double majoring would be like this,” Matthew sighs. “I haven't slept in three years.”

Sasha shakes her head, “just go for the one you like the most.”

“So I can be unemployed with tons of student debt?”

“Or get that grant money,” you wiggle your eyebrows. It was what your parents were up to.

“That would mean a PhD,” he complains, but doesn't look completely turned off by the idea. “And I could put off figuring my life out for another four years. . .”

Sasha laughs, flipping through flash cards with a bunch of arrows and equations written on them. Physics.

Intro to Biology was so much easier. You practically only had to remember high school biology and read through the study guide a few times. You could remember the difference between eukaryotic cells and prokaryotic cells.

Sasha suggests ordering Pizza hut as Jane starts asking for food and you feel like yeah, a study break sounds good.

“Four hours is the max people can concentrate for,” Matthew says, as he eats a third slice of pizza.

“So we're done for the day,” Sasha asks, getting up to stretch, and joining Jane on the couch. She'd been an angel, sort of, content to just watch tv all afternoon as you studied. Sure, she'd raised the volumes to movie theater standards every half an hour, but other than that-an angel.

“If you're good for the day.” You were nervous. You didn't want to be a C student anymore. You wanted to try. Surely you had inherited some of your parents brain cells.

“I am,” Sasha admits. “I've been studying every day for four hours. My brain has melted.”

“Honestly,” Matthew says, “I just started studying. The semester seemed so long.”

“Same though bro,” You grin. “All the tests and quizzes went right out of my mind as soon as I was done.”

Sasha shakes her head. “Well, I'm taking a slice for the road. See you around.” She leaves.

Jane joins you and Matthew at the table, licking the pizza grease off her fingers. “I like Noah's pizza better.”

You wince. A cook you were not. “Well, he's working.”

“I know.”

“Noah?” Matthew says, clearly a question.

“My brother,” Jane says flippantly. “They sleep together.”

You're face burns; you want the earth to swallow you whole right then and there. “We live together,” you explain to Matthew who looks more confused. “Jane go watch TV.”

She sends an annoyed look at you, before running off.

“Noah's her brother. They're family friends-” you explain lamely.

“You don't have to explain anything to me,” Matthew says sweetly. “It's your business.”

“Yeah,” you push your hair behind your ears, feeling out of whack. Matthew was cute, but it wasn't like you wanted to jump his bones. He made sociology bearable. “Can you look over my paper? I'm still not sure I got the sources incorporated right-”

“Yeah. Sure. I didn't know sociology 101 would include writing research papers.”

“Everything was going good until I remembered we had that paper due,” Matthew agrees.

You study for another hour, mostly giving each other feedback on your research paper. “It would've helped if he'd given us examples,” you mutter.

“Right.”

Jane tugs on your arm. “Come play with me,” ignoring your classmate entirely.

“Yeah. Sure,” you smile tiredly. You were at your study limit. “Want to call it a night,” you ask Matthew who nods and grabs his things.

Jane scrutinizes him the entire time. She puts her hands on top of the empty pizza box.

“I don't like him,” she pouts, “He's boring. Who studies?”

“Boring college students,” you laugh. “He's fine. We have sociology together. We're also taking english literature pre 1800s together next semester. It was that or latin literature which sounds really pretentious.”

Jane giggles. “Let's play uno!”

“Okay, but just one game. You still have to take a shower before bed.”

“I don't want to take a shower,” Jane protests, “I want to be a horrible reeking troll! Rawr!” She chases you around the living room.

You burst out laughing, letting her tackle you to the floor. It was easy to forget how stressed out you were about finals when you had Jane.

You take deep breaths as you scramble to find your sneakers. It got cold in lecture halls.

Noah makes coffee, “you're going to do fine.”

“I'm going to fail and flunk out of university and my parents are going to hate me forever and i'll never get a job and take Jane to disney world,” you groan, slumping at the counter with a hand on your forehead. You should've studied all night. Why had you bothered going to sleep?

Noah pours you a tumbler full of coffee, with the hazelnut creamer that basically turned the coffee into a hot chocolate, “you've been studying all week. You might not be Lucas levels of 110% on a rest but you're going to do great. I know it,” he says with a genuine smile.

You blush. “I hope all the studying has worked. I've never tried this hard in school.”

“Yeah,” Noah nods with a soft smile. “High school sucked.”

“It did.” You take a sip of your coffee, hoping to steady your nerves.

He looks good in the morning light, before it's too hot to exist. Winter in florida meant temperatures in the low 70s, laughably temperate. Noah's wearing the same boxers he'd gone to sleep in, with a soft worn in grey t-shirt, and a serious case of bed head as his hair curls around his ears in the most adorable mop top.

If you didn't have finals to head to, this would be the perfect morning.

“You're going to do amazing sweetie,” Noah chuckles in the dickish way of his.

You snort, shaking your head. “Fuck yeah I will.”

“That's the spirit.”

You shove your feet into your beat up vans, grab your backpack. “See you later,” you smile at Noah.

“Yeah, good luck,” he says, putting his mug of coffee down on the counter and leaning down. One second he's smiling down at you, and in the next one he's pressing his lips against yours.

Holy fuck.

Your eyes widen.

Was this really happening, or were you just that tired.

“Shit,” Noah stammers, pulling away quickly. “I-”

You raise a brow, “What-”

“It was an accident. Sorry.” Noah steps back, running a hand through his hair, pink up to the tips of his ears.

You feel a bit like a deflated balloon. “What even was that?” Because what it seemed like was like he'd kissed you but-how do you accidentally kiss someone. No-this was way too much for you to dea with at the moment.

“I just-nothing. Just forget it,” Noah says. “I'm going back to sleep.”

“See you later,” you try, feeling all messed up. Had he wanted to kiss you? Was this you messing up for the both of you?

You wish you could call Lily right now, but you had a final to get to.

It's Christmas day, technically.

Jane's been asleep for hours and Noah's taking a bite out of the cookies laid out for Santa as you watch it's a wonderful life trying to puzzle out how this was a Christmas classic. It was boring.

Things had been so awkward with Noah as of late, as you both danced around the kiss, that you had let Jane talk you into a sleepover in her room almost every night. There was no way you could lay there next to Noah and not think yourself to death. Absolutely no way.

You had wrapped up her gifts in baby yoda christmas themed wrapping paper: an assortment of more clothes because Jane really didn't have much considering she had basically popped into life a year ago, random books you remembered liking in elementary and middle school, and toys that you had definitely splurged on including a two hundred dollar set of legos that you looked forward to building with her. It had been hard to keep it secret from her when you all spent the majority of your time together. Stacey had sent a big care package for all of you. Lily had sent gifts through the post office. Lucas’ contribution was a few amazon packages.

All your friends had sent something.

It was touching, considering the distance. You couldn't wait to see them again-Ava wanted to visit in the summer.

You flip the channel, deciding Full House reruns were better.

“Not Full House,” Noah groans, turning the kitchen light off.

“Let me guess. You're a Die Hard fan?”

“Best christmas movie,” he grins.

You shake your head. He could be such a guy. And just like that, the tension between you two dissipates. “No way. The Grinch is the best. The 2001 one anyway.”

You click the side table lamp off.

Noah sits down next to you as you flick through the channels, trying to find something to watch. “Bob's burgers?”

“Sounds good.”

It's dark. The volume’s on low. You're all curled up in bed, and Noah's not being weird-it helps that you're trying to be chill about it.

“How did your finals go?”

“Well I didn't flunk out,” you shrug. “I got a C in sociology but a B in everything else.” It was fine. It's not like you were a sociology major.

“I told you you'd do good.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, laying down entirely, ignoring the tv. “I just figured all the studying would...I don't know, mean I'd get straight As?”

“It's college-isn't it supposed to be like super hard or whatever,” Noah says with a shrug.

“I guess.” You just wished you were that kind of student. Even seeing how hard the effort was on Lucas’ mental health, maybe your parents might visit if you did get straight As. It was dumb. “I just figured my parents might pay attention if I did get all As.”

“Fuck your parents,” he says easily.

You snort. “Shut up. They pay like half the rent.”

“The least they could do.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Did you ever want to go to college? You know like when we had to write colleges letters in fifth grade, or was it sixth?”

“Naw. School was never my thing,” Noah says in the quiet of the night.

You smile softly, tilting your head so you're looking at him, the moonlight illuminating the angles of his jaw as it poured in through the windows. “Then it was always culinary school for you?”

He shrugs. “Yeah-I mean,” he closes his eyes, thinking silently. “I'm a little too dumb for school. I could never get the whole trig thing or what Shakespeare was saying let alone the subtext.”

You sit up. “Shut up,” you state, slapping his bicep lightly. “Don't say that shit.”

“It's true.”

You shift, closer to his side of the bed, closer to him still lying there staring up at the ceiling, not meeting your searching gaze. “You're not dumb. Noah-you are not dumb. You're so fucking smart-who remembered to buy toilet paper and figured out how to rent an apartment?”

“You can google that shit,” he says, covering his face with his hand, embarrassed.

“And cooking takes skill. Maybe it's not mensa harvard type smarts, but it's not nothing!” You just wanted him to see himself the way you did. You're sitting up on your knees now, as his expressive wide eyes meet yours, a dark romantic brown you could drown in, staring down at him. “Say it! Say you're smart and clever and amazing!”

“I'm not saying that,” he laughs off.

“Say, I'm fucking smart and I can do anything,” you repeat, nudging his chest.

Noah smiles and it does all sorts of things to you, makes your pulse race as heat winds its way all hot under your skin, all hot and bothered and feeling giddy like a dumbass and you never meet someone who felt like home the way it is with Noah. “I'm fucking smart,” he says quietly, rolling his eyes, “and I can do anything.”

“We're going to have to work on that,” you laugh, belatedly realizing you're almost on top of him. Well, you are on top of him, you're knees are by his waist, but you're leaning over him and fuck you want him. The way he's laying there under you, looking like the sun shines out of your ass, it's thrilling.

“We will,” Noah says, wiggling his brows in a way that has you laughing into his chest.

Then you're looking up at him, unable to catch your breath, because you can't stop laughing and it's not like you're particularly comedic but-fuck it, you lean up and kiss him. It's what you've been itching to do since the party at-fuck, you don't even remember, but you remember finding him there and realizing he's what you had been missing, the reason you didn't feel like being there until you sat by the pool with him.

He's Noah and you're you and there's not a version of you that doesn't love him to bits; there's not a version of you that doesn't go with him to face the monster and rescue Dan and would give your life for him and Jane. Always. Because he's Noah-

You lean down and kiss him, trying to communicate the depth of this feeling.

It wasn't some crush.

Or some drunken affair at a house party.

You kiss his lips with a dizzying fever that burns hot under your skin as desire builds in the pit of your stomach: a bundle of nerves sparking to life. And he kisses you back, his hand cupping your cheek. His thumb rubbing circles into your skin.

You tremble under his gentle touch, afraid that this too would disappear in your hands. You were so used to losing: to getting nothing.

Noah stares up wide eyed at you when you pull away.

You bite your bottom lip.

“I-,” he stutters.

“I've really been wanting to do that for a long time,” you confess.

“Me too.”

You swallow thickly at his confession. “Then it wasn't...it wasn't an accident,” you ask carefully.

Noah shakes his head once. “No. That-I just, I didn't want to mess up something good just because I wanted something more.” He looks so heartbroken in that second-

“Noah,” you sigh gently. “I was surprised and thinking about school but I've-I would've kissed you then if my head hadn't been so far up my own ass.”

He snorts, the line of his shoulders relaxing under your hands. “After what happened- I was lucky that you even wanted to talk to me at all. I didn't think you'd want anything to do with me and then I thought it was just for Jane,” Noah admits painfully.

“I've always loved you.” You tell him. “And I'm going to keep telling you until it gets through that thick skull of yours.”

Noah chuckles.

“So are we on the same page?”

He rakishly raises a brow with a shit eating grin on his lips, “I don't know, are you gonna kiss me again?”

You vow to wipe that look off his face as you do more than press your lips hungrily against his, your hands against his chest as you shift once more, situating yourself and getting comfortable straddling his waist with your legs. You press hard kisses to his mouth as Noah kisses you back with the same fervor; you nibble on his bottom lip, bringing it between your teeth.

It's an exercise in breathlessness, a mexican stand-off in which both sides are ready and happy to pull the trigger because of the rush of blood to your head as you taste him on your lips. It's intoxicating the way in which he kisses your mouth and you forget the need to breathe.

But you, smiling against the skin of his jaw as you catch your breath. His chest rises and falls under your hands as he laughs giddily, feeling as crazy as you do.

It's not that epic romeo and juliet love that burns and destroys, but the fullness in your heart as you lay there with him.

You plant kisses down his jaw, savoring the hitches in his breath as you nip on the skin at the crook of his neck. “Is this okay,” you ask wickedly.

“Fuck,” Noah utters, voice breaking as he sucks in air. “Yeah-”

He cups your cheek with his hand and leads you up, brings you back where he can kiss you again. Noah kisses you-he lets himself kiss you. His tongue experimentally whetting against your all too willing lips before your mouth opens up to him and it's clear in the clumsy way he's eager to explore your mouth--the boy has no idea what he's doing.

It's fine.

You smile against his mouth, taking charge and running your tongue against his. Reaching for his free hand and guiding it, inviting him to explore the shape of your body in an oversized t-shirt and tiny booty shorts that you wouldn't even take the trash out in.

Noah does, clasping your hips with his hand as you binch up the fabric of his shirt in your hands as you lose yourself in kissing him, in drinking him in like a comfort series you could endlessly rewatch.

You're both breathless, as you lay your head down on his chest, content.

“That was,” Noah says all out of sorts, “wow.”

“Guess you're going to be the next great american writer,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, running his hand up your side.

“Hey,” you continue, relaxing into his touch, “Hemingway was a man of few words.”

“Was he the alcoholic one?”

“I think a lot of writers were,” you admit. “I tried to read his whale book but it was boring as fuck.”

“Moby Dick,” Noah says thoughtfully, “did Hemingway write Moby Dick?”

“Who cares,” you reply, pressing a kiss against the edge of his lips, fine with spending the wee hours of the morning making out with Noah.

“Well now I want to know.”

“Really,” you tease, bringing your hand up, running your fingers through his soft hair.

His eyes close. Noah leans into your touch. “I'll google it later.”

You giggle.

Then he’s kissing you again and you could care less about books and long dead writers. Noah captures your lips with his and you intertwine your fingers in his hair, a hand on his chest, wondering what it would feel like to have his bare skin against yours and caught between the enormity of your want and letting things happen naturally. It was Noah. You didn’t want to rush him.

You were still amazed he’d kissed you back,that he wanted you the same way you wanted him. The love had never been the point of contention between you two. You loved him at nine and you loved him at nineteen.

Noah losses some of his hesitation, his hands sliding down your side until they reach the swell of your hips straddling his waist. Then his hand slips under the fabric of your shirt and you moan into his mouth at the sensation of his fingers splayed against to taunt muscles of your abdomen.

It’s just flaring want consuming you whole.

“Is that,” Noah manages between bated breaths, “okay?”

You kind of want to shake his shoulders and say shut up and keep going, because you might just combust in the next few minutes if he keeps going like this, this clumsy tenderness mixed with the assault of his body discovering yours. “Yeah,” you stammer out, more feeling than young woman. “Great actually.”

Noah chuckles, trailing kisses down your neck as you lean back a little, before pulling away. . .before pulling your shirt over your head.

He sucks in a breath at the sight of your naked torso.

You can’t help the headyness in your chest at his reaction, at the way you were affecting him. “Like what you see,” you grin, all brash confidence that threatened to topple over like a house of cards at every turn, at the shift of his body under yours.

For once, Noah doesn’t have some smartass comment, just reaches his hands to your cheeks and pulls you down flush against him.

Fuck.

You kiss him feverishly, your hands finding the hem of his shirt as running yours fingers against the sliver of skin.

Noah moans into your mouth and you swear you can’t even function at the sound. The entire world is boiled down to you and him, him and you, and building pressure in your belly that threatens to explode.

“The shirt-,” you stutter out, half out of your mind.

“Yeah,” he obliges, sitting up and tugging it off.

And then you’re melting against him, the warmth of his skin against yours. Your breasts flush against his bare chest. Your toes curl up as you sigh, hands clutching at his neck, at his cheek, at the ends of his hair.

You kiss his jaw, you suck on the skin of his jaw and none of it is enough. Fuck, you want him so bad. You’re so fucking horny. It’s not like you’d been with a lot of people. But it had been over a year since your last sexual encounter.

And that might explain part of it-

Noah cups one of your breast with the palm of his hand, and fuck-

Your mind blanks as you moan his name. “Noah,” you whimper.

He kisses your collarbone, smiling against your skin.

“Do you want to-,” he asks, sounding more self assured by the word.

“Yes, yes,” you eagerly answer, kissing him hungrily. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Noah laughs breathlessly.

Then he’s whimpering as you run your fingers under the waistband of his boxers.

His hand closes around your wrist before you can get further, “condom?”

“Fuck,” you swear. This was so unsexy of you both. But it wasn’t like you had a reason to buy condoms along with pads and fruit snacks. “I think I have one,” you vaguely remember there being one in your wallet.

“I really hope you do.”

“Jerk.”

With great reluctance, you crawl off him to go look for your purse. You had to stop throwing it wherever and hang it up. It would've made it easier to find right now.

You don’t look back at Noah, even though you can feel his heavy gaze on you. The airs filled with static electricity as you rifle around and find the slim black bag.

It’s another few minutes of fishing through its contents before you find the thin small envelope that you were pretty sure you’d gotten in health or at planned parenthood at some point. Ava had definitely been there.

When you turn around, Noah’s sat up in bed, in your bed, in the bed you two share, have shared for months. It’s too dark to make out the expression on his features from this distance, but it’s under his dark eyes that you make your way back to him.

You push your shorts and underwear down in one go, discarding them by the side of the bed, taking care not to lose the condom (you were going on another target run asap) before you’re once again straddling his waist, feeling Noah already hard under your thigh.

“I’ve,” he starts as you sit up on your knees, feeling incredibly vulnerable. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Oh.” You’re off kilter. Does he not want to? It’s fine. You’re just surprised. It’s Noah. He’s tall and funny even if you want to strangle him half the time --he can cook-- and he’s so fucking hot when he’s not being adorkable. You’re surprised. “We don’t. . .have to.”

He sits up under you. “No. It’s,” Noah blushes, “I want to, it’s just-you should know?”

“Oh. Okay,” you lean in, kissing him with a tenderness he deserves in spades, “if you’re sure.”

Noah grasps your hips in his hands, pulling you in, “I’m sure.”

He kisses you.

You push him down onto the bed by his shoulders. His eyes are full of trust as he looks up at you, full of love like the moon on a clear night. You carefully open the condom up.

Noah shimmies his boxers off.

And because you’re you, you reach down and stroke his cock with your hand.

He shuts his eyes, moaning your name as he throws his head back into the bed, his back arching.

You wait a moment for him to still underneath you, before you roll the condom onto his cock, letting your desire carry your through as you fumble a bit. Again, you didn’t exactly have much experience on Noah. You just had some experience.

You lean down flush against him, kissing his lips, as you guide his cock to the apex of your thighs and part your legs, moaning into his mouth as he enters your soaked entrance. Noah stretches you out, leaving you a trembling mess, faring no better than he currently was under you, as his hips thrust against you and you-fuck!

It’s a tangle of limbs as you wrap your arms around him, lacing your fingers behind his neck, wanting more, and more as your hips more erratically against his.

Noah is all kisses and moans and his fingers bruising the skin of your hips as he presses you closer against him.

You don’t really know or care about anything but the feel of his cock inside you, as he thrusts with fervor, and clutches you near. You just want and want and stars dance across your eyelids as your skin catches fire, the heat in your belly finally boiling over as you fuck him, grinding your hips against his.

You splutter, reaching your climax while topping the boy you’ve been in love with for what might as well be your whole life. It’s just your strained voice, repeating his name, “Noah,” like it’s an answer to the whole meaning of life bullshit.

Good.

Bad.

It always comes back to him.

Noah.

He comes against you a second later, your name a sharp breath on his lips, before he goes as boneless as you feel. You’re on cloud fucking nine.

It’s a feeling no amount of weed can come close to.

Exhausted, you get off of him, slumping into a puddle on the bed. Fucking Florida. You were too hot and sweaty to curl under the blankets now.

“I fucking love you.”

“Oh,” you snipe back, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, “now that I’ve fucked you you tell me.”

“Shut up,” Noah manages. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go toss the condom.”

He sits up slowly, “oh this episode’s my favorite.”

You’d completely forgotten about Bob’s Burgers reruns playing on the TV.

It’s New Year’s Eve and the three of you are eating ice cream on the beach. Only in Florida.

“And why can’t I go in the water?”

“Because you don’t have your bathing suit,” Noah tells Jane for the hundredth time.

“I promise I’ll just stick my feet in.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” you shake your head.

She frowns. “I promise!”

What the heck. It’s not like you were going anywhere else after this. “Okay. But you have to finish your ice cream first.”

“Wow,” Noah says, throwing his arm around your shoulder and leaning his weight against you, making you stumble in the sand. “What a pushover.”

“Me!” You reply, offended. “You let her stay home for no reason.”

The twins exchange glances. “She had chickenpox,” Noah shrugs shamelessly.

“And I’m the Queen of England.”

“Korean skincare does miracles.”

You roll your eyes at him, “shut up.”

Jane giggles easily as she decides this patch of sand is the one, and sits down, licking her rocky road ice cream happily.

“Jane,” you ask gently.

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember why you’re ten and we’re not?” It had been bugging you, ever since the parent teacher conference. There had been no more nightmares since September, but it bothered you, that she might remember anything. That Jane might not want to tell you. You couldn’t help her if she didn’t tell you.

She shrugs. “Not really,” with a child’s ability to shrug things off.

Noah asks the question you’ve been dreading. “Do you remember Redfield?”

Jane looks at you both, frowning. “Who?”

Your shoulders sag with relief. You hide it with a bite of your ice cream cone. Jane had a habit of picking up on things.

“No one important,” Noah brushes off, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys are being weird,” Jane complains. “Is this about you two being gross together? I saw you holding hands.” She narrows her eyes at you accusingly. “Don’t you remember boys have cooties.” She shakes her head. “Grown ups.”

“Jane,” Noah squeaks.

You laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. “Yeah. We thought you should know.” It was better to leave the whole Redfield business behind. She didn’t need that shit weighing her down. “I don’t know. I like your brother a lot for some reason. Ava says it’s trauma induced codependency but she’s Ava so. . .”

Jane frowns again, letting the ice cream drip onto the sand as she thinks. “Does that mean I’m getting a sister?”

It’s your turn to be flabbergasted, as your skin reddens into a ripe tomato. “What!”

“It’s only fair,” she explains. “If you get my brother then I should get a new sister.”

“How about a stuffed animal,” you barter.

“You let me play five Nights at Freddies?”

“No way Jane,” Noah says, shaking his head. “It’ll give you nightmares.”

“What about minecraft,” you try. “Just on Fridays though.”

“Okay. i don’t want my ice cream anymore. I want to go play in the water.”

You nod, kicking your shoes off. “Okay yeah. Let’s go throw it away. I’m sick of mine too.”

You toss the ice cream and race Jane into the waves.

#noah marshall #ilitw noah #noah x mc #it lives in the woods #jane marshall #mine #theyre like 18/19 theyre not lasting long during sex #but also i love mc and noah having shit parents and then turning around and being much better parents #to jane #ABUSE DOES NOT DEFINE YOU #okay but also mc and noah being soulmates and being that couple thats known each other their whole lives #i love

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