#would have thought since his middle name comes from Scottie | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

muffindaddystyles · 4 years ago

Text

Hates to, Hate you.

Word Count: 8k

Summary: Harry realizes that hurting Y/N broke him into pieces and tries to win her back with the confession of true feelings, will Y/N let him? If yes, how? How will he walk through fire for her?

Pairing: Famous!Harry x Reader!with anxiety.

AU: fake dating, slow burn, sexual tension, enemies to lover!

Warning: Mentions of violence, sexual assault, language, adult topics.

PART 1, MASTERLIST

"Please, stop." He says dolefully rubbing his eyebrows to get rid of the ache pounding in his head.

He's miserable. It hurts to not have her with him. It's been two tragic months of going through constant sleepless nights, disrestless stomach, intoxicating himself to forget her, staring at things like a hawk and missing her terribly.

He was alone before her and never felt this lonely.

He sees her everywhere. In his dreams and her shadows in his drawing room getting excited over a ceramic vase someone gifted him. Dancing in his kitchen to the beat of pink floyd and hip-checking him for a cheerful nudge, in his back garden rescuing a sparrow who broke it's neck and in his attic stressing over her assignments.

Everything reminds him of her. The fruity drinks that the barista's handing to the people, the fairy lights upon their heads and how she used to fond over them —- buying it for his bedroom too and when he refused to hang them, she just brushed off his snarky comment and did it herself.

The ring in Harris finger floods back all the bitter-sweet memories of the time he refused to have a lil fun with her, (Y/N and Harris made friendship rings and bracelets for eachother with the colorful beads to spend their boring time in his home waiting for him to write some lines before they went to a gumball shop) as they try to knock some senses in their friend's brain, "You tried to dodge a heartbreak and still ended up shattering your heart, yourself." They worry about him. That he's been bearing the pain all alone and not sharing it with anyone.

His voice croak-y and hoarse, "How's she?" The question haunts him. She blocked his phone number and even in the wee hours of night he wrecks his mind whether he should call her or not, he couldn't because she doesn't want to hear his voice.

He misses her voice. He misses her complaints and whines as if they filled the stoic parts of his life with happiness.

"How'd I know?" Harris lowers down to rest their elbows on the table, "I -- I thought . . she isn't in contact with ye'?" When Harris shakes their head with a gesture that he's being truthful it sinks his heart furthermore.

He clears his throat, twisting the jewels on his hand and sucks his bottom lip to muster some courage, "I've been seeing someone." Harris chokes on the boba they were chewing on for so long, "You what?" They are completely perturbed at his statement. Even though they've been working together and been friends before Y/N came in the picture, she's still their bezzy and we don't betray our bezzies like that.

"Yeah, someone to help me sort me feelings out." Harry frowns confusedly and then realization washes upon him so he becomes frantic in his chair, "No . . not what you're thinkin'." He runs his fingers through his hair to subside the twitch in them.

"A therapist, 'm talkin' bout a therapist . ." He sighs watching his tea waft down sympathetically.

"Oh. That's a good start, Harry!" Harris tries to bring the same dimply boyish smile that used to flutter over his lips whenever she used to tease him, unfortunately it never appears.

Y/N didn't handle her first ever heartbreak well. She lost her appetite, her focus on her studies and to her surprise didn't shed a single tear –-- it just kept piling in her chest and she waited for the moment it'd burst until she saw those pictures plastered all over social media. Pictures of him with some model that isn't a shorty pants like her at all, totally how those ladies described his type to be and someone with whom he wouldn't be embarrassed to hang out with.

She's everything, Y/N's jealous of. Those sparkling blue eyes compared to her boring brown ones, handsome figure and the radiance of richness.

Then she got stuck into her life responsibilities and worried about other things such that; she wasn't able to pay any bills and her flat's rent despite doing two part time jobs along with doing her class-fellows assignments in return of money and still got kicked out of it. Her close friend offered her to live in her studio and she has made it her kitchen, study, sleeping room with her stuff and clothes scattered everywhere.

She lives on noodles and toasted breads sometimes treating herself with delights of kit-kat bars in the middle of nights.

Watches her friend do her work and leave when the night comes by —- she has never felt this lonely in her entire life.

"So, was it love at first sight?" Nora her friend asks, handing her cuppa tea and a scone. Y/N let a weak sad smile slip, shaking her head and reminiscing all those moments where she was falling in love with him without even realizing, "Falling in love slowly patiently is the most beautiful . . . at some time I used to loathe his existence but staying with him and after knowing him, it was like --— an escapeless tunnel. I didn't realize it, till one day I woke up and my heart saw him in a different light, where I wanted to give him all me lovin' but he wasn't ready for it." She shrugs sipping the hot beverage and doesn't flinch from the burn that tingles at the tip of her tongue.

When she put her cup aside Nora takes her hand assuring her sweetly, "You'll have that person soon -- he's just on his way, with a big bouquet of roses and a teddy bear to give you the lovin' you deserve." Y/N giggles at that waving her off and not showing how her person is still Harry. What does she do to forget him? To fool her in thinking he isn't her first love.

"Aish, Nora aren't you gettin' late? Gooo." She had some clients to meet before she stopped here at studio to grab some things but it turned into a girlie hangout, "Take care honey and don't forget to put a bucket there." She points to the corner where water's dripping from the rooftop and Y/N exhaled an exasperated sigh of breath when the door clicks leaving her alone yet again.

It was past twelve and when usually she pulls an all nighter to study -- today she decided to sleep early. Her bad habit of overthinking kicks in again, this time it's not over some silly thing but she ponders over where she went wrong? She should've kept her feelings to herself and atleast would have been sleeping in her bed cuddled with her chonky cat Zippy.

She misses Zippy badly.

A noise of door unlocking loudly drags her from her reverie and her heart pounds against her ribcage ready to break it. Who could be at this hour of night? It could be Nora since she's the only one who got keys to the place.

Sitting up quickly she squints against the blinding lights and watches someone's boot stepping over her blanket that flopped onto the floor from the sofa she's sleeping on.

"Kevin? What are you doing here?" He's Nora's boyfriend and her classfellow. He just shrugs tumbling his way towards the sofa and she tries to scoot back from him as much as possible, "I'm here to see you. . ." He slurs. It knocks her breath out, filling terror in her veins as the heels of her feet rub against the leather of the couch in her effort to be away from him.

"What? This's not appropriate I -- I . . suggest you to call Nora s –- so, what're you doin —-" She squeaks in fear sinking into the couch when he towers over her and traps her under him with his hands on either side of her body aggressively, "I like you. Why don't you get it!!" She flinches when he shouts angrily with bloodshot eyes and the smell of alcohol disgusts her springing tears in her eyes.

"Please, stop . . ." She whispers with silent tears running down her throat using all her strength to push at his shoulders but he grips her hips tightly and yanks at her sleeping shirt revealing the strap of her bralette. She couldn't even cry for help. It's useless so putting some belief in herself for the last time she uses all her power and kicks him in his crotch pushing him roughly on the floor.

His nails tear at her delicate skin but she doesn't care before running out of the studio ignoring the names he's calling her from behind.

She runs away, away and away. Not thinking twice where she's going before crossing the bridges and tunnels. It feels like her ears are bleeding with the echo of loud horns of traffic and the hopelessness of her life makes her fall on her knees. She cries all the tears she was bottling up for months feeling like she's running out of time and reaching dangerously near to her end.

She's been in the same neighbourhood she's been before many times. The chilly wind doesn't prick goosebumps over her skin, the night's darkness doesn't scare her and the stray dog that's barking somewhere in far doesn't affect her at all as she stares at the door from where she has stepped into her comfort space many times.

Harry's with Scottie. His childhood friend who's here in London for some shoot. They were lounged in the living room talking their hearts out and their cringey memories from when they were small when he halted mid-talk, jaw slacking when his eyes took the sight of someone standing at his main door from the multiple security screens appearing on the telly.

He doesn't believe at first. Thinking he's hallucinating and that maybe he just saw a flicker of a ghost but when she looks up revealing her sad face and those big brown eyes he rushes to open the door.

"Fuck." He breathes out working on the heavy cold locks of the oak door with shaky hands anxiously and she was about to walk away with her back turned to him when he spurts out her name in haste, "Y/N." She listens to him. Insides breaking with the nirvana and scent of him surrounding her.

His breath hitches in his throat when she spins to meet his apprehensive gaze and she doesn't give him a chance to have a proper look at her before falling in his arms, her head hitting his chest and body shaking vigorously as she sobs sadly.

"Darlin'?" He asks worriedly, slipping his arms around her shoulders to lull her in his embrace, "Are you oka?" He feels like his stomach ate his heart as he anticipates an explanation from her and she isn't doing anything but crying.

"You're scarin' me, pet. What happened honey?" He pulls away to cradle her face in his calloused palms. His chests pangs with hurt and remorse upon seeing her tear stained cheeks, wobbly blue lips, and disheveled state.

He steps inside with her still in his arms and rubs his hand down her spine to calm her down as little sad sniffles and hiccups keep slipping out of her mouth.

He sits her on the sofa squatting down infront of her and Scottie brings her water. When she refuses to drink it because Harry strokes his thumb against the apple of her cheek, "Shh, 's okay . . you're okay. You're with me now, sweet girl." It's like the world and anything else has blurred around him and his ever priority's focusing on her only. His observant gaze dawdles from her face to her bruised shoulder emitting an afflicted gasp of trepidity from between his lips and it deepens to a growl when it fell over her hip-bone where the fabric of her pyjama's spotted with blood.

He glances up at Scottie who gives him a knowing look of horror. He gets closer to her and she doesn't retract as his thumb streaks away the blood oozing from her shoulder gently, saying nothing as he examines it.

After a brief pause Y/N's heart skips a nervous beat when he tilts her chin to have a better look at her face, taking in the evidence of someone handling his petal so brutally it left scratches at her face.

Harry looks her dead in the eyes. His anger barely restrained tippling from the pot ready to leave burns, his voice is tense and quite, ears heating with wrath.

"Who did this to you?"

"Kevin." The tears are back at her waterline more concerned that he's panicking because of her and Scottie sits beside her massaging her shoulders.

"Kevin, who?" Harry's question is curt controlling himself from finding this mother fucker himself and beat the shit out of him, "H -- he's my friend's boyfriend, I though --– was sleeping in her studio 'n 'n --- when he . . . he —-- " She hides her face in her palms unable to speak but Harry quickly pulls her down in a comforting hug whispering sweet things to stop her crying.

She parts from him with puffy eyes and swollen lips shaking her head at her stupidity, "I … I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here, 'm gonna leave — ' " She's a weeping blubbering mess trying to stand up on her jello legs with the help of the couch's armrest.

He catches her wrist crying out, "No! Don't! please, please stay . . . . fo' me?" Scottie has never seen him like this. Bended out of shape for a person, begging them on his knees to protect them as he rambles loudly.

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a burden on you, I -- I'll go in the morning." Since she has nowhere to go it's better she sleeps here for a night instead of on the streets.

Harry finds it ironic. That once he didn't want her overnights now he wants her all days and weeks, perhaps till the end of his life.

He's gonna win her back.

He hands her his tattered comfy sleeping clothes and the spare toothbrush leaving her to it. When he comes back downstairs Scottie's waiting for him at the main door.

"You should report a file against that bastard the first thing in the morning." Scottie tells him seriously and he nods. His head snaps when she spoke softly, smiling at him, "You're in love."

"What?"

"I haven't seen you like that with anyone, Harry. Make it to her foolish boi -- tell her what you feel." She laughs, jolting him with his shoulders and he smiles timidly bidding her a good-bye.

The door to her room's ajar opened as he peeks inside to make sure she's okay and sighs deeply when finds her staring blankly at the ceiling. The floorboard creaks when he pads inside quietly and her stare diverts to him while he stands on the foot of bed, "I read somewhere that cuddlin' helps ye'sleep better, you w'na try?" She hums in return, fisting the duvet under her chin and slip shuts her eyes remaining stiff in her spot when he slides under the duvet closer to her.

She turns into a puddle when his long arms wrap around her tummy, "Is this okay?" His voice a mere whisper of care earning an honest nod from her -- his thigh strings over her legs to cocoon her in his warmth completely, ". . and this?" She again nod at him so,

He smushes his cheek into the crook of her neck and she could feel something moist on her skin while his lips puckered to speak, "Y/N?" He murmures broken and sad snuggling more into her.

"Hmm?" She hums, the exhaustion from walking and crying this much forcing her to sleep, "I've missed you, terribly." Her heart leaps and she wants to exchange the familiarity of emotions but her tongue remains heavy in her mouth.

Her toes curls and fingers clutches the wrinkly fabric of the pillow case she had her head rested on but now it's slipping down from over it due to her body shaking vigorously as she tries to escape those filthy, gruesome hands like a terrifying shadows of evil choking her throat and sucking the life out of her.

Harry's head snaps down to where she was snuggled to his side moments ago when she murmur-yells no,no,no,no'. He feels like someone placed a heavy brick over his chest at the sight of his lovie writhing like a leaf petrified of whatever she's dreaming of and his shoulders rolls back while he perches on his elbow to shake her gently out of it.

"Y/N . . ." He remains dulcet. Chewing onto his already swollen bottom lip since he didn't even close his eyes the entire night manipulating the plush flesh, he doesn't know what kept him awake —- but it sure was this sense of responsibility to make her feel protected under his wings. She smacks his arm away pushing at his chest with her all might to skid away to the edge of the bed in her sleepy state, so he quickly hunches on wobbly knees to catch her before she falls.

"It's just me, Angel, Harry –- wake up darlin'," His heart beating ominously frantic and head jumbling with horrible thoughts of what she's going through as her warmed up cheeks soak with tears, he has never seen her like this, he never wanted to see her for the first time after months like this --- shattered to pieces and drained of her energy.

He smooths his thumb to caress her cheek slightly and swipe those sad tears away. She wakes up with a gasp making him jerk his chin back, blinking rapidly to confirm her surroundings and her fearful vision zeros to his panicked features. She places her palms against his pectorals to make sure he's real and there and that ugly nightmare just ended, "Harry?" He gulps the thick web of tears down his throat and bobs his head.

"Yes, sweet girl, Harry . . ." The very streaks of golden rays sneak through the curtains and dances between their faces as she fists the hem of his shirt, "It was just a nightmare." He assures her running his hand up and down her arms to calm her down.

"Don't be afraid, dovie' won't let anybody hurt ya from now on, g'na protect you —--" It was the last straw for her before she flipped him over and climbed out of his bed to get out from his room.

"Shit." He drives into a state of frenzy following her down the stairs like a puppy almost missing a step or two as she wears the slippers she came in last night, "Where ye' goin'?" His muscles twitch in a hurry to make his next move and save whatever's between them that's keeping him sane, " Dunno, away from you." She shrugs, lost in her own fog and the sting in his heart's unbearable with the inflammation of hurt.

"Why?" He tumbles through the last step and infront of her, eyes bloodshot and heart how from the squeezing agony of loosing her for second time for the same cause.

"Because, I w'na forget about you!!" The scream she had in her lungs to convey her anger gets stuck in her throat. His shoulders slump from the burden of guilt and regret.

"Why?" He feels like throwing up with the unbearable anguish of him hurting to a point he wants to wash his memories out of her mind.

"Because you make me so confused, Harry…" Her face pinches into an exasperated expression of hopelessness while she nudges him aside to pass by him and to the main door but he catches her wrist before she could step outside and never come back to him, "I wouldn't confuse you from now on …. 've been better fo' you y/n, 'cos I want you to know that I'm yours." His confession springes her off guard by pure stupefaction and when she looks at him -- he's already gazing at her as if she's the moon surrounded by singing stars.

"Please, let me fight for you baby." Tears springs at his waterline ready to welcome a sob out of his lungs. Because he knows he'll be unable to live his life without her, his love will rot in the cage of his heart because he'd never be able to express it for anyone except her.

He continues not holding back anything from her instead unlocking another love language and that's being vulnerable and completely defenceless to her, "While being with you I still thought a part of me was in love with my ex and I didn't want ya to be me second priority, could neve', was so so wrong 'cos even though you're not my firsts you're gonna be my lasts. I'll make sure that you're." He gulps down the tears blocking his wind pipes and making it difficult to speak.

"I want you to give us another chance, to forgive me and give me a proper chance to love you 'cos that's what you deserve . .." The sincerity and genuineness in his stained smaragdine irises turns her pudgy in his hold, ". . . you deserve all the lovin' in this world, honey."

"Work for it then." She tells him and his pretty eyes widen adorably as of some golden fish, a vivacious smile adorns his features and he doesn't take a moment before swiping her off her feet and into his arms to hug her tightly.

His insides feels like nourishing after a time with contentment and satisfaction.

To have his loved one in his arms.

In his life.

"Thank you, Thank you, Thank youuu." He rambles into the crook of her neck, elated and joyful. Swaying their bodies together and making her smile softly after a prolonged time of suffering.

She'll heal.

He'll make sure to put ointment of affection and love on her wounds to help her heal, for herself but nobody else.

"You've got to be kidding me!" She mutters putting the alcohol swab on his torn bleeding knuckles and he squeaks locking his calf around her ankle, "Ouch! Ye' mad woman."

Harry and her went to file a report against Kevin, along with Nora who became her witness because she despises that disgusting of a man to be even around her and her studio let alone her boyfriend.

Harry was her biggest support through the whole process and dropped her off assuring her he'll pick all her stuff from Nora's place. There he was, Kevin. Stumbling at the footpath after Nora kicked him and his luggage out.

Harry's very patient and optimistic but not when his loved ones get hurt. He didn't know what was happening around him before he sprinted towards Kevin and punched him square in his face, breaking his nose and busting his own knuckles with a fierce shout of "y'son of a bastard!"

"If I ever . . . ever see ya near her, I promise that you wouldn't be able to see the living daylight." He grunted, resisting to hit him in the shin with his boots and walked past him to the studio to collect her stuff.

He was grief stricken seeing the way she had to live and not finding her pet cat anywhere. His heart could be heard cracking into tinytinytiny pieces when Nora told him that Y/N gave it to the vet since she was unable to afford it.

When she catches him staring up at her like a love-stricken puppy she huffs wrapping a band-aid around his knuckles, "'M mad at you." He seems unfazed making her gasp when brings her closer with his legs wrapped around her's, "Why . . . you're always mad at me." He whines jutting out his bottom lip and she shakes her head at his silly dotiness.

"You -– you can't go hurtin' yourself fo' me, H." She's very unaware, because certainly he'd do it as many times.

She narrows down her eyes to squint him in offense when he brushes her comment off with nonchalance and raises his bandaged wrist up to her face, "Will you kiss it better' fo' me, pet?" Her insides crumbles like dry rose petals falling from a beloved book of her favourite romances.

"Hmm?" He nudges it in a questioning suppressing a smirk. She wipes her clammy and antiseptic hands down her trousers not meeting his gaze while taking his hand awkwardly but delicately closer to where her soft mouth is located; she halts glowering at him, "Only if you ask nicely."

"That wasn't nice? Thought I was being a good boy there." He mumbles diligently pulling at the hem of her shirt and she bites down a smile, fingers still wrapped round his wrist.

"Pretty please…?" He wheezes his words out begging-ly -- upper lip curving, pupils dilating and she shrugs, "..if you insist so.." His grin was immaculate that of golden sun when she pressed her lips to his knuckles carefully giving it a gentle pat afterward.

"Not doing that again." She breathes out the air she was winding up inside her for so long. Spinning on her heels to turn her back towards him and put the first aid back under the sink, "We'll see 'bout that, let's do some grocery." He stands up patting his thighs loudly, "Wouldn't be surprised if we'll find bugs in me cabinet instead of goodies."

They've been roaming isles for an hour now and they always end up fighting who will push it. Harry doesn't let her because she keeps on filling it with instant noodles, chocolate bars and sakurai oreos.

"How about we try to live till our fifties wouldn't be that beautiful?" He follows behind her closely. His chest brushes against her shoulders everytime she makes a stop to cooes over some brightly coloured food and candies, "'M trying to make it till next year, dunno 'bout you." She mutters grumpy-ly tossing another packet of cherry lollipop inside the trolley.

He puts it back.

With a strict warning glare to her way.

"I want you to stay healthy." He says sternly glaring up at her from his ducked position. She tosses the lollipop back from the shelf, "'M paying for my things." She dismisses him off panning deadly.

"Fo' fucks sake, 's not 'bout money!" He grits annoyed at her stubbornness and she arches her brow leaning against the trolley, "Harry…'m not an actress or some high-paid model. Lemme enjoy real things, okay? Or just say you'd look too outta my league standing next to me." Her brows pints down into a frown and her shoulder slumps with her body further relaxing against the trolley.

She's up for a debate with him right in the middle of the junk food aisle if that's the case.

"See. That's why I don't want to be married!" A couple from far banters off in astonishment catching Y/N completely off guard.

"Uh-ah!" She yelps getting startled from the boom of interruption and a high-pitch squeaks leaves out of her petite lungs when the trolley rolls from under her perched elbow making her stumble for a nice trip but the bang never came as Harry coiled his arm around her waist to pull her on stable feet with a firm hand over her smallest of back.

His gentle pupils flicker between her frenzied one's, noses tickling and teasing each other with each spurt of breath that rushes out of her parted soft mouth and against his cheek.

"Maybe it's not that bad after all." The couple who were planning their future based on another couple, who's not even a couple yet but trying to work on it with their shared amount of affection; sighs in awement leaving Harry and Y/N in their own bubble.

He takes her by the elbow and helps her with his lips thinned, "Careful there." His mumble is deep and coherent husk.

She didn't whine about his green vegetables, boring low fat cheese and planned meals, celery or whatever that shit is, after that. Walking by his side like a kid who just got relief from his time out punishment.

While on the counter she asked him politely rather than biting his head of, "Lemme pay please. I'm already imposing on you by staying at your place." She knows that he wouldn't let her. Harry wants to take care of her -- in every way. He just hopes she warms up to him slowly that there will be a day she thinks of his home as hers too, oh how the table turns!

T'not make her think that his love for her is only restrictive to materialistic things he lets her pay --- but for half of it.

"D'ya got a change, miss?" The cashier asks her and she cranes her neck up to him. He denies waving his credit card with a disappointed expression so she quickly takes a chewing gum from the racks beside in return for the change.

He stops in his tracks. Watching her with glinting eyes more like fawning at her when she sways on her feet happily swinging the bag in her hold side by side.

"C'mon Harry!" She grins twiddling her fingers in a gesture to usher him where she's standing beside his car, "Yup. On your command, darlin'." He shakes his head. To fetch himself from the fond-land he always enters with anything she does.

There's a low hum of telly buzzing in the room as they sit crossed legs on the coffee rug with their knees brushing if any of them moves their bum a tad, while they slurp onto the remaining soup in the noodles cup.

This whole time he wanted to say something, to talk to her, his heart out and make it a domestic routine of sharing stuff while they eat comfy in eachother's presence but seems like his tongue betrays him everytime and his needy eyes always want to admire her and the little things she does.

He licks his lips, nodding profusely when she asks for his cup and chopsticks to take to the kitchen. A huge sigh of relief vanishes out from his chest when she disappears inside giving him time to re-collect himself, he rummages through the bag to take out the chewing gum they bought at the last moment.

He rips the packet with his teeth but it remains pressed there between his morals when he senses the familiarity of the foil --- she bought a fucking condom out of accident!

At the same moment she pads outside halting in her tracks infront of him with a horrendous expression as her peepers wouldn't stop blinking. He doesn't not know what got into him but he throws it her way as if he's utterly disgusted by it.

Sinks into the couch and refuses to meet her gaze. She throws it back at him, "I don't want it, keep it you might need it." There he goes. The smugness fuels back as he outstretches his arm over the back of the couch and man-spreads scrutinizing the way her eyes linger at his meaty thighs before flicking them away with a nervous gulp.

"You've already planned it all out, hun?" He smirks rubbing the belly of his nose with his pinky's knuckle and she folds her elbows under her breasts shaking her head at his teasing, "Yeah planning to . . . murder you t'night." She laughs out evilly when his eyes widen comically.

"Hmm. I see. Didn't know ye' were this kinky 'n naughty." She rolls her eyes at his edgy nip. She wouldn't admit it but him testing her patience turns her hot and flustered.

"Night, H." She yawns and his heart grows ten times bigger at the softness of her appearance. She cranes her head against her shoulder to look at him from the spot she's standing at when his voice calls for her, "Y/N!? Ye'really into knives? In the bed I mean." His grin mischievous knowing fully well what he's doing to her as he waits for her answer propped on his knees.

She slams the door at his face and he plops back into the sofa with a pouty victorious smile.

Harry didn't realise that in the middle of watching Gilmore Girls on the telly he fell asleep straining his neck from keeping it in a weird angle, his arms hugging the pillow and feet dangling adorably nowhere. He groans knuckling away the sleep and tries to wake up when he heard a feeble noise of someone taking his name until he looks up and finds Y/N towering him with her fluffy cream blanket pinched around her head darlingly.

"What happened, pet? Y'okay!?" He gasps trying to sit up and take her precious face to inspect her properly but she shakes her head and lays him back gently.

Her nose runny and cheeks rosied as she asks for a favour from him, "Can I -- um," She wipes her nose with the sleeve of her sweater paw. He doesn't question her further and opens his long arms to welcome her for a warm embrace.

"C'mere, pet." His whisper delicate to her.

She lies down pressed to his front resting her head on his sprawled arm and scooches herself closer to him smiling shyly against his hoodie where a Harry is embroidered in pink thread. It's like a gust of fresh spring and dew of nighty mountains as Harry takes a relaxing breather snuggling her impossibly affectionately close to himself, petting down her sweet smelling hair.

"Y'can talk to me 'bout anythin'." Their heart-beats in sync as he keeps his palm spread at her back to protect her from falling, "Ye' know that right?" He pulls back to cradle her chin between his fingers and look her in eyes sincerely.

"I know that button. Sleep for now, hmm?" He smiles softly, shutting his eyes from giving out how much a mere love name's enough to fuse him into a cloud of giddiness.

In the morning though, Harry's a small spoon and Y/N a big one. Her limbs trying to latch to his body in every way possible with her cheek smashed against his shoulder blade.

His lips quirks up into a lazy loopy smile full of contentment and peacefulness as he weaves his each finger into her's to bring her knuckles to his mouth and smother it in kisses, "Rise n' shine you furball." He rasps. chin doubling adorably as he tries to look at his squirmy girl.

He turns to face her side, temples touching and lips hovering over eachother's skin. He feels her smiling against his chin as she cuddles up into him, "I'd like to make you a brekkie…." She murmurs playing with baby curls on the nape of his neck.

"Dunno 'bout that. What if you poison me, t'death?" He giggles and she smacks his belly pouting grumpy-ly.

"Offer, expired. no more brekkie for you." She tells him wiggling out of his grip and walks towards kitchen but burst into gleeful laugh when he wraps around her calves like a koala bear, "Was jokinnnn', babe." He emphasizes his words with a twinge of whine and she meanders her hand in his ruffled curls.

"Kay! Kay! But, I could only make you omelette and sour bread." He jumps back on his feet enthusiastically looping his arm around her clavicles, "No problem. Glad t'eat anythin' made from your lovely hands."

She made him brekkie and he made fabulous peach tea for them. She blabbered off and he listened with careful ears. He praised her with glinting proud eyes and she treasured these praises in her heart.

While she chewed slowly he messaged his manager that he couldn't come to any working place for a week or so. He wants to make it special and memorable for them, their honeymoon phase.

"D'ya have any class today?" He asks her leaning towards her atop the counter, "Nope 's Saturday dummy." She chuckles flicking her thumb against his forehead and he gives a dimpled grin with bolted shut eyes.

"Yeah … silly me."

"Why?"

"So that I could take ye' ona date." His inners bouncing desperate to know her answer, "Me?" She points at herself surprised with parted lips.

"Yes you, is there somebody else sitting with us? Hello?" He calls for that non-existent person and she suckles her bottom lip to subside her squeals down. She breathes out, "Some ghostie? Evil spirit? Jesus himself —-" She cuts his banter of. With a light slap to the back of his hand.

"Okay." She says with an excited shake of head happiness bare in her words and Harry literally slips from his seat padding towards her in haste, "I'd love to." She confirms with a sweet smile and he hooks his nimble finger around her jeans loop to pull her closer to him for a fervid emotional hug.

She was a frolic mess in her room trying out her outfits and fitting into her skirts, trousers anything that could match perfectly. Deciding to terminate any ideas to wear cotton floral sun-dresses instead ends up tucking a baby pink sweater into her chequered white and black plaid trouser along with a pair of Mary Janes booties.

She took huge puffs of breath to calm her wild heart down when the knock on her door appeared. He decided to be a full on romantic today doing all the date rituals without any shame dressing up in a silk shirt three shades lighter than her's, with a pussy bow around his neck and she thinks she couldn't be more in love with him as he has a bunch of sunflowers and jasmines in the cracks of his jewels adorned fingers.

"Well, well, well, Look who came to their enemy's door holding presents." She smirks and he scowls, "Oh cut it. 'M here to pick y'up fo' our date."

What makes her lose her mind's Zippy on his shoulder.

"Oh my goodness! Harry!" She leaps towards him and takes her fluffy beast in her arms and showers Zippy's crown with many many kisses, "Thank you!" She cries out joyfully wrapping her free arm around his waist and cuddles him for dear life.

"I lo —-- " She thinks it'd be embarrassing to say it on the first date and Harry almost had a mini heart-attack but she changed her words, "I can't be more grateful to you, thank you so much."

"Now, stop thankin' me hunny." He gives her the flowers he plucked himself from his backyard and kisses the apple of her cheek turning her into a gooey mesh.

"Where is it?" She avoids checking him out.

"Why should I tell ya?" He nudges her to lock her elbow around his and she gazes up at him with loving eyes, "'cos 'm your date that's why."

"Bribe me then." He grins bashfully.

"Harry!!" She gasps and huffs tipy-toeing timidly to plant a soft kiss to his chin but it lands against his throat making him thin his lips to give out a noise that could embarrass both of them.

"Not telling you." He squeaks dragging her outside into the porch and she whines, "You leech!"

"You did not!" She snaps her neck in utter exhilaration from the view in front of her and towards Harry who's watching her with puffed cheeks to not to give out his bunny smile as her face turns guppy. The sunshine dawdles around them and she pulls him down to her level with the tug of their intertwined hands, "You're somethin' else, Styles." It warms his blood. Bursting sentiments of pure love and amiability through each orifice that leads to his heart.

"Only fo' you." He whispers stroking the plush of her cheek -- restraining to place his needy lips on her alluring pillow one's inviting him to have a good taste of their sweetness before they could taste the ripeness of strawberries growing at the farm he just took her.

"Uhm. Let's see who could collect more!" She grins pushing herself three steps away from him with support of his pecs, "What's the prize?" He asks pawing at her hips to keep her in intimate distance and she giggles tapping his chin.

"A feeling of saccharine-ss and sweetness when we'll eat those strawberries out." She tries not to step on heavy branches that are still growing and makes her way to the fresh patch, "Perhaps, that could be acquired from eatin' somethin' else out too." His wet lips brushes against her earlobe as he speaks, sending a shiver down her spine.

"You're being very loud and lewd." She pokes him in ribs. Squatting down to pluck a juicy perfectly sized strawberry and hovering it against his mouth to give him a taste, "Hmm what could I say 'm a man of dirty words." His eyes darken to an intoxicating shade of emerald as his heart-shaped magenta lips wrap around the strawberry to split it in two with his teeth.

He still remembers. How her mouth tasted that night, how her lips came molding around his's like a stamp of a lover's letter and her body fitted against his's like a lost piece of puzzle.

Just made for him.

"Harry …" She's out of words. Maybe, breath.

"Yes dovie?" He hooks his finger into her belt's loop to saturate the thread like distance between them and makes tight hold at the nape of her neck to crane her head up to meet his honey eyed gaze, "D'ya know how to make strawberry mochi?" His shoulder slumps at her question and he rests his cheek atop her temple cutely.

"Noo." His voice sort of whine-y.

"No, problem. We'll make it together." She chuckles turning back to collect the strawberries into her basket.

She never had this fun. Messing around with him. Feeding eachother the sweet fruit. Him scaring her that some rat sprinted by her feet and enjoying the way she jumps at him, only wheezing comically when she throws a blow at him.

Her giggles bounces off each and every ivory flower and leafy plant as he pins her to the viridescent grass, with his thighs and tickles her non-stop. What started as raspberries turns into sloppy smothers of kisses all over her face.

"Harry!!" She bursts into another fit of laughter, "Stop." She warns him squeezing her thighs around his waist and he giggles challenging her.

"O'what? Huhh?" She closes her eyes nuzzling into his arm that's trapping her down, "Or I'll kiss you…" Her voice gentle and dulcet making his grip loosen and heartbeat fastens like a thunderbolt.

"'M not afraid of that." He gives a toothy grin sneaking a glance at her hand which's gliding up his throat to cup his cheek, eyelids fluttering like petals from breeze as she smudges her sweet mesh coated lips against his's in a tenderly ardent, and yearningly amiable kiss feeling her pulse ring in her ears with so much force.

His fingers make their home down her smooth hair to cup the nape of her neck, elbows digging into mud when he lifts her up to deepen the kiss sloppily. Just her. Only her. Swirling inside of him as his very thought.

Their noses crooking perfectly, skins kissing and bodies hitched to eachother with the knot of souls.

She whimpers into his mouth squishing the poor strawberry she was holding in her free hand from the intensity of fierce sentiments she's spiraling in; to have him all and swallow him all because he's that damn gorgeous. His tongue pokes and tickles the plush insides of her small mouth tasting the strawberry straight from where he loves the most. His belly burning with the fire of desire feeling the way her body's reacting with puriency to his subtle touches of affection.

He was dying to have a kiss from her the day she gave him her lips that night and he couldn't resist but to think about it regularly.

A wet filthy sound bubbles around them when they part away with the remnants of spit in the form of intricate strings connecting them; that breaks when he relaxes his forehead against her's taking a good breather of mossy air.

"S' messy." He tuts when his eyes fall at her palm covered in strawberry pulp.

She gasps giddy-ly when he pokes his pink tongue out and takes a huge swipe up her palm with an erotic hum that rattled her insides.

"H -- arry." She nibbles at her bottom lip to filter noises she's unable to hold meanwhile he sucks her fingers one by one to clean them, her panties twisting with an ache of want.

"Hmm. All nice 'n clean, now we should go." He says flipping her wrist to act as if he's inspecting it. Brushes the dirt of his trousers leaving her baffled and grumpy. When she doesn't stand up he squats down at her level arching a brow at her and before she could know what's happening she's thrown over his broad shoulder like a rag doll.

Her squeals hearty and giggly as she tries to punch his back but her breath gets caught in her throat when his large hand comes spanking her butt-cheek. He waits for her reaction —- grinning cheekily when she sucks in her weak mewls and grabs the back of his neck blabbering his name off.

He puts her back on the ground once out on the gravel path and hands her the basket piled with strawberries. Ducks down to sponge a kiss to her cheek telling her to stay glued to her spot as he leaves to pay.

She smiles down at her feet then at the sky revinding all the moments and their lovely kiss that makes her feel all warm and stupidly gooey.

While boarding the train he wiggles his finger behind himself to get a hold on her and keep her close to him, craning his neck with a lopsided sly smile, "Hold me hand."

"If you insist." She nods with a grin slipping her fingers over his palm and he wovens them with his own with a firm grip stepping inside the train and helps her to do so with his free hand behind her head.

She sighs. Sitting with her back pressed against the window of the train. One leg folded and other dangling from the seat as she stares at Harry with a pouty smile.

"Don't ya think you're sittin' too far away from me?" He says, grabbing her knee, "Come here." And slides her towards himself now their thighs overlapping. He doesn't like even the mere distance between them —-- might sound sappy but he wants to be like her scent.

"Happy?" She pinches his cheek and he winces dramatically ruffling her already loose tresses of hair making her look as if she was on a roller coaster minutes ago, "aren't you a one clingy bunny!" She huffs trying to blow away the hair falling in her eyes. He bobs his head in agreement and slings his elbow around her shoulders to tuck her under his chin protectively.

"Okie, now add some sugar in it —- aish slow down …" She coughs waving away the sugar dust tickling her nostrils as Harry poured so much sugar all at once. He has his chin rested on her head and her hips crooned against his thighs as they make the strawberry and vanilla mochi together.

His puffer jacket on her shoulders (To the time they went to buy grocery stuff it started being cold and Harry being a mommy he took out his jacket and bundled her up in it) —- She sneezes and he quips pecking her hair, "Bless your heart." Fetches her a tissue too.

"Thank you, bubs." She giggles grabbing his jaw bringing him down to smooch a kiss to his lips. She pulls back but he persists snaking his palm around the nape of her neck to keep her put —- she gives in with her heart fluttering like candle flame in a destructive storm.

Turns in his embrace and hooks her elbows behind his head patching tiny, tiny, tiny pecks on his pillowy lips until he gets desperate to kiss her mouth and tongue pushing her to his front by gliding his hand into the back-pocket of her jeans.

Her head lulls. Feeling as if the kitchen got filled with candy clouds floating around her when he cradles her cheeks in his both palms lapping at her bottom lip and nips at it with every whimper of desire that falls, "Mine." He breathes out rubbing the bridge of his nose up and down her cheek like a puppy nuzzling into his favourite plushie.

"Yours." She says without any hesitation.

He smashes his wet lips back on hers. Swirls of gleeful colours surrounding them as he feels like he could kiss her forever.

She gasps gazing down lustfully at his wine cherried lips when he holds her from waist and sits her on the wooden counter, "I want you to take me." She murmurs nailing at the silk of his top and he paws at her hip-bones cravingly, it makes her feel like one the most desired women alive.

"I'm all yours to pleasure you lovie'," He looks her in the eyes with so much love and affection it melts her whole, "Just ask me and I'll give me girl what she wants …. " He says trailing sloppy kisses down her throat. Her head falls against the tiled wall giving him more access to her skin --- so he could mark her as he wishes.

The heat from his mouth to her bare skin arouses her to an extent she feels wetness sticking to the insides of her thighs with each grind of his crotch against her's.

She tugs at the roots of his curls, mouth parted around a moan when he grazes his touch over her plump breasts, "Is this okay?" He asks breathlessly and she bobs her head vigorously latching onto him.

"Yes, please, more … " He blinks to let reality sink in when she raises her arms in the air for him to get rid of her clothes.

He smiles. Hard. Crinkles forming by his eyes and cheery lines around his mouth as she looks up at him with those doe eyes glinting with his own reflection.

She squirms grumpily and he cackles loudly when she hooks his fingers into the hem of her jeans as a sign that "just undress me right now and fuck me hard over this counter." But, the romantic sap he's just keeps on being a tease.

"Fuck me already." She huffs locking her ankles behind his back.

"Trust me, I want it as bad as y'do but are you sure —-- "

"I'm --- just fuck …. " She cuts him off, cupping his cheeks and kisses his mouth. He groans when she sucks his swollen lip in between his teeth and lifts her pelvis grinned against his swell lining in his trouser to elaborate her neediness through actions,

He undresses her finally folding them and putting them away nicely while she stays a breathless mess just in her undies, her sheer panties soaked in her juices and profanities of moans fuses into air from both of them as Harry places his hands on her knees. Irises darkening with lust when he looks at the delicate lines of her drippy pussy lips forming from underneath the material.

"Spread your legs, I want to feel how turned on I made you feel." His voice an obscene grunt and it tingles her core making her feel she should obey him, "Fuckin' hell." His moan is dirty as he rubs the pad of his long digits against her soaked centre. His piercing gaze flitting between her thighs crumbled her in the best way possible.

She fists the hem of his top, tugging at it with the blabbering of his name.

A series of pornographic whines leaves her through her nose when he demands her to raise her bum so he could get rid of the last thing being a bother to them.

"Oh my — " She arches her spine when his fingers withered in her stickiness, between her glistening pussy lips to her mound pinching her clitoris in the way and listens to the soapy noises he's creating while lathering his hand with her juices he'd love more to coat his tongue with.

"This is what you want, hmm? For me to bend you over this counter right fucking now and pump me thick cock inside your sweet cunt from behind till you're screaming for me to ram harder inside you, so deep that you feel me in your little tummy and I keep it there for hours making you cum on it again and again — many time that you're milky and cramped around my prick like a filthy girl you're." He dips his impossibly sweet pink tongue inside her mouth and makes her sip down his dirty words through her throat not letting her mewls slip out as his lengthy finger slicks inside her causing her melt against his chest with a turmoil of emotions and heat she never felt before.

Her brain whirles with the mantra of fuckfuckfuck but her guppy lips says otherwise, she coils her arms around his shoulders scratching her nails down his neck — eyes rolling back as she shakes with the build of ecstasy.

"You're so snug and warm, sweets. Can't wait to be inside you." He husks curling his digit to give her upper wall a good rub, "Harry!" Her scream comes out gruff vibrating with a sexy octave.

"Yes, baby." He pinches her chin between his thumb and forefinger staining soft wet kisses from the corner of her lips, to her rosy cheeks and down her throat sewing love bites along her veins.

"Does it feel good, hmm? 'M g'na stuff you full of my prick bet it'll make you feel like heavens --" Her brows tenses up as he forces her to keep her eyes locked with his's and groans with the throb in his cock bound to implode with each whimper of his name she lets out hiking up her knees on the counter — the heels of her feet sticking firmly against the edge of the counter giving a carnally pleasing view for him to enjoy and ooze with sticky precum.

He huffs out breathily, fingers sliding in and out at a fast pace while he moves down to take her perky nipple between his teeth teasing it with nip of his tongue, "Fuck. Mhmm baby I've so many dirty things to d'to you, would you be an atta girl and be naughty with me?" He nuzzles his curls against her skin grinding his knuckles up and down against her swollen clit.

"Yes, yes, yes." She moans trying to sink impossibly deep on his fingers. He admires her in amusement as her belly twists into ripples and she thrashes in his tight hold —- broken into pieces of vulnerability foxily.

He withers his gaze to where he's driving his fingers roughly inside her and a cold shiver runs down his spine, eyelashes fluttering and he sucks his bottom lip brutally praising her softly, "yes just like that darling taking my fingers so good —- they'll look pretty down your throat too while I'll fill your other holes with me, all me." He wraps a hand around her throat giving it a light squeeze and it was enough to spread warmth and the saccharine feeling of fullness in her every tissue gushing over his fingers.

"You're mine." He growls nipping at her sweet spot –-- wearing her out with his continuous different motions inside her. His wrist glistening with her come and her head lulls on his tanned shoulder, eyes slip shut, chest levitating with shallow breaths.

She cups his cheeks wrapping her trembling legs around his waist and kisses his smile, it's sloppy and barely a kiss with their lazy effort to keep their mouths on each other to soak into intimacy.

Next they're a moaning and crying mess on the kitchen floor with her knee hooked around his hip to keep him close as he stretches her out leaving a pleasurable burn against her squishy inviting walls.

His cock sits warm inside her pussy and his balls snug against her bum. It's torturous waiting for her to give a signal that he might move because he couldn't resist but to be rock hard inside her and fuck her for hours but his knees are laughing at him for being unable to bear the sting of cold tiles.

"You can move, 'm okay." She whispers hugging him for dear life and he nods grinding his hips slowly, the bulbous head of his dick hitting all the right spots —- he's so good at fucking.

He takes her fleshy tits in his palms caressing them with each lewd stroke of his cock inside her and treats her glistening lips from his spit back to his mouth, pecking it generously.

"Pull me hair." He groans pushing hard and guides her hand into his swirl of sweaty curls — hips stuttering, eyes rolling back into his skull erotically when she does so peppering loving kisses under his earlobe, "You're g'na ruin me lovie … fuck me please." He whines grabbing her ass and lifts her pelvis to slide inside her dripping pussy with much more roughness.

She has never seen him like this. Shredded to seams for her, sweat beading down his gorgeous face like glimmer of pearls and eyes mossed with so much lust and desperation it knocks air out of her lungs.

He rolls them over gently and her squeal turns into a shameless yawp when he feels much more bigger than before inside her with her being on top of him —- he was right she could feel him in her tummy.

She's clueless what to do. Not that she's gonna show it –- she doesn't want to give him an impression that she knows barely anything about riding but the way she begins with zealous back and forth movement digging the heels of her palms against his pecks wrecks him havoc.

"You're doin' so good pet, yes, yes, yes. Use me baby. Use me like your little fuck toy 'm c'mon." He grabs the nape of her neck and brings her down to skim his tongue over her lips, manipulating the plushiness of them with his teeth. His balls slapping against her skin as she bounces on his cock diligently and he fists the soft flesh of her bum with both of his hands to help her ride him knows she's labouring herself out, "I'm all yours." He says caressing her sides to make sure she's okay and brushes the wisp of sticky hair behind her ear.

"You're looking so sexy sitting on my dick like that -- how about I don't allow you to cum so you could keep me warm with your pussy like that fo' hours?" His pants out gripping at her thighs as his prick spills with wetness inside her and she cries out shaking, "No!" He smirks crinkled forming by his eyes and takes this chance to drive hard up inside her making her flop onto his chest.

She gasps moistly, pulsating around him feeling every ridge and vein of his cock stroking against her walls creating obscene noises of skin meeting skin and their moistures mixing soapily like gooe.

"Cum fo' me baby -- squeezing me s' tight. I know you're there." His pants laboured and heavy as he sucks his own digits coating them with his spit nicely and glides them down pressing them to her weeping bud, then flickers it in prolong circles. Toes curling. His thrusts consistent and fast. She crooks her nose against his's murmuring to him with a wavering voice.

"I'm gonna cum, fuck."

"You're gonna make me come."

Her eyes widen in surprise but her body reacts otherwise albeit she has never experienced it —- but her moans were uncontrollable when he spanked her butt cheek and she crampied down at him jolting tremendously with the wave of insanity spreading to her bones.

"I'm a naughty boy, give it to me." He kisses his teeth together man spreading and throwing his knees up to ram up inside her perfectly.

His eyes shuts till he could see white spotting behind them -- he spills inside her in form of thick ribbons and milks her cunt with it riding her out of her high. She clings to his body and snuggles into him to tone down the shivers running down her spine with each tiny orgasm she feels rushing out with his lazy thrusts.

"I'm jello." She tells him and he looks down at her with a mishevious grin, "Does that give me a reason to eat you whole?" She rolls her eyes poking at his cheek with a grossed out expression.

"I'm still inside ye', remember?" He stirs his hips to make her realise and she yelps not know if it's making her feel hot or utterly sensitive, "You're insatiable." She mumbles pouting her lips to indicate him she's dying for his lips to smooch kisses to her.

"No kidding I love the noises you make when you come undone." She confesses timidly drawing stars at his chest and he giggles kissing her temple gently, "Stop before you wake me buddy up again –- he quite fond of you." He blushes hiding his face into the crook of her neck with tiny voice.

They're canoodling under the fluffy blanket on the sofa watching telly after they just took a bath together, shampooing eachother with peach scents and drying eachother off with warm towels. She's nuzzled into his side wearing one of his baby yellow robes, his arm stays around her shoulder thumb addicted to caressing her silky cheek, sometimes spreading his fingers down her throat to tip her chin up to smooch sweet kisses on her lips.

"You're cute when you're not a pest." She giggles and he frowns comically pretending to munch her alive, "That's very rude -- you should be thankful that I lov — " Her heart almost stops functioning.

They were sipping onto their green teas and nibbling onto the strawberry mochi they made and refrigerated before when the doorbell rang making them groan in laziness.

She stood up going to see what took Harry so long on the door and got revealed to him talking instinctively to whoever rang the bell.

"Hi, Y/N." Scottie smiles at him. Carrying her luggage and Y/N looks down at her attire for a second then forwards her hand shyly. She was so scared that day –- it's a blur to her but now she watches Scottie properly she realizes …. She's the same girl from all the paparazzi photos.

Something switches off inside her. The rainbows and confettis, the moonlight and stars and the nebula of the whole galaxy she had consumed in her little body from making love to Harry just shuts down into a white noise.

Her bottom lip plumps into a pout. Eyebrows trembling from this confused feeling of some invisible thing squeezing the life out of her.

She's jealous.

"I just came here to say bye." Scottie's voice makes her focus back into reality.

"Oh…" She just nods. She doesn't return the hug even though her brain guilt trips her for that and when Scottie leaves with the air thick and tense, Harry corners her in between a wall and piece of furniture cradling her grumpy face in his careful palms speaking gently to her.

"You don't 'ave to worry 'bout her, she's just a friend …. Infact you don't have to worry 'bout anyone because I love you so so much baby that I don't see myself spending me life with anyone else." She glances up at him twice, jaw falling slack from shock and he chuckles smothering her in kind-hearted kisses when she stares at him like a hawk.

"You what!?"

"I love you, Y/N." Her eyes closing like a moth flapping nearer to fire and finding peace in burning inside it.

"I love you too so much." She whispers and welcomes his lips melting against her ardently. With the passion only lovers hold. Amiability she couldn't find anyone else but in his embrace, in his kisses and his lovemaking.

"Can we go back to cuddlin'? Me feet gettin' cold baby." He whines treading fastly into the living room while carrying her like a kitten from behind and makes squeaky noises once snoozed under the warmth of the blanket.

He touches their foreheads. Kissing the tip of her nose adorably.

"I love you." Then burst into giggles. When she returns the passion coyly.

"I love you too."

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfic #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #Harry Styles fluffy duffy

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caffeineforbucky · 4 years ago

Text

As Time Goes By...(Chapter One)

Post-blip (five or six months later)

A/N: This is my first time writing on this website or anything public really, I usually just write for me, please just bear with me if it looks or sounds janky. Also, thanks for taking the time to read. I deeply & wholeheartedly appreciate you. Enjoy!

Summary: I suck at them but, I'll give it a shot. You- the reader, are surprised by 'old' friends when they show up out of the blue, asking for your help on a mission. (This is just the sum for chap. 1)

Word count: 2,760

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! reader

Warnings: Angst, swearing, ex-boyfriend jealousy...

The day was coming to an end, a small heatwave conjuring up a sweat as you wiped down your last table for the night. You blew out a breath, brushing back a sheen of perspiration with your forearm, watching the last customer walk out of the restaurant as the bell chimed above their head.

You never understood why people chose to sit inside when there were tables out on the sidewalk. It was hotter in here than out there, especially since the air conditioner had gone out just a few days prior and the fans above the tables were only circling the air inside. It was an actual oven, but they contended.

Your hightops heaved across the tile, dragging yourself with the sufficiency of a person who was only working because they had to. You kicked up the doorstop, pulling the door towards you with a small amount of goodwill and vigor to finish locking up, flipping the paper sign over from open to closed. It wasn't as if you hated your job. You thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere of it all. It was the only person working the night shift job you hated with every fiber of your being. You weren't completely alone in the restaurant, having a few cooks and the owner to keep you company, especially on busy nights like the one you just had.

"I'm clocking out, Mrs. Turner!" You call out, reaching behind your back to untie the knot of your apron, pulling it up and off your neck once the ties came undone. Trudging back to the table, you picked up the disinfectant wipe and toss it in the bin, making your way to your boss's office before hanging up your apron on the hook. "Mrs. Turner...?" You murmur softly, poking your head in through the doorway, only to see her counting the profits for the day. "I'm heading home," You chime, pointing behind your shoulder with your thumb as she glances up at you.

"Alright, Honey," She beams, a bright smile pulling at her lips as her eyes meet yours. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

Working for the Turners wasn't supposed to be a permanent job, in fact, it wasn't even your original plan, as opposed to the small favors you would complete now and then for the people that were willing to pay a pretty penny for your...services.

But you figured having a stable job was smarter and safer than the alternative. And the help wanted sign was very persuasive, due to the pretty colors and splashes of glitter. It looked like it was made by a child, which you later found out, was decorated by Mrs. Turner's seven-year-old. "Always." You accede, tapping the doorframe as your goodbye before parading into the breakroom to gather your things from the lockers.

You take your backpack off the hook and swing the strap over your shoulder before time punching your card and going straight through the back door. The sounds of the city hit your ears as the heavy door slammed behind you. Traffic honks and tires treading against the grain while you walk further into the busy streets of San Francisco.

As you were about to turn the corner, you were met with the sight of your friend's van, followed by a trumpet rendition of La Cucaracha. You grinned widely, gripping your strap tighter as you jog up the 1972 Ford Ecoline, aka Big Bertha. At least that's what you called it. "Luis!" You rejoice, resting your palms on the ledge. "What are you doing here?"

"Scotty sent me out for a few things," Luis answers, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his head turned to you. "I was just about to go when I saw you. Thought you might need a ride." He shrugs, a cute smile playing on his lips.

You nod, reciprocating the smile at his answer. "Yeah, if it's not too much trouble..." You drag, your voice hesitant, as if he didn't offer at all.

"Nah, get in." He gestures, beckoning you with a wave of his hand. "Your place is on the way," Luis loosens his seatbelt, reaching over to the passenger side to pull up the lock, opening the door for you.

You climb in, plopping down on the tufted leather seats as you pulled the door towards you, closing it shut. "Thanks, Lu," You breathe, dropping your backpack below your feet, then you fasten your seatbelt. "How is Scott, anyway?" You ask as Luis changes gears and presses the gas, the van rolls onto the street.

"Ehh...he's...he's alright, know what I'm sayin'?" He answers, glancing at you before focusing back on the road. "I mean, he missed like five years of his daughter's life. He's just trying to spend as much time with her to make up for years they both lost."

You nibble at the inside of your cheek, nodding softly in agreement as the city lights passed you by. There wasn't much you could say to that, having lost so many people yourself. People you considered family just...gone.

"Yo!" Luis pipes up, snapping you out of your train of thought. "Didja see the news today?!" He shakes his head, whistling at the thought. "I can't believe they would just give some random dude the shield like that, ya know?"

You drew in your bottom lip in contempt, nodding once again at Luis. You had seen the news, and they couldn't have picked a better time to broadcast. If it hadn't been for Mrs. Turner asking you in, you would've hunted Sam Wilson down and kicked his ass yourself.

The van rolled to a stop, brakes squealing as Luis pulled up beside your apartment. You sighed heavily, glancing at the small apartment you shared with your Ex-boyfriend. By the looks of the living room light illuminating behind the curtains, he was home, and you absolutely dreaded when he was. It wasn't as if you wanted to live with him, but you had no other alternative. Ever since dropping your side job, money was tighter, and he was kind enough to let you stay, just until you found a place. "Thanks again for the ride, Lu." You mumble, unclicking your seatbelt as you took hold of your backpack. "You didn't have to."

"Don't even mention it, Y/N," Luis reassures, watching you as you pull at the door handle, opening it to get out. "I know how hard it is to get back into the norm."

You shut the passenger door, shooting him a sympathetic smile. "I'll see you around?"

With a smile, Luis waves goodbye and drives off into the night, the exhaust pipe blowing smoke as he rode off. You shook your head, cracking a smile at the honk of his horn. You turned towards the front entrance of the apartment, your stomach twisting as your smile dropped completely. You swallowed thickly, rolling the tension from your shoulders to prepare yourself before jogging up the small flight of stairs.

You fished your keys from the front pocket of your backpack, taking a breath before shoving the key into the lock, twisting as you pushed the door open with your shoulder. "Joshua?!" You voiced, calling out your ex's name to make sure it was him. You dropped your belongings beside the door, pushing your sneakers off before kicking the door shut with your foot.

"Yeah, in here!" He responds quickly, a slight tremor to his tone.

You frown softly, tossing your keys into the bowl on the console table before sauntering to where his voice was emanating from. "Josh, are you...?" Your voice came to a halt, your footsteps stopping altogether as you walked into the living room.

"Hey!" Joshua exclaims once your figure comes into view. "You wanna explain who they are?" He presses, his face crossed with fear as he gestures to the two men sitting calmly on your living room couch.

You remained quiet, your body tense, eyes wide as your focus shifted between the men on the couch and your ex.

"Well...?" Joshua demands, crossing his arms over his chest, shifting in his stance at the unsettling glare one of the men was sending his way. "I was in the middle of hosting game night-as you can see, when they showed up," Josh drops his arms, hands splaying out to gesture to the coffee table consisting of five different dips, two bulk-sized bags of tortilla chips, and a twenty-four pack of Blue Moon beer. "The guys were just about to come over."

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes to refrain from any and all insults towards your ex. That explained why he was home. "Um..." You utter, pinching the bridge of your nose, "Fucking hell," You curse under your breath, eyes fluttering open to look at Joshua. "Josh," You begin, clearing your throat as you start with the man on the left. "They are Sam Wilson and..." You hesitate, eyes settling on the man to the right, his sight alone bringing back the memories that you swore you didn't want to remember. "James Barnes," You finish, ripping your eyes away from his baby blues to look at your ex. "Aka-"

"The Falcon and The Winter Soldier..." Joshua finishes for you, his eyes flashing with amazement, head whipping towards the guys. "Shit!" He curses, smiling widely like a kid in a candy store. "Can I get you guys anything? A plate? Beer?"

"Actually," You grunt, interrupting before Sam or Bucky could answer. "Can you give us a minute, Joshua?" Insisting while your foot tapped impatiently against the hardwood floor.

"Should I be worried?" He inquires, eyes filled with confusion as he looked between the three of you, trying to piece together the situation at hand. The main reason you and Joshua couldn't work it out was that you kept a lot of secrets, mostly from him. He didn't like the fact that you wouldn't let him in. Sure, you lied to him, the biggest lie being that you were an Avenger, but that was just to keep him safe. There were other reasons why you decided to split up as well. Joshua knew...he knew deep down you were just with him to pass the time. He could see it when he looked into your eyes. There was someone else in the reflection and it wasn't him. If he was honest with himself, he could admit that it did hurt him. That he wanted a chance to make it work with you, but with the way you were staring at James, he finally recognized that reflection.

He should've noticed it early on-like that day he had somehow convinced you to take a trip to D.C for a tour of the Captain America museum. You were hell-bent on not going, trying to make up some elaborate excuse or an alibi of sorts, but alas, you still went. And for some odd reason, you couldn't stop coming back to the Bucky Barnes portion.

"No," You reply, keeping it short to dismiss him.

Joshua's mouth set in a hard line, a foreign feeling forming in the pit of his stomach-jealousy. He never had to worry about it before, especially when his friends used to come over, back when you were still together. Except for that one time, but how could he blame them? You were the kind of person that listened, laughed at the jokes being made, could lend a hand when needed, and your looks were just a bonus in his book. "Uhm, yeah," He coughed, frowning softly while nodding his head at you. "I have to go pick up the pizza, anyway," Josh brushes past you, fetching his keys from the bowl while slipping on his Vans that sat up against the wall ledge that separated the front door from the living room. "Are you going to be okay?" He mumbles, glancing over his shoulder to look at you.

You shoot Josh a smile, nodding reassuringly, his footsteps approaching closer before stopping in front of you, the palm of his hand landing gently on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "Let me know if you need anything, m'kay?" Josh's voice is soft, the concern in his eyes making you feel guilty. You knew he cared about you, and there wasn't a time where you'd catch him staring at you for far too long, but you were well past that. "I'm just a text away," He notes, waving his cell in his hand.

"Josh, I'll be fine," You sigh, stepping away from his touch, the sound of his hand hitting his jeans as it dropped from your shoulder. "I always am."

"Right," Josh nods, looking over at the men on the couch before gazing back at you. "I'll see you in a bit, bug." And with that, he turns, opens the front door, and steps out, shutting the wooden door behind him.

You close your eyes, the pet name Josh had coined for you making you sigh. He agreed to stop calling you that all together and it only made you feel that more guilty for ending things. "So..." You pipe up, opening your eyes as you turned to look at the guys. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Bug?"

Bucky is the first to speak, his jaw clenched at the mere sound of the word. Indignant at the way Josh had touched you, even if it was just your shoulder. "I didn't know he knew you like that," Bucky flashes you a taut smile, nodding softly as he shared a look with Sam, but the falcon only shook his head. "How long have you been..." Bucky couldn't even finish the question, his glove-clad hands tightening at the thought of you being with somebody else...someone that wasn't him. Though, it was his own fault. If he hadn't done what he'd done-you'd have never found another.

"Wow," You scoff, padding closer to where they sat. "You don't miss a beat, do you? Just..." You sink into the sofa adjacent to the one they occupied. "-Right into the big stuff."

"I didn't bring you here to question her about her love life," Sam voices, his scolding eyes on the man beside him. "And she sure as hell isn't obligated to answer you, Bucky."

You smile gratefully at Sam before glancing down at your leg that had begun to bounce in anticipation. "What are you guys doing here? And how'd you find me?" You ask, tilting your head in curiosity as you look up at the guys. "When I resigned from the Avengers initiative, they ensured me that I wasn't able to be traced, not by your or any other remaining member. I was supposed to be scot-free," You declare, hitting your thigh with your fist.

"Oh, come on, Y/N," Sam chuckles, shaking his head at the naivety. "We both know that's a bunch of bullshit. The government is always going to have its eyes on us. Especially free agents like you and us."

You draw in your bottom lip, biting down, eyes flickering between Sam and Bucky. You knew it was too good to be true, and part of you sensed the bullshit when the government explained it to you. You just didn't want to believe it.

"You were an ex-assassin. How could they not keep tabs on your whereabouts?" Sam recounts, emphasizing that it was in the past. At least, that's what they thought. "And I had some help from Redwing as well." He shrugs nonchalantly.

You choke out a laugh, shaking your head at the smug demeanor emitting from Sam. "Redwing," You whisper, smiling thinly. "Of course, nothing could ever be hidden from your personal P.I, huh?"

"I hate that thing," Bucky grumbles, folding his arms across his chest. in annoyance. "Invasion of privacy, I'm telling you."

"You love redwing," Sam jokes, playfully jabbing Bucky's arm with his elbow, "It's okay Bucky, you can admit it."

"Can we get back to the issue here?" You interject, "Not one of you has explained the reason you're here. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's great to see you...one more than the other," You whisper that last part but, completely aware that Bucky could hear it. "But, you both showing up out of the blue...? That's almost a bad omen."

"I didn't ask him here, by the way," Sam acknowledges, raising his hands in defense, "I just want to get that out of the way. Bucky came because he wanted to. I'm here," Sam gestures to himself, "-For one reason and one reason only..."

"And what's that?" You ask, leaning forward in your seated position.

"I need your help, Y/N."

#james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n #angst #jealousy #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnesxreader #marvel #post blip #bucky/reader #samuel wilson #sam wilson #ex boyfriend #bucky x female reader #james barnes x reader

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hailbop1701 · 3 years ago

Text

Curing a Rainy Day

A sort of five times Star Trek gen fic for your viewing pleasure. I mentioned I would write it but please be aware that I wrote this on my phone late at night and I has no beta. Typos and mistakes will be found. 🤣

-H❤🖖

Word Count: 2,166

Sulu:

Leonard McCoy wasn’t a huge touchy-feely type of man. Well, that’s what he really wants folks to think anyway. He was a doctor and that meant it was his oath-bound duty to cure what ails his patients. Whether it was from a physical malady or an emotional one. The first time he initiated his “Rainy Day Cure” --title courtesy of his daughter-- to one of the command crew he was surprised that it was Sulu of all people. If Len were being honest he thought it would have been Jim. Sure he had hugged the kid in the past but he always let Jim be the one to initiate contact. The reason why is complicated and a story for another time.

When he found him the young pilot was huddled alone in Observation Room Five, his shoulders hunched, his down so his eyes were hidden and mind lightyears away. Leonard had a feeling he knew where. The chaos after Khan and Marcus had caused a lot of damage, and not all of it was physical. They were all still healing even a year later. They had left Kronos not three hours ago and according to the mission report, Sulu’s younger sister was…

Not who she claimed to be. ‘Yuki,’ McCoy recalled her name lamely as he made his way loudly over to the depressed man.

She revealed that she worked for Section 31 and was determined to fix the Federation the right way. Though the term “Right way” is skewed for many folks. War was almost started, again and the Enterprise had to stop it, again. Section 31 now had the last little pebble of Red Matter and was holding it like a…” Nuclear deterrent” as the old saying goes.

Shaking his head Leonard pushed recent events to the back of his mind and continued on his own mission. Plopping down on the couch that faced the giant window of stars, McCoy leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees.

He didn’t offer his apologies or sympathies, he knew Sulu didn’t want them. So they sat in silence. Sulu just shook his head and looked up at the doctor with confusion and betrayal in his eyes. “I don’t - I” he stopped swallowing and the helmsman looked so young Leonard didn’t even think about it until after he had already done it.

He wrapped an arm over Hikaru’s shoulder and squeezed. Sulu stilled for a moment before relaxing and saying what needed to be said, a weight slowly lifting off his shoulders and his chest.

Scotty:

Leonard and Scotty were both having a terrible terrible time. The cold sucked in Leonard’s opinion and being trapped on an ice ball of a planet only confirmed his feelings. Looking over at the Enterprises Chief Engineer, Leonard had a feeling that he wasn’t alone in his thoughts and feelings.

The Scot was curled into a tight ball up against the last running console the entire ‘Fleet base had. He was shivering and muttering to himself, glaring at the distress signal he had rigged up. There was nothing they could do but wait. Rubbing his hands together to warm them Leonard moved toward the console and slid down to the floor next to Scotty. Touching shoulders with Scotty, McCoy tucked his hands under his arms and sighed. There was nothing he could really say to ease the engineer’s anxiety -- which stemmed from Delta Vega no doubt -- so he simply let his presence be enough.

Scotty glanced at Leonard to see that he was looking back at him with calm understanding. Grunting Scotty curled himself closer to the CMO and let the man wrap an arm around his shoulders. They didn’t speak a word and only moved when they heard the sounds of the rescue party on the other side of the sealed doors.

Chekov:

Pavel Chekov was the youngest of the command crew, so he was automatically protected and treated like the youngest sibling of a giant family. The navigator understood that his friends didn’t mean to and that it was just sometimes a reflex but he was getting damn tired of it. Today was his birthday, he had finally turned twenty! Chekov was so pleased to find that after the incident with Khan he was being treated like he should. There was one person who always treated him like he was young and precious.

Pavel found that he didn’t mind so much. Doctor McCoy treated almost everyone that way -- even though he wasn’t that much older than the rest of them -- in an almost fatherly manner. A true caretaker. Chekov allowed the behavior from no one but McCoy.

Leonard walked into “Rec Room Two” taking in the crowd with a softening scowl. A small wrapped parcel gripped in his hand. He looked down at the present, weighing it in his hands carefully. With a sigh, McCoy strode through the room looking for the birthday boy. Jim waved at him wildly from the other side of the room a huge grin on his face. Narrowing his eyes, Leonard saw that his captain wasn’t in fact drunk at all. Grunting in approval he smiled at Chekov who was hurrying over to greet him.

“Happy Birthday Pavel,”

Chekov grinned and his eyes widened at the present presented to him. Leonard gestured for him to open it and the young man did excitedly. The wrapping paper littered the floor a long black box in its place. Slowly opening the box the navigator knocked a silver antique pocket knife into his hands. Examining it closely he looked up at McCoy in confusion.

Leonard shifted nervously on his feet. Clearing his throat he pulled out a similar from his belt. “My daddy gave me this one to match his when I turned twenty. I know your pa wasn’t around as you grew up and so I thought…” his sentence fell into silence. For once Leonard McCoy was at a loss for words. Pavel quickly wiped a stray tear from his eye and grinned at his friend holding onto the gift tightly.

“Thank you doctor!” he said gratefully and Leonard understood that it was for more than just a knife. A small smile graced the CMO’s lips and pulled the kid in for a hug.

With anyone else, Pavel would have been annoyed. This was an exception.

Uhura:

Leonard was tired. He longed for his bed but as he looked around at all of the injured crew he pushed the longing away. There was no time for it. Rubbing the blurry fatigue from his eyes he pushed on. Triage, surgery, aftercare. He really didn’t truly stop to breathe until the middle of gamma shift when the ship was sleepy and quiet. The only noise was the soft beeps and whistles of monitors. His nurses quietly whispering and working.

Christine hours ago told him to stop worrying and to go to bed already but something in him just couldn’t. Blinking dumbly down at the PADD in his hands he sighed and signed off on the next round of Spock’s antibiotics. During the Enterprises most recent scuffle the bridge took a hit and the science station exploded sending the first officer flying, earning him a ticket to medical.

After the fight was over and things had only calmed down to a trickle of wounded instead of a flash flood, Nyota Uhura breezed through sickbay’s doors. She waited patiently and even helped where she could. When Spock came out of surgery and was placed in a private room she immediately went to his side and hasn’t moved an inch since. Jim would have been right beside her if he could afford to. But it appears the admiralty wanted words and had kept him busy since. McCoy had barely just convinced him to get some sleep saying that he would call if anything changes.

That was three hours ago.

Leonard walked -- though Nyota would say shuffled -- into Spock’s room, his eyes going straight to the monitors above the bed. The half Vulcan was resting peacefully. McCoy knew it was only a matter of time before he woke and would go into a healing trance. Something that should be monitored anyway. Leonard quietly wondered who he would grant the opportunity to slap Spock awake this time…

“Leonard!”

The sound of his name made the CMO snap his head in Uhura’s direction. Her eyes were fire, filled with frustration, exhaustion, and worry. McCoy winced, “Sorry Nyota, guess my mind wandered a bit,” he said somewhat sheepishly. Her expression softened a flash of guilt passing through her features.

“You need more rest. You’re going to run yourself into the ground at this rate,” she scolded half-heartedly. McCoy gave her a small smile and a shrug,

"I'll rest when I'm not needed." He whispered and badly covered up a yawn. The hidden meaning behind his words wasn't lost on the linguist though. She pressed her lips into a tight line deciding not to comment. Instead, she rested her gaze on Spock once more her hand inches away from his.

So deep in thought, Nyota hadn't even realized that McCoy had left and come back, a tray with a couple of hypos in his always unwavering hands. Catching her eyes he gave her another encouraging smile. He took care to tell her everything he was doing and how it would help keep infection away. Leonard knew he didn't have to explain but he felt it necessary to fill the quiet with "Illogical chatter" as Spock would surely call it.

Uhura was so tired and so frazzled that she was startled to find the CMO crouching in front of her with concern all over his face. "You need to get some rest Nyota. I can have a cot brought in if you'd like…"

Uhura, let a few tears fall before she bottled it up again. She shook her head wiping her face, "I'm alright Leo. Everything is just catching up to me…" she mumbled with a watery chuckle. Leonard snorted at the nickname she had given him,

"Just let me know darlin' "

And without truly thinking about it he pulled her into a hug. It only took Uhura a second to process what was happening before she wrapped her arms around him tightly. A genuine smile breaking across her face. The first time in hours she felt content, safe, and able to truly breathe.

Jim:

James T. Kirk was a touchy-feely type of man. Leonard supposed it may be from a less than stellar childhood. So whenever Jim would pull him into a one-armed hug or slapped his back or even leaned up against him, McCoy would let him. He would definitely bitch but only half-heartedly, Leonard needed to keep up appearances after all.

So when they found Jim partially dead, hanging from his wrists in a cave all smirks and charm…

Well, no one batted an eye when -- after he made sure that the man would live -- Leonard pulled his best friend in for a hug. Jim just laughed, laid an arm over McCoy's shoulder, and leaned into the hug.

"I only had to get tortured and offered to an alien God for you to hug me. Good to know,"

"Shut up Kid,"

Spock:

No one ever thought the words McCoy, Spock, and hug would ever be uttered but stranger things have happened on the Enterprise.

No stranger than an alien device that turned back time. In a physical sense anyway. Leonard looked down at his adolescent hands and sighed with a heavy eye roll. "Not this again," he grumbled with a shudder.

Looking around the room he saw Jim shouting at Mudd who had bought the alien weapon and decided to point it at him and Spock. McCoy tilted his head, his eyes going comically wide.

Spock!

Where was the green-blooded rugrat? Leonard looked around and sighed in relief at the sight of the first officer. He was hidden under a rickety wooden table. Crouching down Leonard gave Spock a small smile, he waved and gestured for the Vulcan to come closer. Apparently the younger you go the further your mind goes with it. Spock had a mentality of a...of well, a toddler. He couldn't have been more than two.

Spock stared at Leonard intensely before darting out and crashing into his legs. McCoy stumbled a little before he got his footing. Spock looked up at him with wide scared eyes, tears threatening to fall. 'Must have gotten all Vucan-y at four or five,' Leonard thought as he picked up his friend.

Leonard pulled Spock close, hugging him to his chest whispering softly. Spock seemed confused for only a moment before he buried his head into the young CMO's neck.

Jim of course saw it all and later under the threat of meeting his end via an airlock kept his mouth firmly shut. The only thing the Starship Captain said -- which everyone agreed-- Doctor Leonard McCoy could absolutely cure a rainy day.

Tags:

@lauraaan182, @chickadee-djarin, @cowenby2, @bluesclues-1234, @sayuri9908,

#star trek aos #leonard mccoy #leonard bones mccoy #jim kirk #james t kirk #spock #mister spick #nyota uhura #pavel chekov #hikaru sulu #montgomery scott #fanfiction #hailey the queen of typos

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free-pool-trash · 4 years ago

Text

all i want for christmas - isaac lahey

Hey crew! Happy holidays my loves 💓 whether you celebrate or not i hope you’re having a wonderful week! Here’s something a lil festive ;)

Enjoy + let me know what you think💓

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: none :) just fluff

Master list

It was that time of year again. The most stressful, crazed, chaotically wonderful time of the year. Of course, it was the annual McCall pack Christmas party.

The one occasion in which there was absolutely no getting out of, whether you were in Beacon Hills or not. The only day of the year where every single member of the pack would get to see each other all at the same time.

Since graduating from High School you’d all gone your separate ways, living your own lives and fulfilling your respective destinies.

Since you’d seen your beloved pack last, you’d been contently living a quiet life in a small town in England. It was pretty sweet, you lived in a spacey cottage and worked in a very quaint bakery. It was safe to say that being a werewolf in a tiny cottagecore village was a lot easier, and entirely less stressful, than being a werewolf in Beacon Hills.

But, as they all say; home is where the heart is.

Because you lived across the world, the Christmas party was the only chance you got to see the majority of your dearest friends, so you always kept the date.

Every year without fail since the pack had formed, December 23rd, Christmas eve eve, was strictly reserved for festive supernatural celebrations.

It had been a long day of airport lines, connecting flights and luggage collections but you were finally sitting in a cab on your way to Derek Hale’s loft.

There was always the unspoken dress code of “way fancier than you need to be” at these parties, it was a code that yourself and Lydia in particular took very seriously. Even if that meant slipping into a little black dress, your favourite pair of heels, applying a full face of makeup and doing your hair in an airport bathroom.

Which for you, was the reality. But regardless, you looked hot as hell.

The cab driver’s sleavy glances at you through the rear view mirror only confirmed the fact.

“Christmas party?” The middle aged man asked, looking at you more intently than the road.

“Mhm.” You replied, faking a sincere smile.

He let out a low whistle from between his thin chapped lips and rose an ungroomed eyebrow, “Someone there you’re trying to impress?”

Now that was the golden question. With a forced chuckle you brought your gaze to rest on the crescent moon glowly in the black sky.

There was someone there that you wanted to impress, as a matter of fact.

It was one of those fickle things. A will-they-won’t-they of epic proportions and it had been going on since junior year of high school. Sure, everyone loves a slow burn, Stiles and Lydia are a perfect example of this.

However, your fire seemed to be taking its sweet time catching alight.

Shaking the thoughts away you let out an exhausted sigh, “Unfortunately, yeah. There is someone I’m trying to impress.”

The cab driver let out a chuckle, “If ya ask me, if however it is doesn’t have to pick their jaw up off of the floor after seeing you they are a fool.” He told you, not trying to hide the looks of approval he was giving the neckline of your dress very obviously.

You couldn’t stop the booming laugh that left your painted lips at his statement, he was such a creep but he was definitely onto something.

“Who knows maybe this will be the year.” You said through a laugh. The driver nodded his head and then exclaimed cockily as he, thankfully, pulled up to Derek’s complex, “Yeah, and if not, you know where to find me.”

Trying your very best to contain your laughter at the man before you, you wordlessly got out of the car, grabbing your suitcase, which was full of presents, from the trunk.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful!” He called jovially through the passenger side window, you looked over your shoulder and gave him your best fake smile, “You too.”

As you began towards the building's entrance you lowered your tone, muttering a quiet, “Creep.” Under your breath.

The sound of suitcase wheels dragging against the concrete pavement echoed through an empty lobby area as you made your way to the rickety old elevator, trust Derek to buy the entire building but choose the loft on the top floor.

A bell sounded when the elevator finally arrived, you stepped inside and waited patiently for the contraption to carry you to the top floor.

When it arrived you could hear Christmas music booming from behind the huge sliding metal door that separated the loft from the hallway, there was a lot of excited chatter inside the loft so you assumed you were the last to arrive. Fashionably late.

Just as you were about to pull the door open, you paused and pulled out your phone, opening the camera and giving yourself one last look over. The status hadn’t changed since the airport, you still looked hot as hell.

Disregarding the anxious butterflies fluttering around your stomach, you took a deep intake of breath and plastered a genuine smile on your red lips and opened the door.

“Hello my darlings!” You made your presence known with an over the top false British accent as the pack turned to see who had just arrived. The second their eyes landed on you the whole room exploded with excitement.

Lydia squealed in delight, rushing up to you and pulling you into a tight hug. Your arms wrapped around her tightly and your smile widened when she began swaying you excitedly in her arms before pulling away. The strawberry blonde held you at arm's length, her eyes scanning you from head to toe then fixing you with a knowing smirk.

“Cute dress. Who is that little number for?” She teased menacingly, raising an eyebrow as if she didn’t already know the answer.

You’d missed her little games, but that didn’t mean you’d forgotten how to play along since you’d seen her last. You put your hand over your heart and looked at her dreamily, your horrible imitation of a British accent returning, “Why it’s all for you my love.”

It was then that Stiles broke the two of you apart saying, “Y/n, you’re my best friend and we share a lot of things but I’m afraid my girlfriend is not one of them.”

With a disappointed sigh, you shot your best girl friend a wink, “Forbidden love.”

“Shut up and gimme a hug already, God.” Stiles said in an exasperated tone, but the huge grin on his face betrayed his voice as he wrapped his lanky arms around you.

“Hey Sty.” You giggled, reciprocating his hug. When he pulled away you noticed the rest of the pack were now crowding around you at the door.

Scott stood like an excited puppy waiting to get to you and the second you laid eyes on him you felt excitement burst within you.

With a huge smile on your face you threw your arms around his shoulders, squealing happily as the alpha lifted and spun you around in his hold. It felt so good to be with wolves again, you already felt stronger.

“I’ve missed you!” You told him, your feet pressed back on the ground. Scott’s smile was so bright as he exclaimed, “You too! You’re the only one I haven’t seen since last year! How are you? Are you doing okay on your own? How’s England?” He fired out in the brotherly way he usually did, you couldn’t help the fond smile on your face as you patted his cheek reassuringly, “Don’t worry, Scotty. I’m all good.”

The next few minutes were spent hugging and catching up with the others, Malia, Derek and Peter had welcomed you home in the doorway with hugs.

“Where are the puppies?” You asked, referring to Liam and Mason.

“Kitchen. Liam is trying to find something that’ll make us all drunk.” Malia told you, looking at your suitcase with expectancy.

You motioned towards the case by your side with a knowing grin, “Ok, I’ll go get those two. Your names are on the presents that are for you.”

“Yes!” Malia cheered, pecking your cheek quickly then almost sprinting to the case.

When you got to the doorway of the kitchen you leaned against the frame, watching as Liam chugged a bottle of vodka, trying to get some kind of buzz from the liquid while Mason watched in awe, “I don’t see you for a year and suddenly you’re a frat boy.” You sighed out.

Liam stopped in his tracks and looked towards you, “Oh hey, Y/n” He greeted you with an adorable smile and Mason gave you a small nod of greeting and you nodded your head towards the living area where the others were exchanging gifts.

“There’s presents for you guys if you wanna go get them.” You informed them, smiling as they all but ran past you towards the gifts.

The kitchen was empty now, save for you and a half full bottle of smirnoff. Tiredly you made your way to the wooden counter opposite the door and sat yourself up on it.

As you swung your legs gently in the air, you took a moment to close your eyes and enjoy the moment to yourself.

The moment ended with a gentle knock on the doorframe, and when you opened your eyes, there he was.

Standing in front of you, in the flesh and all of his glory was Isaac Lahey. “You mind if I join you?” He asked softly, you gave him a smile and beckoned him over.

“‘Course not. Come in.” He smiled in return and casually made his way over to you, he hoisted himself up beside you on the countertop.

“I didn’t realise you were here yet.” You told him, eyes studying his face, he hadn’t aged a day since the first day you met him.

Even now, years later, he still maintained that youthful lost boy aura. The sparkle in his eyes never dimmed either.

Isaac turned his head to face you, a warm smile decorating his lips as he did so, “Sorry I missed your entrance, I had to change. I came straight from the airport.”

You nodded in understanding, “Me too. Changed in the airport bathroom though.”

He chuckled at that, you didn’t miss the way his eyes traveled across your body or how they lingered on the hem of your dress that had ridden up ever so slightly when you’d hopped on the counter.

When he caught himself staring he cleared his throat and looked away, when he was met with the look of knowing on your face his own erupted in a blush.

“You look…” He started but trailed off.

“Incredible? Amazing? Stunningly gorgeous? Come on, Isaac. Help me out here.” You teased, bumping your shoulder against his.

“All of the above.” He answered, equally as cheekily, he knee pressing against yours as he pulled something out of his back pocket.

It was a narrow rectangular envelope, he fiddled with it nervously before holding it in your direction, “I got you a present.”

You took it from him gently, “You didn’t have to-”

“I wanted to. Open it.” He urged, blue eyes glued to you as your fingers pried the envelope seal open.

As you pulled the contents of the envelope you looked to Isaac in confusion. It was a flight ticket to Paris for New Years eve.

“A plane ticket?”

Isaac nodded, blush returning to his face, “Yeah, I know you’ve always wanted to go and there’s the completely unrelated reason that I have an apartment in the city and would really love to spend new year’s with you.” He rambled on nervously and you smiled up at him.

“So you’re essentially asking me to come for a slumber party?” You grinned, giggling when he rolled his gleaming eyes at you. “I’m kidding. I’d love to come to Paris with you.” You told him, taking his hand in yours to stop it from fidgeting.

Isaac squeezed your hand in response, a happy smile on his face, “It’d also be a really great opportunity for me to finally admit that I’m in love with you.”

There was that fire you’d been talking about, after way too many years, it was finally lighting up.

“Good. That would give me a chance to tell you that I love you too.” You played along, biting back a shit eating grin as his face moved closer to yours.

You could hear Lydia behind the door, hushing the others as they all screamed along to “All I Want For Christmas Is You”.

“She’s been standing out there listening since I came in.” Isaac whispered and you only responded by sliding your hands up his shoulders.

Absentmindedly, Isaac’s arms wrapped around your waist as you continued to lean in closer, whispering, “Then let’s stop talking.”

Isaac’s eyes widened at that and he swooped his lips the rest of the distance to yours, murmuring, “God, I love that plan.”

His lips clung to yours while your hands moved to his hair. It had been a long time coming. After all the almosts and could haves, his lips were finally on yours.

The kiss was broken when you couldn’t hold your smile back any longer, Isaac’s lips were now tinted red from your lipstick but they were formed in a breathtaking smile.

“I think we should stop talking more. Like a lot more.”

“They kissed!” Lydia whisper shouted to the rest of the pack, who were pretending not to listen to the conversation happening in the kitchen.

Scott let out a celebratory “Whoop!” As did Malia and Mason.

“And! She’s going to spend New Year’s with him in Paris!” Scott clapped his hands together then, holding his hand out to Stiles, “Called it. Hand it over.”

Stiles grumbled, necking the rest of his drink before fishing a twenty out of his pocket and shoving it in Scott’s hand.

#isaac lahey x reader #teen wolf x reader #derek hale x reader #scott mccall x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #lydia martin #malia hale #liam dunbar

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do-y0u-have-to-let-it-linger · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Can I get a ship? I'm an INFP, straight girl with social anxiety. I listen to music all the time. (mostly rock) I never leave the house without my earphones. I enjoy movie nights, reading books (romance and mystery are my favourite genres), playing videogames, goofing around with my friends. My friends would describe me as kind, helpful and loyal. I'm really into photography. I wanted to be a photographer as a kid, but it's just a hobby nowadays. I'm a hopeless romantic and a night owl. It takes time for me to open up to people, but once I'm there I can be pretty talkative. I'm 5'8" tall, I have half long brown hair, dark brown eyes and I wear glasses. If I have to describe my style it would be somewhat 80s grunge. Thank you!

(tw: swearing and eating)

I ship you with Scott Summers!

You never got along very well with Scott Summers.

He always came across as a bit of a preppy asshole. Not that his preppy-ness was necessarily correlated to his asshole-ness, but it did seem to enhance it.

You may think that not getting along perfectly with some random boy who happened to live in the (large) building you live in is not much of a problem, but you are incorrect.

When your best friend (and dorm-mate) of ten years, Jean, is on a so-called "superhero team" with and is good friends with said boy, it is not exactly easy to avoid him.

Since Jean's biological family was not around, she made her own.

The first member of her so-called found family was you, who arrived just a day before she did. When she first entered your dorm, you were adjusting all of your newly unpacked trinkets. You were both young enough to immediately become friends, no questions asked, and your friendship stuck. You two tended to keep to yourselves and each other, until you two were older.

When Jean was invited to join the X-Men with some of her friends, you couldn’t have been prouder. The problem was that when you met this other part of her found family, it did not go well. None of you clicked whenever in the same room, and Scott immediately made fun of you the moment he met you. You ultimately decided to avoid her other friends, but be supportive of them. Not because you couldn’t handle Scott, but because you didn’t want to put Jean in a position where she had to choose between you and them. Overall, this just made Jean desperately want you and her other friends to get along.

"Come on, just sneak out with us this one time!" Jean was sitting on the edge of your bed, making puppy dog eyes at you and clasping her hands together.

She always tried to convince you to hang out with her friend group. Even if that meant, in this case, convincing you to break (very reasonable) rules with them.

"No. Absolutely not. Jubilee is going to try to 'catch me a man', and Scott's going to try to be funny but just end up making fun of me. Besides, why would I break school rules and steal a car for a trip to the mall?"

"Because you haven't seen Empire Strikes Back yet, and I bought you a ticket for 1:00 PM today."

"Shit. You're evil, you know that? This is unfair. You know me too well."

Jean beamed at you. "Thank you, I try. Now, get dressed, you're going to love this."

"I am dressed, and you can’t make demands. I’m the one being convinced here!"

"I will not be pestered by Jubilee's pleas to let her give you a makeover! Just throw on jeans instead of your sweatpants or something! Now chop, chop! We're leaving in 10 minutes!"

"I'm sorry, 10 minutes?"

"I knew if you had more than 15, you would change your mind. Meet me by the front door when you're ready to go!"

After Jean left your shared room, you threw on some different clothes and hastily grabbed everything you needed to go. With your sneakers in your hands, you ran into the school's kitchen and shoved a granola bar in your mouth. As you were hopping, trying to force your shoes on your feet, someone spoke from behind you.

"Well, you look elegant as ever."

You froze, squinted your eyes, and clenched your jaw. Well, as much as you could with the previously mentioned granola bar in your mouth.

Scott Summers.

You swallowed and turned around, plastering on a smile in preparation to respond to his sarcasm.

"Well, you know me, unwaveringly ethereal."

Once you finished your attempt to keep the peace, your grin dropped off your face and you went to tie on your shoes, occasionally having to push your glasses back up your nose as you did so.

Jean then started talking to you while making her way into the kitchen.

"Come on, we need to go before Charles's class ends- well, well, well, look at you two!" she spoke in a sing-song tone at the end.

"Trust me, there's no 'you two' here." Scott hissed at her. Hissed! The audacity, would it be so terrible for him to be theoretical friends with you?

"Calm down, I just mean that I'm glad you two are talking," Jean said. "But we need to go. Like- now."

Jean then grabbed you by the arm and started to pull you out of the room, wiggling her eyebrows at Scott on the way out. Scott got up to trail behind you two, if he could glare at people with the glasses he wore, then he would have been glaring at her.

You elbowed Jean in the side and whisper shouted at her.

"What was that? What was the purpose of the eyebrow wiggle?"

"What eyebrow wiggle? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're a menace to society, you know that?"

"I am aware that you don't actually think I'm a menace, but I appreciate the compliment." She leaned down and messed up your hair. "Now let's move it!"

When you got to the minivan you were all "borrowing" from Charles, most everyone was already there. Kurt, Jubilee, and Peter took the back seats, and Ororo was sitting in the driver's seat.

You walked to sit shotgun, but Jean sped up to beat you to the seat.

Suspicious.

Squinting at her, you went to sit in the middle row, where Scott also made to sit.

It was silent for the first minute of the drive until Jubilee tried to strike up a conversation.

"So! Y/N, I'm so glad you decided to hang out with us! I love your outfit. Ooh! Peter, hand me my bag! I have a scrunchie that will match perfectly."

Peter looked at her with mock disbelief. "Yeah. dude, make me reach behind my seat and into the trunk of the car."

Kurt clearly did not want to be part of this conflict.

Jubilee smiled sweetly at Peter. "Shut up and grab me my bag, please?"

Peter sighed half-sarcastically. "Yes ma'am."

Well, Jean's friends were just as you remember (aka slightly crazy).

You heard Jean's voice in your mind "If you don't wear that scrunchie it will genuinely hurt Jubilee's feelings, and I will never forgive you."

You looked at her through the mirror and raised your eyebrows.

Jubilee's voice took back your attention. "Here it is! Scotty, I can't reach. Can you hand this to her?"

Scott visibly winced at the nickname "Scotty" but handed you the scrunchie anyway. After trying to hide your amusement at the use of "Scotty", you attempted to put your hair up with the scrunchie, and you saw Jean smile. You were determined to make friends with these people for Jean.

"Thanks, Jubilee," You smiled at her. "So, how do I look?"

Scott chimed in immediately. "Like you're twelve."

"Ok, shut up Scott. You look cool, Y/N." Ororo gave you a thumbs up from the front seat. They were all clearly told to make friends with you by Jean in the same way you were. Well... told or threatened. Who's to say.

The car ride was awkward, to say the least. When you finally arrived at the mall and exited the car, you felt like you could finally breathe. You spoke first while you were all walking into the mall.

"So, how are we planning on killing time before Empire?"

"Well, Jubilee wanted to pick up some more eyeshadow with me, and Peter, Kurt, and Ororo are probably going to buy even more colored leather jackets," Jean said.

"Where does that leave me and your wallflower?" Scott asked Jean. You turned to look at him, attempting to make your lack of amusement clear. "What?" He shrugged, "It's true!"

"Ok, first of all, she's not actually that shy, you're just mean. Second of all, I was hoping you two could go into the book shop together until we're done."

Your eyes widened as you turned to Jean, silently begging her not to leave you and Scott alone.

"What? Why are you looking at me like I'm crazy? Maybe I thought you would try to get along because you both love me and I want you to be friends!"

Scott responded first. "You're totally guilt-tripping us right now."

"Yes!" Jean responded. "Yes I am, and you better be feeling guilty. Now, we're all going inside, and you are going into that bookstore together, you are going to bond over your cheesy dreams about falling in love, and, Scott, you are going to be kind! Or I will be very upset!"

You and Scott looked at each other (slightly afraid) before you turned to Jean and nodded your head at her.

"Ok. Let's go, Scott." You looked at him and he nodded at you both of you then started to head to the bookstore.

In the door of the shop, you glanced at him awkwardly. "So... is there a specific section you want to visit? Or-"

"Uh, I usually just... wander." He was bouncing on his heels.

"Oh! Ok, uh... where you lead I will follow!"

He spun around and started to walk aimlessly, actually trying to make conversation.

"So- you take photos?"

"...How did you know that?"

"I've seen you. That sounds creepy, I just mean that I saw you with a camera once when you walked Jean to training. It seemed nice. Only a dumbass would own a nice camera and not use it."

"How kind of you to not see me as a dumbass," you mumbled as you ran your hand across the book binds. "Do you have any hobbies?"

"Not really to be honest. Well, actually- I like... cars."

"...Cars. Huh. Elaborate."

"My brother, his name is Alex, taught me how to fix up cars when I was younger. Ooh- recently we found this beautiful 1962 AMC Rambler- I mean, it was basically a pile of garbage, but we're fixing it up."

"What's a Rambler?"

"W- 'What's a Rambler?'" He looked at you like you were speaking another language. "A 1962 AMC Rambler is only the car of my dreams!"

"The 'car of your dreams'?"

"Uh, yeah. What- do you not have a dream car?"

You laughed at him, "No? I don’t know that much about cars."

"You don’t have to know shit about cars to have a dream car! Come on, you don't have any car you would want to drive?"

"A school bus."

"...What do you mean."

"I mean- I bet I could live in a school bus. It's big, has a lot of windows, it's yellow." Scott was surprisingly easy to talk to.

"A school bus. Huh."

"I thought of that on the spot, it's not a long-term dream of mine."

"No, I see the appeal. I do think it's weird that you listed it being yellow as one of its positive attributes though."

"Holy shit. Holy shit!"

"What? What's the problem?"

You grabbed the book you spotted and held it out to him with your arms fully outstretched, it almost hit his nose. "Do you know what this is?"

Scott's hands appeared at the top of the book, and he pushed it down so you could see his confused expression. "A... book?"

"Very funny, Scotty, but no this is not just a book. This is a sequel."

He crossed his arms across his chest. "... 'Scotty'? I'm gonna kill Lee."

"Who's Lee?"

"Jubilee."

"If you can call her 'Lee' why can’t she call you 'Scotty'?"

"Because 'Scotty' makes me sound like I'm twelve!"

"Well, according to you, this scrunchie makes me look twelve. So I guess we're even, Scotty."

"I see why you and Jean are friends. You’re both evil."

"I called her evil not 10 minutes ago! Look at us, 'bonding' and all."

"Speaking of a 10 minutes ago, and that whole 'twelve' thing, I'm sorry."

"What do you mean?"

"Sorry for calling you twelve... and a wallflower. You seem... neat."

"Thanks... I think."

"Neat is a good thing."

"I'm kinda messy actually."

"I meant neat as in like- cool. Plus, you’re the first friend-ish person I've had that also wears glasses!"

You smiled at each other for a moment.

This was amusing.

He was amusing.

Unfortunately, someone popped the bubble encasing you and Scott. "Wow, 'friendish'? That's an upgrade from them low-key hating each other."

You whipped your head around to see Peter and Jean standing on the other side of the aisle, clearly having been observing and talking about you.

Scott spoke first. "How long have you two been standing there?"

"Long enough," Jean smiled. "You two get along."

"...So?" Scott asked.

"So, about an hour ago that seemed completely impossible."

An hour? That couldn’t be possible. "Wait, what time is it?"

Jean responded. "12:45, you’ve sure been chatting for a long time."

Scott cleared his throat and turned to you, "So, uh, you should buy that book, and then we should head to the movie theater room thingie."

You looked back at him. "Yeah! Ok, so... yeah."

After you and Scott walked away, Peter leaned over to whisper to Jean. "Well, that was a long glance. We've really gotta lock 'em in a closet together or something."

Jean shoved Peter, and you all went about your mall trip as you did before, except that now you might have a new friend... ish.

#tw swearing #scott summers x reader #x men #scott summers #tw eating #writer's block #am i right?#i really hope this is good #i did research on cars for this #also i know hank has glasses but him and scott aren't really friends they're more like a teacher student thing so shut up

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ponnearponfarponwhereveryouare · 3 years ago

Text

negotiations of home

Pairing: TOS!McSpirk

Summary: Spock takes the time to examine his thoughts (and feelings) towards the Enterprise's captain and chief medical officer. He decides the most logical course of action is to address his findings.

Rating: G | Word Count: 1862 | also on ao3

Spock had long since learned not to say thoughts tied to emotion. Such ruminations had to be examined critically and in such a time and location so as to not interfere with his work. Only in this way could he put logic first, by making a habit of it. He was not sure if this was the process other Vulcans applied, but it was the one that worked best for him.

He knew he was successful when he was able to apply this method around members of his family; with positive emotions and negative. Only in absolute private he might tell his mother he loved her, tell his sister he missed her, or tell his brother that they were still, always, family.

It was best not to think about the emotions that came up involving his father. Or the feelings around the fact that his family was two and a half parts human and two and a half parts Vulcan. Of not being a whole.

Those walls had begun to slip, of late. And that was because he was faced with emotions that were not tangled up in his Vulcan upbringing. Feelings that included a sense of being held together, a chance at healing his two halves.

Which brought him to the matter at hand.

"You're you, Spock!" Leonard snapped, though the anger was not directed at Spock himself. The doctor was pacing about Jim's quarters, while Spock sat at the Captain's desk observing him. "You're not broken! All you have to do in this life is be honest with yourself."

Spock raised a brow. "Is this a time for the old anecdote, physician heal thyself?"

Leonard managed to scowl deeper. "Damn it, man, at least I'm trying. Talking about these sorts of things with someone you trust and care about is important."

"Is that not what I am attempting to do?" Spock asked. Before Jim had been called away to deal with a potential issue among the Enterprise's current guests, Spock had gathered both Jim and Leonard together with the purpose of working through a line of thought that had followed him around for the past 30 days.

Leonard deflated a bit, rubbing his hands together in a nervous manner. Spock attempted not to stare, as the emotions that evoked were ones he had not yet begun to speak of.

"Do not worry, Leonard, I will not continue until Jim has returned," Spock said in a tone he hoped would be reassuring.

"How am I supposed to do that, with you calling us by our names?" Leonard protested, now tossing his hands up in the air.

"It is a personal matter, so it would be illogical to use your professional titles."

"And that's why I'm nervous! Last time you had a personal matter that you had to involve me and Jim in, you were dying or your father was dying." Leonard didn't return to pacing, instead, he crossed the room and kneeled beside Spock. His blue eyes were wide and filled with concern.

"My apologies. I did not mean to raise alarm," Spock said, reaching out towards Leonard. He wasn't sure what he'd do, but he needed such dramatics to end. It brought an uncomfortable warmth that was tempting to lean into. To drown in. “Please, stand.” Spock stopped himself before he actually could touch Leonard’s elbows.

Leonard seemed to take a long enough time pondering this request as to border on his usual teasing. He finally stood, pressing a hand against Spock’s knee as he did. He settled then into Jim’s other chair so that they were now directly across from each other. “So you’re not dying.”

“Not that I am aware of. Though as my doctor, I believe you are to give me such status updates.”

This returned Leonard to a... huffier state. “I’d be able to do that if you didn’t lie to me.”

“Vulcan’s do not lie,” Spock reminded him.

“Oh really? Then it seems like I’ll need a copy of whatever definition you’re using for the word.”

Jim returned to catch that last exchange. “Gentlemen. I see I haven’t missed anything.” He was smiling, coming to lean against the partition that divided his quarters.

Spock found himself calmed by Jim’s presence. “The Andorian ambassador is settled?”

“Yes, Scotty was able to change the climate control settings for her quarters to something comfortable,” Jim said, as he looked from Spock to Leonard and back. “Where were we?”

“Spock was telling us something that is a “personal matter",” Leonard provided. “I’ve got him to promise no one is dying.”

“Statistically in the breadth of the universe and even just among life as we know it, at this moment-”

“Shut it!” Leonard’s tone was supposed to be sharp, but it was too rounded by his own laughter.

“Very well,” Spock turned towards Leonard, both eyebrows raised, and remained silent.

“Jim, look what he’s doing now!” Leonard complained, leaning closer towards Spock, as close as he could get with the desk between them.

Jim’s laughter filled the silence, and he crossed the room to sit on the corner of his desk. “Spock, Bones, come now.” His face was in that easy grin of his, the one Spock associated with times when all was well. “Spock, what did you want to talk to us about?”

Yes, the mission at hand. One that he had set for himself because, given the nature of their work and luck, it seemed best to share his thoughts sooner than later. Spock had planned the words he would say carefully, trying to predict what response he might get. He would not call himself nervous, as that emotion tended to be one of the most illogical.

“Yeah Spock, sorry,” Leonard smiled kindly, leaning back again. His foot nudged Spock’s under the table in what must have been encouragement. Leonard rarely apologized for their mutual antagonization of the other, another sign he was taking this seriously.

“It has come to my attention that I hold you both in strong regard.” Spock thought that was as good a place to start as any, even as his practiced words seemed to fall away. He should have written them down... But that would have no doubt brought Leonard’s amusement and possibly ire. “I also know, while it is not the practice on Vulcan, for many cultures it is customary to let those you care about know of your regard towards them.”

Both Leonard and Jim were silent, which was not one of the responses Spock had anticipated. It was Leonard who finally spoke and said, “Are you sure you’re not dying? Because you just admitted to having an emotion. Several, in fact.”

“Indeed. It was our last away mission that brought me to further examine my feelings towards both Jim and yourself.” Spock had been the one, after 27.8 frantic hours, to find and rescue the captain and chief medical officer. Between coordinating the rescue effort, Spock found his thoughts consumed with things he wished to tell them both. “I... care for you both. My existence is greatly improved by your presence in it.”

He hoped that they could understand all he was not able to say. ‘Don’t leave me, I need you, I missed you, I-’

“Spock,” Jim’s voice was soft, and when Spock looked up at him, so was his expression. “I feel the same.” He then looked towards Leonard, and Spock followed his gaze.

Leonard looked between them both, and his blinking grew more rapid. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “Damnit, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost either of you. You’ve both managed to pick up my pieces and put them back together. I can’t remember the last time I felt complete.”

Of course, Leonard, who was better with emotions than either Spock or Jim, would put the words to it: that there existed between them something that exceeded a friendship bond. They had become family. Partners. A tension settled then, the question -

“What do we do?” Jim voiced it. “It’s not as if we can stop going on dangerous missions. That’s not the life we signed up for.”

“I know neither of you could be happy sitting by,” Leonard agreed. “You’re explorers to your cores. And someone who asks you to change your very nature isn’t worth keeping.”

Keep. Spock turned the word over in his mind. “It seems that what is in our power to change is the parameters of our relationship.”

Jim let out a breath that sounded like ‘yes.’

“If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, that’d be against regulation.” Leonard pointed at Spock. “Would you be okay with that?”

“Affirmative.” Spock had to focus to keep his tone even. This was not one of the outcomes he had let himself ponder. His desire for it would have become overwhelming.

“What about the ol’ needs of the many over the few?” Leonard said, and Spock knew he wasn’t arguing because he was against the possibility now hanging heavy in the room, more tangible than it had ever been before because it had been named. Leonard was making sure Spock was sure; that he was comfortable.

“You are both professionals, whom I trust not to let the personal adversely interfere with the running of the ship.” It was an easier answer than he thought. “I even theorize that such a change in our relationship could improve personal performance.”

“Now that is a theory that I want to test.” Jim moved to stand, so he could face them both fully. His smile was back and wider than Spock could recall seeing it. “I’d like to very much.”

Leonard was smiling now as well. “Why am I surprised that this has been the weirdest way I’ve ever been asked out?”

“Come on Bones, for science,” Jim’s eyes twinkled, and he reached out to catch one of Leonard’s hands. “But more importantly, for... love.”

Spock watched the way their fingers fit together, and almost missed that Jim had spoken the final unspoken word. He looked back towards their expressions, before standing himself and coming closer, to stand between them both.

“Of course I will,” Leonard said. “Spock?”

“Affirmative,” Spock said again, and added, while carefully watching Leonard’s expression. “It should prove fascinating.” Before Leonard could offer a retort to that, Spock held out his index and middle finger to him. A gesture he knew the good doctor had picked up the significance of.

Leonard’s eyes went wide once more, but he didn’t hesitate before reciprocating the gesture. Once he had, Spock felt a wave of affection he could not pinpoint as his own emotion or Leonard’s. Spock then offered the same to Jim, who looked like he had been given a gift to rival his captaincy of the Enterprise.

When Jim’s finger’s met Spock’s, the three of them stood visibly connected in a way Spock knew their lives had already long been. This, then, was proof that he would not lose them. At least, not without making sure they knew what they meant to him.

It spoke of a new beginning, a new adventure, shared between the three of them.

#mcspirk #spock #leonard mccoy #james kirk #jim kirk #bones mccoy #this is very fluffy #it is also a getting together fic #the first star trek fic i have written in YEARS bless a decade old hyperfixation to break writers block #star trek the original series #tos #star trek TOS #a talks #my fic

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

Text

The Tattoo (Part Ten, Bit 2 - The End)

Okay, I’ve been staring at this all day. I have no idea what I’ve written anymore so I’m just going to dump this here and run ::hugs::

For @vegetacide cos it is her fault. Many thanks to @tsarinatorment @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for the read throughs, plot help and support. This was a bloody hard one to write. It started with Virgil, but Scott ate me alive. 2848 words, fic total 18,111 words.

I hope you enjoy whatever the result was.

-o-o-o-

“Son, sit down.” He waved him to a chair across from him.

A sigh. So, interview it was.

He loved his father. Would go to the ends of the solar system and beyond for him, but some things never changed. Jeff Tracy was a determined man.

At least Scott knew where he got it from.

He killed the coffee machine and made his way back to the table, this time taking up a seat that set his back to the shadow of Mateo.

Grey eyes latched onto him.

“I’m proud of you son.”

Blink.

His father reached over and took his hand.

Scott’s eyes widened. Dad had never been one for a great deal of physical contact, but that had changed since he came back. Scott stared at the scarred fingers holding his.

“Son, I…” His father swallowed. “I need to know your brother is okay.”

Scott frowned. “Virgil is okay, Dad. I promise.” It was what he had been saying all along.

A drawn out sigh. “I need to know if being part of International Rescue is in Virgil’s best interest.”

Eyes widening, Scott pulled back, his hand slipping from his father’s as his back straightened. “Dad, no.”

A held-up hand. “Hear me out.”

“Dad, this happened a long time ago. International Rescue is our lives, Virgil’s life. You can’t take it away from him.” A pause. “I won’t let you.”

Those old grey eyes latched on to him and his father’s lips thinned. “Is he on medication?”

“Dad, you need to speak to V-“

“Is he on medication?”

“Yes. It is handled and monitored. Virgil is fine, Dad!”

His father made a sorrowful sound that cut Scott to the quick, before burying his face in his hands. “I wish…” It was muffled, but Scott heard it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. If I had known…” But his voice drifted off and Scott was left staring at his father, his heart sinking more by the minute.

“We made it, Dad. We’re okay.”

His father’s head shot up. “How can you say that? Virgil is suffering from a mental illness exacerbated by his job. Yet you tell me he should keep doing that job despite what it is costing him.”

Voice quiet but firm. “It is his decision, Dad.”

“And what happens if it becomes too much? What if-“

“Dad! It is under control. Virgil is an adult. He knows what he is doing and yes, if something does go wrong, he has all of us. We back each other up. None of us are perfect. We work as a team.”

Grey eyes snapped at him. “What else don’t I know?”

Scott held back a snarl. “What else do you want to know? If you think I’m going to give you the lowdown on all my brother’s personal information, dream on, Dad.”

Those eyes didn’t falter. “Then what about you?”

“What about me? Have I had moments? Of course, I have. You know this job, Dad. It can be hell. And yes, there is a whisky stash in your desk. There always has been.” He returned that piercing glare with one of his own.

“I never claimed to be perfect, son.”

“And neither did we. Virgil’s mental health is his business. He prefers to keep it to himself. I’m aware of it. It is being managed. End of discussion.”

The steel in his father’s eyes did not vanish. “I only want what is best for my children.”

Scott’s lips thinned as he stood up. “We’re not children anymore.”

“I know that, son, but I’m still your parent.”

The tension in Scott’s shoulders only tightened. “Dad-“

“You know, I always remember Scotty being a bit of a clone of you, Dad, but up until now, I’d never really seen how much.”

A blink as Gordon slipped out of the darkness beside the stairs. He had his swimwear on and a towel thrown over his shoulder. His posture was casual, but Scott could see the tension in his shoulders. “Gordon-“

“Hey, Dad, welcome to the whacky world that is International Rescue, your local rescue organisation run by five brothers of questionable sanity. Here be the eldest, a strong, masculine heartbreaker who has an obsession complex that can drive the whole family out of the solar system. His back up and apparently medicated…” He glared at Scott. “…second in command, artist and sensitive type who takes on far too much and suffers for it. Coordinated by our communications guru who is so introverted he can’t go to parties without breaking a sweat. Not to mention our aquanaut who suffers from PSTD because his body was broken six ways to Sunday and yet still managed to survive. And finally, our kid brother who has yet to be traumatised enough to sport a mental illness, but give him time.” A sigh. “Honestly, Dad, what did you expect?”

“Gordon!”

“Scott, c’mon! Face it. It’s a hard job. We do it. Shit happens.”

Their father climbed to his feet. “Are you finished, son?”

Gordon glared at his father. “That depends.” His lips tightened. “Are you seriously considering pulling Virgil from IR?”

Scott flared. “That is not on the table.”

That earned him a brown-eyed glare. “Isn’t it? The fact you are questioning Virgil’s ability to do a job he has excelled at for years…” The glare returned to his father. “I just thought I’d let you know that if you do choose to do that, you can go find yourself another aquanaut. Because Virg goes? I’m going with him.”

“Virgil isn’t going anywhere!” The mere thought of losing any of his brothers… “Gordon, Dad just had some questions-“

“Yeah, questioning if the heart of this outfit was able to do his job.” Gordon rounded on his father again. “If you had seen what Virgil is capable of, you wouldn’t have any questions.”

“Gordon, for god’s sake!”

Their father held up a hand. “It’s fine, Scott. As you said, Gordon has a right to his opinion.” His voice was quiet enough to bring Gordon’s ire to a halt and the sudden gap in conversation let the sounds of the ocean in through the open doors. “But as your father, I have a right to my opinion also. I need information. Scott has been in command for those eight years, so I am asking him for a report.”

“On our brother.”

“On a staff member of International Rescue.” An indrawn breath. “And my son.”

“Then perhaps you should speak to your son.” Those brown eyes flared.

“I intend to.” Those grey eyes turned back to Scott. “However, I was hoping to put him through the least amount of stress by gathering enough information beforehand, in particular what instigated this issue.”

Scott straightened again. “I’m sorry, Dad. That is not my story to tell.”

“Even as Commander of International Rescue?”

Ever so quiet as his eyes held his father’s. “Even then.”

They were all interrupted by the whine of a not-quite-out-of-teenagerhood-despite-being-an-adult at the top of the stairs. “Oh, c’mon, John. I don’t need a warm milk.”

Smooth musical tones. “You had a nightmare, Alan. Warm milk is the best option for a quick return to sleep.”

“Really? Have you got a stash up on Five? Doesn’t that UHT milk taste vile?”

“It’s an acquired taste.”

“Blech!” His little brother caught sight of the three of them. “Wha-? What’s going on?”

Scott just felt sad as Alan and John took the last few steps into the room. But then John’s eyes had that wiser-than-you-know look about them and Scott’s shoulders knotted just that bit more.

Hiding anything from John was futile. And Alan?

John played for keeps.

As if subjected to an antibiotic for anger, Gordon’s stance changed immediately. “Woah, John, you got the squirt up before the sun? How did you manage that without the side effect of death?”

“He had a nightmare.” There was something in his brother’s eyes.

“John! Geez, it was only a bad dream. I’m not a little kid anymore!”

“One that had you screaming.”

“John!”

Scott stepped around the table. “You okay, Allie?”

“Oh, god, John. Now look what you did.”

The elder astronaut had a rather knowing smirk on his face.

Scott glared at him.

He put a hand on Alan’s shoulder anyway and squeezed gently.

His little brother growled at him. “I’m fine. It was time to get up anyway.”

“It’s before noon, Alan.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

“Hey, I just have your teenage need for sleep at heart.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

“That’s enough, you two.”

“He started it!”

“Alan.”

“Scccottttt…” It was pure whine and a strong sign that Gordon was probably right. Alan needed more sleep.

“You going to grab some warm milk?”

“Heck, no. That was John’s idea. I was just going to plug in some tunes, but he demanded I come down here. What are you guys doing anyway? Dad?”

Scott shot John with his eyes. This was worth a discussion later.

The smart ass just shrugged and smiled that smile of his.

“Dad?” Alan left Scott and hurried over to the table. “You okay?”

Scott spun to find their father reaching for his cane. Alan was there in a second and handed it to him. His little brother had an arm wrapped around his father and whether his help was wanted or not, he gave it.

“Are you okay, Alan?”

Alan rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Dad. Johnny is just making a big thing out of nothing.”

As usual, the ‘Johnny’ moniker riled the astronaut. “You were calling Virgil’s name.”

The room froze.

Alan shot daggers at John from under his father’s arm. “Thanks a bunch.”

John tilted his head. “Well, you were.” He held up his hands. “Just trying to help.” But his eyes flickered to Scott.

He glared back. Yeah, right.

John’s small smirk just wound Scott up further.

But he would kill his middle brother later, right now, Alan was the concern. “You want to talk about it?”

“Nooo.”

“Is this about Virgil’s tattoo?” His father’s voice was quiet and a little sad.

“I’m fine, Dad. I’m eighteen. Not a kid anymore.” It wasn’t a ‘no’.

“Age has nothing to do with dreams, son. I have nightmares all the time. Even some about you.”

Alan shrunk back just a little. “Me?”

Their father nodded and Scott’s heart finished its plummet somewhere amongst the flagstones.

“About all of you. Sometimes you’re calling out to me and I can’t answer. Sometimes you’re hurting and I can’t help. Sometimes all of you are just gone.” He looked up at Scott. “In more ways than one. That I’ve lost you. That my one misstep cost us everything. Even now I find it hard to believe that all of you are here safe and sound.” His voice hitched on that last word and Scott knew the truth. Knew that they weren’t as sound as they could be.

“We’re here, Dad. All of us.” Alan was looking up at his father in that same way that eleven-year-old had looked up at Scott all those years ago. Eighteen years or not, his little brother still had faith.

“I know.” He tilted his head and caught Alan up in his arms, burying his face in his youngest’s hair. “It doesn’t stop the dreams, though, kiddo. I’m still scared.”

Scott swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” It was muffled against their father’s shirt.

“Not your fault. I just wanted you to realise that we all have bad dreams from time to time.”

“Heh, I know. Gordon walks and talks in his sleep.”

“Hey! I’m over that!”

Alan poked his head up. “Newsflash, bro. Virg had to lead you back to bed three nights ago. Found you by the pool at two am talking to your ‘coach’.”

“Aw, shit.”

“Language, son.”

Gordon ignored his father. “Why didn’t Virgil tell me?”

Scott was more concerned as to why Virgil hadn’t told him.

“Dunno. You’ll have to ask him.”

Gordon muttered to himself about locks and tying himself to the bed.

Dad looked at Scott. “How long has this been a problem?”

Yet another sigh. “Long term, Dad. Left over from the Olympics. Flares when he’s worried. Hasn’t happened for a while. We have strategies.”

“Are there any other issues I don’t know about?” It was asked of the room at large, but Scott knew it was aimed at him. He pressed his lips together.

“Plenty, but they are all managed and safe.” The familiar baritone echoed down the stairwell and Virgil, trailing Grandma, was the last brother to join them.

His dark eyes ranged over the family gathering, obviously making an assessment and drawing conclusions. “Did I miss a meeting?”

His brother’s arm was strapped up but he was otherwise shirtless. It was obviously a statement because Virgil never went shirtless…ever.

He looked tired and worn.

“Virg, what are you doing up?”

It was Grandma who answered. “He needed his medication and I thought he could do with something in his belly before he goes back to bed.” She stepped past her grandson and headed towards the kitchen.

A quick glance at Gordon and the aquanaut was moving. “Hey, Grandma, let me help you with that…” He followed her into the kitchen proper obviously vetoing any villa-burning-down attempts in the making.

Virgil took the last few steps onto the flagstones and eyeing all of them, made his way towards Scott, suspicion on his face. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Some.”

“Obviously not enough.”

He turned to their father. “Dad, you’re up a little early, too. Anything I can help you with?”

It was a blatant barb. It was obvious Virgil thought he was the topic of discussion and Scott didn’t blame him.

“Just finding my feet again, son.”

Virgil nodded once before turning to Alan who was still holding onto their Dad. “You okay, Allie?”

“He had a bad dream, Virg.” It was shouted from the kitchen.

“Gordon, I’m gonna kick your ass!”

“You and what army, squirt?”

“Gordon!” It was choral – Scott, Virgil, John, Dad and Grandma.

“That army, idiot!”

“Alan!” Same chorus, younger name.

“He started it.”

“He always starts it and you always fall for it.” Scott glared at his little brother. He really was too tired for this. “It’s early. Get yourself some food or drink and back to bed. I’m going for my run.” The early morning pre-dawn glow was now bright enough to see by and not kill himself. God, he needed some time alone.

The expression on his father’s face clearly showed the man wanted to talk further. “Dad, give it time, please?”

His father blinked, but didn’t say anything.

“Trust me.”

He straightened. “I trust you, Scott.”

“Thank you.”

Scott turned to Virgil. “And you, wear your uniform next time. Don’t think I didn’t notice, Thunderbird Two.” He threw a glare at his second for emphasis.

That brought his brother up short. “FAB.”

“And fix whatever caused the accident so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Uh.” Virgil appeared suddenly panicked.

“Virg? What did cause you to fall?”

His brother’s face fell and he slumped with a wince. “A bat startled me.”

“What?”

“Did I just hear that correctly?” Gordon was far too gleeful in the kitchen. “Did you get scared by a bat?!”

“Shut up, Gordon.” It was the chorus again.

The aquanaut might have said something more, but a small explosion on the stove had him yelping and hurrying to wipe milk off the walls.

“It was a bat, okay? It startled me, I stepped back and fell. Can we ignore that now, please?”

“I’ll speak to Brains about finding a bat deterrent to keep them off the ‘birds.” Scott was firm.

Virgil turned to him and there was nothing but gratitude in his eyes.

“And if I hear anyone bugging Virgil about this, they will be cleaning all six of Two’s modules with a toothbrush. Is that clear?”

There was a muttering of assent among his brothers.

Gordon had milk in his hair.

Scott turned to John. “You and I will be having words, Thunderbird Five.”

“What did I do?” The astronaut was innocence itself.

“Strong words, Thunderbird Five.” He glared even more for emphasis.

John shrugged. “FAB.”

Alan. His littlest brother was still holding their father and didn’t appear to be separating from him any time soon. “Allie, you want to talk. Any of us will listen, you know that. Dad included.”

The young astronaut looked at his feet. “I know, Scott. Thank you.”

“We all have bad times. We get through them together.” His eyes drifted up to his father. “We do this together.”

Those strong arms held Alan even tighter and his father gave him a single nod.

Scott took a step back and stared at his family, wishing briefly that Kayo was home and Penny, Parker and Brains were there as well, even if just to complete the picture.

“Grandma, I love you. Gordon, don’t burn the kitchen down.”

And with that, he turned towards the pool, ran out on the deck and into the beginnings of the day.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #jeff tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #alan tracy #grandma tracy

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years ago

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 11: The Rush]

Chapter summary: Queen and Y/N attend a party and experiment with hallucinogens.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, drugs, partying, injuries, sexual references, angst, some baby stuff.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“You’re trying to make us late, aren’t you?”

Roger looms in the doorway of the hotel bathroom, arms crossed, a baiting ghost of a smile on his lips. His eyes—blue like a summer sky, like blooming delphiniums, like veins beneath skin—trace you from your black heels to your dangling diamond earrings, feasting, craving.

You smile back at him as you rearrange your hair for the fourth time. “The later we are, the drunker everyone else will be and the less agonizing small talk I’ll be forced to make with random music industry people.”

“I can assure you, they’re already drunk.”

“I don’t want to get there before the boys.” Freddie and Brian had left the hotel earlier to pregame in the bars of the French Quarter, and John is...actually, you don’t know where John is at the moment, which is unusual.

Roger chuckles, lights a cigarette, takes a deep drag as he gazes at you. “Come on, baby. You’re not getting any more stunning. It’s not possible. And you don’t want Deaks to be the first one to get there, do you? Can you imagine? He’ll end up telling his life story to the golden retriever or locking himself in a closet or something. We can’t abandon him.”

“No, of course not.” You give your reflection one final appraising glance. It’s not bad: sleek black dress, black Prada bag with a thin diamond-studded shoulder strap, smokey eyes, spritzes of Chanel No. 5. It’s pretty freaking great, actually.

Roger nods to your purse. “You got your kit, Nurse Nightingale?”

“Naturally. You think I trust eccentric and impaired musicians not to do gymnastics down a staircase or punch out misbehaving fellow guests? Oh no. Not a chance. I come well prepared.”

“Good.” Reflexively, unconsciously, he shakes his right arm a few times, stretches the hand, winces. It hurts him all the time, and you know that even if he’ll never say it. He drinks more or less constantly when Queen is on tour, and pops pills on top of that. You can’t ask him to stop; he can’t play without the booze and pills, and he can’t live without the band. He wouldn’t even want to try.

“Roger, is it—”

“I’m fine.” His eyes are on you again, everywhere, soaking up every curve and crevice like rain seeping through parched earth. Dusty ashes trickle from his cigarette onto the white tile floor.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says, meditative in a way that is quiet and still and very unlike Roger. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “How much I love you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

New Orleans is cool and humid and the streetlights shine beneath the constellations of the night sky: Auriga, Cassiopeia, Ursa Minor, Orion, Perseus. The salt-tinged dampness in the air sticks to your bare forearms, your ankles, your collarbones, your cheeks; the chaotic ocean wind rolls in off the Gulf of Mexico. It’s February 14th of 1977, Valentine’s Day, a day you’ve always thought of as a sort of anniversary for you and Roger; not the day you told him yes, but the day you surrendered to the eventuality, the day you agreed to fall in love with the world he promised you.

Is surrender the right word? you wonder, because part of you doesn’t like it, part of you flinches like you’ve been hit. Yes, it is. Whether I like it or not.

You’ve never spoken of anniversaries to Roger. He’s never asked.

The mansion, a Southern-style manor with columns and fountains in the front yard, is raucous with music and trimmed with twinkling white lights; there are dozens of people—men in suits, women in gowns, strippers, drag queens, mistresses, wives, acrobats, magicians, drug dealers—mingling on the wrap-around porch, sipping drinks, shouting at each other over the music, snatching appetizers off platters that waiters balance on their shoulders as they weave from one end of the house to the other. You and Roger swim through the crowd towards Brian’s mass of dark curls and Freddie’s brash laughter that carries through the night air like smoke signals.

Some man in a lavender suit—a producer or manager or record company executive—is talking to Freddie and Brian with a cigar smoldering between his fingers. “...And it’s extraordinary, really, this new album, everyone’s talking about what a success the tour has been so far. What’s it called again?”

“A Day At The Races,” Brian offers matter-of-factly, as if he’s in a business meeting.

“Ah, that’s it!”

“What’s so interesting,” Bri continues, “is that this time around the audience has started really getting into it, singing along to almost every song, sometimes we can’t even hear ourselves! And at first we were a bit annoyed by it—”

Freddie adds: “We were thinking, ‘shut up, bitches, you paid to hear us sing!’”

“—But then we realized that we should be appreciating that enthusiasm, that maybe we could even figure out a way to harness that energy and write songs with the audience’s participation in mind.”

“Fascinating!” Lavender Suit Guy replies.

“Good evening, everyone!” Roger announces as he sails into the middle of the conversation. “Hey man, how are you? Enjoying yourself? Have you met Y/N? Yes, she’s a Yankee just like you, from Boston originally, and she can cure hangovers like nobody’s business so she’s incredibly handy to have around. Have you heard the new Eagles record yet? Jesus christ, it’s bloody brilliant...”

As they chatter, you scan the pulsing throng of strangers for John. After a moment—as Freddie is recounting the band’s escapades in Miami last week—he appears wearing a black leather jacket and hair that barely covers his ears.

“Deaky!” Fred gasps.

“John!” you squeal in delight, and he grins enormously as he wraps you in a hug. He smells like cigarettes and Manhattans and that verdant, ancient mystery of the American South.

“Hi,” he says sheepishly.

“Your hair...?!” You reach up to run your hands through it, to flip his bangs one way and then the other, to tug gently on the ends. “I’m in shock. Good shock, but definitely shock.”

“Yeah, some American girl told me once that I had good bone structure and should chop my hair off someday so people could appreciate it.”

“Hmm, who could that be?” Roger teases, turning to you.

“I believe I described the aforementioned bone structure as fantastic, not good, but close enough.” You can’t stop staring at John. You blink a few times, waiting for it to sink in. Instead, something feels unnerving in a way you can’t pin down: new, different, anomalous, inviting.

“You’ve all gone shorter, haven’t you?” Lavender Suit Guy remarks. “Well...except Brian, of course.”

“He had much shorter hair once, if you can believe it,” Freddie says. “Back in the very early days. Before John joined us. Bri would straighten it too, it was horrid, the poor man looked like a Lhasa Apso.”

“You have a new baby at home, don’t you?” Lavender Suit Guy asks John.

“I do, yes, my second. A wonderful little girl named Anna.”

“Congratulations! And Brian, you’ve got one on the way as well?”

Brian smiles proudly. “Two, actually.” Chrissie has curbed her comments concerning Veronica’s dreadfully banal, domestic, decidedly unposh existence now that Chris is bedridden with morning sickness and carrying twins. ‘I feel like the fucking Hindenburg,’ she’d told you over the phone. ‘If the Hindenburg had sore tits and smelled like vomit.’

“We’re drowning in babies,” Roger quips in a tone you can’t quite read. Annoyance? Curiosity? Disapproval? Envy?

“Well, since the wives are away and you’re free to play...” Lavender Suit Guy flags down a waiter holding a small tray of sugar cubes. “Ever dropped acid? There’s blow floating around somewhere too, if that’s more your scene.”

Brian smirks uneasily and stirs his Vesper. You look to John. John looks to Roger.

Freddie laughs and lifts a sugar cube daintily off the tray with his thumb and index finger. “Marvelous, darling! Will it make me hallucinate all my wildest dreams? Will an imaginary cheerleading squad of Farrah Fawcetts suck my cock all night?”

Lavender Suit Guy chuckles. “I make no guarantees.”

“Nothing in life ever does. Isn’t that tragic?” Freddie pops the sugar cube into his mouth and grins. “Beam me up, Scotty.”

Roger asks you: “You want to? It could be an adventure.”

LSD wasn’t exactly the adventure you’d had in mind when you agreed to follow Queen across the globe all those years ago in Boston; still, an adventure is an adventure. And if I don’t keep things interesting, he’ll find someone who will.

Oh, that’s not a thought you knew you had.

And I would like to return it to that repressed, dimly-lit, cobwebbed corner of my subconscious where I’d buried it, thank you very much.

“Is it safe?” John asks Lavender Suit Guy.

“Do you think I’d give you something that wasn’t safe? It’s perfectly safe. It can’t kill you. It’s not heroin. Worst case scenario you get a bad trip. And I’ve never gotten a bad trip from this stuff.”

You conjure up a smile for Roger. “Let’s do it.”

“Excellent,” he says, his face lighting up; and you realize that that’s what he’d wanted. He picks up a sugar cube, lays it on his tongue, and then slips it between your lips as he kisses you. Freddie whistles and claps. The cube dissolves with a pleasant, innocent, nostalgic sweetness. Then Roger turns to John. “You in, Deaks?”

John hesitates, then nods. “Alright.”

Roger passes John a sugar cube (with his hand this time), picks up one for himself, and toasts them like champagne glasses. “Cheers!” The sugar cubes disappear behind their teeth.

Freddie stares at Brian. Brian gnaws his lip and stares back. Freddie wiggles his eyebrows impishly. Finally, Bri sighs, exasperated. “Fine, okay, what the hell, I’ll do it.”

“I’m so proud!” Freddie cries, pressing his palm to his heart. “I am a proud mama.” Brian grimaces as Fred stuffs a sugar cube into his mouth.

“How long does it take to work?” you ask Lavender Suit Guy, feeling no different at all.

“It varies. Not too long, usually.” He whirls, spies someone else he recognizes, waves, and rushes off to greet whoever it is and presumably offer them illegal drugs.

After fifteen disappointingly uneventful minutes of trailing behind the band as they chat with various rich and famous party guests you don’t recognize, you depart to find a restroom.

“Don’t be gone long,” Rog calls after you. John watches with a Manhattan in his right hand. “I don’t want you to be alone if things get...you know...weird.”

“Sure thing.”

You find a small restroom just off the downstairs hallway of the mansion. The clock above the doorframe reads 9:47 p.m. You duck inside, muttering about your first acid experience being a total dud, about defective LSD and Valentine’s Days spent with strangers. As you scrub your hands with rose-scented soap, you glance up to check your makeup in the mirror. Your face isn’t there. Instead, Dominique Beyrand stares back at you.

You gasp, and Dom does too, in that delicate and prodigiously feminine way that she has. You peer penetratingly into the mirror as you gingerly tap your fingertips against your face, which is Dominique’s face now: her olive skin, her high pump cheeks, her large dark eyes like a doe’s, her pink lips. You experiment with a smile, and then a frown; you even emote the same way she does, with a charming candidness, with a rare sort of grace.

Why am I thinking about Dominique?

You’d seen her a few times since Queen’s Hyde Park concert, following Richard Branson around at industry parties and dodging mindless gossip and tedious networking, the same as you. She always greeted Freddie warmly and mostly ignored Roger. He always asked her a few questions anyway, questions you thought he already knew the answers to.

I guess the acid wasn’t a dud after all.

You titter uncertainly. You knot your fingers through your hair—Dominique’s hair—which is thick and glossy and onyx. Her eyes gaze unflinchingly back at you. They blink when you blink.

I have to find Roger, you think suddenly. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know who he’s with.

You spin, wrench open the restroom door, and stagger out into the hallway, your hands pressed against the floral wallpaper to steady yourself. The yellowed, antebellum walls breathe as you do, subtly, sighing as they exhale cool air into the soft clammy skin of your palms. The boards of the hardwood floor clang like piano keys when you step on them. You check the clock hanging above the bathroom door. It reads: 11:09 p.m.

“Uh oh.”

I have to find Roger.

You creep through the hallway as other guests pass you—some zooming by, others moving in slow motion as if they’re treading water, none apparently noticing the breathing walls or musical floor—peeking into each room to see if Roger is there. He’s not in the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, the parlor. Instead there are strangers in all of these places, laughing in each other’s arms, drinking, dancing, touching each other beneath suits and skirts and dresses, smoking cigarettes and blunts, rolling up hundred-dollar bills to snort white powder off silver trays like mirrors.

I have to find Roger. I have to find Roger. I have to find Roger.

In the backyard of the mansion is a cobblestone patio, a garden, a swimming pool which must be freezing but nevertheless has several naked guests thrashing around splashing each other in it, and a bubbling hot tub. You recognize one of the two people in the cloud of mist with their arms resting above the roiling water on the concrete rim. They’re giggling and pointing up at the stars, telling the stories of the constellations, their faces flushed and glistening with steam.

“Hi, Brian!” you cry, relieved.

He turns, sees you, summons a smile; but it’s not a true smile. It’s cagey, it’s dissatisfied, it’s nervous somehow. “Ah, there you are, love.” The girl sitting next to him in the sweltering water is very much his type and entirely unlike Chrissie: tall, slim, blonde, curly-haired. She has a tattoo of a lush, pristine peach on one tanned shoulder blade.

“Have you seen Roger?”

Brian’s brow furrows. “He didn’t find you?”

“Evidently, he did not.”

“Huh. Well, I’m sure he’s around.” Brian waits for you to leave. The blonde girl shoots you a polite but anxious smile. Peaches, you think hazily. Peaches from New Orleans. Just like the girl he told me about when I first arrived in London. Just like the girl in Now I’m Here.

“Bri, come inside with me.”

“I’m fine here,” he replies curtly.

“Bri, please. It’s late. It’s cold. We’re so far from home. There could be sharks.”

Peaches gawps at me, confounded. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Brian snorts. “Sharks can only live in cool water. Everybody knows that. We’re perfectly safe. Stay out of the pool though.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

“Good luck locating Roger.” That’s your cue to go.

“Come with me. I’m freaked out. The floor sounds like Somebody To Love.”

“That’s nothing. The bubbles in here play Beatles songs when they pop.”

“Brian...”

“Y/N,” he says harshly, darkly. “Go find Roger.” What he means is: Y/N, get lost.

What about your wife? you almost shriek at him. What about your children? What about those vows that you made three days before Christmas in 1975, the specter of global fame beckoning from the doorway of the Anglican church that Chrissie grew up attending, Roger’s arm tight around my waist and sprigs of holly in my hair?

But Brian already knows about all that, and he doesn’t care.

I have to find Roger.

You leave Brian and Peaches and slip back into the mansion. You search each room as the floorboards shift and chime beneath your feet; now they’re playing the intro to Seven Seas Of Rhye. You realize that you’ve lost your heels somewhere along the way. You aren’t terribly concerned; you have more pressing matters to attend to.

Behind the fourth door you open is a library with books and menacing portraits lining the walls. Everything inside is blue and wibbly and palpably sad. Freddie is slumped on the floor next to a grand piano, his hair in his face, each hand clutching a full champagne flute.

“Darling,” he slurs, thrusting a glass towards you. Fizzy champagne lurches over the edge and trickles down the side of the glass. “Come join me!”

“Is it the LSD or is the room actually that color? I feel like I’m trapped in Picasso’s Blue Period.”

“Do you? It’s all black and white to me. But blue fits. Welcome to my melancholy room.”

“Your melancholy blues,” you pitch with a grin.

Freddie chuckles. “Drink this champagne before I’m forced to pour it down your throat.”

You take the flute and sit on the floor beside him. “Have you seen Roger?”

“I have not.”

“Oh.”

“Darling,” Freddie asks drowsily. “Do you think one goes to hell for being gay?”

“I don’t think you’d go to hell for anything, Fred. You’re too good a person.”

“Ahhhh,” he sighs, dreamily, peacefully. “You are a delight, my dear. Truly. I adore having you around. I do hope you stay with us, even when Roger makes you want to kill yourself.”

“How would he do that, Fred?” you ask softly.

Freddie doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts your hair away from your face, tucks it behind your ear, smiles patiently at you. “I tried to warn you, you know. We all did. I know you thought we were all being insufferable pricks. But we did it out of love.”

“John never tried to warn me.”

Freddie smirks. “Well. He’s got his own demons, doesn’t he?”

You aren’t sure what Freddie means. You down the champagne and climb unsteadily to your feet. “I have to go find Roger now.”

“Of course you do.” Freddie’s umber eyes flick to the ceiling. “Good god, there are birds up there. That is not sanitary. Leave the door open when you go so they can fly away, would you dear?”

“Okay. I’ll love you no matter who you are, Freddie. We all will. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“Will you come with me? Will you help me? I’m worried about Roger.”

“You should be more worried about you.” Freddie waves goodbye. “I have to stay. I’m writing songs.”

“You don’t have a paper and pen, Fred. Do you need them?”

He grins and pokes his temple with a black fingernail. “It’s all up here.”

“Okay. See you around.”

“Au revoir,” Freddie replies, and closes his eyes as he leans back against a breathing wall.

You step out into the hallway and journey towards the main staircase. Someone has put on the new Eagles record; Hotel California rocks deafeningly through the mansion. The air quivers with slow, ghostly notes strummed on an acoustic guitar. The floorboards have abandoned their piano keys and now jolt with each drumbeat. The house has taken on a shadowy, violet hue.

“There she stood in the doorway

I heard the mission bell

And I was thinking to myself

This could be heaven or this could be hell...”

You clutch the banister as you ascend, studying each guest that passes you for a familiar face. There are none. They’re all blushing and glassy-eyed and cackling as they paw at each other, ignoring you, not seeing you at all. Emerald snakes dart between their rushing feet, forked tongues tasting the lust and impending amnesia in the air. What happens in the darkness tonight will be forgotten tomorrow. It has to be. All the world’s rules and obligations depend upon it.

“Her mind is Tiffany-twisted

She got the Mercedes Benz

She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys

That she calls friends

How they dance in the courtyard

Sweet summer sweat

Some dance to remember

Some dance to forget...”

You catch your reflection in the night-draped window halfway up the staircase. You’re you again, not Dominique. Part of you is comforted by that; part of you feels more alone than ever. You stare at yourself, beautiful, extravagant, dusted with jewels and luck. You have everything. You have nothing. You continue up the staircase.

“Mirrors on the ceiling

The pink champagne on ice

And she said, ‘We are all just prisoners here of our own device’

And in the master's chambers

They gathered for the feast

They stab it with their steely knives

But they just can't kill the beast...”

A woman in a shimmering scarlet dress is sitting on the top step and taking a drag off a cigarette excruciatingly slowly. She exhales, the smoke curling out of her red lips like tentacles, her pale eyes tracking you.

“Last thing I remember

I was running for the door

I had to find the passage back

To the place I was before

‘Relax,’ said the night man

‘We are programmed to receive

You can check out any time you like

But you can never leave.’”

You summit the staircase and peer down the hallway to your right. At the end of it is a vast, broken picture window. Cold night wind pours in through the jagged hole in the glass; you can see stars outside. A man is lying on the floor next to the window. You know him.

“John!” you shout, and sprint to his side.

“Hi.” He’s cradling his right arm to his chest. His knuckles are shredded and drenched in crimson blood. Incandescent shards of glass protrude from his hand and glint under the lights. There’s a heavy, coppery, sick-sweet scent in the air.

“John, honey, why would you attack an innocent window...?”

“It wasn’t so innocent. You should have heard what the bastard said to me.”

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up—”

“Stop,” he hisses when you try to touch him.

“John—”

“No!” he screams, pushing your hands away. “Stop it, just leave me, just fucking leave me!”

You step back, cross your arms over your chest, raise your eyebrows impatiently. “You want to tell me who you’re really so mad at?”

He frowns down at the rug, which is streaked with his blood. “Me, I guess.”

“Well you can be mad at yourself at the hospital.”

“No, no hospital,” he insists.

“Your hand is positively mangled. Your playing hand. You need to get it cleaned out.”

“You can fix it. No one else.”

“Since I’m tripping on acid, I probably shouldn’t be the one to fish glass shards out of your skin.”

“You can fix it,” he repeats, confidently now.

“Fine. Have it your way.” You help John to his feet, lead him downstairs, and sit him down at the kitchen table. You open your purse, unpack your supplies and position them in a neat row, shake out your hands to get them limber, give John a glass of water. “Are you going to have to write whoever owns this place a check for the window?”

“No one knows I’m the one who did it. No one even knows who I am.”

“I know who you are, John. Here comes the lidocaine.” You land a series of injections into the flesh surrounding his wrist, his knuckles, the back of his hand. You pause each time you get distracted by the murmurings of the table, which apparently speaks German. Okay table, this is important, kindly shut the hell up. Danke.

“Ow,” John says lethargically.

“And so what if these people don’t know who you are? Who the fuck needs them? You don’t need anyone who doesn’t know you’re the backbone of this band. Who made the Deaky Amp? Who wrote You’re My Best Friend? Who stays focused and calmly waits for the others to stop bludgeoning each other on a nearly daily basis? John fucking Deacon, that’s who.”

“Yeah. Alright,” John agrees, smiling. “Who needs them.”

“You’re gonna get your moment in the sun, don’t you worry.” You pick up your tweezers and begin plucking slivers of glass out of John’s bloody hand, plinking each into a white ceramic bowl. “Everyone is going to know you one day. You’re gonna spread your wings and write a ton of hits and unforgettable basslines and show the world what a genius you are.”

“Sounds thrilling. I’ll see what I can do.” He gazes down at his hand. “It doesn’t hurt at all now, that’s incredible.”

“That’s the magic of modern medicine.” You drop another shard of glass into the bowl. “How’s your first-ever LSD experience going so far?”

“Aside from the window business, quite well. Better now that you showed up.”

“Sorry. I spent an hour being confused by my own reflection and then tried to find Roger. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“I have not.”

After a while you set your tweezers down on the table and inspect John’s hand closely. “Does this look glass-free to you? My eyes aren’t super trustworthy at the moment. I just saw a fish swim by outside.”

“It looks perfect, in my layperson’s opinion.”

“Okay. Let’s wash and sanitize, then we’ll wrap...”

John follows you placidly to the sink, lets you scrub and towel off his hand, returns to the table so you can bandage it with gauze. It’s quieter in the house now, the guests slowly dispersing, the music turned down and something mellow by the Stones; Gimme Shelter, you think.

“What made you so angry?” you ask him. “You know. Angry enough to assault a window.”

For a long time, John doesn’t answer. He looks up at the ceiling, his gentle greyish eyes chasing something you can’t see; birds, maybe, like Freddie. Maybe he’s looking for the sun. Maybe he’s looking for himself. Finally, he says, very quietly: “I’m just so fucking tired of lying all the time.”

“You never have to lie to me, John.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I do.”

Then you hear a laugh, an untamed one, a familiar one. You turn to John. “Was that just me or...?”

“I heard it too.”

You both leap from the table and hurry after the sound. You burst outside onto the cobblestone patio. Roger is doing backstroke laps in the pool, howling up at the moon. There’s no sign of Brian or Peaches.

“Roger!” you yell.

“Hey, baby! I’m winning! I’m in the Olympics! I made the team! Do you see me winning?”

“You’re totally winning. Please come out before you get pneumonia or attacked by a shark.”

“Shark...?” John inquires.

“I’ve discovered something amazing,” Roger declares, still swimming. He flails his right arm in the air for you to see; the serrated mark that mars the underside appears to be slithering, a snake made of scar tissue and interrupted plans. “When you’re on drugs, nothing hurts!”

“Baby, please come out now.”

Roger obliges, hauling himself up the ladder and out of the pool. He’s still in his black suit; it’s ruined and clings to him and is dripping buckets of chlorine-smelling water. John yanks a towel off a chair and tosses it to Roger, who drapes it over his shoulders like a cape.

“Jesus christ, where have you been?!” you demand. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Roger grins toothily. “A sheer one?”

Despite yourself, you smile back. “Oh yeah. A sheer heart attack. Real cardiac.”

“I had the best idea. Baby, you gotta hear my great idea. It’s so great.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

He lunges to wrap you in a cold, sopping hug. “Everyone’s having babies, right?”

“Uh, well, not everyone...”

“We should have a baby.”

John’s eyes go wide. You swallow noisily. “Roger, love, I don’t think right now is the ideal time to make a decision like that.”

“Why...? Oh. Right.”

“Yeah.”

“If I still feel this way in forty-eight hours, can we have a baby?”

“Roger, I...” You glance to John for help. He raises his hands in surrender, one bare, one clumsily bandaged. You’re on your own, kid, that look says. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. That’s a lot of responsibility. I’d have to stay home with them. I wouldn’t be the tour nurse anymore.” I would never know where you were, who you were with.

“I’ll fly you out to visit all the time. I’ll have to. I can’t do this without you.” His eyes—blue like frigid pool water, like bruises, like dreams—are euphoric, effervescent.

I can’t say no to him, you realize, and it sends a biting shudder up the rungs of your spine. I didn’t just fall in love. I took a fucking nosedive.

Oh, this SO did not go according to plan.

You remember when you first met Queen, how independent and fearless and guarded you had been, how forcefully you had resolved not to put your happiness in a pair of wild, reckless hands like Roger’s.

What happened to that girl? How do I get her back?

And there’s something else, too: a thought you barely recognize as your own. A child would make us permanent.

John is watching you, edgy, apprehensive; but he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. “We can try. If you still feel this way in forty-eight hours.”

“And I will.” Roger’s teeth skate up your neck and he whispers, his breath hot against the goosebumps rising on your skin: “Let me know when you’re late.”

111 notes · View notes

when-they-write-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

Let’s Run

pairing: sciles

wc: 4212

notes: argent!stiles, beta!scott, first meetings. a commission or the lovely @fox-stilesx, this is a brand new pairing for me, so i hope i did your prompt justice!

The thing was, Stiles hated moving.

He’d done it a million times. It didn’t seem like ‘staying in one spot’ was a definition that existed in his parents minds. He didn’t think that ‘listening’ was something that fit into their rule book either. Because as he gazed around his new room for the second time that year, Stiles felt nothing but a hole in his stomach.

New town, new house, new school year. No new friends though, because Stiles knew better than to try and make some at this point. He didn’t get attached. Because if he didn’t get attached then it made picking up and moving locations that much easier.

His parents dealt weapons. Stiles had long since grown used to the “it’s what we do” speech that came whenever he complained.

Which might have been how he found himself standing in a near-empty bedroom, a hollow feeling in his chest, and a sigh building up in his throat. He startled only when his father pushed the door open, glancing around the room, and then nodded in his direction.

“It’s a good spot.”

“This town is in the middle of nowhere.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Chris said, gazing around the room again. “It’s much nicer than the last place.”

Stiles clenched his jaw, unable to disagree. The door was pulled closed again and he dropped his bags onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. Stiles was a Senior. He just had to get through this next school year and hopefully, his parents wouldn’t pull him out before it ended. And then he’d be off to college. Away all of this. Away from whatever they did and from the lives he was constantly ripped from.

Stiles was pretty sure he was going to hate Beacon Hills.

But he’d been wrong before.

The vice-principal walked Stiles to his first-class, as if he was going to get lost and as if he needed the further embarrassment on this day. Stiles was pretty sure that was the exact thing that was going to get him ignored for the rest of the school year but when he walked into the classroom, eyes flitting over the entire class, he was surprised to see one friendly face.

A boy with floppy hair grinned the moment Stiles came into view. Stiles was surprised to find himself smiling slightly back; a small expression that tugged at the corners of his lips. He hadn’t smiled in a while.

The moment the vice-principal finished introducing him, Stiles wandered over and dropped into the chair in front of the boy, glancing over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. “Uh, I’m Stiles.”

“Scott!”

Stiles grinned, digging into his backpack and searching for a pen. But then his smile slipped and he scrounged around even harder, cursing underneath his breath.

But then there was a pen hovering in front of his face. Stiles raised his eyes, arching a brow, and Scott looked bashful. “Figured you could use it.”

“Dude, what are you, some kind of mind reader?”

“What?” Scott suddenly looked terrified. “No! No, I’m just me. Scott McCall, absolutely nothing important or interesting. At all.”

Stiles huffed, taking the pen.

The classes passed by fairly quickly. Stiles was pretty sure the teacher, Harris, didn’t like him right off the bat from the narrowed-eyed looks that he kept getting. Which was a little unfair. It wasn’t like Stiles had ever been a teacher’s pet or anything, but he also hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet. So he just ignored the guy’s gaze until class ended and then he rushed out as quickly as he could.

Stiles was surprised to see someone standing by his locker the moment he slammed it closed. He yelped, stumbling back, and Scott just grinned.

“Dude, what class do you have next?”

Stiles blinked at him for a moment. Then he pulled out his schedule and peered at it before glancing back up. “Finstock?”

“Oh, man!” Scott looked excited. “Me too.”

Once more, a small smile played across Stiles’s lips. He let himself tail the floppy-haired boy, despite his earlier promises of don’t get close, never get close ringing through his ears. Scott dropped down into a seat right beside him and ended up being at his side through the rest of the day, even seeking Stiles out at lunch.

He was a bit like a lost puppy. But in a sort of fascinating way. Scott even invited him to his lacrosse practice after school and Stiles remembered his parent’s curfew with a small frown, but ended up agreeing anyway.

Which might have been how he found himself next to a red-haired girl after school, glancing over as she tossed her hair over her shoulder and searched him up and down. “And who are you?”

“Uh, Stiles.”

“What the hell is a Stiles?”

Stiles blinked, a little offended. “Me, I think.”

The girl rolled her eyes, once more searching him up and down. As if Stiles was hiding something underneath baggy jeans and his old sweatshirt. He tried not to fidget but her green eyes were piercing, dammit. But then finally, she smiled and offered out a hand.

“I’m Lydia Martin. And you’re… cute in a sort of pale, gangly kind of way.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“So who are you here for?”

Stiles felt his face growing warm, eyes tracing over the field involuntarily. Lydia followed his gaze and a small smile crept across her lips as Stiles’s eyes landed on the number ‘11’ jersey.

“Scott McCall, then? Good choice. He’s one of the star players.”

Stiles blinked. “Seriously?”

“Jackson thinks he’s on drugs,” Lydia said absentmindedly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Could be true. I mean, who the hell gets so good at lacrosse without a warning right over the summer?”

Stiles didn’t even know how lacrosse was played. He shrugged. “He practiced?”

“Maybe.”

The instigation that Scott could be cheating made Stiles feel a little uncomfortable for some reason. He watched the rest of the practice quietly and when it was over and Scott came running toward them, Stiles hurriedly pushed himself up and narrowly avoided talking to the boy.

But somehow, Scott still caught him in the parking lot. Stiles didn’t know how the hell he moved so fast but he quickly found himself trapped between the boy and his jeep, forcing a nervous smile.

“Uh, hey, Scotty. What’s up?”

“Did something happen? You took off kind of quickly after practice.”

“Strict parents,” Stiles said, and that wasn’t exactly a lie. He thought the crease between Scott’s eyes softened a little bit and Stiles felt himself smiling a little more. “But I’ll see you at school tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “Definitely.”

Definitely.

There was this small part of Stiles’s brain that was still spinning, even after he got home. Like usual, he brushed his parents off and went straight upstairs, flipping his laptop open. He typed in Beacon Hills, scrolled through everything that had happened in the past ten years or so, and was more than disappointed to see there wasn’t much.

A fire in the preserve. A few deaths spotted here and there. And then… and then a few more deaths recently. Like, right around a year before Stiles had shown up.

He swallowed hard, scrolling through them. There was a series of names he didn’t recognize. The list went on for longer than Stiles thought was normal and at the very end of it was a one Peter Hale. The accused murderer. And a… a Kate Argent.

Stiles’s stomach clenched.

He shoved himself up and stumbled back downstairs. The smell of dinner came drifting from the kitchen and Victoria Argent called something from a distance, but Stiles flat out ignored her. He found his father in the garage with the weapons, leaning against the doorway and folding his arms over his chest and the door closed behind him.

Chris glanced over with a raised eyebrow. Stiles raised one right back.

“Yes, Stiles?”

“I had an aunt.”

For a moment, Chris’s grip tightened on the gun he was cleaning. Stiles thought he caught a small twitch in his eye but the man didn’t say anything, returning to his work. “You did.”

“She died here.”

“How do you know all these things?”

“I do my research.”

“And why are you doing research your first week in town?”

Stiles clenched his jaw, unwilling to admit anything. Because admitting to anything would be admitting to Scott. And Stiles didn’t know why he didn’t want to mention anything about Scott, but he didn’t.

“What happened to aunt Kate?”

Once more, the eyes of the man across from him twitched. “We don’t talk about Kate.”

“Because she died?”

“No.”

“Because she was killed by Peter Hale?”

In a flash, Chris was turning on him and Stiles stumbled back, losing his relaxed position. The man’s eyes flashed as he raised a trembling finger. “What do you know about Peter Hale?”

“N-nothing,” Stiles stammered. “I mean, nothing much. Just a name. And that he killed a bunch of people.

“He killed a bunch of people,” Chris repeated. Then, like he was trying to convince himself; “Kate didn’t. Not Kate.”

Stiles swallowed hard, nodding. Chris turned back to his gun and Stiles nervously backed away. He could’ve sworn the man was muttering something about ‘beasts’ and ‘mutts’ underneath his breath, but Stiles couldn’t be sure. He retreated back to his room and shut the door tightly at his back, leaning heavily against it for a moment.

Then he took a deep breath and moved back toward his laptop. He was missing something. He knew he was. Stiles just had to figure out what.

And he was determined to.

Scott was waiting for him outside of school the next morning, Stiles noticed. With a bright grin on his face. One that lit up even more when he saw Stiles’s jeep pull into the parking lot.

Stiles couldn’t help a small relieved smile of his own. He almost wanted to tell Scott everything he’d come across last night; from the fire, to the deaths, to his mysterious aunt. But then he remembered he’d known this boy for less than a week and quickly clamped his mouth back shut.

Scott’s brows were still drawn together when Stiles approached.

“What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“You smell weird.”

Stiles blinked at him, raising an eyebrow. He made a show to lift up his shirt and sniff it, and Scott’s face turned bright red. The boy quickly shrugged, messing with the straps of his backpack on his shoulders.

“Never mind.”

“Dude, you’re so weird.”

Scott gave him a kicked-puppy look, but then seeing Stiles’s small smile, it faded. Scott grinned back and together, they turned back into the school.

Stiles was on the edge of his seat throughout the entire day. He kept glancing at the clock, zoning out, and by the time half of the day was over, he already had detention with Harris for ‘not paying good enough attention’ which Stiles supposed was fair.

He still didn’t like it though.

Scott came with him to detention and sat by his side, even though he was missing practice. And Stiles realized then that maybe he could get used to this. Maybe he could get used to having a friend like Scott McCall.

It all went downhill way too fast.

His dad started leaving the house more at night. Stiles had no idea where but he was pretty sure it had something to do with why they had moved to Beacon Hills in the first place. His mother wasn’t talking much and her cold looks seemed to get colder. Stiles found himself either spending his time in his room, out with Scott, or in the library trying to put two and two together.

He still hadn’t figured things out. But he thought he was getting somewhere.

It started when Scott found the envelope out in the garage among the guns. It was yellow, taped shut, but had his name on it. For some reason. Stiles didn’t know why, it didn’t have an address, and he really didn’t think he should be getting any sort of mail.

Inside was a simple necklace. One of a wolf, Stiles realized the longer he looked. A wolf and a star.

There was a note too. A simple one. One he didn’t understand.

Tell Stiles.

Stiles stared at it for a long moment, his head spinning. Tell him what? What the hell were his parents keeping from him? And this… who was this? He looked at the necklace held in his hand and then, not giving himself a chance to change his mind, pulled it over his head. He left the envelope and note where they were, quickly ducking back out of the garage and slipping the necklace underneath his shirt.

Either his parents never noticed or they didn’t say a word.

After that, weeks turned into months. Stiles started spending time at Scott’s house, except Scott hated it there. Hated being around his father, around the man’s words, around the way the man drank too much. So they started spending time in the preserve. Stiles wanted to see as much of it as he could but the moment he mentioned that to Scott, the boy looked terrified.

“We don’t go deep into the preserve.”

“We?”

“You and me,” the boy said quietly. “There’s… an abandoned house out there. And there’s a pack— a group— of people out there. We don’t go deep into the preserve.”

Stiles looked at him for a long time before he forced himself to nod. Scott instantly looked relieved and they spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the sunset, sitting on the hood of Stiles’ jeep as the sky turned the color of pale gold.

Stiles wanted to bring Scott home, he told him one day. But then Scott had paled so fast, it was like Stiles had told him he wanted the boy to meet with his father and their garage full of guns.

“That’s not a good idea, Stiles.”

It felt a little bit like a blow to the gut. Stiles looked at him for a long moment before swallowing hard. “Why not?”

“Your family doesn’t want to meet me.”

“Because…?”

“Because, Stiles,” Scott said, voice soft. “Please just let it go.”

Stiles forced himself to nod, despite the twisting inside of his chest. Scott looked at him for a long moment before leaning forward and tracing gentle fingers over the back of his neck. It tickled and Stiles squeaked, trying to twist away.

A small smile played along the edges of Scott’s face. Stiles gave him a strange look.

“What was that for?”

“It’s…” The boy’s face fell a little. “It’s nothing.”

“I wish you could talk to me, dude”

“Yeah,” Scott said, his words almost too quiet for them to be heard. But Stiles caught the soft whisper all the same. “I do too.”

Stiles didn’t know what that meant.

He wished he did.

Stiles’s father started acting stranger. There was something going on in the town, he knew. Rumors of something attacking the nearby nightclub sifted through the wind. The old Beacon Hills swim coach went missing. Then he was pronounced dead.

Stiles felt like he was being shut out from his own family. He just didn’t know why.

They told him to stop seeing Scott. Somehow— somehow— his parents knew about Scott. Even Stiles didn’t think he knew about Scott. Not entirely, at least. He didn’t know everything.

He wondered if he’d ever know everything.

Stiles snuck out of his window almost every night. He and Scott would meet on the edge of the preserve, in the parking lot of the vet’s clinic, or at the front of the school. And it was… well, it was nice. It was secret. It was calm

One day, arms wrapped around his knees, Stiles decided he’d had enough. “I want to leave Beacon Hills.”

Scott looked at him in shock. “What?”

“I want to leave,” Stiles said. “After graduation or before, I don’t care. I want to get away from my family, from my name, from everything that I call a childhood.”

“But,” Scott said softly, “You’re an Argent.”

“So?”

“Stiles, what do you know about your family?”

Stiles looked over in surprise and in the faint moonlight, Scott’s eyes almost seemed to shine golden instead of brown. He figured it was just a trick of the light. “I know my aunt was killed by a man named Peter Hale,” Stiles said. “I know my father does something with guns that he won’t admit aloud. I know that my mom keeps secrets. They all do.”

“All?”

“Everyone I’ve ever met,” Stiles said, shivering. He turned his gaze back outward, arms wrapped tighter around his legs. “I don’t think the people my parents meet with are real in their jobs. I don’t think my father goes out to make weapon deals. And I don’t know how to react when he comes home with hands covered in blood.”

“They’ve never told you anything?”

Stiles looked back over sharply. “Is there anything to tell?”

Scott held his gaze for a long moment. Then he turned his eyes back away, so they no longer reflected in the moonlight. And once more, they were brown again. “I guess not.”

Stiles continued to stare. He didn’t think he believed him.

He didn’t think he believed anyone anymore.

Stiles was caught the night before he was six months into living his new Beacon Hills life. He tried to sneak in through his window only to see his father sitting on the edge of his bed. Stiles startled so hard he nearly went toppling right back out of it but then Chris was there in a second, catching his arm and dragging him back inside.

Stiles’s mouth had gone dry. “Look, I know I’m not supposed to—”

“Who were you out with?”

“No one.”

“Was it Scott?”

Stiles snapped his mouth shut. Chris looked at him for a long moment before running a hand through his hair with a sigh. “It’s time we showed you something.”

“I don’t want to see anything.”

“Stiles, I know about the necklace underneath your shirt. Don’t you want to know what it means?”

Stiles straightened, his heart leaping into his throat. “What?”

“Come downstairs.”

Stiles still hesitated for a moment. Sighing again, his father left the room and he reached up, touching the pendant that he always kept hidden. The only person who had seen it was his dad; that’s what Stiles thought, at least. But he’d also thought the boy’s eyes had flashed gold so maybe he didn’t know anything.

He followed Chris slowly. Both of his parents were already at the table.

Stiles wasn’t prepared for what they were about to tell him.

If someone would’ve said that when he came to Beacon Hills, he’d find himself drawn to the fluffiest boy in Beacon Hills, uncover family secrets that should never exist, and learn about werewolves, Stiles would have laughed in their face.

He laughed in the face of his father. But the man’s expression was tight, there was no sense of lie to his words, and for the first time in his entire life, Stiles thought maybe he believed a single word that came out of the man’s mouth.

He turned around and walked straight out of the house. The name called at his back was the only attempt to stop him.

Stiles didn’t stop.

He got in his jeep and left. Stiles didn’t know where he was going— hell, he didn’t even know what to think— but he had to get away.

From the werewolves. The supernatural. The hunters.

Because it was all real.

And Stiles hated himself for believing that. And he hated himself even more for not figuring it all out earlier. How had he not figured it all out earlier?

The moon was full and heavy in the sky. Stiles hit the road and realized he had to get away. He literally had to get away. Out of Beacon Hills, away from all of its craziness. Away from his family and their guns and their past.

Stiles wasn't a killer. Stiles never wanted to be a killer.

Suddenly, something darted in front of his car.

Stiles hit the breaks so hard, his tires squealed. He went flying off the edge of the road and barely bit back a curse as he nearly went into the nearest ditch. Roscoe jerked to a stop and Stiles hit the steering wheel so hard, his head spun for a moment. He thought he could see stars. Knew he could taste blood.

Then his door was being pulled open and someone was helping him out into the night. Stiles felt a little sick.

“What— what was that?”

The figure didn’t answer. Stiles blinked for a moment before realizing that he recognized that flop of brown hair. That uneven jawline. But not those golden eyes.

He yanked back so hard, Stiles nearly went sprawling again.

“It’s you,” Stiles said. “You’re one of them.”

Scott flinched like he’d been hit. Stiles instantly felt a pang of guilt but he smothered it, clenching his jaw.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“Would you have believed me?”

“Yes,” Stiles said, and he knew there was no lie to his words. Scott straightened, eyes widening, and Stiles grit his teeth even harder. “You were… you were something to me. Once. I would have believed you, Scott. Dammit, I would have believed you.”

“Only once?”

Stiles looked at him for a long moment. Then when he stepped forward, Scott didn’t move back. But the boy’s eyes flickered a little. “Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me, Scott.”

“Stiles—”

“I need to see. Show me.”

Slowly, the boy did. His face shifted and his eyes turned gold. Fangs slotted over his teeth and his face grew harder. More animalistic. Stiles felt his heart skip a beat and he stepped closer, slowly reaching out. When Scott didn’t move, he traced his fingers over the boy’s face. Over his forehead, down his cheeks.

Then Stiles drew back. Scott looked at him with brown eyes and a scared expression.

“Do you hate me?”

Stiles wished he did. But he shook his head. “No.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Never.”

“And your family…”

“I don’t want it,” Stiles said. Scott looked at him in shock, but Stiles just raised his chin. “I don’t want to be a hunter. I don’t want… I don’t want to be an Argent. I never did.”

“Stiles—”

“Do you want me to be that?”

“No.”

“You’re so afraid of me finding out what you are,” Stiles said softly. “But you were never afraid about what I am? What I could be?”

“Is that something I should fear?”

Stiles dropped his gaze and wordlessly shook his head. Suddenly, there was a hand catching his own. Gentle fingers that reached up and traced over the back of his neck. Stiles shivered, just like the first time.

“What does that mean?”

Scott looked bashful. Stiles raised an eyebrow and the boy shrugged. “It’s a scenting thing.”

“Scenting?”

“It makes a claim.”

“Like what?”

“That… you’re mine.”

“Yours,” Stiles whispered. Scott nodded carefully.

“Is that okay?”

Stiles thought about it for a moment. A day ago, he thought he knew what his answer would have been. But a day ago, he thought he was slowly falling for the most normal and plain boy in Beacon Hills— if he wasn’t a little overly good at lacrosse.

But then Stiles found himself nodding too. And Scott’s eyes sparked to gold for a moment.

“It’s okay.”

One moment, the boy was looking at him nervously. And then the second, there was a hand balling in Stiles’s shirt and Scott was pulling him forward, gentle lips brushing against his own. Stiles startled, making a noise of surprise, and then melted.

The kiss was gentle. Slow. Giving him an out, giving him a chance to pull back. Stiles didn’t take it, just letting himself fall head over heels into the feeling, the taste, the warmth of it all. Scott kissed him softly. As if promising safety and protection and a place— a home.

A home.

“Let’s get out of here,” Stiles said, breathless around his lips. “Out of Beacon Hills, away from this place.”

Scott drew back and looked at him in surprise. Stiles swallowed hard.

“Let’s run from here, Scott.”

“Stiles—”

“Please don’t tell me anything but no.”

Scott looked at him for a long moment, eyes flickering from brown to gold. Then he kissed him again. And this time, Stiles knew it was a promise just for the sake of a promise. “Okay.”

“We’ll go?”

“We won’t look back.”

Scott grinned and Stiles found himself smiling back. Because this was it— this was the exact thing he’d been searching for. For so long. From town to town, getting to know people over and over again only to give up. This was his second chance. This was their second chance.

And suddenly, Stiles realized a second chance was all he needed.

- -

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