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nationalharryleague · 3 years

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Two for the Show

Summary: Jeff plans for Harry’s new opening act to be more than that.

Genre: Famous Fake Dating!

Word Count: 17.1k!

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A/N: Hey babes!! This is something I’ve been working on since December now and I’m so fucking proud of it and how it turned out!!! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m so so so excited to hear what everyone has to say!! Giant thank you’s go out to the incredible soph (@theharriediaries) and Lu (@meetmymouth) bc this never would have come to fruition without them and their help!! Please let me know what you think!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!! Happy reading y’all :)

***

Keeping appearances in the public eye is a delicate balance.

If Y/N was being honest with herself, everything Full Stop Management had ever suggested to her had worked, and very well. When they suggested her music took a more pop direction, they set her up with a team of fantastic producers and her music sales and popularity skyrocketed. And when they set up an appointment with a celebrity stylist to figure out her signature style, it worked; they turned her into the 1970’s inspired goddess she had always dreamed of being. Even the hours of media training that she had been put through worked, helping her learn how to bob and weave even the most intrusive of interview questions.

But this time, she thought they might be going too far.

“Jeff,” she began with a sigh and a doubtful shake of her head, “I don’t know about this one.”

“It’s just a few months before and during the tour,” explained the man sitting across from her at the long conference table. “You’ll be seen in public a few times to drum up publicity for the tour and your album, maybe do an interview or two together, and some light PDA.”

His expression was honest and earnest. In the time he had represented her, he had never done anything to her that didn’t help her succeed. It was not hard for her to believe that he just wanted what was best for her and her career.

But something kept holding her back.

“I just got my heart broken in the most public way,” she said softly, absentmindedly fiddling with the base of her ring finger where an engagement ring once sat. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be seen jumping back into a whirlwind romance?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, it will make James look even worse than he already does after what he did to you.” She had to admit the idea of a little revenge did perk her ears up a bit. “And it doesn’t hurt that Harry is so universally loved and known for being such a good guy.”

That was another reason she was skeptical of this entire plot. This was Harry Styles they were talking about; Harry fucking Styles. She had only met him once or twice while working out details for her to be the opening act for his upcoming tour, but she had been a big fan of his and idolized him since she was a teen. Just meeting him threw her inner 16 year old self for a loop, let alone trying to pretend she was in love with him.

In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be too hard on her end once she got over being starstruck; she wasn’t so sure she still wasn’t kind of in love with him, or at least the version the public saw.

“Listen,” Jeff began again, his voice taking on a bluntness, “no one cares about the opening act. No one bought tickets to see you; they’re there to see Harry.” His words stung but she knew it was the truth. “But if they think you are a part of Harry’s life, they care about you too. And they will keep on caring about you after they leave the show.” Her apprehensiveness must have been clear on her face when he put on a gentle smile. “He’s a really nice person. I promise.”

“I know,” she breathed, a small pout finding its way to her lips. “Fine,” she conceded after a moment, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically to signal surrender. “I’m in.”

A triumphant grin spread across his face. “Thank you. I’ll go call Harry and tell him you’re down.” She watched as he got up from his chair and came towards her, pressing a brief and friendly kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”

“I better not, Azoff,” she chuckled while shaking her head slightly.

Soon she was alone in the conference room, basking in the light from the floor to ceiling windows that sat before her.

“What did I just get myself into?” she mumbled quietly to herself.

***

The answer to that question came two weeks later when she was sitting across a table from the Harry Styles at a small outdoor brunch spot in LA. Their meeting place was strategic, a small restaurant, not too flashy so it didn’t look like they were seeking attention, but outdoors where anyone could see. It was only a matter of time before he was recognized, and the sighting was almost guaranteed to be trending on Twitter only minutes later.

She couldn’t say that she wasn’t nervous. The inside of her mouth had been chewed raw and the bags under her eyes showed she had been having trouble sleeping in the nights leading up to their first appearance together. By the end of the day, she would most likely have countless articles written about her and possibly have millions of angry fangirls coming after her; even though their “relationship” wouldn’t be officially confirmed for a few weeks.

If all went to Jeff’s plan, she would become an A-lister overnight.

She stood in front of her closet for over an hour, trying on and taking off outfits before finally settling on her favorite pair of bright red corduroy flares and a crisp white textured halter top. She paired the outfit with a new pair of heeled leather boots. They were a flashy pair that were split down the middle, bright yellow on one side and white with yellow stars on the other, hoping Harry would appreciate the bold colors.

She meticulously did her makeup, sure to match her lipstick color exactly to the shade of her pants; and spent far too long in front of the mirror fussing with her hair, praying it would lay the way she wanted it to.

She knew that she was going to be photographed in some way shape or form, and with the fashion icon himself. She had to look good. He had been on the cover of Vogue for god’s sake.

When she finally arrived at the cafe, Harry sat quietly across from her. He looked casual, or as casual as Harry Styles gets. A yellow t-shirt, that was tight enough to look as if it was painted on, showed off his muscular chest and arms. His iconic tattoos illustrated his arms and she hoped he wouldn’t notice as she covertly tried to examine closely. He uncomfortably ran his palms down the legs of his high waisted denim flares that had been paired with his signature pearl necklace and ratty, but well loved, white vans.

And she couldn’t forget his rings. His signature gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ looked back at her as he gently grasped his flute filled to the brim with a mimosa, bringing it to his pink lips that were surrounded by the short stubble he had been wearing lately.

The pair sat in a slightly awkward silence, both seeming to down their mimosas quickly just because it was something to do with their hands and could occupy their lips so they didn’t have to talk.

To say she was panicking, wouldn’t be too much of an over exaggeration. She was sitting across from one of the world’s biggest stars, and as one of his biggest closeted fans. The things he could do for her career were astronomical and it was hard to ignore that, but she also had a hard time getting over the way his hair seemed to fall into perfect tousled curls and his dreamy green eyes.

She had been in love with him (or at least the idea of him) since she was 16. She couldn’t help it.

But the bottomless mimosas helped to break her anxiety, and apparently his as well, as they both began to feel a slight buzz.

“So how did Jeff end up talking you into this?” Harry eventually broke the silence, the alcohol lowering his naturally shy inhibitions just enough to kick off their conversation.

She let a playful eye roll take over her face before she began. “Oh Jeff,” she said jokingly, letting out a long sigh. “I was convinced somewhere in between ‘it’ll make your ex look bad’ and a stern ‘no one ever cares about the opening act,’” she chuckled, while sarcastically wagging her finger in the air, dramatically re-enacting his scolds.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, letting out a dramatic ‘ouch.’ “He’s not always gentle, is he?” matching her chuckle.

“He knows where to hit you where it hurts,” she laughed, while nodding in agreement. “How did he convince you?”

“Coincidently, he also took a low blow involving my ex. I believe his words were ‘You wrote an entire album about her and haven’t dated anyone since and it makes you look kind of pathetic.’” He dramatically used air quotes and did his best impression of Jeff’s American accent. She couldn’t hold back the giggles that erupted from her.

“Oh my goodness,” she let out through slightly buzzed giggles, “you definitely win.”

From that point, their conversation began to flow more easily, easing her anxiety as she learned he was generally easy to talk to. He laughed at her jokes, and she laughed at his. He really did have the calming and disarming quality that people always said he had, like could melt down any walls and convince you to be honest with him, even if you didn’t really want to be. She was shocked to find that she wanted him to genuinely be a friend to her so badly. He was just so nice and such a good listener.

Their conversation took a turn when Harry’s super power of knowing when his picture was being taken kicked in. “Give me your hand,” he said to her, diverting from the pleasant conversation they had been having about their families. “Don’t look but there’s someone across the street taking photos of us.”

His instructions brought her back to the reality that they weren’t really friends and that all of this was for show.

She brought her hand up to meet his, strategically resting on the side of the table that faced the street, giving the camera the best view. The cool metal of his hand full of rings felt good against her skin that had been baking in the hot LA sun and he passed his thumb over her knuckles with faux affection.

She couldn’t help but feel a dishonest weight pulling on her heart. She knew everything was going to plan and this was all for the best, but it also felt slightly wrong. She played with her small heart shaped earring to distract herself from the sinking feeling.

“Harry,” she began, knowing the people across the street were out of ear shot. Her voice brought his attention from her hand back up to her eyes. “Does this feel wrong to you at all?”

“How so?”

“It just feels dishonest, like we’re lying to millions of people, our–well, mostly your fans.” She couldn’t help but correct herself.

His eyes softened at her words, like he was taking in the innocence she still held onto after only being in the industry for a short time, compared to his decade in the spotlight.

“I try not to think of it as lying,” he spoke slowly after a moment of thinking. He nodded along softly to punctuate his words. “When you think about all this as lying, it starts to weigh pretty heavy on you as a person. I try to be as honest as possible in my music and daily life, but that’s not always what people want to see. They want a show that will entertain them, and it is our job to give it to them.”

“I see,” she mused.

They sat together for another hour or so, allowing their small mimosa buzz to wear off enough for them to drive the short distances to their homes. The pair eventually found their way back to a comfortable conversation, but Harry’s comment about being in the public eye still weighed on her.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if all of this was worth it. Y/N was a master at dodging a question and turning the charm to 10 when it was needed, but she wasn’t a liar and she definitely wasn’t an actress. She hoped she (or Jeff) hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew with all of this.

Harry eventually walked her back to her car that was parked a few blocks away, and while she was sure he was doing it for the cameras, she didn’t doubt that he would have done it even if they weren’t there. He just seemed like that kind of guy to her; caring and trustworthy.

“Thank you for a very nice date, Harry,” she said, winking and chuckling along with the extra emphasis she put on the last word.

“My pleasure,” he smiled down at her. He moved along with her as she walked to the driver's side door, opening it for her like a perfect gentleman. The two stood close, his body hovering over her’s as they stood inside the open door. Her heart rose to her throat as he leaned down to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her burning cheek.

Y/N looked back up at him with rosy cheeks and a tightlipped bashful smile. She watched as he walked backward carefully, taking her hand that had been locked with his until he was too far and let it fall back to her body.

She situated herself in her drivers seat and was ready to leave when she heard a knocking on the passenger side window that startled her. Harry had bent himself over and was motioning for her to roll the window down. When she did, he leaned himself in, an honest look in his eyes.

“Before you go,” he said gently. “A word of advice from someone who had been in the public eye for a long time,” he spoke with a tender yet serious tone, eyes locking with hers. “When you go home today, don’t go on social media. People are mean, and it’s just going to hurt.” She nodded along with his words and watched as he pinched his bottom lip. “And when you inevitably can’t resist, text me if you need to talk about it.”

***

They must have done a good job putting on their show because within an hour of her returning home to her apartment, they were all anyone was talking about. Their names were trending worldwide #1 on Twitter. Streams of Y/N’s debut album were up by 800%, and even Harry’s streams had taken a considerable jump. Y/N had gained 40,ooo new followers and views on every interview she had ever done were steadily rising.

All was going according to Jeff’s plan.

Harry’s words circled her brain for hours. “Don’t go on social media,” she heard him say over and over again as she paced her apartment, only stopping to look at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter every so often.

She had taken a shower, done her hair, tried to watch TV, cooked herself dinner, and even tried to sit down and write a song; it all got her nowhere fast. The unknown was eating at her inside.

Y/N broke when she heard the small ding signaling she had gotten a text message. She had all but sprinted to see who it was, reunited with the outside world through her touch screen. Unsurprisingly, it was from Jeff; the message sent to her and an unknown number she assumed to be Harry’s.

Good job, kiddos., was all it read but there was a photo attached to the message. Her heart stopped while she waited for the photo to load, cursing her slow wifi in the process. After a few breathless moments, the photo came through.

It was a screenshot from the website of one of the biggest entertainment magazines in the country. A picture of him kissing her cheek was the front page of the website.

Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N Rumored To Be Music’s New Power Couple Ahead of Tour

She was honestly speechless. This was huge.

She would like to say the sheer shock blurred her judgement, but the curiosity just got the better of her. Harry’s words repeated over and over again in her head, telling her not to, even as her finger connected with the icon of the little blue bird.

She was the most talked about topic in the entire world, her name hovering in bold letters on the trending page. She did everything she could to not click on her name, but her fingers did it all on her own.

The first few tweets were nice. Someone said they liked her style and that they looked cute together as a couple. Another said that they had always enjoyed her music and that they were happy for them.

But as she scrolled, it became harsher and just mean. People commented on her weight, said she couldn’t sing, and criticized her personality as seeming fake and forced. Her eyes were locked on the screen, unable to look away, as her heart began to break and few tears began to roll.

It took one final, and the most painful, tweet for her to consider deleting her account completely. She swiped out of the app fast, but the words were still burned into her brain.

Y/N is using Harry, just like she used James before he got rid of her and found someone better.

The words knocked the wind out of her, pouring salt on an open wound that had yet to heal.

She also had the little blue bird for that heartbreak as well. When she opened the app two months ago, the first thing she saw was pictures of her (former) fiance, James, with his tongue down some girl’s throat. At the time she had been devastated, her heart broken beyond repair.

It felt like no one else in the world could understand the way she was feeling. If she was in this position because of another person, they must get it too. The text to Harry was already sent before she had time to think it over.

I looked and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.

His response came only seconds later.

Don’t be sorry. It’s hard not to. Are you alright?

She had to think about his question, unsure if she knew the answer. Tears were still running down her face and she felt like she was a target the entire world had decided it was open season on. Logically, she knew these people never thought she would see these awful things, but it didn’t excuse the hurt she felt when she did.

I don’t know. I just don’t understand how people can be so cruel.

She felt like she was bothering him, even though he had offered to be there for her. He wasn’t her best friend, or a close confidant; he was her fake publicity boyfriend. He had real friends he wanted to talk to or maybe even a real girlfriend underwraps somewhere. Her body was wracked with guilt as she thought it over.

People are just mean on the internet, okay? They think they can say whatever they want without repercussions. I’m so sorry that you are being targeted because of me.

Before she got a chance to think through a proper response to him, her phone dinged with another text. It was from Jeff again.

Really good job, kiddos.

Y/N was confused. They hadn’t done anything else but be seen together today. Her sick sense of curiosity got her again before she opened Twitter again and looked up Harry’s name. He had tweeted for the first time in six months only a few moments ago.

@Harry_Styles: We treat people with kindness.

***

The next time she saw him was two days later at yet another public meet up Jeff had arranged for them. Unfortunately this time, she had become just as famous as Harry seemingly overnight, the flames of her new found fame growing even larger after he had sent that tweet.

While the fame had grown, the hate had calmed since his statement, which most had taken as an official declaration of their relationship. Now, that was not to Jeff’s plans.

She had to fight her way out of her apartment complex, wearing a pair of massive dark sunglasses with circular lenses and shielding her face with her hands the best she could. But she did have to admit that the electric orange fabric of her jumpsuit probably didn’t do much to help her blend in and avoid the attention of the paparazzi that had now found out where she lived.

Harry was sitting at the table by himself facing the back of the cafe when she arrived, two cups of coffee waiting before him to be drank together placed delicately on the table. He had his head down, buried in a book, before she startled him with a hug from behind. Her cheek connected with his warm neck where she buried her head into him and she took in his dizzying cologne.

She felt him jump beneath her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing a dramatic and cheesy kiss to his cheek, feeling his light stubble prick her chapsticked lips. “My hero,” she joked, trying to bring at least a little humor to the man who had just about jumped out of his skin at her touch.

It felt like she was crossing a boundary, and she was pretty sure she was, but she just needed to thank him and a hug felt like the best way to do that while in a semi-crowded coffee shop. Also, playing up that they were madly in love didn’t hurt.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, a hand flying over his chest in surprise to feel his racing heartbeat. “You scared the shit out of me.” Once he settled for a moment, his arm moved across his chest to rest on her arm. His touch was gentle and soft, holding her there gently like he didn’t want her to release him from her grasp. She tried not to think about it too much as she slipped her arms off of him, making her way to the seat that was clearly meant for her across from him.

“I’m sorry that I scared you. A little jumpy today?” she teasingly questioned.

“Hey, watch it,” he playfully threatened. “I believe you called me your hero about thirty seconds ago.”

“I guess I did,” she quipped over the mug she was bringing to her lips. It was sweet but not too sweet, with cream but not too much, and still piping hot; just the way she liked it. “I don’t think it’s too far off,” she smiled before turning back to the coffee. “Good coffee,” she mused. “Just the way I like it.”

“Good. I texted Jeff for your order,” he informed her, the gesture being so thoughtful and sweet she could have melted into a puddle right there and then. “And I think ‘hero’ might be a bit much,” he tacked on.

“Don’t be humble, Harry.” While her voice was still light and held a jesting tone, she meant her words. “You made the entire internet leave me alone, for the most part,” she clarified as there were definitely some nasty messages still floating around Twitter, “in five words.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said while shaking his head slightly, seeming to deflect her words.

“You could have done absolutely nothing.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand in hers like they had staged at the cafe a few days earlier; but this time, it was an honest gesture, not one for a role they were both meant to be playing. Her words were serious, punctuating each with a gentle nod of her head. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes held the same truthfulness and honesty she hoped she was mirroring in her own. “I know all of this,” he paused and gestured between them with his free hand, “is for publicity, but I consider you a friend. It was hard to watch it all go down like that. You’re a good person and you didn’t deserve all that. I had to do something.”

There was a warmth that flooded her chest. He called me his friend, she thought to herself, fighting back a big toothy grin. She had been under the impression that all of this was just work for him, something he was doing just to drum up publicity, with no personal connections at all. But him calling her a friend meant so much to her. It meant she was not alone in all this terrifying and overwhelming attention.

“I’m glad you think of me as a friend,” she said, still holding back her smile. “You’re my friend too.” He matched her close-lipped smile that had fought its way onto her face at her words.

They sat in silence together for a few moments. Harry returned to his book and Y/N answered emails; but their hands stayed connected across the small table. This silence was very different from the silence on the day they first met. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that sat on your tongue, begging you to break the quiet; it was peaceful and safe.

Their silence was broken when a young woman wearing a jittery smile and nervous eyes approached their table. Her voice squeaked out a mouse-like “Hi,” towards the both of them, bringing their eyes up to meet hers and instinctively breaking their hands away from each other.

“I’m so so sorry to be a bother,” she began, cheeks red and hot. “But I’m a really big fan of both of you and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t say hello.” She rambled excitedly, mostly looking at Harry, as she held her slightly shaky hands up to her chest.

“Hello,” Harry said with one of his million dollar smiles. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Emma,” she breathed.

“Well, it’s so nice to meet you Emma.” He spoke gently with her, clearly sensing her anxiety, extending his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for all of your support.”

Y/N watched closely as he spoke with her. He spoke to her like she was the only person in the room, giving her his whole undivided attention, and repeatedly thanking her as she flooded him with compliments about how his music and message of kindness meant so much to her. She was so entranced that she nearly didn’t hear her own name being said as the girl turned towards her.

“I love your music as well,” she grinned, clearly more comfortable after her short conversation with Harry. “And your jumpsuit is just incredible.” Her nervous giggle was contagious, Y/N releasing one as well at the compliment as her cheeks heated slightly. She was shocked she even knew any of her music, clearly being the less popular of the pair.

“Thank you so much, Emma. It means a lot.”

Emma took a few quick selfies with the both of them (that would be everywhere within a few hours), said goodbye and went to leave the two, but not before she paid them one last compliment. “You two are really cute together. I’m rooting for you.”

Both of their cheeks warmed as they looked back at each other. They were quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond, before Harry turned his attention back to the girl with a coy smile. “I am too,” was all he said.

***

The next three weeks passed in a blur of tour rehearsals, fittings, and public meetings with Harry. And then all of a sudden, it was the night of the first show.

Y/N had never been so nervous in her entire life. She would be the first face seen by just over 19,000 people, tasked to warm up the crowd and prepare them for Harry, which was enough pressure. And then there was the chance that they all hated her guts.

She stood behind the curtain, listening to the loud and inpatient crowd as she paced back and forth. She white-knuckeld her guitar, trying to keep her violently shaking hands from being too visible to the crew around her. Her stomach swirled and her palms were clammy, constantly having to rub them on the pants of her icey blue jumpsuit. It fit her like a glove, the wide legged pants and slight shoulder pads, creating a perfect hourglass silhouette; the only thing she was confident in at the moment was how good she looked in it.

Her heart leapt out of her chest and she almost hit the ceiling when a small voice appeared over her shoulder, whispering “You’re going to do great,” in her ear. If her heart wasn’t about to give out before, it was now. She swung around to face him, almost hitting Harry with her guitar, letting out a small breath of relief when her eyes met his own. They always seemed to calm her down a bit.

“I’m kinda freaking out, H,” she anxiously babbled, using the nickname he had told her to call him. “This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever played in front of, and they probably all hate me because they think I’m dating you, and I have to make sure I do a good job so they start listening to my music; and I just…” she trailed off for a second, uncomfortably scratching the back of her neck, “I just can’t let you down.”

His face softened at her words, seeming to take pity on her. “Y/N,” he began, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking so deep into her eyes she felt like he could probably see her soul. “We picked you to open because people love your music and the way that you perform. You just have to go out there and do what you do best: sing your heart out and put on a good show. It’s only 25 minutes. I know you can do it.”

Every word that left his lips was laced with honesty and encouragement; just enough for Y/N to relax her furrowed brow and give her lip a break from her constant chewing. “I can do it,” she softly repeated back to him, still not breaking contact with his striking green eyes.

A stage manager passed by them, running to some other important task, but not before tapping her shoulder. “You’re on in 30 seconds,” he spoke, just as she heard the roar of the crowd begin, signalling the dimming of the lights in the arena.

“Go kick some ass,” he winked, stepping backwards from her and releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll be watching.”

Walking on stage, she wasn’t met with ‘boo’s that had plagued her nightmares, or mean looks from the audience, or rotten tomatoes thrown from the crowd.

They were screaming in excitement, screaming for her.

From the second she started playing, the crowd had her back; the ones that knew the words to her songs sang them along with her, and the ones that didn’t, happily danced to her voice. Before long, the smile she had forced onto her face was genuine, and her set passed by with ease. When her 25 minutes were up, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get off the stage.

She took her final bow as the crowd roared, running off of the stage into the wings, looking for one person in particular. And when she found him, she threw herself into Harry’s open and waiting arms. “I told you that you were going to do great!” He spoke excitedly into her ear and he held her close to his body, his arms wrapped around her waist tight.

She liked the way it felt to be in his arms.

Pulling away from him, she saw the massive grin that he wore for her, noting how adorable his dimples were and how the excited look in his eyes made him look like a little kid. But there was more to his face than excitement, he looked proud.

“They were so nice to me, and they knew my songs, and they were screaming so loud for me, and it just went so well. I can’t believe it!” Her previous anxious chatter had become an exhilarated rambling and she felt on top of the world.

“I can,” he grinned, looking down at his watch quickly. “I have to go get changed.” If she wasn’t so amped up, she might have noticed the disappointment that flashed over his features. “Promise me you’ll watch the show?”

“Pinky swear?” She stuck up her little finger in the air.

“Pinky swear.” He kept their pinkies locked for a moment too long, then released her hand and ran backstage to get dressed.

She kept her promise and watched with excitement as the building shook when Harry took the stage.

She had never heard something quite so loud, sure her ears would be ringing when she snuggled into her bunk on the tour bus that night. Watching him perform was mesmerizing; he knew how to work a stage in every way and make every person in the arena feel like he was singing just for them. He was larger than life while performing and his little dances and mannerisms only got more pronounced the more comfortable he got on stage. He messed with Mitch, who she had only met a few hours ago (he was very nice), and constantly praised Sarah on the drums behind him, while he looked over to Adam and sent him smiles often.

Everyone in the building came for a show, and boy, did he give them one. It was amazing to watch. There was a reason she was a fan.

Bouncing off the stage, full of adrenaline and in a post-show high, he came to find her. It wasn’t hard, as she had never left her spot on the side of the stage, unable to rip her eyes away from the man before her.

“Oh my god, Harry! That was incredible!” she said with delighted amazement.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He was smiling down at her with a big toothy grin, a hand running through his sweaty hair and pushing it off his forehead. “They only get better from here.”

***

He was telling the truth. The shows only got crazier and more exciting as the tour went on, and so did their “relationship.”

About five shows in, Jeff had Harry given her his “H” ring to start wearing. Harry didn’t seem too phased by it all even though she thought it might be too much, saying “it’s like a friendship bracelet.” But it was too big for her fingers, not because she had small hands, but because Harry’s were absolutely massive. She wore it on a chain around her neck from then on and made sure to always be seen playing with it.

Fans took notice and loved it.

A little after that, Jeff sent them off to get matching manicures. Both had a melting rainbow of oranges, pinks, and browns on their fingertips, which looked amazing in the paparazzi photos of them walking around with their fingers intertwined.

The fans loved that too.

But when she “accidentally” posted a photo of Harry on her story, the entire world lost it’s shit. In the photo, he laid sprawled across a bed in only a white hotel robe that was creeping dangerously high up his thigh. He looked sleepy and slightly sweaty, in a post-fuck haze, and clothes that looked very similar to ones she had been seen wearing in public only days before were strewn across the floor. The caption read “I love getting to love you.”

The photo had strategically only been up for about 30 seconds, but by the time it was deleted thousands of people had seen it and screenshots had been taken. They quickly circulated the internet, creating a bit of scandal. But more than anything, people began to love the two of them together even more. Harry looked genuinely happy in the photo, and for most of his fans, that was all that mattered.

They were creating a fairytale love story for an audience, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying her role. She quite liked being his “girlfriend.”

Harry and Y/N had a way of clicking as they grew closer–quite literally as they were crammed together on a tour bus most of the time. They seemed to be able to finish each other’s sentences and always beat the other to the punchline of a joke. The pair had begun to pick up on the other’s mannerisms and habits; Y/N always teasing that Harry was going to rub his nose off one day if he kept rubbing it while he was thinking and Harry always knowing when she got enough sleep by whether or not she had put on eyeliner that morning. They swapped playlists back and forth in their bunks as they tried to doze off and always grabbed a cup of coffee for whoever had decided to sleep in the next day, now knowing the other’s order by heart.

There was only one thing she didn’t know about him that she longed to discover: what his lips felt like against her own. She could never think too hard about it though, or she may just explode.

He had become a calming presence and was currently helping her keep her cool, even though she knew the pair of interviewers across the table were getting ready to grill the pair for every detail they could get. His hand had settled on top of her knee to quell it’s nervous bouncing, but remained after she had stopped, even though no one could see his touch under the table. She watched as his thumb ran itself back and forth along the leg of her flashy orange and yellow patterned overalls and she had a hard time pulling her gaze away when the radio host across the large table began to speak.

“So Harry,” the bald man began. “Fine Line has been one of the biggest albums of the year and I just have to say I love it. It’s truly incredible.” She listened as the man continued on to sing Harry’s praises, going on to list his grammy nominations, sold out world tour, and other accolades. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched his cheeks tinge pink with the praise. She knew anyone watching would pick up on her adoring look and people fawn over it, but she knew her gaze was nothing but truthful.

“Thank you very much,” he said shyly, shaking his head slightly as he spoke into the microphone suspended in front of his face. “You’re too kind.”

“Stop being humble,” she teased him, playfully tapping him on the arm. “All of his music is fantastic,” she said turning her attention back to the man across from them, “especially Fine Line.”

“And there’s Y/N, being the supportive girlfriend,” the man chuckled.

“I support him in everything he does,” she smiled back, not having to embellish the truth at all. “He is an amazing talent and I think Fine Line shows that.”

It wasn’t hard for her to gush about him. It was actually quite easy. She absolutely adored him, as an artist, a friend, and the focus of her affection. She felt an equal warmth in her cheeks as she watched his get even pinker with her compliments.

“That’s actually something we wanted to ask you about,” the blonde woman sitting next to him piped up, a mischievous glint in her eyes that sent nervous butterflies flying around Y/N’s stomach. “One of the songs on Fine Line, Cherry to be specific, actually features the voice of Harry’s ex, Camille. How does that make you feel as his new girl?”

Y/N did her best not to gag at the woman’s question, gritting her teeth as she plastered on a polite smile. “Well, I think Cherry is a really great song and her voice at the end adds a lot,” she spoke as smoothly as she could, refusing to let on that the question rattled her. Harry’s light squeeze on her knee signalled to her that she had answered the question well.

“It’s also been three years since the song was written,” Harry cut in. “Things are obviously a lot different now.” He connected their eyes for a second while he was leaning back into his seat, sending her a short smile, but she knew him well enough to know it was genuine.

“Oh, definitely,” the woman eagerly agreed. “You’re in a great new relationship with a beautiful girl on your arm.”

“Y/N,” he emphasized her name as the woman had referred to her as a possession of his for a second time, “and I are very happy. Thank you.” To an onlooker, he was calm. To her, he was visibly uncomfortable by her words.

Y/N began to notice a clear pattern as the interview went on. Harry was asked exclusively about his music and the tour, while Y/N only became relevant to their interviewers when they wanted to mention their relationship.

When the man asked Y/N if she felt uncomfortable playing to Harry’s mainly female fanbase every night that are “so obviously jealous of her,” something snapped inside of her, sending all her hours of media training out the window. “I’m not uncomfortable at all,” she said curtly. “His music is great and he puts on an awesome show. I don’t think the audience’s gender really has anything to do with the music.” She watched the man’s face fall before she decided to go on. “And I would like to think that at least a few of them are there for me too. You do know I make music too, right?”

An indignant smirk found its way to her lips as the man stammered out, “yes, of course.”

“Okay. I was just wondering since you have only asked me questions about our relationship since we got here.”

She knew Jeff wouldn’t be happy, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. They may not have really been dating, but the interviewers didn’t know that. All of their dismissal of her and her career was 100% real.

She had been so worked up that she didn’t even realize Harry’s hand had left her knee until it found its way to rest on her back. She leaned into his touch as he rubbed her back softly while she crossed her arms in front of her.

The interviewers looked at the two of them across the table, jaws both lying on the floor. It was quiet until Harry nonchalantly spoke. “She has a point.”

The last few minutes of the interview passed in an awkward blur that felt suffocating. She felt like she could finally take in a deep breath once they were in the back of a massive SUV being driven away from the studio.

“Jeff is going to have my head,” she mumbled under her breath, nose stuck into her phone as she scrolled Twitter to see what people were saying about her outburst. But before she could read any opinions, Harry's tattooed arm blocked her view as he gently pushed her phone down onto her lap.

“Look at me,” he murmured, beckoning her attention to the other side of the back seat. When she connected her eyes with his, his usual calming aura took over her, softening the stressed crease between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Harry, I just blew my career up into smoke because I couldn’t deal with a rude interviewer,” she huffed at him.

“No,” he disagreed softly, moving the hand that rested on her arms to interlock his fingers with one of hers. “You stuck up for yourself to people who were ignoring your work and whittling you down to your relationship.”

“But it was rude.”

“It was necessary.”

The car ride to the venue for that night’s concert was quiet, but Harry never let go of her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles in a comforting touch. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted him to let go.

***

It was the early hours of the morning by the time the pair returned to their tour bus and went to crawl into their bunks.

Her performance had gone well and Harry was mesmerizing (as always). He was truly hypnotizing to watch while he performed and she hadn’t missed watching him yet, even as they drew close to the end of the tour. It was the best part of her day and she would miss it dearly after the last show.

She was almost asleep, curtain drawn and cuddled under a pile of blankets, when her cell began to ring. Her heart sank, knowing only one person who would know when she had a sliver of free time (even though it’s debatable if sleeping counts as free time). She was going to get scolded like she was a little kid in the principal's office and she knew it.

“Hi Jeff,” she answered with a sigh as she pulled the curtain back and slid from the bunk, the cold air of the tour bus nipping at her legs.

Her gaze was met by a snuggled up Harry wearing a concerned face across from her in his own bed. He never closed the curtain, not even when she asked politely to muffle his snores, always saying something about how it made him claustrophobic. He sent her a tired smile and mouthed “good luck,” extending a hand for a fist bump as she passed. Knocking their knuckles together put a brief smile on her face before she buckled in for the chewing out she was about to get.

Harry watched her intently as she paced up and down the front of the tour bus as she spoke to Jeff, too far away for him to listen in. Her face gradually turned from anxious, to surprised, to something that would have probably been happiness if she wasn’t so tired.

“Alright, thank you for everything.” She spoke softly when she finally returned to be within earshot for him. “Goodnight Jeff.”

“So?” he murmured groggily at her, brows raised in question at her.

“People loved it,” she said shocked, like she didn’t fully believe it herself. “They think I’m some kind of badass for shutting down a sexist. Which is, like, a lot,” she spoke with a disbelieving chuckle, unable to find the right words in her groggy state. “I don’t really know what to make of it.”

Harry seemed to spring up from his spot in his bed, smacking his head on the top of the bunk in the process, prompting them both to dissolve into a puddle of giggles.

“Don’t get too excited for me,” she laughed. “I cannot be the reason that you hurt yourself and have to cancel a show.”

“I was just too excited to say ‘I told you so,’” he smirked, now rubbing the side of his head through his curls.

“Cocky bastard,” she sarcastically murmured under her breath while dramatically rolling her eyes.

She watched with confusion as Harry left his bed, and after a short and frantic search for his pajama pants so he wouldn’t “offend her eyes,” he moved towards the front of the bus. Her eyes trailed him as he bent down to the small mini fridge and pulled out two beers.

“We have to celebrate.”

It was 2 AM and she had been so ready for bed after a long day. But she knew she could never say no to him. She thanked god that they had a day off tomorrow.

After retrieving her massive and lovingly worn Grateful Dead sweatshirt to protect her from the chilly air, she nearly ran to the front of the bus. His painted pink fingers moved with skill as he popped the bottle caps off with one of his rings, handing it to her and gently nudging his bottle against hers.

“Cheers,” he murmured softly as he looked down at her with a kindhearted smile.

“Cheers,” she seemed to whisper back to him, a flutter in her stomach reminding her how badly she wanted to reach out and connect her lips to his. Instead she slid into the small booth across from him, taking a long sip from the bottle as she watched him do the same.

“I want you to know that I was really proud of you today,” he said as he put his beer down on the table. “Rude interviewers are never easy and you handled it like a champ.”

“Thank you, H,” she nodded, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact with him. Her cheeks burned hot as she put all her focus into tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger tip.

“Hey,” he called for her attention and her eyes snapped up to meet his. “I mean it, Y/N.”

“I know you do,” she gently nodded at him. “I’m just really happy they didn’t ask about my ex,” she chuckled as she took another sip. “That would have gone very poorly.”

“Oh yeah, I was a little annoyed they brought up my ex but not yours,” he teased. “Not fair if you ask me.”

“Well, then I’m glad no one asked you.”

“Can I ask you?”

“What?”

“About your ex.”

She should have been prepared to talk about it with Harry at some point. Half of this plan had been devised to get back at James anyway. She should be able to talk about it by now, especially with someone she had grown so close to.

“I guess so,” she shrugged, trying to seem casual like the mere mention of him didn’t still hurt her heart a little bit. “What do you want to know?”

“As much as you’re willing to tell me.”

He looked soft like this, eyes slightly sleepy with a tenderness in them as he looked back at her. His hair was unruly and puffy and he was wrapped in the powder blue blanket that lived on the tour bus’ couch. She would have told him anything that he ever wanted to hear if he kept looking like this.

With a deep breath, she began to recount everything that went down.

“I met James while I was still working as a waitress. I recognized him from his movies and started a conversation, and then–to my surprise–he asked me out on a date. I had been in LA for three weeks and this insanely famous actor is asking me to go out with him, so I obviously said yes.” She paused to take a swig of her beer, before mumbling under her breath, “I should have said ‘fuck no’ to that.”

A smile ghosted over her lips as she listened to Harry’s laugh across the table. She swore that laugh could cure cancer.

“But I didn’t,” she continued. “He introduced me to the right people and helped me make the right connections in the industry, which I guess made me feel indebted to him. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, eyebrows furrowed and listening intently.

“I should have broken up with him after I signed with Jeff and the label, however awful that sounds. But he just always knew the right things to say to make me feel special and like I was the most important person in the world. Even after I found out he was talking to other girls, he was somehow able to talk himself out of it.” She shook her head as she recalled it. “You wanna hear something fucked up?”

“Always,” he said with a gentle smirk.

“He proposed to me using lines from a romcom he was working on.”

Harry nearly spit out his drink. “Holy shit, you’re kidding!”

“I wish. I didn’t find out until I went with him to the premier a few months later and the proposal scene sounded surprisingly familiar.”

“What a dirtbag.”

“I know, right?” she laughed. “Then a few weeks after that, he got papped with his tongue down another girl’s throat. That finally knocked some sense into me and I ran for the hills.”

“Fuck,” he sighed as he finished his beer. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she breathed. “I don’t even feel hurt by him anymore, ya know? I just feel angry at myself for trusting him.”

“I understand but it’s not your fault he was a piece of shit,” he said as he rose from his seat and traveled to the mini fridge once again. “Another?” he asked, holding the bottle up about his head.

“Fuck it,” she shrugged. “Sure.”

She watched him skillfully pop off the tops again using just his rings, making a mental note to make him teach her how he did that, before he flopped back down in his seat.

“At the risk of sounding like a Facebook mom, ‘you grow through what you go through,’” she chuckled, taking another long sip as she finished her first. He matched her high pitched giggle across the table and she nearly drooled beer down her front from smiling so wide.

“Amen, sister,” he agreed, raising his beer in the air.

“Oh, that was awful.” She shook her head as she descended into giggles. “Please never say that again.”

“Noted.”

“Anyway,” she began again after another sip of her drink, “I was well prepared to get my heartbroken by untrustworthy men after you, Styles.”

“I’m offended–tell me more,” he spoke quickly, his signature narcissistic smirk settling onto his features.

“I need you to know that Zayn leaving was my first real heartbreak.”

“Were the rest of us chopped liver?”

“You weren’t Zayn, I can tell you that.”

“Ouch!” He let out a loud belly laugh.

“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute, H. So first, the hottest-”

“Rude-”

“-I’m speaking. So the hottest one leaves, and then the rest of you are all like ‘we’ll be back in 18 months,’” she mocked him in a high pitched impersonation with a wave, “and then 6 months later you all mysteriously have solo careers.”

“I do not see you complaining about my solo career now, ya fame leetch.” He spoke with such humor and charisma, she couldn’t have even wished to be offended by his joke.

“Absolutely not, sir,” she said sternly, giving him a dramatic salute. “Deepest apologies from the fame leetch.” The two collapsed into giggles, laughing until their sides began to ache.

“Wait, I have a question for mega superstar Mr. Harry Styles of former One Direction fame,” she announced.

“I believe that’s me,” he bowed his head and raised his hand into the hair. “Shoot.”

She barely could get the question out, laughing too hard at her own joke. “Is Taylor Swift a good kisser?”

“Oh god,” he exasperatedly threw his hands in the air, chuckling while rolling his eyes dramatically before grinning wide as he thought over his answer. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he finally smirked.

“Wait, I have another!”

“Watch it, smart ass.”

“You think I’m smart?” she teased as she feigned flattery. “Have you ever heard of a song called ‘English Love Affair?’” He narrowed his eyes at her, a knowing smirk crossing his lips as he shook his head at her. “Also, when do I get to meet Gemma?”

“I’ll consider it when you stop bringing up her sex life, perv.”

“We’ve been dating for a few months now,” she teased as she continued to prod, emboldened by the liquid courage running through her veins as she was now half way through her next beer. “I think I should be allowed to meet the family soon. They seem delightful.”

“They would love how you have decided to rip into me like this,” he said with a cheeky smile, dimples on full display.

“Rockstars have to get knocked down a peg every once in a while.” She sarcastically shrugged. “Consider it a favor.”

She couldn’t help but think about how right this felt. Their back and forth flowed so smoothly, the banter falling from their lips without effort. Their laughter joined together in a delightful melody and she imagined they could go on this way all night.

Spending any amount of time with him made her so fucking happy; and time spent teasing each other over beers caused her to nearly explode with joy. How much she was enjoying herself was too hard to put into words.

He was safe and he was kind and he made her laugh no matter how bad his jokes were.

He was her best friend.

And for the first time, she was willing to admit that she was in love with him.

“Harry,” she hummed softly as their laughter died down to a comfortable silence. “Thank you for everything. You’ve changed my life forever and I can never repay you.”

“Just remember me when you get famous.”

“Oh shut up, I’m being serious,” she playfully scolded before letting her tone drop back into honesty. “You’re a very good person and I’m eternally grateful for you letting me be your opening act and then agreeing to this whole relationship charade.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you be anything, Y/N. I picked you myself.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I listened to your album when it came out and fell in love with it,” he shrugged, his casual tone contradicting the surprised raise of her pulse. “When I found out Jeff also managed you, I knew I had to have you on the tour.”

Y/N was honestly stunned. She had always assumed that the tour was Jeff’s doing, a careful arrangement pairing Full Stop’s new up-and-comer with their most famous and established talent. Being offered the tour had been the biggest opportunity and honor she had ever been presented with; but she had never considered Harry himself being behind it.

“Oh,” was all she could manage to get out.

It was now his turn to be confused. “What’s so surprising about that?” he asked, reading the shock on her face like she was an open book.

“I just,” she stammered, trying to find the words in her slightly hazy state. “I never would have thought you knew who I was or listened to my music.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she trailed off. “You’re you, and I’m just... me, I guess.”

He didn’t respond right away, just looking at her intently and slightly amused, sea glass eyes boring into her with a pink lip held between his teeth.

He scanned her frame, from the way her hair sat messily on top of her head and the way the massive sweatshirt swallowed her body enough to where she had pulled her knees up to her chest underneath it. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, making her appear smaller as she held her legs close to her torso and her eyebrows were knitted together in worry, slightly nervous under his intense gaze.

She downed the rest of her beer in an attempt to forget his intense attention. It didn’t work.

“You really don’t know how incredible you are, do you?” he finally asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smile.

She felt her whole body burn with his compliment, wanting to shrink into herself and disappear completely from his view. She finally shook her head slightly in an attempt to deflect his words, breathing his name under her breath as if to scold him for being too kind.

“You are,” he insisted, ignoring her objection. “You’re so talented and your music deserves all the attention that it gets. I am honored that I get to play a part in helping expose the world to you and what you have to offer.”

“Thank you.” Her words came out as a whisper.

“You’re welcome, love.”

His pet name made her stomach turn in a nervous excitement and a wide grin involuntarily came to her lips.

“I like it when I make you smile like that.” His words only made her beam further. “You look very pretty when you smile.”

“Stop it,” she said softly, cheeks burning hot and having a hard time making eye contact with him.

“Stop what?” He feigned innocence as he lightly teased her, smirk still prominent on his features.

“Are you flirting with me, Styles?”

“Just practicing.”

His words rang through her mind long after they had left the table and crawled back into their bunks for the night. She wished she could see inside his head to understand whatever thoughts were running around his brain.

But for now she could just peak at him through the gap she had purposely left in her curtain, wondering if she ever popped into his dreams as he slept.

He was always in hers.

***

There was a sadness mixed in with her usually thrilled mood as she took the stage for the last show of the tour. While there was an element of relief as she looked forward to some well needed rest, the adrenaline and joy of being in front of a crowd was something that she would miss dearly. She had grown into a real performer over the last two months as they zig-zagged across the US and this period of time would have a special place in her heart long after it had ended.

But there was another reason why she was so sad to see this chapter come to an end. As far as she knew, a staged breakup was not far away and the thought of being without Harry was heartbreaking. He had become her person and soon their feux falling out would be on the front page of every magazine. She wanted nothing more in the world than for their relationship to be real, but it would be forced to end before it had even truely started.

She got choked up as she sang her final song that night, letting a few tears escape as she took in the thousands of people singing her lyrics back to her, flashlights swaying in the air to the beat of the music. Taking a move from Harry’s own playbook, she took her mic and directed it to the crowd to sing as she cried. The vibrations of the drums and bass behind her nestled it’s way into her bones and the chorus of singing voices in the crowd surrounded her in a bittersweet melody.

The past two months she had been on top of the world, and as soon as this song finished, it was the beginning of the end.

She took her final bow, watching as the small tears fell forward onto the dusty stage below her. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, then nearly ran off the stage looking for the only person she wanted to see.

Harry was right where he always was, just out of view behind the curtain, holding his arms out for her to fall into.

“Awe, babe,” he hummed sympathetically when she settled her head onto his chest, surely ruining his crisp white t-shirt with her now wet makeup. “It’s okay. Final shows are always tough.” He rubbed her back gently, in a soothing rhythm.

He smelled so good. He smelled like home.

She tilted her head up to connect her glassy eyes with his. “I just don’t want this all to end.” She knew she wasn’t just talking about the tour.

“Neither do I,” he said as his lips curved into a devilish smirk that sent her heart into palpitations. “That’s why I have one last surprise for you.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed while wiping the remaining tears off her cheeks. “What have you done?”

“You said you liked surprises!” he defended.

“Not surprises in front of 20,000 people!”

“I promise you’re going to love this one, okay?” His voice was softer now, encouraging and supportive. “You’re going to come out and sing an extra song with me during my set,” he revealed.

“Sing what?”

“That’s the surprise.”

“Do I even know the words?”

“You definitely know the words,” he chuckled.

“I just finished sobbing. I can’t go out there like this.”

“You can fix your makeup. I believe in you.”

“What am I going to wear?” she asked, grasping at straws at this point, doing anything she could to get out of this.

“I had Lambert put something together for you.”

“Of course you did.”

She peppered him with a few more questions, but he had a smooth and charming answer to every single one. He had thought every detail out, and as always, she couldn’t say no to him.

“Fine,” she finally exasperatedly agreed, immediately met with his excited and dimpled smile that she had fallen head over heels for.

“Perfect,” he breathed. “I have to go get ready and so do you. I already put everything you need in your dressing room, okay?” She nodded, still biting her lip anxiously. He held her by her shoulders, lowering his head to match their eye level as he leaned in close, before he spoke. “You’re going to have fun. I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

Seconds after they locked their little fingers together, he pressed a quick and protective kiss to her forehead that set her whole body ablaze before running off in the direction of his dressing room. She remained stunned and frozen in her spot for a few moments trying to process what it felt like to have his lips on her for the first time since that very first day they had met.

There was no audience to perform it for or an act to keep up behind the curtain. He kissed her because he wanted to.

She was finally snapped out of her daze when a stagehand bumped into her by accident, prompting her to begin the short walk back to her dressing room. But the ghost of his lips remained on her forehead, an incessant tingle placed there by his touch.

The dress she found waiting for her was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever set her eyes on. Made of a light purple chiffon, the wrap dress’ long sleeves and floor length skirt flowed freely. A belt cinched the wispy fabric close to her waist and a deep-v exposed her neck and chest. But the most dazzling part of the dress were the red sequined hearts that dotted the fabric and reflected the light of the dressing room like a million little mirrors.

Slipping into it, the light fabric was soft against her skin, opaque enough but still slightly sheer to let light through and show off her legs and the bright red shiny pumps Lambert had left for her. She felt the most beautiful she had ever felt in this dress, boosting her confidence and quelling her nerves about whatever the hell Harry was planning.

“One minute to curtain,” was announced in an ominous voice over the arena’s backstage speakers as she finished fixing her makeup and she all but ran to make it back to the stage in time. She only had one more chance to watch him perform and she refused to miss a second of it.

Harry dazzled as the lights focused in on him, his deep blue and fully sequined suit reflecting the light and turning him into a human disco ball. He stood close to the edge of the stage as the beginning notes of the first song began being played by the band, but he made no move towards his mic stand to sing. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched to the audience, taking in every scream, every tear, and the thunderous shake of the building; but also giving himself to them.

Then the show began. As usual, he was electric, but tonight was like he had turned himself up to eleven. Every note he sang was full of his heart and every dance move was done with his entire body, even his bad jokes seemed funnier tonight.

She was so mesmerized she almost forgot about his ‘surprise.’ Almost.

“Since tonight is unfortunately our last show,” he pouted. “I thought I would do something special,” he spoke to the crowd as they roared, but quickly connected his eyes with her’s in the wings. By the smirk plastered on his face, she knew she was in for it.

“I recently found out that someone very close to me was a very big fan of…” he trailed off as he dramatically pretended to search for the right words, “my previous work.” He finished with a smirk and his words prompted the loudest reaction since he had been on stage.

“Now, I told her that she would be coming on stage to join me tonight, but I didn’t exactly tell her what we would be singing and I haven’t performed this song in a very long time, so cut us some slack if we mess up. This is very unrehearsed.” He kept sneaking glances back to her, as her eyes grew wider at the stunt he was currently pulling. “But I know for a fact that she knows all the words. I listen to her sing them in the shower quite often.” He wore a cheeky dimpled grin as he looked back at her once again.

The building was shaking due to the suspense he was creating, and looking down at her hands, she realized she was to. She gripped hard onto the mic a stagehand had just shoved at her, pleading with her hands to stop their tremors.

“Now, I would love it if you could all give another warm welcome to one of my favorite people on the planet, Y/N Y/L/N!” He turned his body to her for a final time, extending his hand out for her to take. Her legs felt like jello as she walked out into the bright lights towards him, interlocking her fingers with his as a way to keep her on her feet.

The audience’s screams were deafening at seeing the two of them together and she thanked god she had her earpieces in to protect her ear drums or they would have surely burst. She could only imagine the articles that would be written about this and the thousands of tweets that were probably already being sent.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she mouthed at him threateningly, but she couldn’t even get through the sentence before his dazzling smile began to quell her anxiety.

“The look on your face is 100% worth getting my ass kicked,” he answered smoothly before turning his attention back to the audience. “Everyone, sing along if you know the words,” he commanded their attention. “This is Ready to Run.”

Her jaw dropped and the crowd roared as the band behind her began to play the first few chords of the song she loved and knew so well. She had admitted it a few days ago that it was one of her favorites of his ‘previous work,’ but apparently he already knew that from the few showers she had taken on the tour bus.

“There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny,” he began by himself, her brain still too shocked to jump in yet. He sang the first few lines to her with a giant grin plastered on his face, hand still holding tight to hers. His eyes had a playful glint in them that seemed to say ‘just have fun.’

“There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me,” she finally began to sing, Harry fading his voice out so she could take the next few lines by herself as he admired her.

He did have a devilish smile, but it was one she loved with her entire heart. As she began to sing, she felt her muscles begin to relax into the song she had sung to herself so many times before, letting her body begin to bounce to the growing rhythm as her dress flowed around her.

The stage vibrated as Sarah beat her drums to introduce the chorus. “This time I’m ready to run, escape from the city and follow the sun,” the pair sang together, eyes still locked as their voices combined into the most perfect tune. “Cause I wanna be yours, don’t you wanna be mine?” they continued the lyrics. She felt herself meaning the words leaving her mouth more and more as they went on. She did want to be his, she couldn’t deny that. “I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night.”

Her apprehensiveness eased further as the music picked up and the hook went on, finally allowing herself to have a bit of fun. “Wherever you are is the place I belong,” they insisted towards each other, leaning in close before Harry grabbed her hand to dramatically spin her, the beautiful shining fabric of her dress splaying out around her. The next line was mumbled through giggles by both of them, but their laughter only added to the perfect moment they were having.

They danced across the stage together like there weren’t 20,ooo pairs of eyes watching them, both singing their hearts out to each other. It began to feel like they weren’t even there. It was just Y/N and Harry, serenading each other to one of her favorite songs.

“There’s a future in my eyes I can’t foresee,” she sang to him to start the second verse.

“Unless, of course, I stay on course and keep you next to me.” Harry grabbed her by her waist and pulled her into his side as he sang the words, prompting more giggles from her. She loved the way he smiled so wide as he sang, never breaking his eye contact with her and emitting pure joy. His eyes looked honest as he sang, like he meant every word just as much as she did.

The pair made their way through the rest of the verse and second chorus, flawlessly moving around the stage like they owned it. Y/N selfishly decided to let him have the bridge all to himself, needing to hear the way his beautiful voice hit the high notes. “This time I’m ready to run,” he sang passionately, executing the downward moving riff perfectly. “I’d give everything that I got for your love,” he pointed across the stage towards her, beckoning her back close to him. She quickly skipped to him at his request.

Like she had blinked, the song was already nearing its end.

“Cause I wanna be free and I wanna be young, I’ll never look back now I’m ready to run,” they belted the last lines out to each other. The band fell quiet on their last chord and the crowd exploded, but their noise fell on deaf ears as the pair stood so close their heaving chests were almost pressed up against each other. His eyes stared down into hers and she watched as his eyes flickered quickly down to her lips.

The world ceased to exist when he pressed his mouth to hers, even if it only lasted a second. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was everything to her. Her body igniting with heat and eyes full of shock, she looked back at him in simultaneous confusion and adoration, before realizing they had been staring at each other for too long. She needed to get off the stage so he could continue with his show. She walked back slowly towards the wings, letting the hand he had still been holding fall to her side. She waved and smiled to the crowd the best she could in her clouded mind.

“Thank you everyone!” she shouted into her mic as she moved out of their view. She shoved her mic into the first set of hands that would take it as she wobbled her way over to a table with water bottles. She nearly choked as she tried to suck one down, hoping it would ease the dizzy feeling he had created with his lips. Her lips burned just as her forehead had earlier in the night.

He had kissed her. He had sang a love song with her and then he had kissed her. She couldn’t decipher if that kiss was a confirmation that he shared the same feelings for her or if it was just another act for the cameras. But his mouth felt so right against hers. They fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. She tried to suppress the optimistic hope that rose in her chest, but it began to swallow her whole.

When she heard his next song begin, she made her way back to the spot that had become hers at the side of the stage. She watched him perform the rest of the show in a loving haze, doe eyed and hypnotized, lips still buzzing from his contact.

He gave it his all. By the last song he was out of breath, drenched in sweat, and looked like he was about to pass out at any second. The crowd applauded for minutes after he left the stage and they were still cheering when she finally caught sight of him again. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his skin was shiny and flushed. He was panting, still trying to recover from his workout of a finale show; but he was beaming. His smile seemed to turn him into a beacon, emitting a light and positive energy that drew everyone backstage towards him.

She was so transfixed on Harry as he thanked the crew and accepted congratulations from all around that she just about jumped out of her skin when Jeff slinked up behind her and whispered ‘boo’ in her ear.

“What the fuck, Jeff,” she chuckled as she caught her breath, resting her hand on her chest and feeling her racing heartbeat.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on being half of the best fake couple out there,” he teased. “That kiss was perfect. People are losing their minds over it.”

“Oh,” she said softly, feeling every emotion she was distracted from while watching Harry rush back into her. Her heart sank as she remembered all the questions that continued to haunt her since she got off stage. “Thanks,” she murmured, plastering a smile onto her face. “I’m glad we could make you proud.”

“If you two could convince me, you can convince anyone.” Jeff walked off moments later, leaving her to sit in her confused thoughts as he disappeared into the hoards of bodies waiting for their minute with Harry.

She knew that she didn’t ‘convince’ Jeff of anything on her part. Everything she did with Harry was authentic and truthful. Including the thrilled grin that appeared on her face when she finally made eye contact with the exhausted man across the room. She gave him a shy wave that he sheepishly returned, biting back a shy smile. He pointed in the direction of his dressing room and mouthed “meet me in 15.”

She could never say no to him.

Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on the large wooden door that had a single piece of paper that read STYLES haphazardly taped onto it. When it finally flew open, she was met by a soaking wet Harry with a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Her eyes trailed down his body without permission, taking in the toned torso that was decorated with his beautiful tattoos. Her eyes hovered over the two ferns that sat on his pelvis, too fascinated with the dark ink to pull her eyes away just yet.

She had obviously seen him in various states of undress before. They lived together on a tour bus without much space to exist with privacy, but this was different. He wasn’t rushing to get dressed or quickly changing his outfit. And he wasn’t moving away from her gaze at all.

If she hadn’t been so entranced by him, she would have noticed he was looking her up and down in the exact same manner.

She had changed since she had seen him last. The skin-tight black velvet romper she had brought along for the afterparty now fit her snuggly and held her every curve. The dark fabric was tight and appeared almost painted on, a rainbow racing stripe making its way down either side of her chest. The short shorts of the outfit exposed nearly all of her legs and the deep neckline put much of her chest on display as well. It’s long sleeves were her favorite part, as a strip of fringe dangled from below her arms any time she moved.

“You look great,” Harry finally choked out, his voice pulling their eyes back up to the other’s face.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, slightly awkwardly. “You too.”

“Well, I’m hopefully not going to the after party dressed like this,” he chuckled before stepping aside and ushering her into the room.

His dressing room was much larger than hers and she settled herself on the brown leather couch in the corner as she waited for him to get ready, sneaking glances up from her phone often. She chuckled as she watched him spend far too long fussing with his curls in the mirror, but was quickly distracted by the way his back and arms flexed when he reached up to muse his hair. Once he was satisfied with the way it fell, he disappeared into the bathroom at the back of the room. When he emerged, he was finally dressed, allowing her to take a deep breath and to focus on something other than his bare skin for the first time since he had opened the door.

The black satin suit was simple for him, but the tight white tank top that sat underneath hugged every muscle in his torso. She knew as soon as he got in the hot club, he would lose the jacket, and she would be devastatingly distracted once again.

The narcissist took one final look at himself in the mirror before turning to her and extending a hand. “Ready, darling?”

“You just spent 15 minutes exclusively on your hair and you’re asking me if I’m ready?” she teased as she took his hand, weaving her fingers between his as they exited the room together.

He leaned down close to her ear as they walked down the now mostly empty hallway, lips brushing over the hollow of her ear as he spoke. “I could have done it faster, but you were so obviously enjoying the show.”

“Relax yourself, Magic Mike,” she muttered indignantly, but hung her head in a way she hoped he couldn’t see how flustered he made her. Was she really that obvious?

They walked hand in hand out to the parking garage, now caught in a back and forth about whether or not Harry could be a male stripper. He said yes. She said no, although she did admit at one point that he worked his mic stand like a pole.

“Hey Jeff,” he called when they finally reached the parking garage where Jeff and Glenne had been waiting for them to head to the club. “Do you think I could be a stripper?”

“I think people would pay a lot to see it, but they may be disappointed in your dancing skills.”

“Come on,” he playfully whined. “I have some moves.”

“You have one move,” Y/N cut in with a chuckle, “and it’s the wiggle.” She brought her hands up near her chest, tilted her head back while dramatically biting her lip, and swayed her arms by her sides, earning a chorus of laughter from the people around her.

She hadn’t even realized she had done the move without releasing Harry’s hand first, dragging his arm into her dance as well, until their manager commented on it. “You know, you two don’t have to be holding hands all the time and keeping the show up back here,” he said with a slightly suspicious quirk in his eyebrows.

Her smile had been in the process of fading, like they had been caught doing something wrong, before Harry answered smoothly. “We know. Just practicing.”

There were those words again. Just practicing, she thought over to herself. But was he practicing anymore? How many flirty comments, heartfelt compliments, and warm touches did it take to cross the line of practicing to the real thing?

She wasn’t sure about Harry, but she knew that she wasn’t just practicing anymore.

She knew that the way they sat nearly on top of each other in the large SUV on the way to the club felt more than friendly. And the way he hadn’t stopped touching her in some way since they left his dressing room insinuated far more than something with business-like intentions. And the way he looked at her everytime he caught her eye the entire way to the club, always with a bright smile and adoring gaze that she always returned, pulled at her heartstrings far more than they should have if this was all an act.

A sloppy and cheeky grin settled almost permanently on his features after he had a few drinks in him, his arms moving in a lazy and fluid manner as she took in his many tattoos that he had exposed when he ditched his jacket (just like she knew he would). His butterfly was visible through the tight ribbed fabric of the white tank top and the little birds that peaked out from underneath seemed to be inviting her even closer to him in her now inebriated state.

All she wanted to do was to connect her lips with his as she watched him make conversation with someone from his management, entranced by the way his perfect mouth moved as he spoke. She once again craved the shocks of electricity that were created between them at the contact and could not stop thinking about it no matter how hard she tried. The protective hand that had settled onto her hip and continued to hold her close to his body just wasn’t enough anymore.

The pair had been drinking far too much; martinis turning into vodka sodas that had turned into straight tequila shots. She believed it was tequila shot four that did her in. The last thing she remembered was licking the line of salt off the back of her hand, downing the shot, and being entranced by Harry’s eyes as she bit down on the slice of lime he held carefully with his jeweled fingers.

***

The next morning, Y/N woke up in a hotel room that she didn’t recognize with a pounding headache and a swirling gut. It felt like she had been hit with a truck and she could barely pick her head up off the pillow.

She had so many questions about what had happened the night before. Where was she? Who let her drink that much? Whose clothes was she wearing? But most of all, what the hell happened after that fourth shot?

But she realized the worst was yet to come when she heard soft snoring coming from beside her. She knew that snoring well. It was the snoring that kept her up half the night for the last two months and the one that had almost driven her to suffocating her bus-mate in his sleep; the snoring that matched the crumbled black suit she just noticed in a ball on the floor.

It took every ounce of strength in her body to pull herself from the pillow and turn around in the bed to have her suspicions confirmed.

There he was.

His dark long eyelashes were fluttered down across the tops of his cheeks and his hair was going in every direction, skin clammy like his body was trying to rid itself of all the poison he had ingested the night before. The crumpled comforter was pushed down his stomach, his bare skin holding a sheen that helped define every dip or curve of his muscles and the tiniest bit of the band of his boxers peaked out to assure her that he at least wasn’t fully naked next to her.

Why were they in bed together? And why did he look so good? Oh my god, she thought as a possibility dawned on her. Did we sleep together?

“Harry,” she murmured softer than she intended, voice scratchy and mouth dry. The soreness at the back of her throat clued her into the copious amounts of screaming she must have done last night. He didn’t stir at her gentle coaxing, the light streaming through the windows making him look angelic as it covered him in a blanket of soft light while he continued to sleep.

It was a hard nudge to his chest that finally made him open his eyes, immediately releasing a groan she was sure she made when she regained consciousness too. He looked at her puzzled, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. He took an equally confused look around the hotel room before looking back at her. She watched as the gears slowly turned in his head until his eyes opened wide and he spring up into a sitting position to mirror hers.

“We didn’t,” he whispered hopefully. “Oh my god, did we?” he asked, a look of horror crossing his face that matched her own.

“I have no idea,” she anxiously replied. “I was hoping you would know!”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“The last thing I remember was doing tequila shots with you.”

“I remember those.” He rubbed his eyes hard like it would somehow jog his memory. His eyebrows knit together, buried in thought as he searched his brain for a timeline. “I can follow the night up until we did karaoke.”

“We did karaoke?” she repeated incredulously and was met with a somber nod. “Do I even want to know what we sang?”

He shook his head slowly, shame clear on his face, before he finally mumbled. “We did ‘It’s Raining Men.’”

“Oh my god, no,” she whined, holding her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. There were surely videos of them sloppily singing on top of a bar circulating online and she wasn’t sure how Jeff would be able to spin that one in a positive light.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eye as he reached for his own. “Maybe there’s something on there that can clue us in.” It took her a moment but she finally spotted it on the ground in the corner of the room. She said a silent prayer that it wasn’t dead or broken.

Forcing her heavy limbs out from under the covers she made her way towards the device, but not before she heard a confused sound coming from Harry. “How did you get my clothes?”

Looking down at herself and taking in the red lettering that read But Daddy I Love Him across her chest, it clicked that the t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts were his. But how they hell did she get into them?

“I think we’ve established at this point that I don’t know anything that happened after about midnight, Harry.” Her words came out laced with slight frustration. She hoped he knew she wasn’t annoyed with him, just their situation.

“Just a question, princess.”

She ignored his quip and began to search through her texts, call history, and photos, hoping to find anything at all that could help trace their steps through the night. She found nothing but a few selfies of them still at the club. One was the pair casually smiling, the next was one of him kissing her on the cheek that made her skin warm, but the final one made her snort out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I have a picture on my phone of you with two martini olives shoved up your nose,” she spoke through hysterical laughter. “Definitely birthday post material if you ask me.”

“Let me see,” he demanded with an adorable scowl.

She passed her phone over to him, still letting a few chuckles fall past her lips. “I’m gonna change your name in my phone to ‘Olive Nose Styles.”

“You're cruel.”

“You’re the one that put olives up his nose and then posed for a picture!”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, turning attention back to his own screen to continue his investigation. “There’s nothing of use on my phone either.”

The two flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the frustrated confusion. There was so much of their night that had gone up into smoke, completely unaccounted for with no clues as to what they did. Each traced their steps over and over again in their heads as they hoped desperately for a single detail that would lead them down a path to bigger memories, but it never came.

“Are we going to have to call Jeff and ask him what happened?” she finally murmured.

“I think so.”

“He’s going to put us both in client timeout, isn’t he?”

“We’re probably already there,” he groaned as he picked up his phone and hit Jefe Jeff-e in his contact list, putting the call on speaker and resting it on his still bare chest. The man on the other end picked up almost immediately.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty, I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

“Hi Jeff,” he groggily started then stopped, searching for the words that would make this all less uncomfortable. “Y/N and I have some questions about last night.”

Jeff let out a strained chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me after last night’s bar bill.”

“Um,” Harry hummed, stammering but unable to form any real words.

“You sing about sex for a living,” she hissed at the man next to her before yanking the phone off his chest. “Jeff,” she started, taking over the conversation for them both. “Do you know if we slept together?”

“Probably not. You both were pretty unconscious when I put you in the hotel room.” His words prompted a massive sigh from both of them, looking to each other to share a relieved smile.

“Oh thank god,” they mumbled in unison.

“Jinx,” he smirked under his breath, prompting a ‘shut up’ from her.

“How did I get into Harry’s clothes?”

“I stopped by the tour bus when I realized you two probably shouldn’t be trusted not to roll out of your top bunks. I got you some clothes to sleep in before we took you guys to the hotel.”

“But why Harry’s?”

It was Jeff’s term to get squirmy. “I felt weird going through your things.”

“But you were perfectly fine with going through mine?” Harry asked, only half joking.

“Absolutely,” he deadpanned. They were all quiet for a moment before Jeff began again. “You two really don’t remember anything else that happened?”

“Everything after about two is unaccounted for,” she confessed.

“Oh,” Jeff chuckled. “So, you don’t remember when you stuck your tongues down each other’s throats on the ride home?”

Fuck.

Her eyes raced up to Harry’s from the phone she had been staring at like it held all the secrets of the night before. His easily readable features displayed all his emotions that surely matched hers. His pupils had grown in surprise, taking over nearly all the green in his wide eyes, and an embarrassed blush tinted his cheeks in a red hot flush that had reached the tips of his ears. His eyes flashed to the blank wall in front of them, running a stressed hand through his curls, like if he wasn’t looking at her, he would be able to focus better on the newly revealed information.

She couldn’t say that she didn’t relate. Her mind often went blank when she looked at him too. But right now, it was racing, occupied by anxious thoughts and intense emotions she couldn’t quite place, but felt with her entire being.

Her inevitable downward spiral was interrupted when Harry stiffly cleared his throat. “Uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ll see you later.”

“Sounds good, love birds,” Jeff replied, a clear snark apparent in his voice. Neither of the pair dignified his teasing with a response, Y/N quickly ending the call.

Silence hung heavy in the air and she let her eyes hover over the phone for too long when she settled it down on the bed, unwilling to connect her eyes with his just yet. Harry always had a way of staring into her and revealing all her cards to him before she even knew them herself. She wanted to hold them close to her chest for a moment, protecting the heart that longed for him more than anything else in the world.

There were no words exchanged between the two for a while as they silently took turns in the bathroom and occupied their hands and thoughts by their phones. They walked on eggshells anytime one neared the other. A tension like this hadn’t existed since the very first day they met, the first day they had begun to pretend.

Maybe that's why Harry was being so quiet. Maybe he never wanted to cross that line of pretending like she did. Maybe she had been blinded by his generally friendly personality and tricked herself into thinking there was anything more than a charade between them. Maybe last night really was just a drunken mistake, no matter how much she wanted it to be more.

“Maybe it’s a good thing that we don’t remember what happened last night,” she finally murmured from the opposite end of the room. She rested the side of her still heavy head and muscles against the wall, arms crossed in front of her as if they could keep her safe from the tension they had created. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of his t-shirt she was still dressed in.

“Why is it a good thing?” he almost immediately responded from the chair on the other side of the room he had settled himself into, running his hands along the satin pants of last night’s outfit he had put back on during their awkward shuffling around the room. He had even put physical space between them since they found out what happened, causing her heart to feel as if it was teetering on the edge of disintegrating.

“Well,” she stuttered, refusing to look at him and continuing to pick at her nail polish. “We’re just pretending so it would be weird if we really remembered it.”

“I don’t think it would be weird.”

“I don’t know,” she tried to maneuver her way around his response. “It might just be embarrassing to think about it.”

He let out a long and frustrated sigh, running his hands down his face. There was so much going on behind his eyes and she wished he would say something, anything, to break down the wall that hadn’t existed between them in months that was slowly reappearing.

“Do you regret it?” he asked bluntly, the abrupt question shocking her body to attention. “Do you regret any of this? Any of us?”

Did she regret drinking too much? Yes. Did she regret making out with him in front of their manager? Yes. Did she regret denying her feelings and pretending they didn’t exist for so long? Of course. But, did she regret falling in love with him? Never, not even for a second.

“No, I don’t,” she let out with a gentle shake of her head, no louder than a whisper.

“Neither do I.”

The words had barely left his lips before he crossed the room and crashed them into hers. The same fire she had felt on stage returned ten times over as his lips moved smoothly over hers, every neuron in her body lighting up like a switchboard. Her fingers reached up to curl into his hair and pull his lips impossibly closer to hers as her heart hammered in her chest with a passionate love she had kept under wraps for so long.

He tasted like the spicy peppermint toothpaste the hotel stocked in the bathroom and smelled like the tiny bottles of shampoo that rested on the side of the bathtub; but there was so much else about him that was completely unique–wholly irreplaceable and indescribable. He was just Harry.

Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, and hair was pulled as they took in every sensation the other created. His lips had been the only thought that captivated her mind since they were on stage the night before and her return to them did not disappoint. If her head wasn’t dizzy and her lungs not screaming at her for air, she would have stayed in that moment forever

When they finally disconnected, they stood against each other in a heaving and disheveled mess of heavy breathing and adoringly dazed smiles. She swore she could feel the pounding of his heart under her fingertips that rested on his chest.

“That was nice,” he eventually murmured down at her through heavy breaths, a love drunk grin finding its way onto his swollen lips.

“Yeah, I agree,” she hummed breathlessly, her anxious thoughts quiet and calm for the first time she could remember since she met him.

“I’m kind of disappointed I don’t remember doing that the first time,” he chuckled softly at her, shaking his head lightly in embarrassment with his pink tinged cheeks on full display.

“That’s okay. We were ‘just practicing’ then, right?” A giggle left her lips as she used the words against him. The same words he had used every time they let a glimpse of their true affections for each other slip past their guarded and friendly facade.

His dimples were exposed when he smiled a giant grin and let out a knowing huff, piecing together that she had caught onto his trail of excuses. “Yeah, just practicing,” he repeated softly, before his tone turned sincere and genuine. “I don’t want us to pretend anymore.”

“Good,” she said softly as her fingers slid up his neck to beckon his lips back down to hers. “I never was.”

“Neither was I.” She watched a soft smirk appear on his lips as they hovered over hers. “Do you want to keep not practicing?”

“Depends,” she quipped, lips brushing over his as she spoke. “Am I better kisser than Taylor Swift?

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK MEAN THE WORLD!!!

An extra for our babies can be found here!

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blushnote · 4 years

Text

rich girl | m.

⟡ word count: 6,708. ⟡ genre: smut, a bit of angst if you squint. ⟡ contains: a blowjob, facefucking, overstimulation, squirting, dirty talk, shower sex, copious use of petnames, just a whole lot of sin.

summary: wonwoo likes to call you a rich girl, and you hate it because it’s true. in fact, you hate a lot of things: your friends, your parent’s attitude, the way your life is supposed to be perfect even though you’re miserable. not much makes you happy, except for a punk boy who you can’t even be with.

a/n: this is a reupload because for some reason tumblr wasn’t showing me my own posts? anyways, sorry for the wait!! enjoy hehe.

your parents don’t like wonwoo.

even better – they don’t like the fact that you like him.

wonwoo isn’t supposed to be someone you like. he’s kind of foul-mouthed, awfully conceited, and he probably makes deals with the devil in his spare time. he likes to hang around those dimly lit corners at night, just outside the local shops, puffing from a cigarette beneath the dusty street light and chuckling amongst his friends. they all hang out together. they’re very tightknit in the way that they only meet on the corner to smoke and laugh and then head their separate ways when it gets late enough.

honestly, you didn’t think you were going to like wonwoo either. most friday nights you go out for drinks with the daughters of your mom’s friends. she’s a business lady, very professional, makes good money, and has the politeness and etiquette of a true monarch. her friends mirror her every quality, and so do their daughters. you like them, even when they snap at you to sit straighter or give you unnecessarily stern glances while you swallow your alcohol in inhumane gulps. they’re great, but they give you a headache.

also, they’re the only friends you have, even if they’re not very good ones. they once left you to get home by yourself when you got too “drunk” for their liking. not wanting to soil their sophisticated reputations, they literally abandoned you after your wobbly trip to the bathroom to fix your makeup. you came back to an empty table. when you left the bar, this unknown man tried to take you by the arm, promising that there was a telephone just around the corner for you to make a call. your cellphone was dead anyways.

“what the fuck are you doing?”

there was a deep, displeased voice that echoed from the street corner as the mystery man tugged you away. you couldn’t help but stumble in your saint laurent heels. they didn’t add much height, yet you felt as though you were walking on stilts. quickly, you made eye contact with wonwoo. he stepped away from the pole and removed the cigarette from between his bubblegum lips, just before he adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. the air was cold, so he wore a beanie that pulled his hair back.

the man stuttered in response. he attempted to configure a convincing statement, but wonwoo cut him off.

“do you know him?” wonwoo asked you directly. his friends were silent as they crowded the corner, but they looked ready to pounce.

“n-not re-really, no.” you fought to respond sluggishly.

wonwoo then narrowed his eyes at the man who was digging his nails into your skin.

“do you know her?” the man countered. he sounded almost petulant.

“no,” wonwoo admitted impassively, “but i’m not an idiot, and i’ve hung around here long enough to see my fair share of fucking weirdos. go slink back to the other side of the street before i shove my cigarette past your eye socket and into your cranium.”

honestly, wonwoo’s words almost turned you completely sober. the man looked like he wanted to argue, but his pathetic type doesn’t usually put up a fight when their plans are directly thwarted. he released you, and melted away into the night like a sad, shrinking shadow.

“do you need to use my phone?” wonwoo was already revealing it from his pocket.

you nodded. you knew your mother would explode into fumes if you called her at this hour, so you dialled the local taxi service and decided to wait right outside the bar. you wanted to thank wonwoo for intervening when he did. he didn’t necessarily look like a bad person, but his tainted mouth and snarky expressions didn’t exactly shift him into the light.

“thanks,” you told him as you handed over his phone, “i-i appreciate what you dd-did.”

wonwoo made the effort to blow the smoke from his cigarette away from your face.

“it’s fine,” he shrugged, “happens all the time. figured i’d just stand here and be useful i guess.”

so there is a reason you’re always at this corner.

that’s what you wanted to say, but you were too shy, too foggy, to articulate any other acknowledgement apart from a tight-lipped smile. since then, you knew wonwoo would be someone you liked.

wonwoo liked to call you a rich girl. it bothered you, mostly because it’s true. you wore diamonds in your ears, pricey jewels on your fingers, dressed in luxury outfits and designer products. you lived a lavish life because your parents were well off, but it’s not like you tried to rub it in everyone’s face. in fact, you were quite modest, and you only wore the jewelry because your mother never stopped draping you in it. after your first encounter with wonwoo outside the bar, you greeted him again on the street upon exiting the floral shop.

he was alone, not even smoking a cigarette, instead sucking on a vibrant, cherry red lollipop. you could smell its sugary coating the second you stood in front of him.

“hey, rich girl.” he nodded. “how’s life treating you?”

the only reason you approached him was out of gratitude. you had already thanked him for his intervention that one night, but you wanted to thank him again now that you weren’t intoxicated and cloudy in the head. notably, your expression soured at his words.

“rich girl? that’s not my name.”

wonwoo looked you up and down skeptically. his eyes were a strong, earthly shade of brown behind his glasses, but in that afternoon sunlight, they flared up slightly, and the colour was more molasses-like. thick and sweet.

“are you joking?” he seemed like he wanted to laugh, and swirled the lollipop to the opposite corner of his mouth. “babygirl, those heels you’re wearing are more than my rent.”

you didn’t know why, but you were transiently overwhelmed with the urge to drop to your knees and let him fuck your mouth right there on the corner. was that too soon? oh well. you already thought it. remembering you were supposed to feel disrespected at his comment, you crossed your arms, though it only accented the jaded bracelet your friend bought you as a birthday gift.

“i’m going to pretend i didn’t hear anything you just said. i wanted to thank you for getting me out of that situation last week. i thought i should tell you again, now that i’m… well… sober, i guess i could say.”

you then swallowed tightly. “do you really stand there to stop creeps from taking advantage of people?”

wonwoo shrugged. he then tousled his hair, which had been flopping in multiple directions. it was on the longer side, and seemed to be the same colour as dark, silvery ashes, though the roots were pretty much black. his hair looked so soft and springy. you almost wanted to comb it down for him.

“i’m just at the right place at the right time.” he said.

what did that even mean? you simply accepted his response and pressed on.

“well, i wouldn’t mind repaying the favour one day. do you want a coffee or something?”

“no.” wonwoo replied sharply. “you could do me one better and slip me a couple hundred from your pretty bank account. i’m trying to get the local black tar heroin dealer off my back.”

you nearly choked.

“wha-what? are you… serious?”

wonwoo maintained his staid, emotionless expression, and you were really starting to believe that there was a black tar heroin dealer running rampant in the streets that might pop wonwoo if he didn’t pay him off. but then a gradual smile pulled up his lips, and you wanted to retract your entire offer.

“yes, it’s a joke. you’re too easy. the only drugs you’d find in this part of town is the ibuprofen for your grandma’s arthritis. you don’t get out much, do you, rich girl?”

you gaped widely at him.

“careful, baby,” he smirked, and he suddenly brought his hand out, raising your chin with his cold fingertips to close your mouth. “don’t breathe too much of this cheap air. it’s not filtered.”

in a bubbling, festering haze of anger, you snapped his hand away.

“for your information i—,”

abruptly, you heard your name echo from down the street. turning around, you watched your mother exit the floral shop, carrying a pale green wrapping of scarlet poinsettias. they were so huge that the petals almost covered her entire face. it wasn’t her fault, but she couldn’t have picked a worse time to come looking for you, especially when she was cloaked in the thick warmth of her sable fur coat. you sighed deeply and faced wonwoo again. he’d lost his lollipop, attempting to spark up a cigarette instead.

“aren’t these just gorgeous?” your mother swooned, running her fingers over the butter-soft petals. “they certainly cost a pretty penny to get such an exquisite arrangement, but i couldn’t help myself!”

you wanted to sink straight into the earth. wonwoo was looking between you in pure amusement as he crammed his lighter inside a pocket on his jeans. your mother didn’t even seem to notice him until he took his first puff, the distinct potency of the smoke making her nose scrunch.

“a-and who’s this, dear?” she couldn’t even mask her discomfort as she inquired you about wonwoo. at that point, you hadn’t even known his name yet.

“wonwoo,” he introduced himself, “a new friend of your daughter.”

“oh, how lovely,” she nodded at him while forcing a crooked grin. “honey,” she then placed her hand on your shoulder and spoke closely into your ear, “your father is parked down the street. we need to leave soon and get these out of the cold, so please finish your conversation quickly.”

as soon as she slipped past you and began striding swiftly toward the car, you could already taste the muddled defeat on your tongue. if you weren’t protruding the mirage of a spoilt rich girl then, you certainly were now. at least he didn’t blow any smoke into her face, though that didn’t diminish the fact you were going to receive a lengthy lecture in the car.

“why would you say we’re friends?” you scolded wonwoo.

“because you don’t have any.” he responded matter-of-factly while tapping some ash off his cigarette.

“that’s not true! what do you even know about me anyways, apart from that i’m rich.” you made sure to incorporate in-air quotations.

wonwoo pushed back the silver tresses dancing in front of his glasses, embracing the cool, afternoon current against his face.

“not a lot,” he admitted, “you come for drinks every few fridays. sit at the table looking like you hate your life and all the people in it. then you leave with your phony little rich clique.”

“not to be rude, wonwoo—” you almost wanted to laugh; you came here to thank him. now that ship had completely sailed— “but you’re kind of a dick.”

he then had the nerve to roll his eyes. “you’d drop to your knees and suck mine in a second, babygirl. now didn’t your mother say you should hurry up and get in the car? the princess can’t be out of the palace i’m guessing, especially not to talk to assholes on street corners.”

what else could you do apart from swallow your own frustration, bite your lip, and brush past him? there was nothing. it was too bitter to stand outside anyways. a strengthening winter wind was beginning to pick up from the north, the sting making your eyes water. at the same time, your cheeks were hot metal. if no one were on that street, you certainly would have taken him right into your mouth and sucked him dry. he was ridiculous and cruel, but you loved the unhinged nature he unearthed in you. it was liberating in a sense.

you wondered what would become of your relationship.

“where did you say you were going again?”

you looked up from the porcelain dinner plate, in which you’d been picking at the last few crumbs of your wine reduction pineapple cake. it wasn’t your favourite dessert, though you always finished every meal out of respect for the family’s personal chef. you saw your father reach for his water glass. he took a long sip and eyed you over the candlelight and scarlet poinsettias. it was in a way that was completely and unabashedly suspicious.

“ester and i are going to the jewellers to get a custom necklace as aria’s christmas gift. i told you like five times already.”

of course, that was a gigantic lie. you and ester had already gotten the precious necklace last week, you just needed a reasonable excuse.

“and you’re coming straight home, correct?” his voice was stern and unnegotiable.

“i always do.”

“not always.” your mother chipped in as she cut a piece of the glazed cake with her fork. “you’re not going to see that one character, are you?” she always called people with less fortune characters, like they weren’t even considered to be real.

“who?” you acted clueless, and poured yourself more of the sugary, pink lemonade.

“you know who,” there was already a note of displeasure in her voice, “that boy from the corner. the one who smokes. i wasn’t very impressed by his actions.”

you started to squeeze the white cloth across your lap. “he’s trying to quit. i’ve persuaded him.”

“he won’t do it,” your father shook his head, “and he’s not right for you. i don’t want you near him.”

“and that’s why you’re coming straight home after the jewellers.” your mother continued, not allowing you the breadth to speak.

this family couldn’t get any more ridiculous, you were tempted to scream. instead, you pushed out your chair and collected the utensils sitting on your placemat. a maid passing by had scrambled to assist you, though you told her thoughtfully that you could take care of yourself. in actuality, it was the perfect time to get going, just as you could feel the anger warm your own blood to a boiling crimson. you threw on a long peacoat, a spritz belonging to a vanilla perfume, and your saint laurent opyum heels.

“i’ll be home soon!” you shouted down the marbled corridor, but it was only your own voice that echoed back to you.

your knees were beginning to lose feeling from being pressed against the sponge-like carpet of wonwoo’s bedroom, and they would probably ache like hell whenever you came to your feet again, but for the time being, you really didn’t care. your hands were braced against wonwoo’s knees as his hand tangled possessively through your hair, each of his tugs causing your scalp to burn and tingle. you were crying. you loved to be used by him, and he loved using you. especially the warm inside of your slick mouth.

“ff-fuck, that’s it, babygirl, j-just let me fuck your pr-pretty fuckin’ face.” quickly heeding his words, wonwoo bucked his hips up in a sudden snap, the head of his cock nuzzled deep against your throat.

consequently, you gagged, and there were glossy trails of your own saliva uncomfortably pooling down your chin. he bucked up again, his fingers clasping your hair even tighter. you were struggling to breath around him, white, cottony spots blurring your vision while he forced you to take him even further. you were clutching onto his knees with enough strength to bruise his pale skin. but hearing his voice, lined with lust, heavy and laboured, how it hitched when everything felt too good; you were addicted to it.

“you’re so good at this—,” wonwoo grunted through his teeth upon jamming your head down again, “m’gonna cum down your f-fuckin’ throat, baby. be a good girl n’ m-make sure you swallow a-all of me, huh?”

you learned that wonwoo was really filthy. he didn’t have a preference for where he came, though you had to regulate his carelessness. if any of your clothes even got one rip, one pulled up thread, or god forbid a stupid ejaculation stain, your mother would put your head on a mahogany plaque. wonwoo always made fun of you for belonging to a rich family, having to act like the town’s local sweetheart because one wise crack might cost your parents a lost business partner. but you knew he loved it.

the elegant daughter of a rich heir running around with the outlandish punk? he adored it.

eventually, you had to come up for breath or else you would’ve fainted between his thighs. the air gushed into your lungs and coldly filled your chest. a string of your spit was connected from wonwoo’s flushed, hard cock to your wet lips. you could hardly discern anything that surrounded you. the oxygen had yet to thoroughly circulate and the tears were creating a thick blur. wonwoo started to stroke himself while you prepared to take him once more. the empty void in your mouth was a horrible feeling.

“you look like a fucking mess.” wonwoo grinned as he noted that your body was shaking. “am i being too rough with you, babygirl? should i just jack myself off and cum all over your face instead?”

“n-no,” you suckled in a half-hearted breath, “i-i can do it.”

wonwoo smirked. “you still want it down your throat?”

you could see him clearly now. his cheeks were tinted pink, and his eyes were impossibly dark, glittering in anticipation. without thinking, you nodded eagerly, knowing this was what you wanted. he then tapped his cock against your swollen lips, to which you opened up again and calmly took him as deep as you could. he watched your eyes glister with more tears before he started thrusting up into your mouth. his fingers were gentle. they brushed the stray spindles from your face, now destroyed by tears and drool.

“i’m surprised your tears aren’t pure gold,” he laughed, “i guess you aren’t so special.” your spine tingled as his hand crept back through your hair. “m’gonna make you cry even harder, baby.”

his grip had turned to solid iron against your scalp. you got less than a sliver to brace yourself for his unrelenting treatment, in which he pushed you straight down on his cock and kept your face right where he wanted it. with his hand against the back of your head, wonwoo snapped his hips upward, feeling you immediately gag in response. then, he unleashed on you, using your mouth as a mere fucktoy, getting all his pleasure’s worth from you in each of his hard thrusts. everything was so overwhelming and rapid.

wonwoo couldn’t help the mantra of guttural, taunt curses. he started to moan even, his deep voice cracking the second he felt his sticky cum start to abundantly spurt. without a warning, you struggled slightly to accept and swallow it, though wonwoo was intent on keeping you flush to his pelvis until every drop was polished off. he was still thrusting shallowly into your mouth, and you could feel his length gradually begin to soften. his release was warm, and it was similar to cream sliding down your throat.

after he removed himself from your mouth, he titled up your head by the chin.

“did you swallow it all yet?”

you shook your head. quickly, the side of your hot cheek was met with wonwoo’s hand. he’d given you a timid slap, one that wasn’t meant to hurt, but stung gingerly.

“i wanna see you swallow, babygirl.” he purred. “be good, won’t you?”

your tears were dribbling uncontrollably as you fully swallowed his seed. god, your throat felt like it was on fire. each muscle in your jaw was burning up ardently. your knees were so numb you didn’t even think you could stand. there wasn’t enough time for wonwoo to return the favour. you were sure he could smell the thick scent of your arousal, especially as it ruined your underwear and shone on your inner thighs.

but you didn’t care. having him use you for the night was enough.

“are you alright?” wonwoo asked, getting himself back in his pants.

you didn’t respond, just gripped onto his knee tightly and attempted to stand. your opyum heels were still on, and you nearly broke an ankle as the blood rushed into your legs. wonwoo stood also. he stabilized you by holding your shoulders, at least for a good minute. pulling back your sleeve, you rid the tears that stained your face with a quick wipe from your hand. you were going to have to be very speedy getting back to the house, unless you wanted your father to send the swat team after you.

“god,” you sighed with a raspy, dying voice, “i hate my life.”

wonwoo scoffed at you lightly.

“what lie did you tell them this time?”

you muttered, “i was going to the jewellers.”

“that’s a long time to be at the jewellers.”

“i know that,” you snapped quickly in response.

more tears pushed at your ducts. you couldn’t believe how unhappy you were, even despite having every material thing you could ever want. sometimes that particular thought would just pummel you out of nowhere and you’d fight back the urge to cry.

wonwoo’s hand cupped the side of your face. his thumb stroked gently beneath your eye and he leaned in to kiss your mouth softly. his tongue tasted like a cherry lollipop. he really was trying to quit smoking.

“what are you gonna do, babygirl?” wonwoo hummed, pressing his forehead against yours as he continued to brush your cheek.

you held his waist. “i dunno,” you croaked, “my parents don’t like you. my dad doesn’t want me near you.”

“then don’t tell him i fucked your face, princess. it’s easy.”

there was a puff of meek laughter in your chest. for a few more minutes, you let wonwoo hold you. it was the most comfortable and happy you’d felt all day. you were running short on time. the first thing you’d do when you get home would be to run a hot shower and most likely finger yourself while you thought about wonwoo’s cock lodged deep down your throat. maybe one day you’d really snap and stuff all your belongings in a suitcase and come live with him in the shitty scope of town.

but for now, that seemed unattainable.

you’d have to come up with another lie as to why you just spent two hours at the jewellers.

“the earrings were the most magnificent things i’d ever seen! i’m going to wear them for my modelling gig next month, in paris of course. i’ll even text you guys some photos of them when i get home. they have these little opal centres that absolutely sparkle.”

just one more word. if you had to listen to aria babble one more word about her modelling gig or her stupid opal earrings or her all-expense paid trip to paris then you might have to throw your glass of chardonnay in her face. those were the only three things she talked about. then the month would change and she’d have another three things to drive into the mud, yet everyone at the table ate up her words like they were a slice of chocolate cake. you were starting to develop a headache.

“that’s wonderful, aria!” ester was gleaming as she readjusted the strap on her pearl-white dress. you could just tell she was dying to incorporate tales of her own wealth into the conversation. “i can’t wait to see your modelling pictures. that reminds me, i still have some old videos from when i went parasailing in bali. do you guys wanna see them?”

everyone started crowding around ester’s side of the table, attempting to view the footage she was pulling up on her phone screen. however, you didn’t budge, and continued to stare with a dull look in your eyes out the bar’s front window. through the glass, you could see wonwoo standing at the street lamp with his friends, swirling around another lollipop from cheek to cheek. you wondered if it was cherry. his last flavour had been green apple. you tasted it on his tongue when he’d fucked you in the backseat of his car.

but that was a week ago.

“don’t you want to see?” ester was smiling at you.

winding your fingers around your thin wine glass, you shrugged. “i’ll pass.”

“suit yourself.” ester replied, and started to play her first video.

you hated everything about this situation.

wonwoo was right. you really didn’t have any friends, and that became especially clear as you observed everyone at the opposite end of the table, adoring ester’s cute, ditsy little parasailing videos that her boyfriend took. you wished you liked the same things these girls did. your life would be one-hundred times more enjoyable if you just embraced your sumptuous blessings and shed a couple brain cells to be on the same level as them.

then again, you didn’t want to be exactly like them.

they left you to get home by yourself just because you drank too much. at a bar.

pressing the wine glass against your lips, you tilted your head back and easily gulped down the remaining chardonnay. it was a pleasant coolness that streamed down your throat, and you slammed the glass onto the table once it was emptied; even slouched back in your seat and didn’t bother patting your lipstick dry with a tissue. aria raised an eyebrow at you. she looked like she was itching to say something. you were in the mood for a challenge. if she was going to make a passive aggressive comment, it better be soon.

“i hope you have a designated driver.” she finally decided to chuckle.

you rolled your eyes. “shut up, aria.”

ester and her friends immediately looked up from the phone.

“excuse me?” aria replied while tucking a strand of her behind her ear. she seemed a bit baffled by your sudden disdain. “i don’t believe i’ve ever heard you speak like that.”

you were beyond a point of caring. “what are you gonna do then? tattletale on me? you’re such a fake.”

“that’s way out of line.” ester intervened, staring you down intensely. “why are you acting like this?”

“whatever.” you stood up from the chair and reached for your coin purse, revealing a wadded clump of cash that you slapped on the lacquered table. admittedly, the alcohol concocted with your frustration (not to mention being around wonwoo’s snide personality) had quite the effect on your behaviour. if you never had to see these girls again, it would be too soon. you couldn’t believe that you’d even went through the effort of buying aria a christmas present. the only thing she gifted you was a card with her signature on it.

like that was fucking useful.

“i think you need to leave.” ester announced like you weren’t already gathering your things.

“exactly.” you falsely commended her.

she probably had a pea-sized diamond in her skull instead of an actual brain. “i’m leaving now before you guys get the chance to ditch me. don’t worry about it though. i can actually walk myself out this time.”

if only you had a camera ready to capture their gobsmacked expressions. it would have been embarrassingly laughable. you flicked past them toward the door and pushed into the nighttime air, which was crisp and wonderfully cold to your warmed flesh. you felt powerful for summoning the courage to break ties with them, and yet, at the same time, you found that you were on the verge of tears. they deserved to have their toxic behaviour thrown back in their face. it was just that you felt a bit broken.

now you truthfully were alone. well – apart from wonwoo.

you approached him as he stood at the corner, still suckling on his lollipop. him and his friends were in the midst of a humorous conversation when you tapped on wonwoo’s hard shoulder. you always wondered what they spoke about. it always seemed more interesting than the lifeless talk you once endured inside the bar. he didn’t seem all that surprised to see you, though he did look with concern at the watery film across your eyes. you could smell the sweetness of his lollipop; it had to be strawberry.

“are you okay?” wonwoo asked, his breath forming wispy cotton against the dark sky.

you ignored his question. “i want to go back to your place.” you told him.

“now?” he raised his eyebrow.

“yes. now would be good. i’ve just been thinking, and i really want you to eat me out.”

you didn’t care if his friends overheard. apparently, wonwoo didn’t care either. he smirked at you and licked his lips, though there remained a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. you had yet to answer his initial question. from inside the bar, you knew those girls were staring at you, watching you talk to wonwoo.

they were definitely going to tattle to your parents.

your fingers clawed mercilessly over the bed, practically uprooting the linens tucked beneath the mattress as wonwoo kept your thighs tightly locked apart. everything felt so dense, so hot, like the universe was pushing down on your chest and igniting flame inside of your body. you lifted your head off his pillow, only capturing a mere glimpse of his pink tongue gliding past your slit, the muscle coated purely in your arousal. he started to fuck you with his tongue, digging it as deep as he could within your heat.

unabashedly, you moaned, extremely loud and most likely disturbing everyone in his apartment complex. everything about the technicality and purpose of his movements was pushing you toward a climax that would be unlike any other. he was so impatient to get a taste of you that he hadn’t even taken your skirt off, instead bunching the pleated material up against your stomach while your underwear were thrown to the floor. suddenly, you were gasping, and your head collapsed back to the pillow.

wonwoo had managed to wriggle his hand between your thighs. as he ran his tongue in hot, fervent licks against your needy clit, he pushed two fingers inside of you, scissoring you open.

“ffuh-fuck, wonwoo!” you wailed, your hand grasping at his soft hair to keep his tongue against you. “it fe-feels s-so … s-so fucking go-good!”

he’d been taking his sweet time in building up your climax. you allowed him to have his way with you, since he knew how to work your body as though he were magic. his fingers started to curl. it didn’t take him long before they were hitching up into that one golden spot, the one that caused the entire room to whirl. you could tell that he was smiling. he began to messily circle his tongue around your clit. the sensation of the warm, wet muscle pleasuring your most sensitive region was leaving you breathless.

“c’mon, babygirl,” wonwoo mumbled against your core, his fingers thrusting up heavily and abusing that spot inside of you, “you gonna let go and let me taste your cum? you’re fucking dripping all over the bed.”

there was a glimmer of drool leaking from the edge of your mouth. you were so blissed out and crammed with euphoria that you could hardly articulate a response. wonwoo wasn’t giving you much of a chance either. he started a brisk pace rubbing his tongue against your clit, and then he closed his plump lips around you to better flick it with the pink muscle. his bicep was probably burning as he slammed his fingers deep into your heat, making you squelch. your slick had thoroughly soaked the sheets beneath you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panted, arching your chest into the air, “i-it’s s-so much, w-wonwoo—m’gonna—nngh—m’gonna cc-cum!”

wonwoo kept your hips pressed firmly to the mattress with one arm as your pleasure exploded. the tears easily streamed down your flustered, glossy face as this extreme contraction passed through you. it was incredibly wet, too wet, and you knew exactly what had happened as wonwoo pulled out his glistening fingers and completely buried his face between your thighs. god, it was fucking embarrassing. you would have curled away from him if wonwoo wasn’t so persistent. he kept licking at you, hard and fast.

at that point, your tears were no longer tiny beads. the sensitivity had left your nerves completely raw, and you sobbed helplessly as wonwoo continued to eat you out. his tongue felt like it was lapping everywhere, impatient and hungry. you tried to pull him away by dishevelled hair, but he swatted your hand back and bit down softly on your swollen clit. before you even knew what was happening, wonwoo had somehow forced your body into another orgasm. his tongue was inside of you as the second wave hit.

“pl-please,” you whimpered in utter fragility, the mixture of pleasure and pain becoming too overwhelming as wonwoo attempted to lick you clean, “pl-please, wonwoo… i-it huh-hurts..”

he chuckled against your sore flesh warmly. “are you sure you’re done, baby? bet i could make you squirt again if i was real gentle.”

“i-i don’t want to talk about it…” you said shakily. honestly, you didn’t even know your body was capable of feeling that much stimulation and pleasure. it was cosmic.

“awe, don’t be embarrassed,” wonwoo hummed, “you have no idea how fucking hot that was.”

“i don’t want to know.” you sighed.

wonwoo scoffed innocuously. he pecked the inside of your thigh, then each hip bone, before he crawled overtop of you and let you taste your own sweetness off his tongue. you spent a few minutes idly making out, smearing saliva over each other’s flushed lips, running your hands up and down his broad, hard chest, leaving scarlet rivulets along his biceps. wonwoo began teasing his fingers against your slit again, and you gasped into the kiss as his finger sunk into you, slowly, deeply.

“what’s wrong?” wonwoo asked while pumping the digit at a gentle pace.

“what do you mean?” you squeaked, staring into his brown eyes tinged with his earlier concern.

“you know what i mean,” wonwoo hummed, “why were you about to cry outside the bar? what happened?”

“are you sure we should discuss this while you’re fingering me?”

“baby, just tell me.” wonwoo urged with a comforting tone in his voice. he started to massage his thumb over your clit, and your entire body jolted.

you sniffled. “i-i just, i— i kind of cut ties with my friends. a-and i’m glad i did it but now i’m just gonna be even more a-alone.”

“of course not,” wonwoo shook his head, “you have me.”

“are you sure?”

slight amusement and shock coloured wonwoo’s face. he pulled his hand away from your core and looked like he wanted to laugh. you couldn’t blame him, but you also couldn’t help your insecurity.

“i’m sure, baby.” he told you firmly. “i’ll always be here for you. i promise.”

you smiled up at him, feeling your heart start to soften.

“can we take a shower?” you then proposed. “i want to get these tears off my face before they dry.”

while wonwoo was busy getting the water running inside the bathroom, you noticed your phone start to glow and vibrate on his nightstand. it was your mother’s number on the screen. taking a long, slow breath, you flipped your phone upside down and ignored the call. it was a risky move, but it felt almost healing in a sense to turn away from the stress in your life. instead, you focused on what mattered in the moment.

wonwoo joined you in the shower, the water gliding in silk-like pathways around his lean muscle and smooth skin. he pushed back his wet hair, sparkling droplets sticking heavy to his eyelashes. he pressed you against the tiles, and their icy touch sent a shiver up your spine. in the midst of the steam and heat, he was kissing you again, suckling softly on your tongue and squeezing your breasts in his hands. his aching length, hard and heavy, brushed between your thighs, to which your palm started to glide up his shaft.

he smiled against your mouth, “you want my cock inside you, babygirl?”

the fire slowly rebuilt itself from the embers in your stomach.

“yes please.” you lilted innocently.

wonwoo decided to press your front against the glass wall instead of the tile. his lips were leaving drifting pecks up your shoulder blade, and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. a rough, deep groan filled your ear as wonwoo rubbed his cock between your folds, allowing your arousal to coat him generously. however, you were yearning to feel how he filled you entirely, until you could feel him nestled right to the brink. wriggling your hips against him, it was your non-verbal cue for him to start sliding in.

he cupped your breasts in his hands, whispering into your ear, “how should i fuck you, baby? do you want it hard?”

as impatient as you were, there was something about the atmosphere that told you to prolong your intimacy. “n-no,” you mumbled as the fog swathed around you, “s-slow, i want to feel you.”

your moan was almost louder than the water spraying against the tiles when wonwoo started to push inside of you. once he was buried as far as could fit, he started to grind into you, extending his pace so that you could truly feel his every inch and vein. his fingers were massaging your chest, the round flesh almost like velvet to his touch. everything about your body was endearingly soft and warm. he loved it.

“does it feel good, babygirl?” wonwoo purred. he was situated at such a pleasurable depth inside you that you felt like complete gelatine. he thrust into you a little harder, but it was enough to make you cry.

“s-so good,” you stuttered, licking the water off your lips. “do i feel good t-too?”

wonwoo smirked. he moved his hips at a shallow pace. “mmhm. you’re so tight and warm around me, baby. feels so perfect. how pretty do you think your pussy would look with my cum dripping out of it? should we try it?”

you pushed yourself back against his pelvis, “fill me up, wonwoo, please.”

“of course,” he grinned, and slowly dipped a hand down your stomach until you felt him begin to rub soft circles into your clit.

“let’s see how much you can take, babygirl.”

you were exhausted. you were sore. but you felt safe. you made an audacious decision and decided to spend the night at wonwoo’s rather than going home, where you knew you’d be greeted by an equally displeased mother and father that aria had snitched to. it was the first time you’d gone to bed without wearing pyjamas that weren’t expensive, pink satin. you were clad in nothing but one of wonwoo’s old t-shirts. he tried to give you one that didn’t still carry the scent of stale cigarette smoke.

his arm was around your waist, your spine resting comfortably against his chest while you lay together beneath the bedsheets. the sheet that was stained in your arousal had been tossed in the laundry hamper. you knew wonwoo would never stop teasing you about it. anyways, life felt different at his apartment; in fact, it felt better, especially when wonwoo kissed your temple before shutting off the light. your wealth had never been a defining factor in your personality, but it did make you consistently miserable.

that night, it was just you and a boy, a boy who you were quite positively in love with. maybe he loved you too. you weren’t completely certain yet, and you didn’t want to rush anything; however, you felt fairly confident his heart was likewise when he buried his face into your neck and wished you goodnight in his low, sleepy voice.

whatever your parents had to say, you’d find out tomorrow morning.

right now, you weren��t the rich girl, but a happy girl, and that mattered more to you than anything else.

#wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #jeon wonwoo #svt smut #svt fanfic #seventeen imagines

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

Harringrove April Day 26- Easy

Nobody ever said it was going to be easy.

Actually they told him expressly that it wouldn’t be. They explained it all in the hospital, he’d never get off the tank as long as he lived, or get his energy or all of his memories or his muscle mass back, and he’d be lucky if he ever grew out of needing braces to keep his chest together.

Still, they never really mentioned anything about emergency surgeries because another hole opened in his heart or almost bleeding out because he was on blood thinners, or that he’d have flare ups of pain so severe he was left bedridden for days.

When he signed the discharge papers and came back home with Max, he had really thought it was over, that he’d just rest for a little while longer and he’d be back to himself. But he’s not. He’s weak and he’s hurting and he's sick all the damn time, so distinctly not himself it’s disorienting.

So he holes himself up in his bedroom, hiding from the truth, and in part from what’s on the other side of the door. He locks himself in and pretends things aren’t really the way they are.

Max tries to get him off his ass every now and again, but she doesn’t really get it, how bad things are inside of Billy’s body. The way she saw it, her brother had survived by some miracle, but now, even after a whole year had passed, he still wasn't getting better.

She doesn’t mean to be mean, he knows that, but she regurgitates what Neil says about him, calls him lazy and selfish and ungrateful for not participating in his second chance at life.

Billy blames himself for that. Shutting her out was bound to make her turn to her family for answers they wouldn’t give without bias, making her believe those things to be true while he was barely scraping by in isolation, but it stings all the same.

Not that the things Max said about him were anything new. He knew when he stopped being able to walk for a few minutes without getting winded that he was lazy, knew when Max knocked on his door and he made up excuses not to open it and let her in he was being selfish, and he knew when the days just kept flying by and he wasn’t showing a single sign of improvement that he was wasting his life away.

In August of ‘87, Billy decides he’s fed up with it.

He goes on their stupid family vacation like he’d missed out on the last few years, going to some amusement park in PA.

It doesn’t go too swell, he coughs up blood in the bathroom and he doesn’t ride anything because of his heart, and he’s sweating like crazy in the late summer heat, his body so weak he’s having to take constant breaks- but Max smiles so wide at him, and even though he looks like hell in all the pictures they take, feels even worse, his little sister is beaming.

So he does it again. He starts going out with her to do anything, the movies, shopping, the park, willing to put aside his own well being just to see her happy again. She had almost lost him, he owed it to her to be there now.

But they say all good things must come to an end, and this is no exception. His third month into this, this forcing himself out of the house and pretending he doesn’t throw up the second they get back home or that he didn’t have to tighten his brace every other day because it feels like his back is going to crack in two, Billy gets caught.

It’s a lot harder to hide your pain from a group of almost a dozen instead of just one little sister over her head in excitement that her brother hadn’t died, and they sniff him out like a herd of hungry sharks.

One of Max’s little nerd friends wants to go to a parade, which sounds like it’s going to be okay, but apparently Hawkins is big on their Memorial Day parades, and they have to walk quite a bit to get to what the brats considered to be a good spot.

And apparently kids these days pregame parades, showing at least an hour early just to sit in the beating down sun, in a large crowd of people, sitting on the curb. It shouldn’t take a genius to realize that’s not really Billy’s scene, and quite frankly, it doesn’t.

Because it’s Steve who pulls him aside (into the shade, thank heavens) and asks him, genuine concern on his face, “Are you alright, Billy?”

And like, he’s not, but Max looks over, frowning when she notices he isn't there, and it’s for her that he’s even doing this, so he lies through his teeth, “Alright as I’ll ever be.” But that doesn’t sound as convincing as he means for it to. Sounds more like his worst nightmare.

Steve doesn’t even say anything else to him, just gives a little heads up to the kids “Me and Billy are going back to my car. I forgot something and he volunteered to come with so I didn’t get lost on the way back.”

A chorus of uninterested okays and a fleeting moment of eye contact with Max, and Billy’s being dragged along, literally dragged, his legs feeling too heavy to put much effort into walking, back to the BMW a few streets away.

It’s not like he didn’t notice that the heat was bothering him, but he didn’t really think about how bad it was until he was in the air conditioned back seat of Steve’s car, his hair pulled up with a random scrunchie one of the girls must have left in the backseat.

Steve in the front seat tosses him back a water bottle he must’ve bought on the way back, and looks at him expectantly. “So? You gonna tell me what happened out there?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” Billy shrugs, trying to blow him off, but maybe his word choice could’ve been better, because then Steve’s asking him, concerned, “Does this happen a lot?”

There’s no hiding it, so he agrees, “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Dude, that’s not- you’re going to-“ Steve starts, but gets cut off when Billy says, frustrated before this conversation had really even begun, having had it dozens of times with himself as he tried and failed to get out of bed, “I’m going to what, Harrington? I’m going to get myself killed. Going to let everybody down because there was just one more thing Billy Hargrove couldn’t do?”

“Actually, that’s exactly what I was going to say. I mean, who gives a shit about everybody, but what about Max? Don't you want to do it for her?”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

“Pretty sure the last thing Max wants is for you to get any sicker. She wants her brother to be around for longer.”

“Yeah, well there’s not much of me left is there?” Billy switches the subject, cornered by Steve’s unexpected confrontation, “Fucking- You don’t even know me man, why are you being all preachy?”

“Because I saw the look on Max’s face when you hit the floor, and every day after that for sixth months when you still wouldn’t wake up, and I saw it when you started pushing her away.” Steve says seriously, his voice stern, like he was talking to one of the little brats instead of one of his peers, one of his friends, “Billy you have to at least try.”

“It’s not that fucking easy!” Billy snaps back, “You don’t think I’ve tried to get better? Think I haven’t tried to be who everyone thinks I can be?”

“I’m not saying that it is easy! I’m just saying you need to let yourself heal more. You’re not going to be better overnight and nobody expects that from you.” Steve softens up a bit, to offer, “These kids might not really get it but I’m trying to. Let me understand you. Let me help you.”

And that, that’s the realest anyone has been with Billy since all this shit went down. How’s he supposed to keep his tough guy shit up either? He can’t, so he admits, “I just feel like I have to do everything, you know. I’m not supposed to still be weak. I want to be again, you know?”

“I don’t, and I’m not going to pretend I do, but, but I do know that what you need to do is just take it easy, Billy. You’ve got time now.” Maybe without thinking too much about it, or thinking about it lots, he reaches into the backseat and puts his hand on Billy’s knee, “One day you’ll be better enough to do whatever you want, but for now you’ve just gotta take your time.”

Time. What a strange concept for somebody like Billy.

Every moment he spent recovering in his bed, felt like it was wasted, never did he see it as a chance to do more later. Never would he have thought that Steve would be the one giving him advice about it either, and here they were.

But for now, maybe Billy would take it a little easier, even if Max would be a little disappointed. She would understand, and that was what was most important. He still had lots of things he wanted to do, things he would start that very day, when he leaned forward into the front seat, and kissed Steve Harrington.

#harringrove #harringroveapril #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #ej writer #story by ej!#I want to make it expressly clear that this is NOT anti Max #this is based on my personal reaction to trauma #which is to ignore it because you don’t understand it #aka this is yet another autistic Max fic #also sorry this is so late lol it’s barely the 26th anymore I just got suuuper busy today #not proof read apologies in advance

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ms-demeanor · 4 years

Note

It was kind of your side rant in a rant but, is it really not normal in most areas to expect everyone who drives to have at least very basic knowledge of cars? At one point it was nearly a required class in our schools!

Auto shop in my school district got cancelled in 1997, four years before I would have been able to take it. I don’t know what the driver’s ed requirements are like now but I never had to take even a driver’s ed class (I think because I didn’t get my permit until 6 months before I turned 18?). At one point I tried to convince my Girl Scout Troop that we should earn the Car Care Badge but my troop leader was pretty aggressively against it (back in my day the “drive for a greener world” section was “learn how to change your oil” and my troop leader was worried we’d get crushed to death by a car or something).

Beyond that, in spite of living in the strongest car culture in the world, pretty much nobody has ever talked to me about how cars work unless I’ve intentionally sought that information out.

I didn’t know much about working on cars until I started dating my partner, who does all his own car maintenance. Since I started dating my partner and learning how to work on cars I’ve:

replaced my air filter (this is literally the easiest bit of car repair you can do. You’re probably due for it, google “how to change air filter on X type of car”, get a filter from autozone for $17, replace it, and cackle because Jiffy Lube will never again be able to charge you $50 to do it; if you’ve never worked on your car do this now you will feel so powerful and you’ll want to do more)

changed my oil

flushed my transmission

replaced a water pump in a Saturn engine (Saturn engines get bonus difficulty points because they’re so tiny that they’re impossible to work on; part of the reason I’ve done so much repair stuff is because my partner’s hands couldn’t fit in my car’s engine)

replaced a thermostat in a Saturn engine

replaced a bunch of fucking belts (including once with only one wrench and a headlamp in a dark parking lot for a friend)

replaced O2 sensors on three different saturns (delightfully simple; I borrowed a wrench from my dad to replace an O2 sensor once and went outside and came back in five minutes later and he was like “Couldn’t get it done?” and I was like “What? No? I’m putting your wrench back because I’m finished” and he was floored - my dad doesn’t work on cars *at all*)

changed spark plugs

replaced 2 radiators on one miserable 1984 mazda truck

replaced 1 jeep radiator

changed so many headlights

done my brakes a bunch (pads and drums; this shit is so fucking easy please do your own brakes don’t pay the dealership like $600 for $20 in parts and half an hour’s work)

dropped my gas tank to replace the in-tank fuel filter

replaced my valve cover gasket after spending four miserable hours sitting in the engine compartment scraping the old one off

and I’m currently halfway through an ABS deletion on my 1989 XU. (gotta re-run brakelines and it’s annoying and we keep losing track of the double flaring tool)

I am not, by any means, a mechanic but I like working on cars and it’s not as hard as it might seem from the outside.

However I had to go looking for all of that information myself (when we started dating my partner didn’t expect me to work on cars with him, I had to ask him to show me) and anybody else who wants to work on cars has to do the same, at least around here.

Most new vehicles come with a maintenance schedule in the shitty little manual that comes with the car. If you buy new from a dealer they’ll probably have some kind of basic maintenance agreement during the warranty period.

None of that shows you how to jump a car or change your windshield wipers.

Anyway, if you are reading this and you want to learn how to fix your car here are some tips:

Get a real manual for your car. The shitty little twenty page booklet that tells you where the hazards are is good for quick reference but bad for fixing things. Get a Chilton’s Manual. And yeah, I would recommend Chilton’s over Haynes. These are manuals made by independent companies who bought the car in question, stripped it down while documenting it and taking pictures, and put it back together. These are *great.* I give out as gifts.

Go look for a forum on your particular type of car - this works if you’re having in-the-moment problems too. At one point my buddy was going to pick me up but his car wouldn’t re-start; we looked on a forum, discovered it was a fuse problem, found the super secret re-activation button hidden under a panel in the center console, and were able to drive off on our merry way to try to replace the fuse (I bought four sets of fuses before we gave up - turns out it was an accessory fuse for the brake light on the camper shell and also Toyota makes it so that a burned fuse on an accessory can pretty much kill your car, so that’s fun!)

Look for youtube videos of the fix you want to do. They’re not going to be out there for everything, some car communities have more nerds than others (jeeps jeeps jeeps jeeps jeeps jeep nerds are NERDS and there are videos for everything) but you’ll at least be able to find something similar to cross-reference the fix with your Chilton’s Manual.

If you want to learn or read about general repair stuff check out the Wrenching tag on Jalopnik. I find Jalopnik very soothing and read it a lot.

See if your local community college has an Automotive Technology program - there should be introductory courses and advanced courses and it’s a lot of work to take a class like that but it’ll be extremely worth the time and effort.

Ask to help when people you know are working on their cars. Your buddy probably could use a spare set of hands to do his brakes and you can learn by watching and helping.

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buckybarnesdollface · 4 years

Text

Therapy

Being the in-house psychiatrist at the Avengers compound was no easy job.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the people I worked with. The Avengers were some of the greatest people you could hope to meet, and for the most part they made me feel right at home when I’d moved in. Tony told me that if I ever wanted or needed anything that all I had to do was ask and he’d get it for me. Steve was the older brother I never had but had always wanted. Wanda always made the best dinners, and Peter always kept me up-to-date with what was going on in the world. Even though I wasn’t supposed to mix my business with my personal life, they all made it impossible. Every one of them was so friendly and kind that I quickly became both their therapist and their friend.

Every one but one, that is. There was one surly supersoldier who refused treatment and always gave me the cold shoulder anytime we were in a room together.

At first, I hadn’t let it bother me. I knew better than anyone that you couldn’t force someone into therapy if they weren’t comfortable. And I knew enough of Bucky Barnes’ past to know that he had every reason to be guarded around new people. But after months of being at the compound he was still doing everything he could to keep his distance from me, and I was determined to figure out why.

I had gone to Steve first. Bucky was friendly with a few people at the compound but Steve was the one he had known his whole life, the only one close enough he could be considered family. Steve had assured me that Bucky was just nervous around new people and that he’d come around eventually, but I wasn’t convinced. It had been four months now and the man was still avoiding me like the plague.

After one particular mission in Germany that had gone terribly wrong, Bucky withdrew even more than he usually did. In one of my sessions with Steve I learned that Bucky blamed himself for what had happened. Despite his frosty attitude towards me, I felt bad for the guy – He was already carrying so much guilt on his shoulders, he didn’t need anything else weighing him down.

Sam had tried to convince him to see me. “She’s really good at what she does, man,” he told him while we were in the common room one day. “One session with her and you’ll feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest.”

I held my breath, but Bucky scowled and shook his head. “I’ve already had enough people messing with my head for one lifetime,” he growled. “I’m fine, I don’t need a fucking therapist.”

With that he stalked out of the room, leaving Sam with widened eyes and me with my nostrils flared. I wanted to go after him and tell him that therapists cleaned up messes, not made them, but I knew it was pointless. The man was stubborn as hell, and the last thing I wanted was to pick a fight with the Winter Soldier.

For the next few weeks, I went on with my own day-to-day business and tried not to let James Buchanan Barnes cross my mind. It was fairly easy – Tony kept him busy on missions, and I was busy with my own job.

Probably the worst part of my job was that because I spent my days listening to the traumas of others, by the time night came my mind was so full that I had a hard time falling asleep. Normally I just read a book until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, but tonight it was two in the morning and I was still wide awake. Sighing, I got out of bed and pulled a robe on over my pyjamas before making my way down to the kitchen.

The compound at night was an entirely different atmosphere than it was in daylight. During the day it was bustling with life, whether someone was training or preparing for a mission or just hanging out. Now, though, the silence was overwhelming. Everything was dark and there was no movement, and it felt strange disturbing the peace.

I didn’t even bother turning on the lights when I got to the kitchen – The appliances were all new technology and had LED screens, bathing the room in a bluish-green glow. I went straight for the large freezer and opened it up, relieved that the ice cream I’d bought the other day was still there. I grabbed the carton and a spoon from the drawer, and settled myself in one of the stools along the large marble island to enjoy my late-night snack.

I had only taken a few bites of my ice cream when I could hear the sound of bare feet on tile. I hadn’t expected anyone else to be awake right now, but then again none of the Avengers really had a normal sleep schedule. I sat up, prepared to engage in conversation with whoever walked through the door, but froze when I saw who it was.

Bucky walked in, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His hair was damp, like he’d just gotten out of the shower, and I realized he had probably just gotten back from the mission he’d been on in Iceland. I kept still – He hadn’t noticed me, and with any luck he would get what he came for and leave. However, when he opened the fridge door to pull out the carton of orange juice he turned before the door swung shut and I was lit up in the light. Bucky jumped, nearly dropping the juice, and then he glared at me.

“Jesus Christ,” he snarled, “are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I wasn’t doing anything but sitting here,” I defended. “Besides, shouldn’t the Winter Soldier be harder to startle than that?”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, and I pursed my lips.

“I’m sorry, James. That was insensitive of me.”

“It’s Bucky. Just call me Bucky.”

He turned to the cupboard to get a glass and then poured some of the orange juice into it before returning the carton to the fridge.

“What’re you doing sitting down here in the dark, anyway?” he grumbled, flicking on the light over the stove. It wasn’t bright but it was enough to fill the kitchen with a warm glow, and enough for me to take note of the dark circles under his blue eyes.

“You don’t like the dark?” I asked, and Bucky turned away from me.

“I’ve spent too much time in the dark.”

A pang went through my chest, and I bit my lip. He still hadn’t turned towards me, and I couldn’t help how my eyes were drawn to his metal arm. I’d seen the arm before, of course – The Wakandans had done an incredible job in crafting the vibranium limb. What they hadn’t been able to do, however, was fix the scarring along his shoulder where HYDRA had messily attached the first metal arm. The scar tissue was still pink and the skin was bumpy and uneven, even decades later. I wondered if it still hurt; it certainly looked painful.

“You’re staring.”

I was pulled from my thoughts and I blushed crimson. “What? How –”

“I can see your reflection in the window,” Bucky replied, and my blush deepened. I ducked my head and mumbled an apology. He downed the rest of his orange juice and then poured himself another glass. “What are you doing up so late, anyway?” he asked me. The question caught me off-guard; he had never attempted to make small talk with me before.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I finally answered. “Too much on my mind.”

Bucky nodded. “I know the feeling.”

“What about you? Didn’t you just get back from Iceland? You must be tired.”

The muscle in his jaw tightened, and for a minute I thought he wasn’t going to say anything. “Nightmares,” he finally mumbled, staring at his juice. “Wasn’t asleep for very long. Figured I’d shower and pass out, but my mind had other plans. So I came down here to get a drink.”

This was the most he had ever spoken to me in the months that I had known him. Not wanting to push my luck, I hesitated before saying, “If you ever need to talk, you can always come to me. That’s what I’m here for.”

Bucky’s face hardened and he shook his head. “I don’t want a therapist.”

“Then I won’t be your therapist,” I said softly. “Talk to me as a friend. It will be off-record, just one person to another. Would that make it any easier?”

I thought maybe I had pushed too far because he was silent for a handful of seconds, but then he shook his head and gave me what could only be seen as a sad half-smile.

“Friends aren’t exactly my strong suit,” he told me. “I’m not the friendliest person out there.”

I shrugged. “I’ve come across pricklier people than you.”

“And how do I know you won’t be analyzing me the whole time?”

“Just because I’m a psychiatrist doesn’t mean that my profession plays a part in my personal life,” I told him. “I don’t go around psychoanalyzing every interaction I have with someone.”

Bucky cocked one dark eyebrow. “So you haven’t been analyzing every little detail trying to figure out why you haven’t been able to find out what makes me tick?”

My cheeks grew hot, and Bucky nodded.

“That’s what I thought.”

“To be fair,” I defended, “you have been avoiding me for no apparent reason. Obviously I’m going to wonder why.”

It was Bucky’s turn to look uncomfortable, and he lifted a hand to run it through his shoulder-length dark hair. I couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles in his stomach stretched when he did that, and I swallowed hard and looked away.

“You make me nervous,” he finally admitted, in a voice so quiet that had the compound not been so silent I likely wouldn’t have heard him. My eyes widened slightly at his words, and I shook my head.

“I make you nervous?” I repeated in disbelief. “How? You’re a supersoldier and I’m just…Well, I’m just me.”

I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. The man was one of the most dangerous men in the world not long ago, and I was just a normal human being – And a clumsy, unathletic one at that. Nothing about me should have been intimidating to him.

“You’re scary good at reading people,” he explained, his cheeks pink and a pained look on his face. “I’m always afraid if you pay too much attention to me, you’ll see something you don’t like and you’ll look at me like a monster.”

He looked so sad, and the psychiatrist in me wanted to push him to talk about what was upsetting him. The human in me wanted to hug him and tell him that I could never see him as a monster. But of course, I did neither of those things. Instead, I blinked and said, “Why would it matter to you what I thought of you?”

The pink in Bucky’s cheeks darkened, and he ducked his head. Instead of answering me, he changed the subject.

“What are you eating, anyway? That’s the most colourful ice cream I’ve ever seen.”

I glanced down at my tub of ice cream, having completely forgotten about it. It was half-melted by now.

“It’s called Moon Mist,” I explained. “They only sell it where I’m from in eastern Canada. I asked Tony if there was any way we could get some here. It reminds me of home.”

I bit my lip, and Bucky frowned. “You miss it there?” he asked, and I nodded.

“Sometimes, yeah. I like it here, though.”

“How did a nice girl from Canada end up at the Avengers compound?”

I chuckled. “I’m not sure, lucked out I guess,” I replied. “Saw a job posting online that just said ‘located in New York, must be willing to work with clients that are highly confidential.’ I looked into it, went through three rounds of interviews, and ended up here.”

Bucky nodded. “Well it certainly suits you here,” he said. “I always hear how glad everyone is that you’re here.”

“And you?” I asked softly.

He lifted a hand to rub the back of his head. “I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t want you here, doll,” he murmured apologetically. “I’m sorry that’s how it came off.”

I should have had some witty reply, but instead my mind was fixed on the way he had called me “doll.” It had rolled off his tongue so naturally, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t liked it. I bit the inside of my cheek before speaking.

“You never answered my question,” I pointed out. “Why does it matter so much what I think of you?”

When he let out a short laugh, it surprised me. “For someone so good at reading people,” he said, “you really can’t read this situation, can you?”

I frowned. “That’s not fair. Most people aren’t as good at shutting people out as you are.”

“Now that’s not fair,” he said softly, and I cringed. For someone professionally trained to be in tune with people’s emotions, I sure was doing a good job of putting my foot in my mouth tonight. I couldn’t help it, though; this man had me a mess.

“I’ve never disliked you, (Y/N),” he finally said. “Hell, I couldn’t dislike you even if I tried. But it was just always easier to pretend I did than face the truth.”

“And what’s the truth?” I asked in a small voice. All of a sudden, I was feeling light-headed, and I couldn’t explain why.

Instead of answering right away, he lifted his hand to once again rub the back of his head – Something that was clearly his tell for when he was nervous. He opened his mouth only to close it again, and then he pursed his lips as if he were frustrated. I slid off the barstool and walked around the island, setting a hand on his flesh arm hesitantly in an attempt to soothe him. His skin was hot – a side effect of the supersoldier serum, I had learned from Steve – but he pulled away from my touch almost instantly.

I let my hand fall to my side limply, and he threw me an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he said quietly. “It’s just…it’s been a long time since I’ve had human contact. I didn’t mean to withdraw like that.”

I shook my head. “Don’t apologize,” I murmured. “I understand. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“I want to be a different person,” he told me, frustration lacing his tone. “A better person. I don’t want to be this surly, untrusting guy. I don’t want my fucked-up head fucking up anyone else. That’s why I typically just stay away from people.”

As a professional, it was my job to let people talk and then help guide them towards a solution to their problems. There was no room for pity or babying or even too much sympathy in my line of work. I was there to listen and guide, not comfort. But I was off-duty right now, and it was very clear that Bucky Barnes was in need of a genuine human connection rather than therapy. I bit my lip.

“So is that why you pushed me away?” I asked, and he swallowed hard.

“You’re so good,” he whispered. “You spend too much time around me and I’ll just end up taking your light away. I could never do that to you. I’d never forgive myself.”

“I spend every day listening to other people’s traumas,” I argued. “I’m not fragile, Bucky. I can handle a lot of shit.”

He shook his head. “You don’t get it. There’s no one in this world more fucked up than me. You’d do best to stay away from me.”

In anyone else, I would have labelled this as self-pity. But knowing Bucky’s background, knowing that for decades he had been dehumanized and trained to believe he was nothing more than a weapon for HYDRA, and then having to carry the burden of what he’d been made to do even after Steve had freed him from their hold, told me that this went much deeper than self-pity. This man truly believed that he was only capable of bringing darkness into the lives of those around him.

“Is that what you want?” I finally asked him in a quiet voice. “Do you want me to stay away from you? Because I can very easily pretend we’re strangers if that’s what you want.”

There was conflict in those deep blue eyes of his, mixed with pain. Finally he shook his head.

“Of course it’s not what I want,” he said in exasperation, “but I don’t want to hurt you or disappoint you.”

“I’m a big girl,” I assured him with the ghost of a smile. “I can handle myself.”

“But can you handle me?”

It was meant as an innocent question, and now was not the time for my mind to go where it did, but nonetheless I bit my lip and looked up to meet his eyes. He was already watching me, his face guarded, but when I reached out to take his flesh hand into mine he let me, even lacing our fingers together. He was still tense, his muscles taut and his bare chest rising and falling heavily with each breath, but I gave him a reassuring smile.

“I have no doubt that I can,” I murmured, answering his question, “but why don’t we find out, Sergeant?”

For a minute, Bucky looked as if he didn’t quite understand me, but then his eyes widened quickly before narrowing.

“(Y/N)…” he murmured. “I can’t…”

I thought maybe I had misinterpreted what was going on, but his dilated pupils told me otherwise. I squeezed his hand and gave him another reassuring smile.

“I’m not afraid of you, Bucky. I’m telling you it’s okay. What other reassurance do you need?”

He bit his lip, once again conflicted. “I don’t want you to do this just out of pity.”

I gave him a disparaging look. “Do you really think that little of me?” I accused teasingly, and he blushed.

“I just…I really care about you, (Y/N),” he whispered. “But I only want to do this if it’s what you want.”

My heart melted. He was such a sweetheart; I wished I could take away all the pain he felt. Tugging my hand away from his, I lifted my arms to press my palms against either side of his face to force him to look at me. He was frowning, but his pupils were still blown.

“There isn’t anyone else I’d rather have in this kitchen with me right now,” I murmured fiercely. “Now are you going to kiss me, Sergeant, or do I have to do everything myself?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but he leaned in to press his lips hesitantly to mine. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft, and my hands slipped from his face to wrap around his neck and pull him closer to me. He was still hesitant, his lips soft against mine, but when I probed my tongue against them he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss. All of a sudden, his hands were on my waist and he was backing me up until I was pressed against the island. His kiss became hungry, and all too soon I was breaking away to catch my breath.

“Was that okay?” he asked, eying me nervously, and I let out a soft chuckle.

“It was more than okay,” I breathed. “Was it okay for you?”

I worried that maybe we were taking this too fast. Not ten minutes ago he had been flinching at physical contact. But he tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and nodded. “I’d like to do it again,” he murmured, “if that’s alright with you.”

I only nodded, and Bucky took my face gently in his hands to tilt it up towards his. He pressed a light kiss to my lips first, before slowly applying more pressure while his thumbs brushed along my cheekbones. The contrast between the heat of his skin and the chill of the vibranium sent shivers through me, and my hands found the hard muscles of his abdomen. He trembled at my touch, and I couldn’t help but smile against his lips.

Bucky pulled away, his chest rising and falling heavily. “As much as I’d love to take you right here, doll,” he breathed, “I don’t think the rest of the house would appreciate that too much. What d’you say we take this somewhere more private?”

His words had my entire body trembling in anticipation, and the next thing I knew his hands were under my thighs and he was lifting me up into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist and reconnected our kiss, and we abandoned the kitchen for the elevator.

“My floor, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Bucky said to the AI system as the elevator doors closed behind us.

“Right away, Sergeant Barnes,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied, and the elevator started its way up. Still in his arms, my back was pressed to the wall as Bucky kissed me hard, confidence taking the place of caution.

When the elevator reached Bucky’s floor he stumbled out, lips still attached to mine. The only other person on this floor was Steve, and he would have fallen asleep hours ago. Bucky walked me down the hall to his room and turned the doorknob, closing and locking the door behind us once we were inside.

I had never seen Bucky’s room before, and honestly, I had never thought I would. It was sparsely furnished – A king-sized bed with a gray comforter, an end table, a dresser and a small desk with a swivel chair were all that filled the space. The only indicators that the room was even occupied were a couple of framed photographs and a leather jacket hanging from the back of the chair. It made me sad that the room was so empty, but my thoughts were quickly replaced by the feel of Bucky’s lips trailing down my jaw to my neck. I let out a soft breath when his teeth grazed against the skin of my throat and his hands went to the ties of my robe. He hesitated, as if waiting for my permission, and I nodded.

“Go ahead,” I murmured, and he pulled at the loose knot I’d made, and the robe fell open to reveal the satin tank top and shorts I had on underneath. Bucky’s eyes widened slightly, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he drank me in.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he finally breathed quietly, and I felt my cheeks get hot. He pulled me back to him, reconnecting our kiss as he slid the robe from my shoulders. It fell to the floor, and then he was backing me up against the door. He nudged a leg between mine and pressed a thick thigh against my core, and the moan I let out was purely sinful. Immediately embarrassed, I tried to duck my head, but Bucky reached up with his right hand to take a gentle hold of my chin.

“You like that?” he murmured, and I nodded meekly. He pressed against me harder and I bit my lip, squeezing my eyes shut. The muscles of his thigh were taut underneath me, and I shifted, craving friction. Bucky smirked, and then he was carrying me over to the bed. He sat on the edge and sat me in his lap, straddling one of his thighs. With his hands on my hips he began to gently rock me against him, back and forth. It didn’t take long for a coil to wind its way up inside me, and my hands gripped his arms tightly as whimpers escaped my lips.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, doll, I just know it.” Bucky lifted me up and then in one swift move I was on my back on the mattress and he was above me. His hands pushed up the hem of my shirt to slowly expose my stomach, the contrast of cool and warm having me squirming underneath him. His lips trailed along my skin behind the path his hands left, and when he freed my breasts from the satin, he let out a soft groan.

“So perfect,” he murmured before pressing a soft kiss to the valley between them. He took his time peppering kisses all around them before he finally wrapped his lips around a nipple and sucked lightly. My back arched and I let out a low moan, and Bucky took the opportunity to slide his left arm under me to pull me closer while his free hand moved to pinch my other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I squirmed underneath him, and when he pulled away he pressed a quick kiss to my lips before pulling the shirt right over my head and tossing it to the floor.

His hand traced down my body, leaving goosebumps along my bare skin, his eyes not once leaving mine. When he reached my hips, his fingers toyed with the waistband of my shorts until I started to grow impatient.

“Take them off,” I huffed, and with dark eyes he tugged them and my underwear from my hips in one swift pull, leaving them discarded on the floor with my shirt and robe. I was now completely bared to him and I started to feel self-conscious until he was above me again, dizzying me with a searing kiss. His lips left a trail down the length of my body, and the lower he got the hotter I could feel myself getting. I wiggled my hips in anticipation but he threw an arm across my stomach to keep me still before pressing a couple of chaste kisses to the inside of my thigh.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked quietly. All I could do was nod my head, the desire too thick in my throat to form coherent words. That, however, wasn’t good enough for him. “Words, doll. I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you,” I keened, too tightly-wound to even care that I sounded desperate. With a soft smile, Bucky pressed another kiss to my thigh before he pressed his lips lightly to my core. I let out a sharp breath and tried to buck my hips up but his arm was still holding me down firmly, and this time he skimmed his nose along my slit before his lips found my bud. He kissed it gently before sucking it into his mouth and I let out an obscene moan, my hands going to tangle in his long hair to hold him there. This must have spurred him on because he growled and went at it with new vigor. I would have never guessed that Bucky Barnes had such a sinful mouth, but he had me coming undone in a matter of a couple of minutes. He was still going until I had to push his head away from me, and he chuckled before placing a few soft kisses to the inside of my thigh as I came down from my high.

I laid on the mattress and stared at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath. Bucky crawled up the bed and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. I tilted my head to catch his lips with mine. I could taste myself on his tongue and it sent a fresh wave of heat through my body.

“You have too many clothes on,” I mumbled against his lips, and then before he could say anything, I had rolled out from under him and pushed him onto his back in the pillows, straddling his hips. His eyes widened, and even I was a little surprised – The Winter Soldier had probably never been so easily caught off-guard and out-manoeuvred before, especially not by a girl. He grinned up at me, though, his hands coming up to rest on my hips.

“That was impressive,” he breathed, and I winked at him before grinding myself softly against him.

“You think that was impressive,” I said as he grunted, “then you’re in for a treat.”

I let him rock me against him for a minute. It was difficult to stop – He was solid underneath me and I could work myself to a second orgasm just doing this. But it was my turn to dote on him, so I leaned in to press my lips to his, my hands flat on his chest.

I pulled away to nuzzle my face into his neck, and then I slid down to press my lips lightly to the scar tissue where metal met flesh. He trembled and I looked up at him.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, and he shook his head.

“Not usually,” he replied. “Once in awhile I’ll get phantom pains, but it’s just the reminder more than anything that’s hard to deal with.”

I nodded, and then let my fingertips slide over the cool vibranium of his arm. I watched for his reaction as I did so – His eyes burned with desire but there was still caution in the depths of his blue irises.

“So how does it work?” I murmured, my fingertips moving to trace over his palm. “Can you feel this?”

“I can feel everything,” he told me, “just as well as if it were my own hand. I’d thought my first arm was advanced, but Shuri’s knowledge of technology is incomparable.”

“So you can feel this,” I said, and then I lifted the metal hand to suck his index finger into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the digit while my eyes never left his. I was still straddling his lap and I could feel his erection twitch in his sweatpants.

“Fuck, doll,” he groaned. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

I let my mouth make a popping sound as I pulled away, and then smirked before I was sliding down his body and tugging his sweatpants from his hips. His erection sprang free from its confines, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from widening slightly – I had expected him to be bigger, but seeing it at its full glory I wondered briefly if it was even going to fit.

Nonetheless, I took him into my hand and swiped my thumb over the tip, and when he let out a hiss, a fresh wave of heat made its way to my core and I knew he would have no trouble fitting. I traced my tongue along the length of his shaft before taking him into my mouth. Bucky let out a loud moan, and wanting to hear more I bobbed my head up and down along his length. I couldn’t take all of him – He was too large, so I had to use a combination of my mouth and my hands, but it seemed to be working just fine for him. After only a couple of minutes, though, he was tucking a hand under my chin and lifting my head up.

“You gotta stop, doll,” he said, his voice husky, “or I’m gonna come way too fast. As good as that felt, I can only imagine how much better the real thing will be.”

In a move that he made look much easier than it should have been, he flipped me over onto my back and was on top of me all within mere seconds. He held himself up, his eyes intense as he looked down at me.

“You sure this is what you want?” he murmured, and it made me sad that even after all that he still doubted this. I reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear, my fingers brushing against his cheek. I gave him a warm smile, and then winked.

“We were supposed to find out if I could handle you, weren’t we?” I teased. “Do your worst, Sergeant.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, and with a growl he lined himself up with my entrance. He slid in slowly, pushing all the way in in one thrust, and we both let out long moans as he filled me up and stretched me out in ways I had never been before. He gave me a minute to adjust to his size, and then he pulled out of me slowly before thrusting back in. He started out with a gentle pace, but I knew he was only being careful because he was scared he was going to hurt me.

“Bucky,” I breathed. “I’m not made of glass. Move. I wanna be able to feel this tomorrow when I wake up.”

Just like that his eyes darkened until they were practically two pools of ink, and when he pulled out this time he pushed back in with more force. I let out a sharp gasp and my fingers gripped his waist tighter, nails biting into skin. As his thrusts became harder his pace picked up and he buried his face against my neck to graze the skin with his teeth.

It didn’t take long for my second orgasm to creep up on me, but just as I thought it was about to hit Bucky’s arms wound around me, and while still inside of me he flipped us over so that I was on top. Breathless, I looked down at him with wide eyes but he only smirked before thrusting up into me hard. From this new angle he was hitting places he hadn’t before, and I cried out. Within a couple of minutes, the coil inside me had returned and I couldn’t hold it much longer.

“Bucky…” I whined. “Buck, I’m so close…”

His hands tightened on my hips. “Let go, doll. I’m right behind you,” he murmured, and that was all it took to have me coming undone. Seconds later, Bucky reached his release. Even though I hadn’t yet come down from my own high, I forced my eyes open so I could see him; his eyes were closed and his head fell back into the pillows, a low moan escaping his lips as I felt him spill his seed inside me. He looked absolutely breathtaking underneath me, and for a minute all I could do was sit in awe on top of him as we both recovered. When our breathing evened Bucky opened his eyes, and I gave him a shy smile.

“I think I handled you pretty well,” I teased quietly, and for a moment Bucky was silent as he regarded me with an unreadable expression. Finally, he reached up to tuck a loose, damp curl behind my ear and out of my face.

“I’d say,” he murmured. “You’re perfect, (Y/N).”

I blushed, ducking my head. “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“No, I mean it. I…Wow.” He shook his head, and all of a sudden looked sad. “You really do deserve better than me.”

I glared at him, and then swatted his chest only half-playfully. “Stop it,” I ordered. “Any girl would be lucky to have you, Buck. Especially after that. Jesus.”

“I don’t want just any girl,” he mumbled, meeting my eyes. I felt my chest get warm, and I leaned in to press my lips softly to his. He responded by wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me until we were chest to chest, the kiss lingering a few more seconds before we broke apart.

“This girl is yours,” I told him, “as long as you want me to be.”

“Of course I want you to be,” he replied in a murmur, his eyes soft. “That’s all I’ve wanted since I met you, (Y/N). You have no idea how happy I am right now.”

“I think I have some idea,” I chuckled wryly, and then I rolled off of him to curl up against his side. We fell asleep like that, and the next morning I woke up with my back pressed against a warm body and a strong arm holding me close. I had expected the morning after to be a little awkward, but instead it just felt right. When we finally got out of bed to head down to the kitchen for some food it was nearly noon, and we hoped no one was around to see us coming out of Bucky’s room together. However, we had no such luck – Steve was leaving his room just as we stepped out the door.

I held my breath and Bucky tensed, but Steve only froze for half a second before a wide grin spread across his face.

“About time,” he breathed, and then he winked before gesturing to the kitchen. “I was about to go make some bacon and eggs.” He made his way towards the elevator, and without looking over his shoulder he called out, “I have a feeling the two of you have worked up quite the appetite, if what I heard last night was any indication.”

I blushed crimson, horrified, but Bucky only grinned ruefully before pulling me to his side and kissing the crown of my head. “You hungry, doll?” he murmured. “I know I am.”

“I guess I could go for some bacon and eggs,” I agreed finally, and then Bucky pulled me into the elevator behind Steve, who was still grinning like an idiot.

Life at the compound was about to get very interesting.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader smut #bucky reader #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan barnes #marvel #mcu #smut #bucky x reader

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v8pontiacgirl · 3 years

Text

04July2021

I’m still in shock that issues are likely caused by horrible allergies that are likely caused by mold in my house. Due to memory issues, I decided to make a timeline of the last six years, when this started.

September 2015–moved into the house. I was working full time, going to school full time and experiencing allergy issues, such as a sore throat, headaches, and very dry eyes (to the point that I was no longer able to wear my contacts). I actually kept getting allergic conjunctivitis, so I switched to my glasses full time. I’d been able to wear contacts for about 15 years without issues prior to this.

February 2016–injured my knee and found out I had a discoid lateral meniscus with a tear that was hanging up in my knee joint. It took months to get any kind of relief for my knee because the tear didn’t initially show up on the MRI, and because discoid meniscus issues usually show up earlier in life if they are going to be a problem, I wasn’t taken seriously. During this time, I was having issues working because of pain and inability to walk. Also started having more issues with being harassed at work by coworkers. I began to work less and less until I finally quit in September. I had already finished out school in June. I would have had to transfer to a community college two hours away to continue my degree in the fall, and since my knee was being problematic, I decided to hold off.

October 2016–Had my knee surgery. About a week or two afterwards, I got my first vertigo spell (although I didn’t realize it was vertigo at the time). This would become the first of many instances that I would deal with “flares” that would make functioning very difficult for me.

October 2016-March 2017–Some days were better than others. I went to the doctor and blood work and many tests were done. My thyroid levels fluctuated a little, but ultimately seemed ok eventually. Everything else looked normal, except my white blood cell count was always elevated. I was told I was perfectly healthy. The dizziness? It was POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), a chronic illness that I had been diagnosed with in 2005 that honestly had never given me too many issues in the past, as long as I stayed hydrated and ate salty foods. I was given some common POTS meds to help me retain water, but, as medications typically do not agree with me, I had too many side effects and was unable to take them.

April 2017-August 2017–I’d been feeling better for about a month (since March), and I was anxious to be back in school. Culinary school had caught my eye a few months prior, so I signed up for the spring cohort. I was in the evening cohort, and I was realizing that my allergies were being aggravated by *something*, so my mornings from 7am to noon were spent cleaning, and from noon to about 8pm, were spent at school. I was able to complete two terms of culinary school. There was to be about a little over a month break from the middle of August to the end of September before fall term began. I went to California in August after finishing Summer term for a few days to visit friends. After returning, I started to feel like I was going into another “flare”. Gradually, my health got worse and worse.

September 2017-February 2018–by the end of September, when it was time to go back to culinary school, I was bedridden. The vertigo was so bad that I was unable to do anything except remain horizontal. For about six months again, my health was unbearable and I was unable to function.

March-April 2018–I finally began to feel a little better in March and April (also around the time when I started to get outside to do more garden things), and decided that I would try to go back to culinary school for summer term (the cohorts had changed because of a new director, and so there were classes I could take toward my degree). It’s really interesting that my heath was generally better the more I was able to get out of the house.

June 2018-August 2018—I was doing a lot of outdoor garden things in the afternoons and going to school for several hours every morning. I was even hired to help cater a wedding in August. My health seemed mostly under control, with only minor symptoms.

September 2018-December 2018—The end of September, I began my fourth term of culinary school. I also joined the culinary team, so pretty much all of my time was spent at school, even most of December, when the other students went home for break, I stayed at school trying to perfect my dish for competition. I was fatigued, but my health was mostly stable.

January 2019–After a *very* brief break, I was back in school for one whole day of winter term. I was definitely feeling fatigued because I hadn’t really gotten a break (and probably, in hindsight, because my allergies had really worn me down, too), and I was told by the coach that he was kicking me off the team because he was concerned my health problems would hold the team back, and he wanted to win. My health had not been an issue that he had seen at all, but he just thought it was too much of a risk to keep me. If I wouldn’t have disclosed that I had health problems when I tried out for team, I don’t think this would have happened. Anyway, I was pretty angry, especially after all the time I’d put in. Since the coach was also the director of the school, and there had also been an issue with the instructor quitting and a new instructor having to take over at the end of the last term, I decided that this culinary school really wasn’t worth my time or money any longer, so I quit. Immediately after, I bought the rest of the books that I would have needed for school and began to teach myself techniques with sugar and chocolate. I decided I was going to start focusing more seriously on Spoon Life Bakery, my cottage bakery business that I had started in July 2017.

February 2019-March 2020—I was the most busy I’d been in a while. Garden projects, baking projects, and painting projects took up all my time. From August 2019 to the beginning of March 2020, I was more busy than I wanted to be with my short lived restaurant project. The restaurant actually opened in October, but there was a lot of prep work prior. All of this kept me out of the house for most of the day. I was exhausted, but not symptomatic. Basically, during this time period, I was either outside, or at another location for the majority of the time. During the rainy months (December 2019-March 2020), the basement of the house flooded. It had always been musty and damp down there, but it had never flooded like that.

March-May 2020—I closed the restaurant in March, and began to be at home a lot more often. I started going hard with Spoon Life Bakery again, baking out of my home kitchen. I got back into Jiu Jitsu. I was doing ok, but by May, I started to feel like something wasn’t right again.

May-December 2020—My health “flared” a little during this time. It wasn’t as bad overall as it had been, but some days were better than others. Some days the vertigo made me bedridden. It was unpredictable. In May, I had to quit Jiu Jitsu again because I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t have the stamina to keep doing it.

January-May 2021–I’d had enough descent days that I decided to try to try to go back to Jiu Jitsu, or rather, a self defense class based on Jiu Jitsu. This class ran twice a week through March, and I was able to keep up and not miss a class. The basement flooded again, so we moved the dehumidifier into the storage room where the majority of the water was coming in. After self defense was over, I started regular jiu jitsu again in April, but felt much more exhausted than usual. My vertigo was getting worse to the point that it was always present. I took a break from Jiu Jitsu again in May.

May-June 2021—My throat was so sore, that I thought I had tonsillitis. My left ear was plugged. I felt like I was getting sick with some sort of virus, except it went on for weeks without getting better. I saw an ENT in mid June. He thought maybe I had Meniere’s, but didn’t officially diagnose me, since I needed to get a hearing test, which is scheduled for this month, and at the time of writing this has not happened yet. Other than that, he didn’t see anything else that alerted him. Soon after, I began to get very sick with horrible vertigo. I was bedridden again.

July 2021–Until the 2nd, I was in an absolutely horrible flare that had lasted without relief for about two weeks. I was convinced that this was just my life now, and in desperation, I called the doctor. She told me to come in that same day. Normally, I don’t leave the house when I’m feeling my worst. I had to keep laying down at the doctor’s because my vertigo was so bad. The doctor performed her usual tests, and looked in my nose. She informed me that it was very inflamed and swollen and she wasn’t sure how I was able to breathe out of it. I admitted that every morning, my nose is stuffed up pretty badly. She prescribed the Montelukast, that I’m unable to take because of side effects, and told me that she really thinks that allergies are causing my vertigo because the ear nose and throat are all connected. At first, I was discouraged with this diagnosis, because I felt like she was brushing off my symptoms. *Just* allergies?! I couldn’t believe allergies could cause such severe symptoms.

We made a few more stops after visiting the doctor, and when I’d been out of the house for about an hour and a half, I miraculously started feeling a little better. What?? Was the doctor right? I knew my house was probably triggering my allergies, but I didn’t think it was *that* bad.

Getting out of the house for two hours brought me out of one of my worst flairs. I’m now about 99.9% that mold in my house, specifically the basement, is making me sick. I’m going to keep testing this to be sure, but I’m now filled with some hope that I may be able to lead a much less depressing life. Time will tell.

#allergies #chronic illness #mold is bad #allergies are no joke

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mariesdameron · 4 years

Text

Complications (PG) Charlie Barber Intern Series: Part III

I hadn't heard from Charlie for over a week. The theater was closed for extensive cleaning; the staff was on vacation. Charlie was in Los Angeles with Henry. He was not comfortable having Henry fly alone and it was close to the holidays; Nicole had the right to see her son.

I had been seeing Charlie for four months. Four months since our explosive night at the wrap party. The breakdown of pent up sexual aggression and emotions that ended in us fucking the night away.

It was not the easiest situation to be involved in; I was feeling the strain. We had a couple of wonderful weeks together. We ate Chinese on the floor of my living room, he read me sonnets in bed. And the sex, the sex was mind-blowing and frequent. This ended when Henry returned from his out of town visit with Nicole's family. Nicole; the ex-wife.The ex-wife who knew nothing about me.

No one knew about me. Charlie wasn't comfortable revealing our 'coupling' to the outside world; this also included the theater company. My best friends on the other hand were quite aware of Charlie and hated the entire situation. I hesitantly agreed to keep things quiet because I was ridiculously enamored by him.

The arrangement was starting to feel dirty despite Charlie being divorced. We were moving into four months of this and I was tired of getting him in pieces. Twenty minutes before the actors arrived for rehearsals, two hours randomly on nights that Charlie could find someone to watch Henry. He was un-trusting of people around Henry since he gained full custody. I think he was partly afraid that any mistake would cause Nicole to swoop in and take Henry away.

The two weeks leading up to when he left for Los Angeles was particularly challenging. I was putting a lot of pressure on him to be attentive and he was pulling away.

The theater had just cleared out. I walked the back row of seats, antsy to get Charlie alone. After what seemed like hours, he looked up at me and motioned me to come down to him. He met me at the bottom of the stairs; wrapping his arms around me, he kissed my forehead. He smelled so good; just touching him sent a wave of warmth through my body. I buried my nose into his chest. I couldn't let my anger fade away. This is what happened every time I got the courage to confront him. I felt my body tighten and I gently pushed him away from me. He frowned and looked puzzled.

"What?"

I walked to the main floor.

"What's the matter?" he asked as he followed me.

"Don't! Keep your distance. I need to be able to get this out and I don't need you mucking my brain up."

"Okay." He put his hands up and took a seat; looking suddenly tense.

My heart ached at his worried expression. I did not want to hurt him. The man had already been through many pains over the last two years. The divorce of his marriage, a custody battle, loss of a major theater production, financial hardship due to lawyer fees.

He had to move from his nice Brooklyn apartment to a significantly smaller place. He was full of new insecurities and worries. The last thing he needed was me, coming in his life and making it harder. It was time to put things into perspective. It was time to call it if things were going to remain difficult. I wasn't a toy that you could just pick up and put down whenever you wanted.

Charlie raised his eyebrows at my silence.

"I hate the way things are." I could hear my voice shake and I balled my hands up; my fingernails digging into my palms. Charlie pressed his lips together.

"I need more, Charlie. I thought I would be okay, I thought I could do this for a while but here we are and I am miserable. I hate not being able to touch you when I want. I am not asking for you to march me down the streets of New York but I need more of you. I need more between us. It's been four months."

Charlie rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his dark hair. Sighing; he folded his hands on his lap.

"I told you what I am able to give; I specifically explained the delicacy of my life. Henry, the theater, Nicole. It's all a delicate juggling act."

I shook my head. The anger was building in the pit of my stomach.

"So, that's it then? You can't even budge an inch for me? So, was this a rebound for you then?" My voice cut through the air. I could see his nostrils flare at the comment. He remained seated.

"You know that it is more than that."

I wanted to scream. He was so composed; I wanted to slap him across the face. I knew that this conversation would be pointless.

"Okay, Charlie. Well, I am not asking for a lot here. I am asking for more time. I want more time and maybe I want to not run away from you when people are around. You've fucked me over a table for Christ's sake and I am hiding two rows away from you, being a good little intern."

Charlie lifted his hand and waved it in the air.

"You knew how this was going to be; I told you very specifically the boundaries and limitations that I had when getting involved with you. I told you I didn't need any ammo from Nicole about instability. I didn't need any complications with the theater after all the fucking chaos that ensued during the divorce. Henry is a delicate boy. He needs a lot of attention." Sighing, his arm dropped to his lap, his face suddenly wearied.

I could feel the tears behind my eyes. I hated seeing him upset. I went to him; kneeled and intertwined our hands.

"I am not trying to be difficult," I whispered. He bit his lower lip, his sad eyes scanning my face.

"I am also not trying to be difficult" Cupping a hand under my chin, he leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to mine.

I knew that the night would end with us heading to his small office; fucking on the small loveseat that he bought for just that reason. He would then lie on my chest, talking about how beautiful I was and all these wonderful ideas for trips together.

This would last for an hour before he would realize the time and need to leave and relieve the babysitter. I would watch him go and then clean myself up in the theater bathroom; not looking at myself in the mirror because I wouldn't want to see how foolish I was. I would end the night sitting alone in my bed streaming shitty tv.

I sat in the back of the theater, watching everyone else file in; laughing and whipping off their jackets and purses. Why was I here? I did not want to talk to anyone. I wanted to be in my apartment, drinking wine, and listening to loud music; I did not want to see Charlie.

It had been four days since our last real conversation. He was in full director mode; the production opened soon. He needed everything to be finalized. It did not help our situation. He was not a phone person, so texts and phone calls were sparse. Henry was home in the evenings and Charlie devoted 100% of his time to him; not leaving much time left for many activities afterward.

Picking at my script, I fought the urge to run from the room. Charlie wouldn't be there for at least another 10 minutes; I could easily make it out of there before having to see him. My legs started to shake as the lead actress caught my eye from across the room and smiled. I nodded in response. She did exactly what I was afraid of; she started to walk towards me. This was going to really mess up my bolting plan. Causally, she plopped herself down in the seat in front of me.

"Hey, so how are you feeling for the production; I mean from a critical standpoint."

I tried not to roll my eyes at her attempt; she was very carefully pointing out that I was not actually in the production.

"Well, I think it will go great. Everyone has their lines down; Charlie is perfect as usual."

Forcing myself to smile, I glanced down at my cell phone. I had exactly 4 minutes if I paced myself.

"Oh, shit I gotta go make a call." Waiving the cell phone up in the air, I snatched up my bag and quickly exited the stage area. I had made it into the street and serendipitously, ran right into Charlie. He had his hands full of coffees as he usually does before rehearsals; he was startled.

"Mia? What are you doing?" His face now stern; this only infuriated me. Was he really going to lecture me?

"I gotta go. I had something come up and I am not going to make rehearsal tonight." I stared him hard in the face. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

"Really? This close before opening and you've got to leave? Can it wait?"

"No, it cannot wait. It's an emergency." I lied. I did not feel guilty about it. It was an emergency; I was on the verge of an emotional meltdown. Charlie pressed his lips together.

"Okay, is there anything I can do?" He did not seem convinced.

"Nope, I am all set. Good luck, she's got her lines down perfectly. You won't miss me." Charlie rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I see. Alright, well check in with me later; so, I know that you are okay. Please." A lot was being left unsaid. I quickly turned around and walked towards the subway.

The bar was relatively full but not crowded enough to be uncomfortable. I was nursing my fifth or sixth beer, they started to blur after the fourth. I knew that it was a bad idea to be drinking in my heightened state but I didn't care. I knew the cast wouldn't be here tonight because it was Friday and they dispersed to their respective corners of the night scene on the weekends.

The bartender was eying me at this point. I didn't plan on many more and was contemplating requesting an Uber. I was staring at my beer when the overwhelming smell of whiskey washed over me.

I looked to my side, to the man, scooting himself on the stool next to me. He was reminiscent of the '20s; white collar and vest. Turning his face and looking into my eyes, I was taken back. He had striking, crystal, blue eyes. Smiling, he nodded in a greeting.

"Why hello." A soft Irish accent resonated in his voice. He was ridiculously handsome; like a Hollywood movie star handsome.

"Hi" The beer was making my thoughts foggy. I could not sit here with this man; not in my condition. He reached over and extended his hand out; I hesitated but slid my hand into his; he squeezed gently and smiled.

"It's Cillian. You?" I was suddenly speechless. Why was I acting like such an idiot?

"Mia" I replied.

Cillian smirked and nodded again.

"Nice, to meet you Mia." He tipped his whiskey towards my beer.

"Can I buy your next one?"

I knew that the answer should be 'no' but I heard myself say 'sure'. He grabbed my glass and tipped it towards the bar, requested a refill, and turned back to me.

"So, what do you do Mia?" He sipped his whiskey; I couldn't stop staring into his eyes. Who had eyes like this?

"I am in theater." I said flatly wishing that my brain would stop screaming at me that what I was doing was wrong.

"Oh yeah? Like Broadway? Are you a star?" He asked; his lip curled in a smile. I couldn't help but return the smile.

"No, I wish but no. I am the standard, struggling New York actress." Cillian inched a bit closer to me.

"Hmm. Well, you certainly aren't standard looking."

He was flirting with me. This incredibly attractive, Irish man was flirting with me as I drowned my sorrows in beer. I wanted to laugh and brush my fingers on his arm, maybe let him kiss my neck and have him run his hand up my leg. I wanted to do all of this because of Charlie.

Because I couldn't do this with Charlie; we weren't allowed to have public displays of affection. My heart ached at the thoughts; I was definitely drunk. I laughed off the compliment and waved the bartender down for water. I needed to go home. Cillian's eyebrows raised at my request and grinned to himself. He took out a business card and dropped it by my glass.

"If you want to have drinks sometime. I can see you aren't into company tonight but I'd fancy a get together if you are interested." He spoke softly; taking a sip of his drink. I smiled and put the card in my back pocket.

"Yeah, maybe." I tried to sound neutral to the idea; Cillian looked past and me and tilted his head. I turned to Charlie standing next to me; his face was drawn and his eyes black. My head was floating in alcohol and suddenly I was unable to put my thoughts together. He looked at Cillian then to the bar.

"Let me pay for the tab." Charlie said pointing down at me.

"Already got it, Mate." Cillian interrupted and waived off the bartender. Charlie scowled and grabbed my arm to go.

"Thanks," Charlie said looking at Cillian.

"I was happy to help." He responded smiling. Charlie pulled me towards the door and out into the night.

"What the fuck? Mia!" He said throwing my arm down and pacing the sidewalk. My stomach was flipping and my head was dizzy. I could not fight with him right now.

"Can you bring me home? Please?" I pleaded and pressed my fingers into my temple. Charlie continued to pace.

"Yeah, if you tell me what the fuck you are doing? You didn't text me to let me know how your quote, emergency went. I showed up at your house, worried, to not find you there. I tried your cell phone; it went straight to voice-mail. So, I called your emergency contact on your staff form. Your sister! She said you were fine and out. So, my best guess was here." He abruptly stopped and stared at me; red-faced and winded.

"And I find you here, drunk, sitting with some fucking British guy." He shouted. I felt myself slowly moving towards the ground; crouching, I shook my head.

"Stop yelling." I moaned. Charlie's face twisted in anger.

"You are wasted. You are wasted and kneeling on the sidewalk. This is what you chose to do with your night? This? Instead of being with me, at the theater, working on our production? Fucking, ridiculous."

I felt Charlie's hands under my arms, lifting and leaning me up against him. He dialed for a cab. We stood in silence; Charlie avoiding all eye contact but he never stopped holding me.

Part One: The Beginning (G)

https://mariesackler.tumblr.com/post/621099575659364352/the-beginning-intern-series-word-count-996-a

Part Two: Unravel (R)

https://mariesackler.tumblr.com/post/620594356590608384/18-mature-audience

Thanks for reading! I know its a roller coaster but I hope you are enjoying the ride.

#Charlie Barber #Marie Sackler #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Slow Burn #Romance #Angst

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scoundrels-in-love · 4 years

Note

For the prompt-- A-14, B-10, C-9!

Hi dear, I only took ages to get this done! But I really had fun with it!!

Tracing fingers over skin + Kitchen + To start a new habit

Also on AO3 because I got severely carried away.

It starts like this:

It’s been three days since her game with Margaery and some unknown number had woken her up with a text of a screenshot of people discussing that of course the brute beat the delicate flower to dust. She blocked the number and deleted the text without even reading beyond the third line, but the sleep has been chased off and the sun is sneaking golden fingers above the horizon, so she rises to wring the stone in her chest until it yields.

Not unusually, Jaime is down in the courts before her doing his warm up stretches, and she jogs past him without a glance because the last thing she wants to think about is the way power comes to him in sleek lines and deceptive ease.

Brienne does her own stretches and begins training, but it feels sloppy and her body jerks in response to her instincts and thoughts instead of the controlled fluidity she’s more used to having. At one point, she sends one of the tennis balls straight for Jaime’s head and he bats it down before she manages to shout a warning, which is somehow both a relief and a disappointment. She swings at the next ball with more force.

"Hey Stork," he calls, and she tries to ignore Jaime approaching her with intent and grace she really would pay to see dismantled, just fucking once.

Her glower at the nickname feels like it’s doing her no favors, but she can't help it. He hasn't stopped calling her that since the unfortunate day she sunburned her legs, turning them that undelightful lobster - or stork - red and had to play a game, the color vivid against the stupid white of the uniform. (It hadn’t been the worst thing she had heard that day, by far, but she still would like to have left it within that day.)

"I really can't bear to watch anymore," he informs her, tossing her the ball, and she's so close to just snarling at him.

"Then don't look," she bites instead.

"Believe me, I've tried," Jaime says and there's something wry and a little mocking in his face. If she was any more gullible, she'd almost think it was self-depreciating. But she isn't and she begins to turn away, unwilling to let him brighten his day by mocking her appearance.

And then she's snapping back to glare at him, when he speaks a moment later.

"Are you playing to win or to apologize?" he asks, tilting his chin up just so and looking at her through his unfairly long lashes. It looks like an almost exact copy of Cersei's subtler seduction looks, but this one doesn't even try to hide the sharpness and it's way too early for her armor to be impenetrable.

She doesn't owe him a response, but she gives it anyway. (As one always does when it comes to Lannisters.) "To win," she says and feels her nostrils flare a little.

"Then why do you apologize constantly?" he asks and steps into her space, menacing and golden like a midday sun in the middle of drought.

"With your posture, the way you hunch, how you hold your racket - all of it is just screaming 'I'm sorry you have to look at me, I'll make myself small'. It wasn’t like that last year. And I've seen you play angry, you’ve still got it." He moves around her and taps the back of her neck, her shoulder, her elbow, her wrist as he speaks. She straightens up automatically, adjusts her arm though her anger had already sprung her back ramrod straight, as if being an inch taller could pull her heart out of his maw's reach.

He looks satisfied almost, at the way she's towering over him now, and she doesn't want to tell him of Hyle and his buddies, doesn't want to speak of old scars that were opened up with a scalpel of cruelty.

"Play angry, if you must. But stop apologizing."

"Playing angry isn't my style," she tells him and sees the prisms in his eyes shift, catch light at an angle, almost like a hurt, before it settles.

"Maybe it should be. No publicity is bad publicity and all that."

They both know it's a lie, though Lannisters money have managed to make it as close to truth as can be. After all, he's still playing, despite the grave injury Aerys sustained. Still going for the stars, not caring if anyone says he bought them or beat them into submission.

But he isn't done with her either: "And your cool calculations obviously aren't very objective about yourself these days."

She wants to tell him that just because his default setting is egomaniac, doesn't mean a realistic vision of self is wrong but he is already leaving, tossing "see ya, Stork" over his shoulder.

She's left glaring at his retreating back and training furiously, she's left having him tap her shoulder or her elbow every morning when he passes to or from the court he’s training on, though there's no need anymore. Enough that when she goes back to Tarth for the summer, every morning seems to be missing something.

And later, there isn't a pleasant little shiver racing beneath her skin where his tap slips down her arm in passing, almost like a caress.

There isn't.

***

It starts like this:

Jaime never looks small, but he almost does so now, staring at the Mountain across the court as they approach. It's not the way the other man is both wider and taller, it's the way Cersei's machinations are there, breathing and twisting before him.

She's moving more hurriedly before she realizes, wading through the crowd that unwillingly parts for her, toward him and catches him just before he steps out. Her hand feels hot and clumsy and heavy, but she reaches out nonetheless.

She squeezes his shoulder, mouths "play angry" to him in passing and sees a flicker of surprise across his face, as if he isn't expecting her support or her understanding of the phrase now. As if she didn't stay up working herself to exhaustion by his side, just so he wouldn't be alone and she could convince him to go to the dorm when she did, too.

Then he smiles, an echo of his old, victorious grin, but somehow sharper for all the little space it is given, and nods.

He wins. (7-6 tiebreaker)

"Thanks," he tells her later. "I guess storks do bring good luck after all."

"Since when have you become so humble to credit a win to luck?" She rolls her eyes at him, sipping iced coffee as they look over the sea lapping at the pier, glittering in the afternoon sun.

"Oh, I do know how to give credit where it's due," he laughs, but it's soft and warm and he's like a sunset beach. Her heart constricts because none of this lingering warmth and last gilded wave crests are for her.

And yet, she continues to dig her toes in the sand, doing the same shoulder clasp gesture before each of his matches. Because that's what friends do. And they are friends, bros even, and leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek like a favor of a lady, like Sansa might to Margaery or Cersei used with Robert, isn't in the cards for her. She swallows the thought whole as swiftly as stork might a frog when it leaps into her mind.

Swallows it again and again with increasing frequency. Even when last week he stepped up to her as she wished him luck, eyes warm like green candles, and briefly grasped her arm as if to hold her, as if to pull her in and if she was any more foolish she would have wondered if he thought of it too. But she's not that foolish and she isn't left reeling with waves lapping at her feet, uncatchable no matter how she may want to hold onto them.

She isn't.

***

It starts like this:

It feels fresh and tender, like first leaves unfurling, this shift between them, but with every kiss and smile, every morning spent watching the sun competing with her fingers in a quest to cover his skin with tender touches, her faith that it will endure and reach toward the sky becomes stronger.

It had started long before either of them thought it had, never ends and starts each day anew still, something new and something old bleeding together into a color that shifts and grows more vast with a thousand little things.

"Did you ever notice how we came up with all these ridiculous reasons to touch each other?" he asks her that morning as she's making breakfast and he's just set their cups of coffee on the table.

"What do you mean?" She is a little distracted by his fingers stroking up and down her bare arm, but she doubts she'd guess at his meaning even otherwise.

"The taps, the good luck wishes, the way I'd hand you coffee and brush fingers against yours, shoulder bumps in the hallway, the way we high five with only each other… All of these, just so we could touch for one moment."

"I wished you luck earnestly and with no ulterior motive," she defends, but it sounds a little thin even, or especially, to her ears. "Well, I waited for it every time with that intent, so."

She'd argue about the taps, but he's already confessed to calling her stork because he couldn't stop thinking about her legs to point they might as well be permanently painted red in his vision and that Stormlanders consider the birds sacred still, a blessing to any household.

"You are not a Stormlander," she had laughed, oddly pleased he knew this of her home region.

"Never let it be said I don't appreciate learning some truths," Jaime had told her, between pressing soft kisses to her knuckles and then her mouth.

There had been so much tenderness and reverence in the gesture, and just a touch of teasing in his eyes, like she truly was both his blessing and his lucky charm. (If there is any man that'd flirt with his luck as much as danger, then it's Jaime)

She isn't so foolish to think it is true, but she knows enough that he does believe it, with his whole heart. And that's enough for her.

"Where are you going with this?" Because Jaime loves talking just for sake of talking, has for years now that he knows he's allowed to, just to unravel his thoughts,but there's intent in his eyes and his fingers, ghosting up and down and around her arm and then her back, still.

"We should start new touching habits, just because we can."

"Like what?" She can’t say she’s not curious and warmed by the thought all at once, these little things he wants to build their life with. Things she hadn’t thought she wanted, sometimes, but finish that sloppy, once-impossible blueprint of a dream life perfectly.

"We could make room for it in our lunch breaks. Do you know how often I wanted to kiss you when we ate lunch together?" She doesn’t, but she can estimate, based on her own experiences and it’s a number she doesn’t quite want to confess to.

Luckily, that’s not Jaime’s goal. He stands up and steps behind her, wraps arms around her waist and rests his chin on her shoulder. A sense of content radiates from him, like he’s somehow a cat that has found his perfect sunbeam to nap in.

"We owe it to our past selves, you know. And future ones, too."

Only Jaime would turn a suggestion to lazily make out at lunch as a daily routine into something poetic and be completely serious about it. The shift from relaxed contention to something more trickles in the little space left between their bodies.

"And this is good, too. Just me getting touch you while you cook." He brushes her hair a little to the side and presses a little kiss to the back of her neck, making her shiver as if she’s been thrown from cold water straight into the sun - it’s still so much. She doesn’t think it’ll ever be truly less, even if it’s different.

"You're just saying so you don't have to prepare food," Brienne says instead, because it’s not the words that do the talking between them, half the time.

"Oh no, not at all. I'm all for being touch appreciated, any time." His grin is audible and she feels it press against her shoulder where he’s mouthing kisses now, having slid the strap of her tank top down.

"I think we should appreciate the breakfast now." Because gods know if they don’t, it’ll be a while before they return to thoughts of food. She extracts herself from his arms, much to his soft protesting, and begins plating the food.

"What about later?" He is smirking, eyebrow quirked, and his eyes are full of light. Fondness bubbles in her chest, because there was a time when she hadn’t known he was capable of being this plainly open and joyful. When he hadn’t known. She treasures evidence of the shift, like every beautiful sunrise.

"Maybe there are few habits I'd like to establish, too," she smiles and cups his cheek briefly before placing a kiss on his cheekbone.

After all, there is time for it, time for them.

#braime #braime ff #braime fanfic #rainy writes stuff #my fic #got #letters-to-theo #sent on a cloud #rainy rambles

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student-on-the-run · 3 years

Text

So, my therapist told me to start journaling. She insisted a lot on this and said it would help me reflect on the good things I have now, as well as evacuate my anger towards the horrible things that have been done to me.

I decided to start journaling here, because I'm hoping that my struggles will resonate with people. And also, there is something comforting about throwing my thoughts into the void.

I'm currently spending Christmas with my in-laws, in Paris. I missed the city very much, and it makes me happy to see it again and visit all the places that I love. Of course, I have a limited amount of energy, so I can't do everything I wish to do, but a little is better than nothing at all. I haven't gotten to see my friends yet, and I'm not sure if I will get to see them, but just visiting Paris makes me feel all warm inside. It's the first place where I felt free. It was the place where I was far from all the abuse, and I think that's why it's so special to me. This is where I bought the first piece of clothing I genuinely liked, the first place where I could go out on my own, the first place where I could move freely. This city has such a special place in my heart, I really don't want to live anywhere else.

As for my in-laws, they are all lovely people. They've accepted me as the woman who makes their son happy, and they invite me to be part of their family life, and I cherish that. I'll admit, however, that it's very bittersweet. Seeing a happy family and this safe environment drives home how much I missed and how horribly I was treated by the people who called themselves my family. I especially miss having a mother, and, as selfish as it is, I feel a twinge of pain knowing that my mother-in-law simply cannot love me like she loves her daughter. I will need time to be fine with that. They show me their family pictures and tell me their family anecdotes, and I realise that I have nothing positive to contribute to the conversation, because all the anecdotes I have are sad and horrifying. So I stay silent and smile, and try to focus on the fact that I will be able to create happy memories from now on.

Health-wise, I have also been doing better. My fibromyalgia flares aren't as severe, and I can move and walk for moderate periods of time. I am not stuck in bed all day, and I appreciate that. I really want a stronger body, but I know that I can't push myself too hard, or I might break. My medication still makes me quite tired, although less than before, now that I have smelled doses. I still need a lot of sleep at night, and a rather long nap during the day. I try to explain to my boyfriend that it's not me being lazy, and that I'm genuinely tired, but it doesn't always work. He is convinced that getting out of bed and doing something, anything, is much better for me. He also insists that I eat on time, take a shower, and sit at my desk instead of in my bed. He has been like this ever since I had a bad bout of depression in the summer. I understand that he's worried about me, and that he wants me to be healthy, but we have trouble reaching a compromise about that. He worries that I will sink into depression again, which I understand.

Mentally and emotionally, I am simply constantly furious. I have a raging bonfire burning inside of me and all my attempts to extinguish it have only made it burn brighter. I am so fucking angry all the fucking time. Whenever I think about my parents, about my life before cutting them off, I just... seethe with rage. It's extremely tiring. I'm hoping to eventually calm down, because I will not be able to actually do anything about them and how they've hurt me for a while. I hope to drag them into court one day, and have them pay for what they've done to me, but that's not on table yet, and won't be for a few years at least.

Ironically, I also want to stop thinking about them. Cut every single member of my family off (including the people who were nice to me) simply because I don't want anything to remind me of them. And then, move on. Start fresh. Go away and never look back. But I have two younger siblings I have raised as my own, so I can't do that. Sometimes, it's all so stressful that I'm genuinely tempted, but I just can't. My therapist said not to feel guilty about having such desires, and that I have the right to cut everyone off and move on... but oh well.

I think that's all for now. I'm a little sad, very angry, but still a bit happy as well. Emotions are complicated. I think I feel too much, and that's tiring as well. Then I remember how trauma actually modifies the brain, and I wonder if I will ever be "normal"... I'm rambling. I know things will get better, as I'm already in a much better place than I was a year ago, but I still have a long way to go, and some days, I'm just tired.

But I refuse to give up.

#CPTSD #abuse recovery #glow blabla #glow journaling #personal #depression #anxiety #child abuse

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divinecuriosity · 4 years

Note

Could u do a little Fjord ficlit based on lyrics from the song nightmares & flare guns by Seb Adams 👀

This song is so good! And wow I got inspired for this, I hope it makes a bit of coherent sense! (will go up on my ao3 soon, once I finish my 60th fic/200k word celebratory fic!)

Fjord stops sleeping in his room. The first night back in Xhorhas he spends pacing the house, stopping periodically by Yasha’s door. Waiting, listening, cursing himself and walking away, but his feet always carry him back. He winds up finally throwing himself down in a living room chair and digging his nails into the fabric and watches the stairs and upper landing close, convinced he sees shifting in the shadows.

“Fjord?” There's a voice from across the room, and Fjord jumps, feeling the fabric of the chair tear a bit under his fingertips.

“Uh, hey, Caleb.” He squints through the dark. Caleb leans on his doorway, Frumpkin curling past his feet. “How long have you been there?” Fjord asks timidly. Caleb chuckles, uncrossing his arms.

“A minute or two. What has you spooked?” Caleb pushes off the doorway, following his cat into the room. Fjord stiffens as Frumpkin redirects at a low whistle from Caleb, but allows the cat to hop up into his lap. It’s more of a reflex to sneeze now, Caleb’s been working on making Frumpkin tolerable to Fjord’s allergies. Fjord buries a hand in the nape of the cat’s neck and smiles as he immediately sets to purring and flexing his claws in Fjord’s lap.

“Uh, nothing. Just can’t sleep.” Fjord shrugs, looking back up to see Caleb wave a hand, lighting his fingertips aflame and scanning a bookshelf by their light. “What about you?”

“It’s morning, Fjord,” Caleb says as an answer. Fjord looks to the window.

“Right. No sun.” Fjord groans and rubs his eyes with the hand not petting Frumpkin.

“You should tell Caduceus if you can’t sleep. He probably has a tea or something.” Caleb says softly. Fjord nods, stifling the urge to yawn. Eventually, Caleb retreats back to his room, book in hand, but Frumpkin stays purring in Fjord’s lap. Even if he wanted to get up now, he stays planted until the girls, Yasha included, even if she’s trailing behind a little, come hurtling down the stairs with screams of requests for breakfast. Frumpkin screeches and leaves claw marks in Fjord’s pants in his effort to get away, and Fjord hops to his feet with a wince. He’ll talk to Caduceus after breakfast, he tells himself. When there’s time.

The second night is as much of the same, and he doesn’t even get halfway to taking Caduceus’s offer of tea up before Jester gets news of their new task for Essek needing immediate attention and they’re all packing bags again. Fjord pretends his grogginess is due to the midnight hour and goes along, shaking his head at Caleb’s pointed glare before they head off into the night.

The third night he does sleep, on cold damp earth a mile underground, beaten and bruised, and he dreams. He dreams first of an eye, watching in still waters, but it’s not Uka’toa’s, it’s Yasha’s, first green, then lavender, then flashing between them so fast he covers his face with his hands, but no matter how hard he tries to turn away and shield himself the eyes stay, burned into the backs of his eyelids. He must cry out, because Jester shakes him awake, and forces water down his throat, which feels cracked and dry. He takes the next watch and doesn’t wake Beau for her shift, sitting hunched on a rock and watching the slight shifting of their firelight at the edges of Caleb’s magic hut.

They surface mid-day, blinking in the sudden light, lost in the wastes of Xhorhas but successful and alive. Caleb’s out of spells to really take them home, but while Caduceus and Jester sit down to try and commune a clue about their location, Fjord lays on his back, feeling the sun beat down on his face. A distant part of his mind wonders if the sunlight will keep him awake. He’s asleep before he can manage to open his mouth to ask.

Fjord dreams he’s treading water. He keeps feeling something in the depths, slimy skin snaking around his feet, but when he kicks out or dives under he sees nothing but dark waters. He can tell he’s losing strength, that the water that should be cold is warm to his goose-bumped skin, a deadly omen. He blinks and one moment where he saw the reflection of the moon, there is a boat. Sleek black wood, two oars, nothing built for open water, but it’s something. He kicks out for it, raises a hand to try and latch on and is met with a hand in return. Someone far stronger than him hauls him up, and he lies panting on the worn wood, blinking salt out of his eyes to see his savior.

He scrambles back when he sees Yasha, dark wings outstretched, sword in hand. She’s still reaching down to him, and her expression...gives him pause. She’s crying, but she looks happy, happier than he’s seen her in a long time. She looks a lot like she looked over their breakfast before they left the house when Jester had made a face with berries on her pancake, and Beau had switched one of the eyes with a blueberry to make it Yasha’s face, and they had all laughed. Fjord takes a steadying breath and pulls himself up onto the bench of the small boat. Yasha drops her hand, stares at him for a long moment, and sits as well.

Fjord doesn’t remember what they talk about, but he remembers that she talks, over the crash of waves and the creak of oars as she rows them- somewhere, he doesn’t know. He wakes up to a dark sky, and his friends sat around a fire a yard off, their bags and bedrolls arranged in a protective circle around him. Fjord rolls on his side and watches as Caleb says something that makes Nott laugh, and turn to Caduceus, who hands her a small bowl. He then turns to Yasha, hands her another. She stands and takes the few strides over to where Fjord lies. He blinks and forces his aching muscles to sit upright.

“Hey,” He says groggily.

“You passed out,” Yasha says, helpfully handing him the bowl, thinking better of it as his hands shake, and holding the broth to his lips for him. Fjord takes a large sip before responding.

“I uh, I’m sorry, about that,” Fjord says, carefully taking the bowl in his own hands and forcing them to be still.

“The other’s told me about why you talk like that, now,” Yasha says softly. Fjord blinks at her, taking another sip.

“What did they tell you?” He feels bad for being snarky, but he’s still hazy and hurting, and cautious. Yasha smiles.

“I understand why you would not want to risk another dream.” She says. Fjord slowly nods.

“It’s not Uka’toa, right now, at least.” He says after another mouthful. Yasha narrows her eyes, stays silent and waits for him to continue. “My mind’s just not always the most pleasant space.” He says finally. Yasha nods, understanding.

“I have... experienced that,” Yasha says slowly. Fjord sips, eyes trained on her. “I cannot say what works for me would work for you, but...” Yasha glances back towards the group. “I think we all do something, to fight it off.”

Fjord squints at her. “How so?” Yasha looks at him, settles down on the ground beside him and points.

“Beau stretches, every night before bed. When we all shared a room she’d push everything out of the way and do splits, hand-stands, every muscle group, just for a few seconds. Then pass out.” Yasha says, moving her hand a little and continue. “Jester, well, you know, she talks. She tells the Traveller about her day, writes and draws in her journal. I kind of do the same, but all to myself, in my head.”

“Who do you talk to?” Fjord asks, instantly wincing, unsure he wants to know. Yasha barely meets his eyes.

“Molly, Zualla.” She says, moving her finger again. “Caleb casts his spells, and Nott counts things. Sometimes just her own fingers, over and over until she’s tired enough to sleep.”

“Caduceus makes tea.” Fjord adds, starting to get the point. Yasha nods and smiles at him.

“You just have to find something that works for you,” Yasha says gently. Fjord finishes his soup and sets the bowl down.

“How?” He asks. Yasha sighs and shrugs.

“Have you ever had a hobby?” She asks, grimacing at her words. “I mean, something physical, repetitive. When you cast spells you always do the same motions.” Yasha says after a moment of silence. Fjord looks at his hands.

“Guys on the ship sometimes picked up like knitting or woodworking. I was never that good at it.” He curls his thick fingers into his palms.

“What about wire?” Yasha asks suddenly. Fjord tilts his head. “Beau has a bunch since she bought all those jewelers supplies for crushing the gems. She was complaining about it all just sitting in her bag.” Yasha turns and reaches around into one of the packs piled up next to them, emerging with a spool of silver wire.

“Could you make something with that?” She asks. Fjord finds the end of it silently, twisting the cord around his index finger.

“Maybe?” He says, not sounding very hopeful.

“Try it, and if it doesn’t work try something else.” Yasha pats him a little awkwardly on the shoulder.

“I need you to watch my back, Fjord.” She says, even softer now. Fjord blinks.

“I...can do that.” He says. Yasha drops her hand back to her side.

“I do not know if I will ever be able to... trust myself, again. So, it feels good, almost, to know you’re watching.”

Watching. It echoes in Fjord’s brain.

“I don’t think I’ll have to watch forever.” He says, surprising himself. Yasha looks at him, brow knitted. “I think you’ll get there, I mean. I think you were worth saving.” He tries to smile, motion fumbling a bit around his teeth. Yasha’s eyes widen a bit.

“Thank you, Fjord.” She says with an exhale. “I hope you’re right.”

#fjord #critical role #fic #cr2 #rory writes #long post #in case the readmore doesnt work #itherienmollymauk

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betoveringhouse · 5 years

Note

ROs reactions to MC saying “you deserve so much better than me” while gently cupping ROs face in their hands?

“You deserve so much better than me.”

At your harsh words about yourself, Urse’s features curl into an expression very unfamiliar to her sweet face. A frown.

“Wh-What?” She’s not asking anything, not with that tone of voice. “No, n-no. Don’t s-say stuff like that.”

“Urse, I–”

“No!”

Her temper flares up, along with her magic, and you wince as your hands sting from the heat she emits. Once she catches sight of your discomfort, she cools off immediately.

“S-Sorry.” She mumbles, guilt slathered over her voice. “D-Didn’t mean, mean t-to.”

You pull your hands from her cheeks, and try to tell her it’s fine, but before you can she interrupts you again.

“B-But… Saying th-things like that… Isn’t allowed. R-Remember?”

You blink in surprise. She’s being awfully direct. It’s… sort of refreshing, for her to be so in control of one of your conversations.

Unexpected, certainly. But not unwelcome.

Especially with these troubling thoughts plaguing you.

“If I-I’m not, not allowed t-to b-berate myself…” She mutters, placing a hand over yours. “N-Neither are you. It g-goes both ways.”

A soft smile fights it’s way onto your lips, warmth filling your chest.

Your feelings of self-doubt and low self-worth won’t vanish so easily, no. But it helps, knowing that you’re not alone.

That Urse understands. That she will pick you up when you fall down. No matter how much it happens; she won’t leave you.

How did the tables turn so much?

“You deserve so much better than me.”

Dodge doesn’t respond for a moment, too invested in the loving touch of your hands gently holding his face to realise what you’ve just said.

One he does, his eyes snap open and his mouth parts in shock. He tries to say something, but words seem to fail him entirely.

“Wh… Huh?” Without his sunglasses on, you can see the way his eyes flicker through a variety of emotions, “W-What stupid shit are you sayin’ now, dumbass?”

The weak way he chuckles out those words, coupled with his expression, makes your heart clench. He looks confused and hurt.

“I mean, I… I just feel that maybe I-I’m not–”

“N-Not what, huh?” As it so often does, anger starts to fuel him. The pain turns into rage, brows creasing. “Don’t start spoutin’ bullshit, okay? If– If anyone deserves better, it’s you!”

“But–”

“I mean, look at me!” He throws his hands up, and you lose your grip on his face. “Look at what I am! What I’ve done!”

Dodge shakes his head, and his eyes go glossy.

“H-How can you say, that I–” His voice cracks, and you feel a rush of guilt swirl in your stomach. “That I de-deserve b-better? Better than you? A-Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“…Sorry.” You apologise, casting your eyes downward. “I’m… I don’t know what came over me and I–”

Suddenly, you’re yanked forward, face burying against a sturdy chest. On instinct you inhale, and smell the cologne you bought him last week. It’s… comforting.

“M-Moron.” He mutters, carding shaking fingers through your hair. “I love you. I could never asks for anythin’ more. Idiot.”

You rest yourself in his arms, gnawing at your lip, as tears threaten to fall from your own eyes too.

“Your idiot.” You whisper.

He laughs, soft and low.

“Yeah. My idiot.”

“You deserve so much better than me.”

Whatever Nina was expecting when you cupped her face, it clearly wasn’t for you to say that.

Her amber eyes go wide, and she places her hands over your own, pulling them away and holding them. Her brow furrows in obvious worry.

“Cariño?” She tilts her head, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles. “What do you mean? Are you okay?”

You grimace, unable to meet her gaze. It’s so filled with concern and sincerity; none of her usual teasing bravado.

“Nina, you’re so… So amazing.” You admit, the words feeling like they’re being choked up. “I just can’t help but think that sometimes you– That you might deserve someone who’s more…”

“More what? More kind? More charming? More beautiful, more wonderful, more lovely?”

You start slightly, the seriousness of her voice briefly stunning you.

“I… Uh…” You fumble for a reply, her intense focus on you causing you to swallow nervously. “Y-Yes?”

Her grip on your hands tightens in response to your affirmation, and you can feel her tremble slightly. It surprises you, so much so that you manage to look at her face again.

And your eyes blink in shock, as you notice the tears filling hers.

“You… How dumb can you be, cariño?” She shakes her head. “Don’t you see? There is no one like that. No one better for me than you.”

Just as she wasn’t expecting your earlier words, you never expected her to get so emotional. Never thought she’d be so open.

“And ‘amazing’?” She laughs, bitterness spilling from her mouth like bile. “I’m not some perfect being! I’m just me, y’know? Just like you’re just you. And that’s enough.”

“Nina…”

“No, it’s more than enough.” She corrects. “It’s all I want, cariño. I just want you.”

If she keeps this up, you’re going to cry too. You know it.

This time, her hands come up to cradle your face, and she leans her forehead against your own.

“Yeah. Just you.”

“You deserve so much better than me.”

You reel back as lips crash into yours, teeth slightly catching your bottom one and causing you to gasp.

Arnie pries your hands off of his face, entwining your fingers with his and kissing you with such force. There is a desperateness to the action that you haven’t seen in a while.

Once he pulls back, he dives back in to lay small pecks all over your face. Your forehead, down to your nose, eyelids next, and then your cheeks. He doesn’t give you any respite.

“Not true.” He hums, warm breath tickling your face. “No, no, simply not true at all.”

You’d love to refute him. Love to tell him how it is true. That he does deserve better. He’s so sweet and kind and loving and you’re just… you.

But he’s smothering you; forcing the words to the back of your mind. He’s practically straddling your lap, long locks of hair brushing against your face.

He kisses you properly again, stealing any chance you actually had of losing the fog in your mind. You can only squeeze his hands, allowing him to take charge.

Arnie squeezes back, and finally pulls away, clearly needing some air.

“You mustn’t think such a thing.” He huffs out, chest rising and falling with each word. “Please, do not do that to yourself. Not when we have come so far together.”

Oh. Right. It did sort of sound like something he would’ve said, once upon a time. And you’d done this sort of thing before; to distract him away from unnecessary thoughts.

Always learning, even now.

“Sorry, Arnie. I-I didn’t mean to sound–”

“No, no apologies either.” He lets go of one of your hands, cupping your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. “You do not need to apologise for feeling bad. Remember?”

Ah. So he learned that too. You made sure to drill it into him, and now he’s using your own lessons against you.

Well, more like for you.

“…Okay.” You say, voice quiet and unsure. “I’ll… try not to think like that.”

“Good!” He chirps, smiling as bright as a thousand watt bulb. “That’s more like it!”

He nuzzles into your neck, pressing more light kisses to the skin in that area. It makes you giggle, and you can’t help but feel lighter inside.

The teacher has become the student.

“You deserve so much better than me.”

Oh no. You didn’t mean to say that aloud. Not to his goddamn face. Not when you’re trying to be sweet.

Ray jolts in your grip, immediately pulling back from your hold and staring at you.

Those dark, piercing eyes always seem to look right through your skin. It’s like he can see directly into your soul.

It’s unnerving. How he can seem to know so much about you, yet you still haven’t fully figured him out.

Hell, up until recently, you didn’t know anything his past. And now that you do… well. You can’t help but think that maybe you’re not enough.

That maybe he deserves better than another broken person to care for.

Perched on his lap as you are, you feel even more vulnerable. It doesn’t help that he has yet to say a damn word.

He’s just… looking. Searching your face. Evaluating.

His hands are still placed on your waist. So respectful. So unwittingly distant. Perhaps he’d be able to become closer with someone who he—ironically—isn’t so close to.

As soon as you try to talk, one of those hands comes up to graze slim fingers against your jaw.

The intimate nature of the touch makes you shudder, and you rest your hands on his shoulders, face flushing.

“It’s me who should be saying that, you know.” He chuckles, voice barely above a whisper. “You… You deserve so much better than an old fool like me.”

“Ray–”

“But,” The older man interrupts, allowing his fingers to lightly stroke the back of your neck. “I am glad that you didn’t give up. That you still wanted to love me after… after everything.”

His other hand slides down your waist to your hip, gently squeezing.

“If you really believe that you are not enough; that I deserve something more…”

He inhales, then leans forward to bury his face against your neck.

“Then you are as much of a fool as I.” He murmurs, voice lower than you’ve ever heard before.

You’d attempt a reply, but you’re pretty sure your brain can barely formulate a proper sentence at this point. He’s never been so forward before.

“And I think that two fools as large as we rather deserve one another.” He laughs softly, breath hitting your skin and causing goosebumps to rise. “Don’t you?”

You can only hope he doesn’t actually expect an answer, because now you really have no chance of coming up with one.

“That’s what I thought.” He says, pressing a kiss on your pulse point. “We are perfectly suited, I believe.”

He’s very convincing. If you were capable of thinking right now, then maybe…

Maybe you’d actually agree.

“You deserve so much better than me.”

They look at you, and those doe-like eyes—that are usually so vacant—fill with confusion.

“I do not deserve anything. I have done nothing.”

So simple; so direct. As always. You’d laugh, if you didn’t feel like crying.

“I mean it. You deserve someone who… who can actually help you.”

That appears to rile them slightly, as their usually placid face twists and contorts. You don’t know what expression they’re attempting, but it doesn’t seem good.

“But you have. You did. You always do.”

You sigh. They clearly don’t understand what you really mean.

“Look, it’s– it’s difficult to explain.” You mumble, feeling stupid. “I don’t know how to put it.”

A hand comes to rest on one of your own, and the contact is startling. They so rarely touch you, even when you do so for them.

“I understand.” They say, so simple once again. “I rarely know how to put things either. Expressing oneself is hard.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“But I… I disagree.”

Now that startles you even more. They actually have an opinion on what you said? How… interesting.

“I do not think this is about deserving.” Their voice wavers, some kind of emotion actually coming through for once. “I want to be with you. To be by your side. Deserved or not.”

Their words render you speechless. They hardly ever say they want something. You’ve been working on that for a while now, and they’ve just shoved it right in your face.

“So let me be. Please.”

Huh.

Well. It seems like you’re helping them more than you thought.

#asks #characters #ursula #dodge #nina #arnold #ray #secret #a LONG bitch #but also.....#so so good #genuinely proud of this :')#even did one for secret :o #the only drabble ill do for them #lest i give too much away haha

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x-de-con-struct-ed-x--arch · 6 years

Text

@underconstructicons wanted to see my horse au stuff, so here it is! Not finished, but not a bad start, I don't think.

Will has never been much of a horse person.

He’s worked with them a little bit. Sometimes missions take him places that have limited means of transportation, horseback being one of the more common, and while he’s certainly no expert he knows enough to survive the ride. But other than that?

It’s Sarah who has the experience with horses. She had started taking lessons when she was six, and her parents had bought her a pony for her ninth birthday. According to Sarah he hadn’t been anything too special, just a fat little grade palomino that had to be convinced, bribed, and begged to do anything faster than a lazy trot. But to her he’d been a dream come true, her golden ticket to blue ribbons and silver trophies.

She had smiled at this part, when telling Will all this. “There was no way I could’ve gotten that damn thing over a ground pole, let alone an oxer,” she’d said fondly.

His name had been Lucky, and she’d loved that pony with all her heart.

When Sarah was twelve, her parents had gotten a divorce. Neither parent had the money to support Sarah’s hobby.

She had to quit lessons and sell Lucky.

“I was heartbroken,” Sarah had said quietly. “That little shit had been my best friend for three years. I was losing part of my life.” She paused. “I… don’t know what would’ve happened if I had been able to keep Lucky, though. I was getting too big for him. He was getting old - he hadn’t exactly been a youngster when I’d gotten him in the first place - so... maybe it’s best that we had sold him.” After another pause, she added, “Mom told me he was going to make some other little kid just as happy as he had made me, and that they’ll love him as much as I did.” Sarah snorted, wry smile returning. “I didn’t believe her then.

“I always told myself I’d get another horse someday,” she continued. “Something like a Thoroughbred or an Arabian or a Quarter horse, something that I could ride in shows and win with. I dreamed big. But now I think just a horse. A horse would be nice.

“...Will, what would you say if I said I wanted to get a horse?”

Will had had a lot of things to say to that. Sensible things. Things like how the hell can we afford to feed a horse or where would we even keep it. But somehow, somehow, Sarah had given him equally sensible answers that he really couldn’t argue with. While they didn’t have the room for a horse on the property, there were plenty of farms outside of town, including a riding stable that accepted boarders. The cost of its feed and care would be all wrapped into one fee that Will had to agree was rather manageable. There wasn’t very much holding them back.

“I think it’d be good for us, especially Annabelle. Growing up around horses was one of the best things to ever happen to me. Maybe it’ll be good for her, too.”

...that. Hadn’t been fair. At all.

Sarah had started looking for a horse immediately.

How she had found this one, Will has no idea.

“That’s not a horse,” Will declares, staring wide-eyed at the creature towering above the cows that are milling around the yard. “That’s a dinosaur.”

“He’s a Percheron,” the old man says, nodding toward the horse. “Purebred, as far as I can tell. Stands at just under nineteen hands at the withers.”

...None of that means anything to Will. But apparently it makes sense to Sarah, who mutters holy shit under her breath. “How old is he?” she asks, sounding more than a little awestruck.

“Not entirely sure, but his teeth are good. No more than fifteen, I’d think.”

Will frowns. What the hell do teeth have to do with anything?

“Is he broke?”

“Yes ma’am, both under saddle and in harness. He hasn’t been ridden since my grandkids moved away, but he should only need a refresher.” The old man jerks his head over his shoulder. “I don’t have his tack anymore, but I have a plow rig for him in the barn that I’ll be sending with him - I won’t have any use for it after he’s gone.”

Sarah hums, leaning up against the gate to look at the horse. “Might be a bit difficult to find a saddle for him.”

Will remains silent as Sarah and the old man continue to discuss the horse, still staring out at him with rather mixed feelings. Besides his size, there isn’t much that’s too impressive about him. He’s a dark gray color, but you can barely tell that with all of the mud and cow shit that he’s covered in. His mane and tail are matted with burrs and more cow shit. His droopy eyelids give him a sleepy look, although that could be because he’s actually asleep. Head low and a hind leg tipped in relaxation, he seems completely unbothered by the chaos that the cows create around him.

“Can we bring him out?” Sarah asks, breaking Will from his thoughts. The old man nods and gives a sharp whistle. In an instant the horse’s head pops up and holy shit, if Will thought he was huge before, the beast is absolutely ginormous when standing at attention. His ears swivel towards them for a moment, twitching when the old man whistles again, and takes a few slow steps towards them. He stops at the gate and stretches his neck out to sniff at Sarah’s hair. Sarah laughs, and the horse snorts before sidestepping away. Will jumps in surprise.

That thing’s head is as big as his goddamn torso.

“His eyes are gorgeous,” Sarah remarks, stepping back from the gate so the old man can unlatch it and grab the horse’s halter. The horse steps in place but doesn’t move until he’s pulled forward. Will backs out of the way, fearing for the safety of his feet. Dinner plate hooves.

“Yeah. Bit odd for his breed, but beautiful. He’s actually blind in his left - see the scarring?”

At that Will cautiously looks from the horse’s legs back to his head. He keeps moving it side to side, turning his good eye from person to person. It’s difficult to discern underneath all the muck, but Will thinks he might see it, jagged lines that extend from above his eye and down his cheek. The eye in question is clouded and useless. It makes Will frown. Hesitantly moving a bit closer, he notices that there are other scars, too. Slashes across his nose, multiple marks on his neck, including some over the ridge of his neck where the mane hadn’t grown back in. His legs are full of old wounds, as well.

“Where did all of these come from?” Will asks, pointing at the scars on the horse’s face. He quickly moves his hand away when he jerks his head in his direction. The old man looks at him with an arched eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

“Beats me,” he says, shrugging. “Most of them he had when he came here. The vet said he must’ve gotten caught up in barbed wire at some point, maybe gotten his ass kicked by other horses. But those--” he gestures towards the deeper scars on the horse’s neck “--are claw marks.”

“Claw marks?” Will’s frown deepens, and Sarah gasps. “What the hell attacked him?”

“Cougar. We had one picking off livestock a couple years back. I lost a bunch of calves to it, and the Henrys down the road lost their best ewes. One night I heard ‘Hide out here screaming and causing a ruckus so I came out to find him tearing down the pasture after something. I don’t think he caught it - if he had I guarantee we would’ve found a body - but we haven’t had a cougar in the area since.”

“...damn,” Will says after a few moments, not sure what else to say. Sarah nods in agreement and looks up at the horse with an awed smile and holding her hand out for him to sniff. He does so with wide eyes and pricked ears, and doesn’t move away when she reaches out to pet him.

“Brave boy then, huh?” she murmurs, tilting her head. “Good at protecting his family.” Her smile grows, and she glances at Will. “I think he’ll fit perfectly.”

“I don’t know about that,” Will grumbles, watching Sarah gently stroke down the horse’s neck. After a moment he sighs and hesitantly reaches out. The horse freezes, nostrils flaring with each inhale and exhale.

...aaand that’s all I’ve got. :’)

#mun mags (ooc)#:: 🔧 :: [ mun’s art ]#horse au

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omgdatphantho · 6 years

Text

A Bundle of Nerves

Chapter 12

Summary: Dan is a carrier and Phil is his best friend. Is their friendship strong enough to survive after the fateful night of a party?

Warning: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Alcohol, MPreg, Language

Word Count:

A/N: You’re going to see the same summery and warning list for every chapter. Not every chapter will contain everything on the warning list. However, I’m leaving it as a over arching warning.

Chapter 11

Masterpost

Wattpad

Ao3

Fanfic Masterlist

Dan stumbles through his bedroom door, tears blur his world. He collapses on his bed, being mindful of his stomach. He’s waited until getting home to cry. No one needs to see his face blotchy and red as tears trickle down his cheeks. There’s even snot inching its way out of his nose, which isn’t helping anything.

His meeting with Phil went as well as he expected. Phil asked him questions and yells, but Dan doesn’t blame him. Being informed of impending fatherhood would be a shock to anyone. He, for a moment, remembers the tears he shed when he found out. His whole future altered course in a single instant.

Dan doesn’t know where they stand now. Phil’s behavior didn’t show one way or another. Again, it’s understandable though. Sliding his hand down and resting it on his stomach. Under his spread fingers, Dan pictures their baby growing and he gives himself a small, sad smile.

“It’s going to be ok,” he assures his stomach. “If he doesn’t want to be apart of your life, it won’t matter. I’m always going to be here for you.”

Connor’s morning had been going as well as expected. Monday mornings are a construct devised by someone who would like to watch the world burn. At least, that’s what he tells everyone. His crummy morning is interrupted by a crazed, wide eyed Phil. It’s with shifting eyes and barely audible whispers, Connor learns that Phil’s trying to ask him to lunch. As soon as Connor agrees, Phil disappears and Connor’s left with a puzzled expression on his face.

Phil shuffles in his chair, glancing at the door every thirty seconds. To an outsider, he might look like a tweaker in desperate need of his next fix. He can’t be bothered by what others think right now. He was able to get out of work before Connor and made it to the sandwich shop first. He had ordered their lunches, which are sitting on the table in front of him. All that’s missing is Connor.

Connor saunters up to the table. His laid back demeanor causes a mixture of anger and jealousy to flare inside of Phil. “Why the long face?” Connor asks with a smirk as he slides into the chair opposite of Phil. Phil scowl deepens and Connor furrows his eyebrows.

“I-I don’t even know where to begin,” Phil confesses. He runs his hand through his already disheveled hair.

“Did something happen over the weekend?”

“Something like that. I received some news.” Connor raises one of his eyebrows. When Phil doesn’t immediately elaborate, Connor presses on.

“Is it good or bad?”

“I-I’m not sure. Under other circumstances, it would be wonderful. Right now, it’s muddying an already complicated situation.” Guesses go through Connor’s head.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” Phil takes a deep breath, slowly exhaling it.

“I’m going to be a father.” Connor’s eyes grow wide and his jaw slacks. His sandwich slips through his fingers and clatters back into the basket.

“A-a father?” Connor asks in disbelief. Phil nods. Connor lets out a long breath. “I’m sorry to be crass, but who did you manage to knock up then?” Phil turns his head away and bites his lower lip. His fingers twiddle in his lap and his shoulders twitch slightly.

“Dan.” The word comes out as a whispered mumble and Connor pinches his face tight.

“I’m sorry. I thought you said that you knocked up Dan.” Phil nods and Connor inhales sharply. “You’re shitting me.” Phil shakes his head. Connor sits back and takes a minute to wrap his head around this new information. “How did this happen?”

“We hooked up at your party. He’s almost three months gone.”

“I wondered what really went down at the party. You were being vague and secretive about it. Dan was feeding Lacey some bullshit story about leaving the party early. We never could get a clear answer out of either of you. We guessed that something went down between the two of you. I was betting that you had a spat, not that you slept together.” Phil stares at Connor in shock.

“Were we being that transparent?” he wonders aloud. Connor nods and Phil hums. There’s a brief silence between them before Connor pipes up once again.

“So how did this all go down?”

“The events that lead us to sleep together or the actual sex act?” Connor snorts.

“The first one you weirdo. I don’t need to know about the second one. Gross” Phil chuckles.

“Dan’s liked me since we met and I’ve always found him attractive. I met Andrew at almost the same time. I was focusing on cultivating that into a romantic relationship. Dan was supposed to be a friendship, but as it turns out, I’m rubbish at both. We ran into each other at the party and found ourselves in an upstairs bedroom.” Connor raises his eyebrow. “Not like that,” Phil says with a chuckle. “At least, not right away. We were arguing.”

“About what?” Connor interjects. Phil sighs. The fighting feels a million years ago already.

“About Andrew. Dan was insisting that he was no good for me and I wouldn’t believe him. By the time I realized Andrew was bad news, Dan and I hadn’t been talking for a while.” Connor hums, remembering the conversations Lacey and him would have. The concern they would both express for their friends, but unsure of what was causing the issue. Phil’s talking brings Connor out of his mind. “You still with me?” Connor shakes his head and chuckles.

“Of course. Sorry. A lot of things from that time began to make sense in my head and I lost myself for a moment.” Phil grimaces and Connor gestures for to continue.

“So when we ran into each other at the party, I convinced him to talk to me. This is how we ended up in the bedroom. Through the course of us talking, Dan confessed his feelings. One thing lead to another and now he’s up the duff.”

Connor sits back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest and letting out a low whistle. “That’s a rollercoaster if I ever saw one.” Phil nods. “So how do you feel about everything?”

“It’s a shock. I don’t think I have processed it yet.”

“You look calmer than you did this morning if that counts for anything.” Phil nods.

“A little.”

“You’re going to be there for them right?” Phil scowls.

“Of course I am. I’m going to support them and Dan in anyway I can. What kind of question is that?” Phil spits out.

“One that gives you the answer you’ve been looking for.” Phil furrows his brows.

“What question?”

“Whether you can do the whole Dad thing or not. You’ve been driving yourself crazy all weekend over it and you’ve now answered it.” Phil takes a moment and realizes that Connor’s right. He had been torturing himself all weekend and suddenly, he feels calm. He may not know what’s going to happen in the future and that he might not always be the best. But he would never intentionally abandon Dan or their child.

“You bastard,” Phil states with a small smirk. Connor throws his head back in laughter. “Maybe for that I won’t show you a picture of them.” Connor sits up straight.

“You have a picture? Come on. Let me see.” Phil rolls his eyes and digs out his wallet. He pulls out the crinkled picture and hands it to Connor. Connor stares at the small blob with such fondness that Phil can’t help smiling. “Looks like you,” Connor quips and Phil’s smile widens.

With every passing day, Phil feels his residual anger fade. He’s coming to terms with what being a father would entail and his acceptance of the situation. On the other side of the coin, Dan’s nerves are fraying with every passing minute. As strong as he believes himself to be, he’s not sure that he can tackle parenthood without Phil. It’s been roughly a week since they’ve last talked before Phil contacts Dan.

Dan’s roughly ten and a half weeks gone by the time he steps into the coffee shop. He’s sipping a decaf tea when Phil arrives. He looks as handsome to Dan as he did the day they met. Dan grimaces at the thought. He reminds himself that they’re here to talk about the child he’s incubating. He tempers down his lingering attraction.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Phil states as he slides into his seat. Dan nods and they both sip their respective drinks. The air between them takes on awkward tension. “I’m sorry,” Phil apologizes, breaking the silence. Dan lifts his head and locks Phil’s gaze.

“What for?”

“For my reaction. You were probably scared and nervous to tell me. All I did was yell and throw you out of my place. I’m sorry.” Phil reaches across the table and touches Dan’s hand. Dan jolts at the contact and pulls his hand towards his chest, tightening in on himself.

“It’s fine. I dumped it onto you. I never expected you to react very well.” Phil frowns and shakes his head.

“I could have handled the whole thing better. I’m sorry if I caused you any distress.”

“It’s fine,” Dan states with a shrug. Phil frowns.

“I’m also sorry that it took me so long to get back to you. Truthfully, I had begun to accept everything by Monday.”

“Then why wait so long?”

“I want to work out all my feelings and get my thoughts in order.” Dan hums.

“Have you worked out everything?”

“Yes,” Phil says with confidence. Dan takes a sip of his tea and frowns to himself. It’s gone somewhat cold and bitter. “Are you okay?” Phil asks softly. Dan tilts his head to the side.

“I’m alright,” he states. It comes out more like a question. Truth be told, he’s not sure how he feels. The morning sickness is slowly decreasing, but it’s being replaced by hunger. Dan wishes for a moment that he had bought himself a pastry. Smells are a constant battle for him. The aroma of the coffee is causing him to crave coffee in the worst way, but it’s also making him kind of nauseous. He wonders again why he didn’t buy a pastry.

Phil raises an eyebrow at Dan as he watches him drift off into his own mind. Dan appears a bit pale around the edge and it concerns Phil. “Are you sure?” he presses.

Dan takes a brief pause before nodding. The wave of nausea passes and he takes a sip of the cooling tea. He feels better already. “Yes I’m sure,” he reassures Phil.

“You can tell me if you’re not. I’m here for you,” Phil assures him. He reaches out again and lays his hand on top of Dan’s. This time, neither of them pull away. Dan turns his hand, cupping Phil’s fingers in his own. Phil squeezes their hands together in a reassuring manner.

“Are you?” Dan whispers. He’s staring at their linked hands.

“Yes,” Phil answers with a squeeze of their hands. Dan bites his lip and casts his eyes sideways. He wants to believe deep down that Phil’s actually here for him too, but things are so confusing now.

“Why?” Phil sighs. There’s so many reasons, but he’s unsure of where to begin.

“You’re having my baby. Of course I care for you.” Dan huffs. Anger clenches his chest and he tries his hardest to push it down.

“Only because of the baby?” Dan’s tone is a mix of genuine curiosity and snark. Phil twists his mouth into a sour expression. He pulls his hand back and sighs.

“Of course not. I cared about you long before there was a baby.” Dan bites his lower lip. Phil’s words ring true in his head, but there’s still the lingering doubt in the back of his mind. Dan sighs and shelves that line of thought for right now.

“Where do we go from here?” Phil tilts his head to the side, giving Dan’s words consideration.

“As I said, I care about you and the baby. I would like to be a part of both of your lives if I can. If you would like me to only be there for the baby, then so be it. It’s completely up to you.” Dan takes a deep breath. He needs a minute and wishes he could pause real life. Phil’s made him realize that he holds an insane amount of power in this situation. His decisions will affect the course of everyone’s future. He tempers down the freak out raising in him.

“I would like you to be as involved with the baby as you can. As for us, that’s going to take time. Why don’t we play that one by ear?” Phil nods in agreement. He does care about both Dan and their child. If Dan never wants to pursue a relationship, then Phil’s prepared to accept that.

They spend the rest of the meeting making small talk. They are aware that they have a long road and many discussions ahead of them. They need time to process what’s been said today. As they’re standing outside the coffee house, Dan turns suddenly towards Phil and grabs his arm. Phil’s slightly startled by the touch, but his face softens at the sight of Dan’s determined expression.

“I’m going to have a scan done in a few weeks,” he pauses, running dates and numbers in his head. “Well, about a week and a half now.” Dan flips his hand in a dismissive manner and Phil raises an eyebrow in a questioning manner. “Anyway, it’s my twelve week scan. The little one has grown more and it shouldn’t look so much like a blob.” He’s babbling on and they both know it. “I would like you to go if you can. It would be nice.” Dan forces the words past his loose tongue and bumbling lips. Phil smiles. It’s a genuine smile that stretches across his whole face and casts a light in Dan’s direction.

“I would like that. Text me the details yes?” Dan lets out a breath that he wasn’t aware he was holding and gives Phil a shy smile.

They part ways with matching smiles. Phil returns home and flops down on his couch, staring at his ceiling. A warm feeling spreads through his chest as he replays the the meeting. It could have gone better in some aspects,but Phil’s happy with the overall outcome. He’s glad that Dan’s okay with him being involved with the baby. To know and have his child taken away would have crushed him.

The farther Dan walks away from the coffee house, the more the smile slides off his face. He’s barely able hold the negative thoughts back until he’s home. Curled up in his bed, he replays the meeting. The talk was nice, but he feels as if it was lacking in some areas. Phil seems excited to be involved in their child’s life. It’s unsure if that excitement extend to interacting with Dan. Where they stand now is ambiguous. He’s still harboring his feelings for Phil. It would be devastated if this child makes it so they never have a chance to be together.

The longer Dan thinks over their talk, the more twisted the words become in his head. After a few hours, his brain has convinced him that they will never be together. Phil’s humoring him and that he only cares for their child. Also, that Phil’s trying to butter him up so that he can steal their baby from him.

“‘Ello?” Phil asks with a groggy voice. He had been having a pleasant dream about puppies and parks before the loud blare of his phone jarred him out of it.

“Phil!” Dan exclaims. He’s sounds a bit frantic. Phil pulls himself up and leans against his headboard. He’s slightly more awake now then he was a moment ago.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” Dan’s response is flat and Phil can feel panic beginning to rise inside him.

“Is it’s the baby? What’s wrong?”

“It’s all about the baby isn’t it?”

“Wh-” Phil starts, but Dan cuts him off.

“You’re such a fucking liar. I can’t even believe you!” Phil furrows his brows.

“What are you talking about?”

“You say that you care about me, but you dropped me the second that Andrew didn’t like me. How can I trust you?” Phil sighs and runs his hand through his hair.

“What are you on about Dan?” There’s a slight edge to his voice, but Phil figures that it’s understandable. He’s being yelled at and he’s not awake enough yet to keep himself in check. He takes a deep breath, trying to gain control.

“You left me once before. What’s to stop you from leaving me again?” Dan’s voice cracks and tears begin to pool in his eyes.

“I thought we talked about that. I already apologized for that, but I can do that if you would like. I’m sorry.” Dan snorts.

“That’s the shittiest apology I’ve ever received in my life. Fuck you.” Phil pulls the phone away from his ear and sees that it’s two in the morning.

“Did you call me to swear at me?” The words tumble out of Phil’s mouth and he instantly regrets them. Getting an attitude with Dan will not help anything. Dan inhales sharply.

“Fuck you!” Phil takes a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” Phil attempts to make his voice as soothing as possible. Dan inhales twice in a row. He’s going to cry if he opens his mouth and he knows it.

“I want to keep my baby,” Dan cries out. He sobs as tears trickle down his cheeks. Phil sits up straight and his heart clenches. Dan’s cries cascade from the phone.

“Dan? Dan? Who said you can’t keep the baby?” Phil’s fingers curl tighter around his phone as if he’s trying to reach through it and touch Dan. Dan sobs harder. “Dan? Dan?” Phil raises his voice, trying to get Dan’s attention. He’s becoming more concerned by the moment. “Dan? Baby? Sweetheart? Talk to me please?” Phil pleads. Dan cries harder as Phil’s terms of endearments reach him.

“Please Phil. Don’t take my baby away from me,” Dan begs. He coughs and sniffles a few times.

“Why would I take the baby away from you?” Phil’s confused about where any of this is coming from or why Dan thinks he would do something like that.

“‘Cuz you only care about it. You’ll take it away from me when it’s born and claim I’m too young to take care of it. I know you will.” Phil’s heart breaks. Never in a million years would have he thought to do something like that. Sure, Dan’s young, but Phil has the utmost confidence in his ability to be a dad.

“Where are you? Are you home?”

“Where else would I be? Of course I’m at home. Do you think I’m out whoring around while carrying your baby?” Do you think that I’m that kind of person? I was a virgin before I slept with you!” Phil inhales sharply at the onslaught of information. He files away this for further discussion.

“I don’t think you’re like that at all. I’m making sure that you’re safe. Ok Baby? I want you to be safe. How can I help you? I want to help you. Can you tell me how to do that?” Silence greets him. If not for Dan’s sobs, Phil would have sworn Dan hung up on him. Dan sniffs a few times before speaking.

“Can you come over?” he whispers. Phil nods his head and scrambles out of bed, remembering a few seconds too late that Dan can’t see his reply. “I guess not.” Dan’s voice sounds dejected.

“I’m coming. Of course I’m coming Sweetheart. Text me your address and I’ll be right over.”

“Ok.” Dan hangs up the phone with a hiccup. Phil sighs as his phone beeps with Dan’s message. With an Uber ordered, he pulls on the first thing he can find and heads out the door.

The car pulls up to the curb and Phil takes a look at the small row house. Under a porch light stands a slightly hunched and shivering figure. Phil takes care of the Uber and hustles along the walk. Dan’s tear stained face is illuminated in the light.

“Phil,” Dan whispers with a hint of disbelief. Even though he’s stood outside his house, he never believed that Phil would actually show.

“Dan.” Phil breaths out a sigh of relief. Dan’s home like he said and doesn’t appear to injured. He opens his arms wide and Dan steps into them. He sags against Phil’s chest and wraps his arms around his middle. Phil’s arm encircle Dan, pulling him close. Contentment washes over Phil and he hums into Dan’s hair.

Chapter 13

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