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harryslittlefreakk · 9 months

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the pact

summary: you and harry made a childhood pact to marry if you were both still single when he reached 30. now that his big birthday is approaching, you find out whether your friendship (and your pact) have stood the test of time

warnings: mostly fluff, some smut :)

wordcount: 6k

a/n: i actually really like this one. it’s not proofread yet as i was so eager to get it up lol. hope you enjoy!

my masterlist can be found here! happy reading 🫶🏼

From the second you’d received the invitation, you were buzzing with a giddy nervousness. It had been years since you’d seen Harry, though Anne and Gemma were always so quick to share what he was up to. You’d followed his career silently for 13 years, still bumping into him every few years when Anne hosted Boxing Day, or he happened to be in town for your family’s annual summer barbecues. In your mind, he was still the cheeky, dimpled little lad you’d hide under the dining room table with, imagining you were explorers of far away lands.

But Harry wasn’t the young boy you’d chased after in your childhood anymore, the teenager you looked out for when you stuck your head over the garden fence to call your sister home. He wasn’t the handsome young man you’d spent countless hours swooning over with your friends in the bakery after school. Harry was a global sensation, the world’s sweetheart. You weren’t sure he’d even recognise you, a forgotten reminder of much simpler days.

Growing up next door to Harry hadn’t come without its challenges. You’d lost your childhood best friend seemingly overnight once One Direction formed, his life suddenly busy with meetings, tours and interviews. Anne still welcomed you with open arms, but her house felt a little too cold for you with his presence haunting the walls, memories etched into every surface of the house. You’d still hang out in his bedroom sometimes, his band posters and drawings left collecting dust in a lifeless room. When girls from school learned of your connection to him, they’d befriend you and treat you like the hottest new thing until you refused to give over any information. He was your Harry, your long-gone games and silly memories something you held close to your heart. It soon seemed easier to let him go altogether, move on to a new chapter, stop waiting for your best friend to appear again.

Still, you were glad to be able to support Gemma on one of her biggest days. She’d become such a regular feature in your household, she felt like family herself. Your parents had been more overjoyed at the news of her impending nuptials than any of yours or your sister’s recent achievements. They loved Gemma like their own, their ‘extra daughter’, as your dad called her. You knew this was as big a moment for them as it was for Anne, having watched Gemma grow from the tiny dark-haired girl your sister had raved about on her first day of school, to a woman about to become a wife.

Standing outside of the venue now, a beautiful old church overlooking the peaceful tides below, yours and Harry’s childhood pact suddenly hit you. You were laying on a blanket in your garden, tops of your heads pressed together as you made out shapes in the clouds above. “I will never get married,” you told Harry. Your parents had had their wedding album out that day, sharing stories with Anne and Robin. You squirmed and grimaced every time they spoke about it, never understanding how any girl would willingly share their life with a boy. “Yuck,” he squeaked from next to you. “Me either. I don’t ever want to live with a stinky girl!” You giggled together, the cool evening breeze washing over you. “Maybe, maybe I might one day though. When I’m really old and lonely.”

“Old like my parents?” you asked him. “Even olderer than that. Like 30.” You gasped, quickly trying to count on your fingers. “That’s really really old. Maybe we can be married when we’re 30.” Harry ran inside when you said this, leaving you chasing after him once again. He grabbed a napkin from the kitchen counter and scribbled on it in felt tip,

‘I ____ will marry Harry when we’re really super old’

“You have to put your name on that line or it’s not real,” Harry told you, handing the blue felt tip to you. You both signed your initials underneath, and proudly went to show your parents. They’d fallen about in laughter when you told them, promising to hold you to your pact. You hadn’t seen the napkin since that day, and you were sure it was long forgotten by everybody, especially Harry. You felt a small twinge in your chest at this, suddenly wishing you were anywhere but here.

“Hey Boo, you okay? Anne wants to get some pictures of us all together before the ceremony,” your dad told you, leading you through the crowd of guests. Boo was the only nickname that had ever stuck for you, starting when you and Harry decided to go as Boo and Sully from Monsters Inc. one Halloween. You’d originally wanted to be Mike, but with your big brown eyes shielded by little bangs and your signature pigtails, everyone persuaded you to be Boo. You’d outgrown almost everything else from childhood, but Boo was stuck with you for life.

“Oh Y/N, you look lovely darling,” Anne cooed as you came into her sight. She pulled you in for a hug, kissing your cheek as she pulled away. You had to admit, you did scrub up well. It was a long time since you’d really made the effort to look properly nice, still caught in the comfort of your pandemic wardrobe of leggings and sweatshirts. The olive-green maxi dress you’d settled on hugged your body in all the right places, a thick band of material draping over your chest and the tops of your arms, showcasing your toned shoulders. You’d always weirdly liked your shoulders and neck, an odd area to be proud of but it was by far your favourite part of your body. Your hair was scraped back in a sleek bun, tiny wisps framing your fresh face. “Gem and Sophia are still inside, they’ll be out in a minute. Gem’s so excited to see you, it’s been so long since we’ve all been together,” Anne gushed, running a hand up the outside of your arm.

She had such a delicate, warm presence, it was no wonder she’d raised two children as incredible as Harry and Gemma. Anne had been an extension of your own mum as you grew up, small traces of her as much as part of you as they were her own kids. She’d talked you through boys and heartbreaks, been there to wave you off to your school prom, one of the proudest faces in the crowd when you graduated university. She’d been stationed on the garden patio alongside your mum at every birthday party, the two women nattering away as they guarded the wine.

Gemma stepped out of the door, pulling you out of your daydream down memory lane. Your jaw went slack when you saw her, she was positively radiant. Her dress was a dainty satin, huge bishop sleeves adorning her arms and a beautiful full skirt, flowing around her petite frame in the gentle seaside breeze. Your mum rushed over to her first, smoothing a loving hand down the front of her skirt. “You look beautiful Gem,” she told her, tears glistening on her bottom eyelashes. Hugs and pleasantries were exchanged throughout the group, shoulders bumping gaily as you moved around. One thing was still missing though - Harry. You knew he’d never miss his sisters wedding, though he was absolutely nowhere to be seen. Just as you were about to ask, you saw him. With a deep brown suit jacket draped across his body, matching slacks hanging loose on his muscular thighs. A white vest hung low on his chest, his inked swallows sitting pretty on tanned skin.

You knew how good he looked these days, of course. Your tiktok had been full of videos of him performing, Anne’s house littered with framed photos. But seeing him in real life lit a fire in your belly. He’d always been pretty, green eyes and curls enough to charm any woman, but now he was hot. A great, big hunk of sexy man. He approached your parents first, laughing as your dad chose to forgo Harry’s outstretched hand, pulling him into a hug instead. “Here’s our not-so-little superstar,” he smiled, ruffling Harry’s messy curls. Harry pressed a kiss into your mums cheek, exchanging a quick but heartfelt hello. His eyes caught on yours as he glanced across the courtyard, your brown eyes still crinkled as you smiled, in exactly the same way they had when you were younger. “Little Boo!” he chuckled, striding towards you. His strong arms wrapped you into a firm cuddle, his musky scent spilling into your pores. “You look incredible,” he whispered into your ear, voice raspy and low. It wasn’t long before Anne was ushering you all into place to take some pictures, cutting yours and Harry’s catch up short. “Come and find me later,” he told you as you beamed for the camera.

—

With the ceremony long-finished, the party had spilled out of the church hall and onto the grounds outside. You’d danced, mingled and laughed for as long as you could before needing a minute of quiet. Brushing your hand across your mum’s back, you told her you were going for a little walk and would be back soon. You slipped out of the open doors, yanking your heels off in search of some quick relief. You spotted a little wooden bench overlooking the sea, a little way away from the other guests. A great oak tree shielded it from the warm evening sun, providing you just the right amount of peace.

“Thought you were gonna find me,” a voice suddenly came from behind you. You turned around to see Harry approaching your private spot, a sparkling glass in each hand. “Hey,” you smiled. “Just needed a little bit of quiet. Come sit,” you patted the bench beside you. Harry handed you one of the glasses as he sat down, murmuring, “saw you heading over here. Thought I’d bring you a little tipple.” You cheersed, the clinking of glasses cutting through a heavy silence. “How have you been?” he asked you, shifting his body slightly to face you.

“Been good, H. Thank you for asking. Work’s going well, was a bit slow with the pandemic and all but life’s been kind to me recently. I don’t really need to ask you, do I?” you laughed, suddenly shy in his presence. “No, I guess not,” he answered, smiling kindly at you. You settled back into an uncomfortable silence, not really sure how to talk to one another anymore.

“Mum told me you moved to London,” Harry said, seemingly desperate to pierce the awkwardness hanging over you both. “Yeah, I did,” you told him, explaining how Holmes Chapel had started to feel just a little too small, a little too cut off from the rest of the world. “I can understand that,” he told you, chuckling. You ran through the usual questions, telling him about your work as an illustrator, your little flat off of Finchley high road, the couple of girls from school you’d kept in touch with. “I can’t believe you live so close to me,” he gasped. “Mum could never remember what area you lived in, if I’d known you were only down the road we could have reconnected long before now,” Harry told you. You let out an involuntary scoff at this, telling him, “you know where to find me, H. You know your mum has my number, you know where I’ll be every Christmas and birthday. If you really wanted to reconnect it would have happened long before now.” Your words tumbled out, years of one-sided hurt and rejection suddenly pushing to the surface. Harry took a big sip of his drink, placing his hand over yours. “I’ve been shit, I know. Got caught up in everything and barely looked back. Wanted to reach out a long time before now but I couldn’t bring myself,” he told you. “Felt so bad for how I just disappeared and didn’t want to face it.”

You looked at him with sad eyes, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. “I get it, H. I’m really happy for you, I am. You had all your dreams come true, it’s amazing,” you set your glass down beside you and held your other hand over his. “Just feel sad that I lost my best friend overnight.” Your eyes welled up as you spoke, a combination of the free-flowing prosecco, the beautiful ceremony, and facing your hurt with the man who caused it. “Never had a friend who got me like you did,” you chuckled bitterly. Harry pulled his hands from yours and snaked an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side. “I’m sorry, little Boo, I swear.”

The pair of you stayed that way for a while, soaking in each other’s words and the idyllic setting. Just being close to each other for the first time in almost a decade, having said what you both needed to, was bliss. “I thought about you a lot, y’know,” Harry told you suddenly, the words bursting out as if he’d been biting them back for a while. “Yeah?” you asked him, sitting up straighter to look at him again. He nodded, cheeks twinged slightly pink. You weren’t sure if it was the booze or his confession. “All my big moments, always wished you were there.”

“You know I would’ve been if I knew you wanted me to, Harry.”

“I know,” he mumbled, watching his own trainer-clad feet kicking little rocks around. “My mum and dad went to a few of your shows with Anne, watched the Brits and the Grammys every year you were nominated.” You swallowed thickly, before continuing, “I’m really proud of you, we all are.”

Harry turned his head slightly to the sound of music blaring from inside, before asking you, “dance with me?” He extended a hand to help you up, placing his glass down before wrapping an arm around your waist. You stepped together slowly, bodies moving in unison with your head rested softly against his chest. The skies had gotten gradually darker as you’d spoken, closing in around you until only a faint glow seeped out from the open church doors. Harry pushed you out, spinning you around before tugging you back into him. You smacked against his chest with a little ‘umph’, the wind knocked out of you. Your eyes met his, a little dazed, and all you could do was stare.

It felt like a betrayal of your childhood self to find him so attractive now. He was your best friend, your first friend, the only one to ever understand you fully. He’d guided you through your awkward pre-teen stage, the extra years he had on you put to good use when he showed you cool bands and songs to make boys like you. But now, you wanted him to be the boy that liked you. You were so flustered under his gaze, heat tearing through your body. “Let’s head back in,” you told Harry, words shaky. He kept an arm tight around your shoulder, shaking you about as you approached the church. ‘I’ve got my little Boo back’ he laughed in a sing-song tune. You could feel the happiness radiating off his body, knowing without even looking that his toothy grin would be firmly nestled between two deep dimples.

Your parents were sat around a table with Anne, Michal and Gemma still doing the rounds. You could tell they were drunk from a mile away - your dads cheeks stained red with merriment and Anne’s hands gesturing wildly as your mum roared with laughter. You’d missed this. You still went home as often as you could, never missing an opportunity to enjoy time with your loved ones, but before seeing Harry today it always felt different. Gemma, your sister, and Harry had all moved on, never fully present. But being the youngest, you were the one left behind. Harry pulled around two chairs for you both, plopping down between you and his mum. She draped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. “My special boy, where have you been?” she slurred.

“Been catching up,” Harry told her, a blush creeping up his cheeks as she looked between the two of you before winking at him. She was far from subtle before getting wine drunk, so now her entire head moved with her wink. She highlighted it with a loud “wink, wink” in Harry’s direction. “Anne!” you spluttered, choking out a laugh. Your dad reached over to snatch the two empty glasses from in front of you and Harry, promising to fill them to the brim so you could ‘get on their bloody level’.

The evening continued like that, the 5 of you drinking and laughing, reminiscing on your younger days. Your parents and Anne managing to bring up enough embarrassing stories about you both to put you off ever speaking to them again. “I think it’s time we all go to bed,” Harry started, holding his hands up. “Because we’re all fucking PISSED!”, he continued, yelling at the table. You banged on the table in hysterics, eyes screwed up tight as you and Anne fell into each other in laughter. Most of the venue had cleared out by now, guests dropping by your table to congratulate Anne on their way out. You’d barely seen Gemma all night, so content in her little love bubble that she’d spent the majority of the evening alone with Michal, feeding each other cake and slow-dancing.

“Come on, you big lump,” you tugged at your dad’s wrists who in turn pulled at your mum to stand up. Your dad swung his arms around you both, Harry and Anne joining onto the end, and you stumbled towards the exit in a fit of laughter. Harry tried to start a can-can line, kicking one big foot up into the air, but the 5 of you put together had far less coordination than even one sober person, so the idea was quickly abandoned.

The church had a converted barn outside, with rooms purpose-built for immediate family and friends to stay in. You hugged and kissed your goodnights to your parents and Anne, making sure they all got into bed without mischief. Now it was only you and Harry left, buzzed but significantly less drunk than your elders. “Care for one last round?” Harry asked you, slipping a little hip flask out from his blazer pocket. You knew this was a bad idea, a drunken evening alone with the man you’d been lusting after all day. But you certainly wouldn’t make the first move, and you were almost sure he didn’t think of you as anything other than the little girl who used to run around with him.

You followed him into his room, laughing to drown out the alarm bells ringing in your head. Once you saw the empty bed in front of you, you couldn’t help but just flop down on it, suddenly needing to be as comfortable as you could. The room was aged and rustic, but the bed was far more comfortable than it looked. Harry sat against the pillows beside you, long legs stretched out before him as he took a swig from the flask.

For the first time that day, the silence around you was peaceful. Just two old friends enjoying each others presence. Harry watched you as you took the flask from him, grimacing as the liquor went down with a burn. His green eyes were studying every little line on your face, every freckle dotted across your bare shoulders. There was so much new about you, so many little details and marks you’d gained as you grew older, all the little telltale signs of the years he’d missed. What he’d said to you earlier was true, he’d missed you with his whole heart from the second he’d left you behind, spent so many lonely nights wishing he had you by his side. He thought he’d outgrown you, his new-found fame taking precedence over the little girl he’d shared his dreams and aspirations with. But sitting here now with you, he knew you’d grown with him, no matter how far removed your life had become from his. “‘M nearly 30, you know,” he drawled, voice hoarse from the singing and the sting of alcohol in his throat.

“Huh?” you turned to him confused. “I’m 30 next year,” he told you. “Yeah I know, H. What does that have to do with anything?” you laughed, poking at the side of his head. “Means we have to get married next year,” he grinned. You gasped, remembering the pact you’d thought about earlier in the day, “you didn’t forget!” you laughed, sitting up against the soft pillows.

“Can’t do it next year though, two weddings in a year would send our parents insane,” you told him. “‘M finished with my tour now. Got nothing on next year,” Harry shrugged, a familiar cheeky smirk sitting pretty between his dimpled cheeks. You felt something shift in the air as he spoke, and he seemed to feel it too, edging closer to you until his face was only centimetres away from yours. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he cooed, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. His touch shot electricity through your core, a tingling sensation starting where his fingers touched you before washing over your whole body. You shook your head lightly, eyes fixed on him. He leaned in at this, his parted lips meeting yours. The beginnings of a moustache tickled your upper lip, his hot breath flowing into your mouth with every lick of his tongue. You shifted your body towards him as the kiss deepened, four legs and the now-crumpled duvet tangling together as you rushed to close the distance between your bodies. Harry licked into your mouth with the passion of a million years of unspoken longing, his movements saying more than he ever could with words. It was the kind of kiss you’d expect from someone who’d loved you for a lifetime, who wanted to love you for a lifetime, your tongues working alongside each other like this was routine, like you’d done it a thousand times before.

“Harry,” you whispered, hands pushing his blazer from his shoulders. He let you pull it off him, then stroked a hand up your thigh as you admired his upper body. One arm was littered in patchwork tattoos, though all you could focus on was his muscles, illuminated beautifully in the evening light. “Let me get you out of this,” he rasped, twisting your shoulders around to access the zip running down the back of your dress. He smoothed his fingers down your waist and to your hips before unzipping you, your body dwarfed by his strong hands. Harry pressed a kiss into the top of your back, then kissed up and down your spine, hungry for a taste of you as he unveiled more of your skin. You stood up to help him pull your dress down, resting one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you stepped out of it, leaving it discarded on the floor. “Matches my eyes,” he smiled. His gaze trailed from your toes, up to your knees, to where your panties wrapped around your hips, and higher still. Up your tanned abdomen to your bare breasts where your rosebud nipples sat perky, to your neck, and finally his gaze rested on your eyes. “Y’so beautiful,” he groaned, running a soft touch along the curve of your neck.

Harry pulled his tank top over his head, stepping out of his slacks as they collapsed at his feet. His body was unbelievable. So tanned and toned, firm in all the right places yet soft in the best ones. You could see the outline of his hard shaft through the thin fabric of his boxers, an almost silent moan slipping out as you took in the sight before you.

He stepped closer to you, backing you up until the side of the bed hit the back of your knees, then held a hand to your back to guide you down onto it. His hot, drunken breath washed over you as he climbed on top of you, one hand balancing his body as the other explored you. His fingers groped your breast firmly, mouth finding the opposite nipple, sucking it into his lips in one quick movement. Your back arched off the bed, pleasure so built up that it only took one touch to send you into a frenzy. Harry licked a circle around your areola, chuckling against your skin as you writhed under his touch. “Barely even started yet, little Boo,” he drawled, moving upwards to kiss along your clenched jaw.

His fingers danced down your body, smoothing over your mound as you gasped and groaned. They slipped under the soft material of your panties, blissfully cold against the heat of your entrance. You were already soaked through, much to his surprise, so he swiped a finger through your folds to collect your juices before landing straight on your clit. Harry rubbed you in circles, the friction leaving you a panting mess under him, head jutting out to press open-mouthed kisses on his throat.

He pulled your panties down your thighs tenderly, kissing every inch of skin they passed over. In the dim light of the room, mouth moving up and down your body, he’d never looked so handsome. His cock brushed against you as he moved back up your body to focus again on your folds, your juices spread across your mound in a mess. Two long fingers dived straight in, his rings leaving a harsh chill against your sensitive skin. The stretch of his fingers alone had you panting, a familiar burning starting in your core. Harry found your sweet spot insanely fast, fingers moving in a perfect beckoning motion just as you liked. He navigated your body like you’d done this before, like the muscle memory just guided him to what he knew made you feel good. “I want more, want you inside of me,” you whined, hips bucking towards Harry’s groin as he silenced you with a deep kiss. “Got to get you ready for me first, Boo”, he told you. You winced as he used your nickname, knowing you’d never be able to hear your dad call you that without thinking of this night.

Harry’s mouth found your breast again, sucking deep purple bruises onto the gentle skin as you whimpered beneath him. He smacked at your pussy as your moans got louder, causing your eyes to shoot up to meet his. “Gotta keep the noise down, sweet girl.” You nodded in response, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip to keep yourself as quiet as you could be. The second his tongue found your nipple, you felt your orgasm bubbling up in your core. Harry noticed the way your head lulled back, slipping a third finger inside of you and using his thumb to brush against your clit. It was like the holy trinity of foreplay, his skilled tongue and fingers hitting your three most pleasurable zones at once. Your climax hit quickly, walls tightening around his digits as you clamped your forearm across your mouth, desperately trying not to scream his name. He peppered kisses down your throat as his fingers rode you through your high, only pulling them away when you went limp under him. Harry held his fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick off every trace of your creamy come.

He backed off you to kick his boxers down his legs, stroking his erection as it oozed precum. He found his wallet, pulling out a condom and rolling it down the length of his cock. “How do you want me, sweet girl?” he asked you, cock twitching in his hand. “Wanna go on top,” you told him, suddenly eager to impress. If his cock was anywhere near as good to you as his hands and mouth had been, you couldn’t only have him once. You needed to show him how good your pretty pussy could take him, make him want to come back for more.

Harry rolled onto the centre of the bed, hands guiding your hips down over his groin. His hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you towards him for a sloppy kiss. His mouth tasted of you, the familiar tingle of juices on his tongue. You stroked his member up and down quickly, before lining it up with your entrance and pushing yourself down onto his tip. “Fuck, H. You’re so big,” you whined, thighs burning as you hovered above him. He used his hands to move you up, then down, down, down, helping you to take him fully. The burn was like nothing you’d experienced before, his girthy cock crammed into every corner of your pussy. You stilled for a moment, hands resting against his butterfly tattoo, chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to push past the ache. He held a thumb under your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “You ok, pet?” he asked, needing to be sure before you continued. You nodded, moving one arm to pull his finger into your mouth. You licked circles around his fingertip, sucking it in down to his knuckle before releasing with it a pop.

Harry’s hands guided your hips to grind against him, helping you until you found your rhythm. He pulled them away, one landing with a loud smack on your ass cheek as the other crept up the front of your body, resting at your throat. He squeezed lightly, the sensation only spurring you on to bounce up and down on him, the combination of your juices squelching as your cheeks slapped against his groin. It was the kind of hot, dirty sex you’d only ever dreamed of, and it had you falling apart on top of him. You cried out a strangled moan, expletives falling out of both of your mouths. “Feel so good around me,” Harry groaned, “so fucking wet. S’that all for me?”

“All for you, H. M’all yours,” you whimpered. His hips bucked against you as you told him you were his, fingers pulling away from your supple ass. He spat on them before dancing them back across your asscheek and smoothing the spit around your second hole, eyes fixed on your pussy bouncing on his cock. “Can I?” he asked you. “Please, H.”

He pushed a finger into your tightness, filling you up so well. You felt so full you could burst. His eyes were clouded over with lust, tiny hairs slick to his forehead with sweat. He looked feral, and you loved it. He repositioned his feet to where they were flat against the bed, hips knocking into you as you moved up and down his cock, his thrusts sending him deeper and deeper inside of you. You were both panting now, barely able to contain your highs for a second longer. “Come with me, come with me please,” you begged him, your second orgasm of the night starting to rise through your core. His thrusts got faster and sloppier, obscene sounds echoing around the room, a clear sign of what you were doing to anyone who could hear you right now. Your orgasm crept up on you quickly, thanks to Harry tightening his grip around your neck and pushing his finger further into your tight hole. Your head was thrown back as you came, back arched making his cock feel as though it could burst through your belly button. Harry moaned loudly, hips jutting one last time as he flooded the condom with his come. You collapsed in a sweaty heap, totally unable to hold yourself up any longer.

“Took me so well, angel girl,” Harry drawled as he pulled out of you, padding across the room to toss the condom and rinse his hands. You lay there in total bliss, comfortable in the knowledge that your friendship was long gone.

—

“Let me go first and you can come after,” you told Harry, holding a finger up to shush him when he started to laugh. “We’re grown adults, Y/N, it doesn’t matter if anyone sees us come out together.”

“I don’t write songs about sex and drugs. My body is still untouched in my parents eyes,” you told him, hand slipping from the doorknob as he pulled you in for another kiss. “Just don’t come until you hear me leaving.”

You crept out of the room as silently as you could, heels and dress bundled under one arm. You’d heard Anne, your parents and Gemma head out to the courtyard already, so there was no danger of being caught by prying eyes - or so you thought. As you were padding across the hallway to your room, Anne appeared round the corner. “I was just coming to see if you were awake,” she told you, eyes sparkling with glee. “No wonder your mum said your bed was untouched.” She knocked on Harry’s door with a tight-lipped smile lighting up her face. He opened the door wide-eyed as Anne pulled him into a firm hug, pressing a sticky lipgloss kiss to his cheek. “I always hoped you two would get together.” She disappeared back down the hall as quickly as she appeared, leaving you and Harry blushing.

You decided to make your way outside together, knowing it wouldn’t be long before your parents put two and two together anyway. Plus, you knew Anne wouldn’t be able to resist telling your mum and Gemma what she saw.

—

You decided to spend the day on the beach, you and Harry with your parents and Anne, since Gemma and Michal had already left for their honeymoon. It was a perfect summers day, the sun warm enough to enjoy but not hot enough to irritate you, the gentle sea breeze cooling you down as it washed over you. Your mum and Anne were sprawled across a linen blanket, two bottles of wine stood in the sand next to their feet. They called you over, instant dread washing over you as Anne excitedly shouted your name. “Do you have anything to tell us?” she asked you, and you were sure there would be mischief glinting in her eyes under her big sunglasses. They sat up and scooted over on their blanket, leaving space for you to slot in between. “Nothing that I’m sure you don’t already know,” you smirked, a deep blush creeping up your cheeks. Your mum looked between Anne and you, gasping as she swatted at your leg. “So it’s true! You dirty little minx.”

You held your head in your hands, mortified that your parents knew you’d slept with Harry. “Oh relax,” your mum told you. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” she smirked, throwing herself towards Anne as they howled in laughter. Anne stopped suddenly, her hand tapping at your mum’s thigh incessantly. “If they get married, we’ll be real family!” she gasped, face pink with joy. “Well, the pact is what got us there in the first place,” Harry told them, sitting down next to you and snaking a hand around your waist.

“I forgot all about that,” your mum’s jaw went slack. “Do you still have it?” she asked Anne. “Of course I do. Kept it safe to show them when they found their way back to each other, always knew this day would come.”

part two

taglist: @sleutherclaw @harrysolaf @slutforcoffein

#harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry edward styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #Harry styles #harry styles fic #harryslittlefreakk #harry styles masterlist

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jamespotterismydaddy · 8 months

Text

Five Long Years (Chapter 1)

aemond x niece!reader

A/N: i've been wanting to do age gap aemond with his niece for a while so when someone requested it, i was going to do a smut oneshot but it turned into this so weee new miniseries

WARNINGS: angsty, there will be incest and future smut

WORD COUNT: 1,059 words

next chapter series masterlist

Five years since you saw him last. Two years since the death of his wife, Cassandra Baratheron and he is now finally coming home. He has travelled much, or at least that is what he says in his letters. Aemond Targaryen is a man of few words in everything but his letters to you, his dear niece who has spent the majority of her life doing no less than adoring him. Seeing him has been the thing you have spent the last month looking forward to and the day has finally come as you make your way to the courtyard.

“Ñuha rūs mandianna, look at how you’ve grown.” (my baby niece)

You hear the voice from behind you, whipping around to meet his eye. Oh, and grown you have, into your name and into your body.

You hold in your squeal of delight as you walk up to him. “I have missed you, Kepus. I didn’t think you had already arrived.” You breathe out as he takes both your hands in his and brings them up to his mouth for a kiss. You feel your cheeks flush.

“I missed you more.” He murmurs, brushing a strand of your hair out of your face. He must have noticed your blush by now.

“Tell me everything. I want to hear all about Pentos and Naarth and Lys.” You take his arm, leading him forward for a walk so you don’t have to look him in the eyes.

He smiles at how flustered you are. “You would have loved it, darling. There was so much to learn, so much history in every city.”

You listen to him with such interest as he goes on about each city, their people, their clothes. He’s pleased about how you want to hear it all. You’ve walked through the gardens twice by the time he had gotten through the bulk of it but even so, you can feel that he hasn’t told you everything.

“Tell me more, Kepus.” You beg him, never wanting to leave his side again.

“Not all things are for your ears, sweetling.”

You pout. “What do you mean?”

“You are still just a little girl in many ways.” He holds your hand, his thumb drawing small circles on your knuckles.

“I will be married soon. I won’t be a little girl after that.” A hint of emotion flashes through his eyes as you speak the words.

“I’m not so sure you’re ready for that.” He murmurs, looking at your soft hands before you yank them from his grasp.

“How should you know what i’m ready for?” He’s surprised by your sharp response. He never would have expected you to use such a tone with him.

“Because I know you.”

“You knew me. We have not seen one another for years.” There’s hurt in your voice, in your eyes.

“I had a wife to attend to… a child.”

Both who are now dead.

“A woman grown would be able to understand that.” He says, patronizing you.

“I do understand that.” There’s such jealousy in your voice. You just want to be seen by him, in a way that is different from a little girl who is only now slightly less little.

“You have flowered, yes and you have gotten so beautiful but your petulance has yet to escape you.” He speaks so tenderly as he lifts your chin to force you to look in his eye, but you find his words cruel.

“I’m not petulant.” You protest, pulling your face from his hand. You hate his gentle touches when he’s being mean.

“A well-mannered girl wouldn’t speak to her uncle the way you do.”

“I am well-mannered, just not a pushover.” You say back to him.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have looked at a man on his wedding day the way you looked at me.” It stings when he says it. You didn’t even realize he noticed the way you gazed at him when he said his vows, all your longing wrapped up in a single look.

“Will you truly hold me to a look I gave you five years ago?” You want to scoff or say something mean but you hold your tongue instead.

“I was too old for you then.” He sympathizes. You didn’t even realize he knew. Men aren’t unusually so perceptive, especially ones who are barely twenty years old.

“Eight years isn’t so long. Daemon and my mother are sixteen years apart.” You murmur, knowing there’s no point in pretending.

“Her Grace wasn’t twelve when she married him.”

“Lots of girls get married at twelve.” You think of your grandmother who married even younger.

“Yes, lots of girls do get married at twelve… and then they die in childbirth at thirteen.” He states seriously. Aemond has little interest in fucking children, whether they have bled or not. “It was not because I did not like you, mandianna.” He reaches for you again to bring you demeaning comfort that you do not want.

“Stop touching me.”

“I didn’t know it would hurt you so. I had assumed it would pass.” He knows you still yearn for him.

“You think I still desire you? I want a man who will treat me like a woman, not a babe!” You’re angry and humiliated and you lash out, wanting that childhood crush to finally die, because that’s all it could have possibly been, frivolous and childish.

“I apologize. I should not have assumed.” You know he’s saying it just to calm you because a man like him is not so stupid, just arrogant enough to think he could never be wrong.

“I don’t want your purportless apologies.” You say with venom.

He sighs. “Then allow me to give you the gifts I brought for you-”

“You wish to distract me with trinkets?”

He isn’t too sure of what to say. You were much meeker as a girl, easily won over with pretty things and kind words. You’re more confident now… more Targaryen.

“I just do not wish to argue when it’s been so long since I saw you last.”

“And whose fault is that? You’ve had two years to see me… I’m starting to think it’s now too late.”

And with that, you stomp off, leaving Aemond dazed and confused… and slightly impressed. Maybe you aren’t just a little girl anymore.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi @ravenclawprincess33

#aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond angst

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marvelstoriesepic · 7 months

Text

Learn his way

Pairing: College!Bucky x College!Tutor!Reader

Summary: Bucky is more interested in learning about you than biology

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: none; just fluff and flirty Bucky

author‘s note: I love College!Bucky so much! This was fun :)

Masterlist

“Barnes!” You sent the guy sitting right beside you - somehow moving closer to you every single one of your sessions - your signature glare, not the first one that day. “Biology!” you scolded, nodding at the textbook lying in front of Bucky and you. His pen had been poked in your side more times than you’d be willing to count.

“Oh come on doll, we’ve been talking about biology since-” He took a quick glance at his phone lying beside him, “25 minutes. We only have another 20 so let’s talk about you.” He leaned back in his chair and put his hand on the back of your seat, clearly done with learning about the evolution of organisms. He locked his eyes on you, a playful smirk on his lips.

You groaned, rolling your eyes at him, as his smirk only grew, the corners of his mouth pulling up in his cheeks.

“We’re not here to talk about me Barnes, I’m trying to help you here.” You don’t know why you were even trying at this point. The textbook was still staring at you, unused for probably the rest of this session.

Bucky's phone, still lingering on the table in front of you, lit up with messages every few minutes, though he didn’t pay it any mind. His gaze set on you, biting his lip.

“You are helping doll,” he sounded strangely sincere and you narrowed your eyes at him. “But I hate that I know more about biology than you by now.”

You snorted to which he lifted a brow, mocking offense. “You should know more about biology than me though. Knowing me won’t help you pass the exam.” You now leaned back as well, folding your arms over your chest and holding his gaze.

Bucky straightened up, not holding back his smirk, amusement gleaming in his eyes beside something else you couldn’t quite place. A softness in his expression that didn’t really make sense to you.

“Tell you what,” he started and replaced his hand on the backrest of your chair, moving it further up. You could feel it touching your back. “For every right question about biology, you give me a fact of yourself.”

You roll your eyes again, breathing out a sigh. “Alright,” you nod reluctantly, “Fine.” You grabbed your textbook and browsed through the pages, trying to decide what to ask him.

He moved both his arms to his chest, crossing them in the front, and turned his body to you completely, his whole attention focused solely on you. He watched you intently searching through the pages, a soft smile on his lips.

You seemed to have found something because you lowered the textbook and looked back at him, a challenging smile forming on your lips.

“Nitrogen-fixing bacteria and cowpea demonstrate an ecological association known as-” You looked at him raising an eyebrow to indicate he was supposed to finish the sentence, grinning sweetly.

He looked at you a few seconds longer before knocking his head back followed by an overly exaggerated groan. “Come on now doll that’s an unfair one,” he exclaimed, the corners of his mouth still twitching upwards, despite his protests.

“You want to know something about me, you gotta earn it Barnes.” You tilted your head, grinning widely back at him.

Bucky stared back at you for a few seconds but broke the eye contact breathing out a laugh. He took in a deep breath, cleared his throat, and faced you again. The smirk was back in an instant.

“Still waiting for an answer,” you sang

“Alright sweetheart, lemme think.” He clenched his jaw, and narrowed his eyes on the wall behind your shoulder, looking deep in thought.

He looked like he genuinely tried to remember what he could have known by now if he’d listened to you instead of poking his pen in your side and drawing a dog on your arm which he still claimed to be a wolf.

“Mutualism!“ he expressed after a while.

Your surprise matched his for a few seconds until his look morphed into a wide grin. Eyes sparkling, the corners of his mouth bringing up his cheeks, crinkles forming at his eyes. “That’s right, isn’t it? See doll, I learned!”

You hummed in contemplation, narrowing your eyes at him. “You cheated!”

He let out a sound of disapproval, his hand moving to his chest to lay over his heart. “You wound me doll, I would never!”

You took a deep breath in. “Alright whatever, that was right.” Looks like he did listen to you.

Bucky moved forward on his seat, one arm extending to lay over the backrest of your chair again. “Time for your part of the deal sweetheart. Tell me something about yourself”

You took a second to think of something insignificant to tell him. “I like pasta.”

He made sure to save that information in the back of his mind, already thinking about what he could do with it. There was this nice, cute pasta place he went to with his family after his sister got her driver's license and they wanted to celebrate. He’d love to take you there too since he doesn’t really get to talk to you outside of these tutor sessions because you always look so busy and stressed and he sure as hell doesn’t wanna worsen it. He was glad about anything you’d give him now that you were basically supposed to focus on him. And now that he had a small glimpse he just wanted more and more.

It continued like that. You asked him questions about biology, important for the exam in a week, and would grant him with a small fact about yourself as regards. He got more eager with every bit you gave him. Even if it was as simple as your favorite color. He knew exactly which sweater he’d wear the next session with you.

You told him about how you preferred cactuses because they didn’t require to get watered every day. You’d just forget. You shared a laugh after that. Bucky again taking notes in his head.

You told him about how you loved to read worn-out and used books because they already told a story themselves. You were a little sheepish after telling him that and he found it endearing. Fondness laced his features. He felt the sudden urge to search his grandparent's bookshelf for a book of your liking to gift to you. His grandparents surely wouldn’t notice but he assumed it’d be a little too early in your relationship - whatever it was - to give you a gift like that.

Spurred on by all the new things he found out about you and the small bond he felt arise, there was a spurt of confidence coming up within him. He reached out to brush the strands of your hair back behind your shoulder that had fallen in front of your face while leaning over the textbook. You looked up at him at the movement, eyes locked on one another.

“Give me another question doll,” he spoke slowly, a little nervous, his voice lower than before. His hand, still in your hair behind your shoulder slowly moved away, back against your chair. His gaze remained locked on yours. “And if I get this one right as well you gotta go out with me. What do you say?”

His gaze was careful, searching your face for a reaction. You couldn’t help the surprise etching on your features, eyebrows lifting. You sat up straight and looked away from him trying to formulate an answer, mouth opening and closing again.

“You don’t have to doll! You could just tell me something about yourself again. Anything really, I’m happy with tha-”

“Bucky!” you cut off his nervous rambling, sensing how tense he became. His arm brushed your back lightly with the way he shifted on his seat. Not wanting to see that troubled look on his face any longer you continued talking again. “I’d like that.”

Eyes growing wide, he let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smiled back at him.

A new sort of energy surged through him and he rubbed his hands together before steadying himself on the table with one hand and on his chair with the other. He took a deep exaggerated breath and turned to you, feigning a serious expression though his eyes kept sparkling, betraying his act.

You let out a laugh and again searched for something to test him with. However, if you were being honest with yourself, you asked him something you were certain of him already knowing. Based on the sly smirk on his lips and the seconds he took to study you before providing you with an answer - the right one - he noticed. But he didn’t complain. And neither did you.

Guess he would be seeing you outside of your tutor sessions after all.

“The little things? The little moments? - They aren’t little”

- John Zabat-Zinn

#bucky barnes x reader fluff #soft!bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #soft bucky #bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #college!bucky #college!reader #bucky fic #bucky x female reader #Learn his way

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007reid · 11 months

Note

omg, i’m learning to crochet and i’m just imagining crocheting spence a scarf and him wearing it all the time

JUST IMAGINE

he’d be so touched that you made something for him with your bare hands

it would be one his favourite items, ever (folded neatly in his top draw when he’s not wearing it)

it wouldn’t matter if a few chains are wonky, he’d love it either way

i just imagine derek and emily taking the piss out of him for wearing it all the time. oh but penelope absolutely loves it!

anyways- yeh i’m crocheting

- 🦕 xx

written super fast cus i got inspired and not proof read, sorry guys

also i have not crocheted or have ever shown interest in crocheting my whole life so everything i made up so plz ignore the mistakes 😓enjoy!

scarf. spencer reid

spencer reid x fem!reader

to tell you that you’re good at crocheting would be lying to you but you don’t think that spencer is lying at all, because of course for a man who knows everything about the workings of the world, he doesn’t know what a good crochet scarf looks like.

originally it was a prototype of yours, your first attempt after watching a youtube tutorial twice but spencer insists on having it, saying that it's too much yarn to go to waste and when you said that you can just pull it out, he didn't sit around to hear. he carries it around like a trophy of some sort, making a point of wearing it everywhere he goes.

your attempts of trying to tell him to knock it off, promising that you'll make another one that looks more decent but spencer says he likes the uneven lines, likes how the fluff rubs against his skin and how it keeps him warmer than a normal scarf. you think--scratch that, you know that it's all bullshit, but spencer's one immovable object to go against. getting ready to go to work together used to be your favorite part of the day but now it's just embarrassing.

embarrassing would be a wrong word. more like frustrating.

"you crocheted it in my favorite color yn," spencer defends the ugly scarf like it's his child, throwing it around his shoulder and wrapping it snugly around his neck. the purple looks absolutely offensive against the beige of his thrifted sweater, but his eyes melting and lips pouting at you made the look work. kind of. it's still fucking ugly.

"that's 'cause you bought the yarn for me spence," you roll your eyes exasperatedly. the scarf's been a conversation topic every morning since spencer saw it sitting sadly in your closet and fell in love with it. considering how spencer's entire wardrobe is made of old man clothes and unconventional colors, you would understand the appeal of something looking wonky and strange, but the scarf is a stretch.

to be honest, you think it's endearing, spencer's tainted fashion sense. it makes him look softer, heartier, like a welcoming little plush bear with his wispy curls and pink cheeks and gentle voice and worn cardigans. the scarf does fit all his criteria for a good piece of clothing so you should've saw it coming that he would hold on to it like his lifeline and you would tolerate it if he didn't go to every single person he sees throughout the day and boast about the maker of the scarf and you shrinking in the corner as he talks about you. morgan was the first to laugh about it, followed by emily.

"got the hands to diffuse a bomb but not one to crochet a decent scarf, huh?" morgan would say as he walks past your cubicle, a cheshire grin on his face. emily would chuckle. you would snap at him, "shut the hell up morgan," and then sigh. because what the hell. the scarf is so fucking ugly but spencer parades it like the queen's necklace.

you get better at crocheting--it helps you think and you would do it on the plane to new cases sometimes and threaten to stab emily if she makes fun of you--and eventually, you finish crocheting a duplicate for spencer's monstrosity of a purple scarf. this one is more in the shape of a scarf instead of one wacky-looking pasta noodle, with straight chains and the shade of purple on this one is cuter; dark and elegant. you couldn't wait to show it to spencer, couldn't wait for him to finally throw away the crusty scarf he loves so much.

the new one sits, folded neatly, on the table on his side of the bed. for days. winter rolls around and spencer wears it to fucking sleep.

"give that poor scarf a break reid," emily comments. spencer chews on his lip as he flicks through files, silent and unbothered, fingers unconsciously running through the bumpy chains, back and forth. you mumble your agreement and when he pays no attention to you like he did emily, too immerse in his work.

after work that day, you and spencer take a walk around the city, bodies huddled closely together. the first snowflake falls and spencer catches it on his finger, shoving his finger closely to your face, proud of himself. his grin is hidden underneath the purple scarf and for the first time, you don't mind.

"it melted," you tell him and spencer drops his hand, flicking at his index finger disappointedly.

"i can't wait for it to snow," he says, looking up at the grey sky.

"i can't wait for that scarf to decompose," you say, just speaking off the top of your head.

"i like the scarf," spencer quips, mood clashing yours.

"i know you do baby," you sigh, defeated. spencer's frozen fingers grasp yours and runs his fingers over the bumps of your knuckles. being so close you can smell him, soft and sweet like vanilla and old cotton and comfort. "why don't you ever wear the other one?"

spencer shrugs. "just doesn't feel the same." he adds. "and i like this purple better."

#spencer reid #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fic #my works

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pigeonpeach · 7 months

Text

I’ve Loved You From the Start

Chiori x oni fem reader

Cw: nudity, Fem reader, reader is big bodied. Pinning, fluff with some suggestive themes

“You don’t like it?” You said surprised. The kimono your friend had seemingly slaved over was truly magnificent to you. The beautiful patterns matched well with your horns. It covered every inch of skin yet allowed you full mobility. It was a boost of confidence to you, for your size was rarely provided in stores. Your weight was healthy for your kind, but humans still regarded you as obese even if the weight was mostly muscles. You were actually considered “underweight” by your oni parents who worried you were too skinny whenever you would visit. Truth be told you had to lose weight if you didn’t want to go out practically nude like Itto did.

“It conceals too much to me… most women don’t even conceal their ankles anymore much less everything below the neck.” She eyed you with a stern expression you couldn’t crack. But knowing her you figured she was up to something. Chiori hardly ever hates her creations. Old ones she views as learning experiences. You didn’t give her much creative freedom so that might be the reason.

“We-well I have to. Anything more revealing and I’d get those comments again.” You sighed.

“Oh please those folk are simply jealous. Your body is far more beautiful than any of those old crones were in their prime and they know it.” She said as she circled you like a shark. She lifted your hands and examined every inch until she just eyed your chest. Which protruded so.

“Well they weren’t all old people but I just can’t find anything my size there at all. I needed something like this but the price to have something customized is more than for other… normal bodies…”

“Nonsense. I won’t charge you a dime. If anything this is good for business. It shows I’m capable of branching out from the societal expectation. That my clothes aren’t simply for one body type but all who come in. And besides, you are far more eyecatching than any other model.” She spoke casually. You tensed a little but relaxed, a blush settled on your cheeks.

“You’re sure you don’t need anything? I could do a favor if you won’t accept my mora. I just can’t take this from you without giving something back.” You said politely. She paused, finally looking in your eyes.

“Are you busy today? I know you’re here on a trip but… I’d like to use you as inspiration for more possible projects.” She walked over to the curtains to draw them, placing s closed sign in the window and making sure not a single ray of sun would leak through.

“No actually. I was just going to go sightseeing in Fontaine. I hardly ever get to leave Inazuma so I made sure to have plenty of time before I return.” You eyed her suspiciously. She brought the paper screens to enclose the space, so even if someone walked in they wouldn’t see you two.

“Undress then.”

“E-excuse me?!”

“I’d like to see your body as bare as possible. I’m going to do some sketches for possible outfits.” She pulled out her sketchbook as she gathered some other utensils to draw with. You gulped. “You offered to pay me with a favor so this is the favor I ask of you. But if you’re uncomfortable I could find another way.”

“Uh… can I at least keep my panties on.” You asked. She sighed.

“If you must.”

Even though Chiori had been a good friend of yours in Inazuma, and had also brought you to the hot springs before, and had routinely seen you in your underwear, it was rather odd to stand posing while she scribbled. You felt incredibly nervous.

“Excellent. Turn around for me.” She instructed. You did so. “So obedient.” She whispered. You wondered if you misheard that. But either way you trusted Chiori. You knew she meant no harm, she wouldn’t do anything against your wishes.

“Um… might I ask what you’ll do with the sketches?” You asked.

“Make the one I find suits you most. I’ll admit its a shame you don’t prefer more feminine clothes.”

“Well I do its just I hardly get to wear them.” You explained. She seemed to light up at that clarification.

“Perfect, because that’s all i have been designing. Now if you’ll allow me I’d like to get a closer look.” She said.

“That’s fine with me.” Your approval seemed to evoke something as she circled you once more. You felt as though she’d bite or do something at any second. It felt invigorating. You had never felt sexy or desirable until you met Chiori. She treated you like you were the epitome of beauty itself. You did however deeply miss her In Inazuma. You felt safe walking with her down the streets. She had on many occasions left your hasslers speechless and sobbing on some occasions. She was known for her brutal honesty, even when faced with nobility. Its why you knew for certain she was honest in her intentions. And you knew that you would receive many outfits in the mail once you got home.

“Chiori… you’ve always been honest with your…um… sexual interest in me but I never knew exactly why?” You croaked as you struggled to maintain a facade of strength and endurance.

“Do you not realize that you’re almost what every lesbian would crave? A big beautiful wife, with a plumb chest and behind, thighs thick enough to crush, tall, strong, and oh so polite. You’re everything a femme could want. If only you would leave Inazuma. You know, a fellow fashion designer caught sight of my sketches of you from back then and she wanted to know if you would be her model.” Her voice never wavered in any sort of embarrassment. You however felt a shrill run up your spine.

“O-oh.. i didn’t realize you like women too.”

“How?!” She seemed baffled at that response. “Oh please no man could ever compare to even the most basic of women. The curves, the plumps, the lips-“

“No i just didn’t want to assume anything. I figured you might have been but i thought it was wrong to make assumptions.” You quickly clarified.

“Good. I’ve made my interest in you far too obvious. It truly is a shame you didn’t want to come to Fontaine with me then.” She sighed. “People here seem to like you. They don’t have the biases of those retirement aged folk in inazuma. They see you as a stranger but also a kind one. I heard you helped a beached boat the other day, those sailors boasted about how you did the work of five men in one push. I’ve even noticed how the former hydro archon eyes you when we passed her the other day.” You truly were baffled.

“I-i was too worried then that.. i’d slow you down. Please say you’re not playing up my reputation here. I do love fontaine but If I leave Inazuma I want to be certain its the right choice of place.” You looked her in the eye as she still eyed your chest. Her hand reaching up to gently play with it. She looked at you as you turned red.

“I assure you my intentions aren’t just to keep you here with me. I have missed you greatly while here. The letters I sent don’t convey that enough to me. But I swear on a oathe that you could sue me for, the majority of fontainians I have heard from have nothing but admiration or curiosity to you. And if they had anything else I wouldn’t hesitate to correct them.” You kneeled so her hand could reach your face and brush the hair behind your ear. Her face was closer to you now as you looked at her. “I swear on the very life of every citizen in every nation, I would protect and provide for you if you just moved here.”

Your faced turned red, a expression of embarrassment and flattery. “I didn’t realize your feelings were that deep.. I just thought you found me attractive.” You gulped. You had been a expert with pushing feelings down, you loved Chiori but you never wanted to weigh her down. You worried your heritage would ruin her reputation or chances in life. You loved her so much that you had been slightly envious of that special patrol lady who had seemed so close to her. But you kept it to yourself.

“I have long viewed you for more than your tits, the reason I look at them so much is simply because of our height difference. But your body is not the reason I know those stereotypes are wrong, that every liar who says you are something else is wrong. I have witnessed your facade crack to reveal someone who is strong in every sense. You may lift a log but you do so for the child who’s stuffed animal was underneath it. You stopped your own and first vacation to help a beached boat and regularly step in to safe those in trouble. Your scars aren’t from battle but from good deeds. Your heart is more golden and radiant than any ring or necklace. If you were a stone, you would be the most precious and sought after. I have loved you all this time and I am not ashamed of it in any regard.” She said bluntly. Instinctively you pulled her in for a kiss. She didn’t resist one bit but instead moved her hands to your waist that instant. A wave of relief and excitement rushed over you int that instant.

Afterawhile she pulled away. “Now let me show you the extent of my love to you, so you can understand just how beautiful you truly are to me.” Her eyes shone with a desire no longer hidden. You nodded as you laid on your back, your legs spreading slightly.

#genshin imagines #genshin x y/n #genshin impact #wlw #chiori x reader #chiori x you #oni reader #fem reader #suggestive themes #fluff

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snazzynacho · 1 month

Text

Dad!Diego Hargreeves headcanons

Pt1/?

I might write a full length fic of this, I’ll see how I feel. I’m still new to writing for Diego/tua btw.

Warnings: mention of adoption/fostering. SFW obviously 🤷🏻‍♀️

Masterlist.

Read on ao3

LOOK AT HOW CUTE THIS IS^

So it’s already established that he is a Girl Dad™ which is the most canon thing they ever did for season 4 LMAO

If you already have a kid from a previous relationship, he’d love them just as equally

Def insisted on growing a moustache as soon as you found out you were pregnant so he’d be dad ready™

This man constantly wanted a decent father figure, as all the other siblings wanted

But especially Diego, considering his stutter and all :(

So he’d love them so much and would do anything for them

This is his life motto fr:

I also think he’d be willing to go to therapy before you have kids so he can be the best father he can be

Would 100% insist on attending every single baby/pregnancy class

I also see him willing to be open for adoption/foster care <3 He’d love to be a good father figure to children who need one 🥺

Also if he met you after he had kids he’d be so cautious to introduce his kids to you

He’d want to make sure you’d be a good and willing parent

If his child ever had a stutter or anything similar (including neurodivergence) he’d want nothing but the best for them and would constantly tell them how much he loves them <3

He’s just so supportive <3

Like if they want to draw? he’s there to help them colour in (and would try to buy the best type of crayons/pens)

If they want a bedtime story read? He’d do it in a heartbeat 🥺

He just would be so happy to do anything with them

Def would step up and change nappies/diapers

He’d be complaining about it the whole time but deep down he’d want to help

He’s INSANELY protective

Like he just worries all the time

This can lead to him being overbearing

But it’s never because he’s strict. He just wants to protect them and if he sees he’s actually doing the opposite of making them feel protected and supported, he’d tone it down (after a word from you of course)

Road trip dad™ (baby shark trauma)

Finds fun ways to get the kids to eat their veggies

He prides himself on being able to “fight” the imaginary monster under the kid’s beds

He’s like *superman pose* “don’t worry kids, dad is on the rescue!”

The kids would ask how he’s so good at fighting the monster and he’d be so careful not to tell them anything about his vigilante days😭

Like the kids do not need to be traumatised or scared of their own dad💀

When the kid(s) are slightly older (like almost 1) and they start to move around more he insists on baby proofing EVERYTHING

He’s buying all these over-priced equipment which you two really do not need and makes your credit card be in minus

He lets them wear his mask but he’s so protective of it

Like he only lets them wear it once in a while and if he’s watching them the whole time to make sure they don’t damage it

I’d say he’s quite iffy about letting them play with his knives and daggers

He definitely would wait until they’re older to teach them how to use them

I see him being a stay at home dad

Maybe you both try to make it work (like in the show) but ultimately your family works best if he’s a stay at home dad

He’d learn to be so patient with them when helping with homework <3

Especially considering he knows what struggling with something is like (his stutter) <3

Omg he loves sports days so much

He’d be cheering so loud

“THAT’S MY BOY/GIRL!”

And when it’s the parents turn to join in, NO ONE is more determined to win than he is

He’d secretly enjoy when his kid puts makeup on him

In fact I think he’d grow to love it so much to the point he’d be excited when your kid asks to put makeup on him

He even asks first sometimes

He’d put on high heels and the whole look too (💅💁🏻‍♀️this pose and everything)

When they start school, he’d be taking SO MANY PICTURES

Sentimental king

He just wants to have pictures of so many happy memories of his family

Instead of the few ones he grew up with (those pics of the umbrella academy in the newspapers don’t count bc let’s face it, those aren’t proper family photos bc they were just for press) </3

You both definitely have a big photo album

Maybe he even makes it into a scrapbook (that is so cute)

And makes it a family bonding moment where everyone gets to design their own page

He’d love cooking/baking with his kids and you

(Why is me writing all this making me emotional omg)

Maybe I’ll make a part 2 if I think of anymore ideas.

If u enjoyed this check out my tua blog @nacho-hargreeves and maybe I’ll post more Diego content here (we are starving).

Reblogs are appreciated 🫶

#snazzynacho fanfics #gif by me!#he’s the best dad #dad Diego Hargreeves #diego hargreeves #dad Diego #tua #tua fics #tua fanfics #tua fandom #diego hargreeves x reader #Diego Hargreeves headcanons

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bullet-prooflove · 27 days

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Bitter Sweet Symphony: Nick Baxter x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @burningpeachpuppy @est1887 @flopiboni

The Romantic - Nick has always been a romantic when it comes to you.

Distraction - You distract Nick from work.

Symphony (NSFW) - Nick welcomes you home in his own special way.

Come Back To Bed - Nick tries to coax you back to bed.

It starts with a few errant notes during violin practice at home. You’ve been married for five years now, Nick’s listened to you play every single day, you make mistakes that’s how you learn but you never falter, not until today.

“What’s wrong?” He asks you, setting down the newspaper and drawing you into his lap.

He can feel the anxiety coming off you in waves as he wraps his arms around your body, holding you close.

“Somethings off.” You tell him, tucking yourself against his chest. “The music doesn’t sound right, the colours they’re different.”

You’re talking about your synaesthesia, the condition that allows you to see every note and every chord in a series of colours.

“Maybe you’re getting sick, an ear infection.” He tries to sooth you, his lips brushing over your hairline.

“Maybe.” You say but he knows from the tone of your voice that that’s not what you think it is.

It’s a week later after you attend a doctor’s appointment that you’re referred to a specialist. Nick takes the morning off to attend with you despite your protests because this, this is something he can’t let you go through alone.

“You have diminished capacity in your left ear,” You’re told after the hearing test and you squeeze Nick’s hand tightly because this is your worst nightmare coming true. “You’re struggling to hear the higher frequencies.”

“Will she recover?” Nick asks because he can tell from the expression on your face that you’ve shut down completely. You entire world is crumbling down around you and you have idea how to cope with it.

“I’m afraid not.” The doctor says gently. “We see this with musicians who’ve spent a lot of time in orchestra pits, the sound bounces around, assaulting the ear. There are things we can do to prevent it getting worse...”

You raise to your feet and leave then because you can’t stand to hear another word. Nick gets all the details he can before he steps outside to join you. He finds you on a bench amongst the plush greenery in the courtyard with your head in your hands.

“It’s over.” You tell him, your voice desolate. “My career, it’s done.”

“That’s not true.” He murmurs as he grips the leaflets the doctor gave him even tighter in his hand. “There are things we can…”

“You don’t understand Nick.” You snap as your rake your fingers through your hair. “The colours, they’re different. The sound doesn’t translate the same way anymore. You’re not a musician Nick, you don’t get it! I don’t know who I am without it. I don’t…”

You trail off then because you’re trying not to cry.

You’re right, he doesn’t understand. If his hearing goes, if he goes blind, or loses a limb he can still do his job, he can still practice law but you can’t, not without your hearing.

“Rosie.” He begins but he’s cut off by the sound of his phone ringing in the pocket of his overcoat. He tries to ignore it but you gesture for him to answer.

“No.” He tells you with a ferocity he feels in the depths of his soul. “This is important.”

“That could be too.” You point out as you rise to your feet and tuck your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “Your job, it’s life and death sometimes.”

He hates the fact you’re right, that you’ve become so used to playing second fiddle to his profession that you think it’s alright for it to intrude on this discussion. He walks a few steps away before answering the phone so he won’t be overheard. It takes him a few minutes to respond to Nolan’s query. When he hangs up the phone and turns back towards you you’re nowhere to be seen.

He takes the rest of the day off and waits for you home, his tablet in his hand, doing research into your condition. Sometimes when you get overwhelmed you need a little space and time to process. The way you do it is by plugging in your headphones and walking around the city. You like to get lost in the music, let it carry you to where you want to go.

It’s two hours later that you return. You take your shoes off at the door before hanging up your coat and stepping into the living room.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You tell him as he raises to his feet to greet you.

He can tell the news is still raw, that you haven’t even begun to deal with what’s happening to you.

“We don’t have to.” He says softly as he moves towards you, wrapping you up in his arms instead. You stiffen at the sensation and Nick sighs because he knows you’re trying to shut him out, put up an impenetrable front. You’re numb right now, you don’t want to feel and that’s ok.

“We’ll get through this.” He reassures you as he cups your face between his hands so you can see the sincerity in his eyes. “I promise you, we will.”

Love Nick? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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#nicholas baxter #nicholas baxter x reader #nick baxter #nick baxter x reader #law and order #law & order

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starneteyam · 2 years

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Hey I was wondering if you can make a fanfic about neteyam x reader, I want the fl who is strong and independent, i want a enemies to lovers trope or rivals to lovers trope honestly any of those two, and I would like the reader to be a Omaticayan

ENEMIES TO LOVERS ★

🖇️ char. Neteyam x Omaticaya! Fem! Reader

🖇️ tags. Enemies to lovers, fluff

🎥 In which you’re holding a grudge against Neteyam over something that happened years ago, but he’s head over heels over you and is desperate for you to be his mate

A/N Hey! I’m back, starting off strong with some enemies to lovers 😛 Sorry if this isn’t what you meant! WE LOVE PATIENT NETEYAM <3

NETEYAM WOULD NEVER leave you alone. It was like he was determined to make you annoyed by being around him. You couldn’t help but think he was an asshole, but you had a proper reason to think so. When you were younger, you had been known as the best hunter of your clan. You were proud of it, and so were your parents. It was your soul pride that you were the best hunter. Until, Neteyam started hunting.

He quickly became the best, as if he were born with the gift of drawing an arrow. You were humiliated. Without hunting, you were nothing, just another N’avi. At first, you were learning to accept the fact that Neteyam was just naturally better. That was, until he said one sentence to you, the only sentence he had said to you up until then. “Sorry, I guess I’m just better.” Neteyam was a child, he was immature, but still, those words made you despise him. You hadn’t talked to him since, and you figured he even forgot about you — that he didn’t even know who you were.

Growing older, you started to be known for another thing — your beauty. You were becoming of age and it was time for you to find your mate, and Neteyam was caught in this trap of yours. Of course, Neteyam didn’t know who you were, he was far too important to know a nobody like you. But you knew him, you had him engraved into your brain, burning with hatred.

Neteyam first saw you in the forest, when you were walking with your bow and arrows, just to do some target practice. He was immediately entranced by your beauty, and by the time he noticed, he was already talking to you. “What are you doing?” He asked, jogging to catch up to you. You looked over your shoulder, and your subconscious smile turned into a scowl as soon as you recognized him, rolling your eyes.

“Go away, son of Olo’eyktan.” He wasn’t bothered by your words. Rather, he ignored them. “You know me?” His ears flickered in somewhat joy, and you let out a sigh. “Everybody knows who you are, idiot.” You mumbled the last word under your breath, but it still made it to his ears. He took no offense. He continued to follow you in silence, so, aggravated, you turned and dropped your arms by your side. “What do you want?”

Neteyam looked like an idiot in front of you. A big, stupid smile on his face, like he didn’t care about how you talked to him, but was just happy about that fact that you were talking to him at all. “I want to get to know you.” He said in all honestly, eyes shining as he looked down at you. “Well, I don’t.” You spat, crossing your arms. He ears slowly lowered, flattening against his head. “Why? Are you… are you already promised?” He asked.

You grit your teeth. Must he humiliate you even more? “No, but I do not want to be promised to you.” You pressed your finger against his chest, before turning and continuing into the forest. He smiled as he ran after you. “Well, I will make you want to be promised to me.” You scoffed at this. You scoffed at his words, his confidence, and his determination. Still, he chased after you.

Days went on just like that, where he bothered you from day to night, every single day. You ignored him a lot, and obliviously showed that you were not interested, and that you rather disliked him, yet, he still tried. Most days, he would follow you to your aiming range, and just sit near and watch in silence, like today. You could feel his stare burning holes into the side of your head. Irritated, you dropped your bow and looked at him.

“Why, Neteyam? You are clearly getting nowhere with me, so why are you trying so hard?” You huffed, crossing your arms. He stood up, walking up to you, nothing but adoration in his eyes. “Because you are kind.” He said softly. You scoffed. “When have I ever been kind to you? Are you alright in the head?” You wanted to laugh at his idiocy. He shook his head.

“No, you are kind. You could push me away, but you don’t. You let me get close, you let me be around you,” He said slowly, the words sinking into your heart. “And you act like you don’t, but I know you listen to me.” You furrowed your eyebrows. Why was he being so nice to you? Even after you’ve ignored him, called him names, belittled him, he was here, standing in front of you and calling you kind. You frowned, starting to slowly feel like an asshole yourself.

“Why don’t you like me?” He asked, his voice quiet. You were now avoiding his eyes, feeling pathetic. You hated him over something small and trivial, over some words that held absolutely zero meaning. You were so filled with pride and hatred that you couldn’t see the loving, gentle, patient man standing in front of you. You stayed silent, feeling more ashamed as the question repeated in your mind. He let out a breath through his nose, before cupping your face.

“You act like you can’t stand me, but you don’t push me away. That’s why I try, because I know there is something there.” He tried. You stayed silent, nibbling on your bottom lip. He frowned. “I want to respect you, so please, make a choice. If you really dislike me, push me away, tell me to stop. But if I have a chance, even just a tiny chance, tell me.” His eyebrows were furrowed. He hated that he had to give an ultimatum. He hated that there might be a chance that you might push him away, and that you could be somebody else’s.

There was a suffocating silence, before you raised your hand to grab his that was cupping your face. His tail whipped between his legs as his eyebrows rose. “I’m sorry, ma Neteyam. I was cruel to you, and yet, you call me kind.” You let out a small laugh. “If anybody, you’re the one who’s kind.” Neteyam was holding his breath with anticipation. What were you saying? What did this mean?

“I see you.” You said in a whispered voice, closing your eyes and leaning into his palm. Neteyam’s heart was beating so loudly in his ears that he nearly missed what you had said. He let out the breath he had been holding, collapsing into your touch as he rested his forehead on your shoulder, taking you by surprise. “Thank you for not pushing me away.” He mumbled. You laughed, arms enveloping around him as you pet his head.

“Thank you for waiting for me.”

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amatorygirls · 5 months

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GtN and HtN spoilers!! CW: talk of not having control over your body

just randomly thought of this now so excuse my incoherentness or possible ignorance or if anyone has said this before (this is also my first ever tumblr post so sorry for formatting errors), but i was looking at fanart of cytherea the first and just loving it. i realized there’s just something so baroque about her, and i think that’s on purpose. because she’s of the 7th house yes, the emperor’s joy and all that, but also because she’s a woman, and also because she’s dying. she’s expected to be beautiful because of her affiliation and her gender, all while she’s decaying from a disease that she was doomed to be born with and could never escape until it ultimately killed her. wilting away infront of everyone. and the ENTIRE time, she was given roses. roses, the pinnacle of beauty. every single rose she was given had a meaning, a life. and every single rose died. inevitably, wilting away infront of her. reminding her of her own fragile, ‘beautiful’ self. and even after she was dead, she was laid to rest drowned in roses that were modified to stay perpetually fresh, along with her body (i think) ((which of course john would do, after reading nona i’m not surprised)). not even eternally asleep could she catch a break. i think tamsyn muir was saying something here about how the ‘ideal woman is a dead one’. she is silent, still, and malleable. that’s what she pretended to be in canaan house. but i don’t think she ever could truly be. she was too angry. too enraged. also the fact that she became a lyctor in hopes she could be cured but just ended up suffering in a stagnant state of sickness for thousands of years, the fact that she was purposely given this disease. the fact that john LIED. lied to everyone. lied to HER. before her life, during her life, and after her life, things were done to her body without her informed consent. her cancer being almost prophetic, her unknowing improper lyctoral ascension, and the possesion of her empty shell of a body. (also it being used as a medium for pyrrha and wake is a whole other thing) she IS the rage of not having control over your own body. i think, ultimatley, that’s what her character is about. i mean, i’m pretty sure harrow stabbing The Sword™️ INSIDE her unwilling corpse was probably a metaphor or something…

“we take so much. i’m so sorry.”

(again i just thought of this thirty minutes ago so feel free to add anything 🙏) ((i also wonder how this parallels dulcinea and her life but it’s 1 am and i don’t feel like thinking anymore. but i think we’ll learn more about her in alecto.))

the art that inspired this was a beautiful cytherea and harrow drawing by pygmypouter on tumblr!

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winonaparadise · 1 year

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short story 💯

wrote a very quick story about a class i took in college. if you like my writing in my videos you may like this

Five years ago today I was clawing through state university. I had switched majors in an effort to come away with something more material from my college experience – but I was also trying to earn as many credits with as few courses to keep my schooling short and cheap.

I took a heavy weighted class in “media law.” A subject notoriously as intricate as it is absolutely fucking stupid. Anything you could learn, Disney will change tommorrow. The professor was an adjunct, splitting his time between the humble basement where boys with Pulp Fiction posters in their dorms fiddled with cameras and the actual law school where he was employed some miles down the road. I have never seen Pulp Fiction, but I’ve fiddled with enough cameras and enough of the boys who own them to have reviewed it twice. This is not a problem to me now.

Then I was stupid. Twenty. And basically friendless. I spent all my time trying to make something the same way the universe spent billions of years pouring hot soup into holes and hoping life would bubble out. I studied Japanese during quiet matches of PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds. I never got a win, and I never got an “A” in Japanese.

Weeks of school went by as I skimmed textbooks, got high, and thought about talking to literally anyone. Academic words danced around the edges of my brain like sand. I wrote essays on the same autopilot I write today. Feverish. Flowing. Fantasizing about what it would be like to go out with someone instead of texting a girl who now lived in Japan and making ramen noodles while listening for footsteps in a digital warzone.

I did all my work. I submitted it on something called “canvas” that the muscle memory in my fingers still types in search bars to this day. I never checked my grades. I knew they were bad.

Classes dragged me through the week on a bungee cord. I lived a block away from the bulk of them and found myself drifting in halls of buildings I’d never attended just to keep myself from meandering back home to draw a bad comic about a girl who lived in hell.

I knew nobody. I went nowhere. I struggled to do classwork alone on outdoor benches dreaming of someone speaking to me. I needed to live in hell instead.

My media law professor was late the weekend after our first term essays were due. I don’t know what mode of transportation he took to get from one school to the other but today the Carolina sun had drenched him sweaty. We were chilly waiting for him to begin.

“Just about every single one of you failed.” He spat and chugged coffee through the entire period. “While I first was grading I thought I was the one who failed.”

He didn’t let the moment of respite last. “But I also did something I’ve never done before.” He paced like my father did when a restaurant was closed early. “I gave out my first perfect score. Which prevents me from grading on a curve.”

He huffed, he assigned a new reading, and he rushed out like he had lit dynamite. “Do better!” “What an asshole.” The girl who sat next to me in every class spoke as if she had been holding her breath. “Fuck him and fuck whoever got that hundred.”

“I know right!” I launched in on her anger, feeling it too. Back and forth we complained. We walked off campus together. She had long blonde hair and towered over me. I had felt ugly and mousey next to her, but today I felt like her equal. It felt good to bitch.

“I got a fucking 50. What about you?”

“It wasn’t pretty.” I recalled how I stayed up the night before the assignment was due. I milked bullshit into a puree. I got a rush of adrenaline from killing someone with a shotgun through a door in an abandoned house on the outskirts of Pochinki. I was probably close to being expelled. “This class is too fucking hard,” she smoked and shook her head by a bus stop on Tate Street. “I’m not about to lose my freetime over it.”

“Right.” I imagined her at parties. Black silhouettes against colored lights and deafening music. Like The Social Network. “We should be partners for the next assignment,” she got out her phone and passed it to me for my number. I typed it in. I waved her off on the bus. We did the assignment together. We texted each other about our studies. We joked about finding the guy who got the perfect score and beating him senseless. I thought about talking to her about my art or what we were making in other classes, but never did.

Towards the end of the semester I had to plan the next. A whirlpool churned in my stomach as I clicked on “grades” on my campus’ online portal. I had an A+ in a single course.

Media Law.

My friend from class texted me that she was dreading the final. I texted her that if we failed I would kill Mr. Perfect Score. She texted “lol.”

She passed the course. I got my degree so I assume I did too. We stopped texting.

That professor emailed me asking me to take a course at the law school down the road. He said he would let me sit in and see if I wanted to change majors a third time. I never replied.

A law degree would just make Mr. Perfect Score a hundred times more punchable.

#short story #nonfiction #drugs cw

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fangirlwriting-stories · 21 days

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Afterlife Lessons

Summary: Sam’s awareness of ghosts extended to exactly two pieces of knowledge: Danny’s parents are ghost hunters, and ghosts are dangerous and she should stay away from them.

Unfortunately, neither of these things becomes something in her favor when she and Tucker are kidnapped by a ghost and turned into ghosts themselves— or half ghosts, apparently, something clarified to them by Amity Park’s resident hero Phantom, who also promises to stick around and help them figure out their new forms and powers.

But while Sam is certainly grateful for the help, now that she’s regularly spending time with their local ghost protector, she’s noticing things about him that seem a little more familiar than they should. And also that Phantom’s strong confident hero persona might be a bit more of a facade than anyone‘s realized.

Author's Note: I did an invisobang this year! It was a ton of fun to write, and (once the art is posted), I'll post the art in each chapter it matches with! I'm gonna be posting all fifteen chapters in rapid succession, so get ready for a lot of posts from this blog! I'm going to make a masterlist in just a minute, and I'll also tag every post with the title.

Art For This Chapter: @torchturtle link

...

Sam’s awareness of ghosts extended to exactly two pieces of knowledge, and both of those things came from Danny. The first, that Danny’s parents hunted them, which he’d told them in embarrassment shortly after they met. The second she’d learned shortly before it had been revealed to everyone that ghosts did, in fact, exist— when Danny had told her ghosts are dangerous, stay away from them.

Sam had admittedly been more than a little surprised when Danny told her this. Like she’d said, he tended to be more embarrassed by his parents’ work than anything else. Granted, he’d never said outright that he didn’t believe in them, and there were a couple of times Sam had seen him taking precautions that she knew his parents had recommended. But she knew he’d just be uncomfortable if she brought it up, so she didn’t.

And then, suddenly, he was very serious in his telling of her that ghosts were dangerous, and she should avoid them at all costs. Sam hadn’t had the first clue where the shift had come from, but he’d timed it pretty well, because it was around that time that Amity Park started getting regular visits from ghosts. Luckily for them, one of those ghosts included Phantom. And while the town in general was split on him and Danny was still just as insistent in telling her and Tucker to stay away from him, Sam saw the things he did. The ghosts he fought. The people he saved. There had never been a doubt in her mind that Phantom was an ally.

She hadn’t ever really expected to count on that fact directly.

But then, she’d also never been directly targeted by a ghost before. She couldn’t think of much else this one in particular could be doing, though. The vampire-looking ghost knew her and Tucker’s names, it singled them out specifically on the way to school, and it had grabbed them and tied them up on seats in the back of a plane, of all things. That was a little difficult to misinterpret.

Tucker was still breathing very quickly across from her in his window seat, and Sam was trying to make sure that he didn’t have a panic attack, while also looking around the plane for anything they could possibly use to help themselves. She didn’t even know ghosts had planes, much less ones this… fancy. This thing looked fancier than her parents’ private jet, which made her hate it for two reasons.

“Tucker,” Sam said quietly, drawing his gaze. “You see that compartment up there labeled with a parachute?”

“No,” Tucker said immediately, looking very intently down at the floor. “No, I absolutely do not see it.”

“Tucker.”

“Sam, you are insane if you think I’m risking jumping out of a plane!”

“You’d rather get to whatever secondary location this guy is dragging us to?” Sam snapped, still keeping her voice down.

“Right, because obviously the guy who kidnapped us and is dragging us somewhere is going to leave us with perfectly made parachutes that won’t break halfway down to the ground,” Tucker snapped back, which… was actually a decent point, though Sam loathed to admit it.

“Look, do you have a better idea?” she asked instead.

“Try to escape while we’re not several miles in the air?”

“When we’ve made it wherever we’re going so this guy has a home field advantage?”

“I don’t know Sam! We don’t have a ton of options!” Tucker snapped. “I still think I’d rather be kidnapped than dead!”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked seriously, giving Tucker a look, and then jerking her head backwards toward the cockpit. “We don’t know what he wants.”

“I don’t want to die, Sam,” Tucker said desperately. “I think we have a better chance of not dying if we stay on the plane until we get wherever we’re going. Plus, you can’t even stand up to reach that compartment anyway. Let’s just… stay put.”

Sam gave a huff of irritation and a little bit of fear, but gave in to Tucker’s fairly decent points and leaned back in the plush chair.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s try and work this out, then. We’ve been flying for what, an hour now? Where do you think we’re going?”

“We’re heading north,” Tucker said, with a nod towards the window. “Based on the way the sun was rising earlier.”

“Great, so that narrows it down to a little less than half the continent,” Sam groaned. “Do you think he’s staying in the U.S.?”

“Do I think a ghost cares about a country’s borders? I have no clue if we’re going to Canada. Maybe he’ll just keep flying north and drop us in the middle of the ocean.” The second after Tucker said it, he seemed to realize what he’d said, and his face turned a little queasy. “I hope not.”

“Me too,” Sam muttered, looking out what little of the window she could see from her position, given that she couldn’t shift in the chair at all. She couldn’t see the sun anymore. She was glad Tucker had spotted it earlier, even if it didn’t give them a ton of clues as to where they were going.

They didn’t have to wonder for that much longer, however, because it wasn’t more than five minutes later before a disgustingly pleasant voice announced that they’d be beginning their descent, and that they hoped the landing was just as horrible as the takeoff had been.

Sam glared up at the ceiling as if that was where the voice was and tried to come up with a map in her head. They really hadn’t been flying for more than an hour. That wasn’t enough time to get them to Canada, was it? They couldn’t be much further than Wisconsin.

Once they got off the plane itself, they were taken towards some sort of castle that looked like something her parents could afford to build. Which might not be that far off in terms of expenses, given there was an actual runway in the back. Maybe this ghost happened to be a friend of theirs, and this was Sam’s parents’ newest way of threatening her into wearing floral print.

The ghost that had kidnapped and brought them here, however, didn’t seem super keen on answering any questions. Its only comment before it grabbed them both by the arms and dragged them towards a back door was “I hope you two had a terrible experience,” paired with a supervillain smirk so dramatic it was almost ridiculous.

He clearly was not super worried about being gentle about dragging them, if the ache forming in Sam’s wrist was any indication. But she didn’t have much time to focus on that. Instead, as soon as her feet were on the ground, she started looking around for escape strategies, but the ghost was holding their arms way too tightly for running to be an option, and she didn’t feel confident in her ability to get both her and Tucker into the forest surrounding the castle. Especially considering how far away it was. The grounds for this place weren’t small.

The castle itself was white brick, with gold roofs and absolutely covered in green flags. The door they were being dragged to looked like an entrance to a basement of some kind. Sam glanced over at Tucker to find him looking around too, but after a second he glanced at her with a helpless look on his face, meaning he hadn’t noticed anything she hadn’t.

Sam took a deep breath, and mouthed to Tucker, “On three.”

Tucker bit his lip, clearly scared, but nodded.

Sam brushed past her own fear and looked back on the door. Their smartest option would probably be to try and break for it when he had to shift his grip in order to hold on to them and go for the handle at the same time. He’d be doing that any second now, she just had to wait for—

A cold feeling swept over Sam just before she reached the door, and before she could question what that meant the ghost dragged her and Tucker right through the solid door and into the castle.

Sam blinked. Well. So much for the shifting his grip plan.

“Uh,” Sam said, looking at Tucker. “Three!”

Tucker started pulling backwards on the ghost’s arm as Sam did the same, but it didn’t even seem to phase the ghost. In fact, he looked down at them and laughed in obvious amusement.

“Oh yes, that’s sure to work. He really hasn’t ever let you near ghosts before, has he?”

Before Sam could figure out what the hell that meant, the ghost floated upwards just far enough to lift Sam and Tucker off the ground, robbing them of any force they could have attempted to use to get away.

Sam, in a last desperate attempt, leaned up to try and bite the ghost’s hand, but the ghost did the same thing to just their hands that he’d done to get them all through the door, and Sam’s teeth went right through it.

She turned to Tucker. “Okay, you have any other ideas?”

Tucker’s only response was a scared look.

They went through a couple more doors the same way as before, and then the ghost pulled them down through the floor, into some kind of lab. It looked eerily similar to the one in Danny’s basement, right down to the portal over on the wall.

“Well, I think we’ve made excellent time,” the ghost said, flying them straight over to that very portal. “Let’s set you both up.”

“Or, we could not do that?” Tucker said nervously.

“Who are you?” Sam snapped, glaring at the weird vampire ghost. If they weren’t going to escape, she might as well get as much information as possible from him.

“Oh, don’t worry about it child, I’m sure you’ll get a much better explanation from Daniel.”

Sam blinked. “Danny knows you?”

The vampire ghost didn’t reply, and instead flew over closer to the portal. Sam leaned back away from the swirling green she had no desire to go through, but before he could toss them inside, she heard a whirring sound, and the portal powered down to leave an empty mechanical tunnel. Sam glanced over to see… the same vampire ghost? There were two of them? The second one, however he was there, was pressing buttons on a box next to the portal.

A box that probably wasn’t supposed to be blinking like that.

“Uh,” Sam said, as the vampire ghost holding on to them carried them into the tunnel. “You wanna fix your box thingy?”

“No thank you, it’ll be more useful like this for now,” the second vampire ghost said, though Sam couldn’t see him anymore. “Though it’ll be quite a bit of work to fix the portal after using it for something like this.” He sighed, like their kidnapping was an inconvenience for him. “Oh well, can’t be helped.”

The second vampire ghost flew in and took Sam from the first, then carried her over to the side of the tunnel, seeming barely even to notice Sam’s struggles.

He and the other one then strapped her and Tucker to the sides of the portal, and flew off unconcerned. Sam saw the reason why a moment later, the restraints didn’t budge no matter how much she tugged on them, and she could see Tucker doing the same thing across from her.

“Regret not trying for the parachutes yet?” Sam snapped.

Tucker opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, there was a yell of “VLAD!” and a loud crash from the room outside of the portal.

Both of them turned, and in the part of the room that the portal wasn’t blocking, Sam saw Phantom shooting blasts across the room, presumably towards one of the vampire ghosts.

Tucker let out a relieved sigh. “Nope, I think we have a better shot now,” he said.

Sam couldn’t blame him. They may not have ever interacted with Phantom personally, but that didn’t mean they didn’t know what he was capable of. If Phantom was here to rescue them, they were safe.

Phantom, however, didn’t seem to realize that, because the second he turned and spotted them inside the portal, his eyes widened in surprise and what looked like fear.

…Okay, maybe they should be a little nervous?

Tucker seemed to realize the same thing, as a second later they both went back to struggling.

Phantom started right for them, but one of the vampire ghosts— Vlad, he’d said?— instead slammed into him from the side and out of their view.

Sam couldn’t see what was happening anymore, but she could easily hear them.

“Let them go, Plasmius,” Phantom snapped.

“Or you’ll what? I’m looking for specifics here, my boy.”

“Specifics? I’ll smash your teeth in, now let them go!”

There’s a loud sigh. “No, you see, that’s the kind of thing that makes me think this is necessary in the first place.”

Sam glanced across the portal at Tucker, who shrugged, looking just as lost as her.

There was the sound of an ecto blast, and then Plasmius flew across the room. Phantom started immediately for the portal again, but before he could reach it, the other vampire ghost shot a blast at him that sent him back out of view again. The second one then flew after him and reappeared a second later, holding Phantom in a tight restraint that seemed much more difficult to hold than Sam and Tucker’s had been.

Sam tugged hard on the restraints, then stopped when she felt her wrist start to strain in a way that couldn’t be good.

“For the record,” she said to Tucker. “We totally should have tried for the parachutes.”

Tucker gave her a desperate look.

“Sorry it had to be this way, child,” came Vlad’s voice from out of view, “but you really should get better at solving your problems yourself.”

Phantom looked towards Vlad, apparently long enough to not like what he saw, because then he looked wide-eyed back towards Sam and Tucker— and that was the moment Sam knew they were fucked.

Something behind them in the portal lit up, and Sam turned her head towards it in time to see a bright green light.

Phantom screamed “NO!” loud and desperate, and then Sam’s world erupted.

#danny phantom #sam manson #tucker foley #danny fenton #vlad plasmius #halfa trio au #no one knows au #invisobang #afterlife lessons #my fic

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feyspeaker · 7 months

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Hi! I made an account just so I could follow your work. Your art is brilliant and honestly and inspiration to where I want to be. I’m an older artist who has all the anxiety when it comes to improving my process. I’m trying to get into digital portraits and I have so many ideas in my head, but it’s frustrating because I’m not where I want to be to make this happen. What are some tricks that help you/software do you use? Of course, you don’t have to share anything that makes you uncomfortable. I currently have procreate and an iPad, but I feel a little lost. Wondering if I need a different writing tablet and photoshop. Not sure. I just eventually want to find that 3D, but also artistic look you are able to achieve.

hey there! thank you so much!!

ultimately, I will sound like a broken record but I always recommend you sign up for local figure drawing or painting classes. have people pose for you at home and sketch with charcoal and paper. go to the zoo and sit down in front on an exhibit for an hour and try to draw the animals in front of you as fast as you can and fill a couple of pages, move on to a new exhibit and do it again!

nothing is more powerful of a tool to learn than whatever writing utensil you have in your purse and the back of a napkin when you see something you'd like to capture. I've spent quite frankly my entire rememberable life doing this. I used to spend every single day in middle school/high school/my brief failed stint in community college with a pack of cheap sharpies and a beat up binder full of old worksheets and homework to draw on the backs of.

drawing/painting from life will teach you better than anything.

I use a very outdated version of Photoshop, and only got a "nice" tablet in the past 7 months.

Also, a huge tip to you and anyone else reading this: do NOT get too focused on a "style" that you want. Obsessing over that just ruined me for years and years. I wanted so, so, so badly to be the next Matsuri Hino when I was a kid. I copied her work religiously and it NEVER looked right. Frustrated me to no end. And you know why my stuff never looked like hers? Because I'm not her! You can't force your art to come out any way that isn't natural, and the sooner you can accept the art your hand wants to create, the happier you'll be and the easier art will get for you.

The past couple of years before I started diving into this more realism based work, I was just shoving myself through trying to make what art I envied of others. Very stylized/textured watercolor comic book style stuff. And I just was NOT getting any better at it. I have always been more inclined toward realism work, but I've hated it and yearned for stylized work. Yoshitaka Amano? God, I just drooled over that artstyle and beat myself up for never being able to capture it in studies or otherwise.

I finally essentially restructured my entire career around making the art that makes me happy instead of what I "wanted" it to look like. I was extremely depressed, my life was falling apart, and I still needed to make art to survive but I couldn't "art" if I was depressed and hated doing it, so I just had to step back and stop worrying so much about what I thought I wanted to make, and started making what felt most natural.

there's no easy way, and art can be a soul destroying path at times, truly. your software and hardware should come very last place compared to practicing from life (it doesn't matter if you want to paint cartoony stuff of realistic stuff, always start from life). naturally you will find what makes your heart sing the most.

I get a lot of messages from people telling me similar stuff "oh your art is EXACTLY what I want to do!" but I promise you that kind of thought process is chasing a dragon that is likely to harm or drag your creative process down. art style is such a deeply personal thing, so of COURSE it's important to find inspiration, but the second looking at someone else's artwork stops inspiring you and starts frustrating you, put it away.

There are some artists who I love, that I do not check up on often because their artwork ignites, like, serious bitter jealousy in me. It's the truth. I get so mad at myself for not being more like them, and it's such a poison. I think more artists should be transparent about this feeling because I KNOW the art community has a lot of jealousy and ugliness in it.

A fact of being an artist is that you will never be completely happy with a piece you make. You are always going to see the flaws, and that doesn't change whether you'd been drawing for 2 months or 20 years. Occasionally, you will get one piece that you are like "how did I make that???" and then get frustrated that you can't recreate it lol! It's a tough beast.

It's just really important to step back and work on yourself and where you are at, because at the end of the day, the way your soul wants to express artwork might be WILDLY different from what your brain wants, and it can be really detrimental to let those two go to war.

I hope this helps. I'm very passionate about this, and when I started out I ALWAYS ignored the artists who gave the same exact tips as above. I thought they were so annoying and unhelpful, but now I /get it/.

#ask

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sailorshadzter · 2 months

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more random jonsa

mostly i wanted an excuse to write about jon taking care of sansa

In the aftermath of battle, there is much to do.

There are wounds to be sewn, hands to be held, eyes to be shut. She oversees every single moment, stitching wounds and softly singing to the dying, hoping that in their final moments the men who died for them all could find even just an ounce of peace. She waves away those who try to pry her from her work, insisting she would continue on until every last wound was clean and closed, until every last living soul was in a warm, comfortable place, and every last lost soul was a name in her whirling mind. Names she would not soon forget.

It is only long after dawn breaks on the horizon that she is satisfied with what was left to do- there was still much to decide, much to think about, but she can rest.

At least for now.

And so she retreats from the courtyard, returning inside the castle and heading up to her own rooms, unsurprised that when she opens the door the room is not empty. “I wondered when you might take some time to rest,” Jon says as she slips inside, stripping herself of her dirty cloak, knowing it was certainly ruined, covered in blood and sweat and tears. “I thought I might have to fetch you myself.” He’d been forced into bed himself, with bandaged wounds and a sleeping draught, which had only just worn off a short while before. Of course the first place he came to was these rooms, only to find them empty. It doesn’t surprise him, truly, to have learned that she was at the forefront of the events in the aftermath- he’d watched from the double doors as she leaned over a dying man, her eyes gentle, her voice soothing as she softly sang him a song from their own childhood. He knew, in that moment, this was her place to be, this was the time her people needed her the most. One day, if not today, they would recall the memory of their beloved Lady of Winterfell tending to the wounded and the dying and they would honor her for what she’s done.

She turns to him then, a faint smile curving on her lips as she takes a step closer to where he sits in the chair before the hearth. He’s changed his clothes and the bruising on his face is far more prominent than it’d been hours ago. But as he rises up, he moves with the grace of a man healing, of a man who perhaps was up a little earlier than he should have been, but she can tell he will go on to heal from what he’s suffered in battle. “And I’m surprised Lord Royce or Brienne didn’t force you to do so,” she spares a soft laugh as she thinks of her two most loyal, most trusted companions, both of whom had come in attempts to steal her away from what she’d been doing.

As she moves, Jon cannot help but to notice there’s a slowness to her movements, as if something pains her. Suddenly, he’s on high alert. “What happened to you?” He asks, leaping to his feet, all so he can close the gap between them. “You’re hurt!” As a man who has suffered many injuries over the years, he knows an injured body when he sees one. “Sansa!” He reaches for her arm as she tries to turn away and she gasps, wrenching her arm from his grasp, a pained look crossing her features.

Just like that he understands.

“Show me…” He encourages softly, gentling his touch as he runs his fingers along her wrist, feeling the faint beating of her pulse beneath his fingertips.

There comes a long pause before she finally relents, drawing her arm away just so she can roll back the sleeve of her gown, where he sees bloodied bandages wrapped around her limb. “It’s not so bad,” she says at once, but Jon is shaking his head, drawing her over to the chair he once occupied so he can sit her down in it instead. “It barely hurts at all-” whatever else she meant to say is cut off as she winces, his gentle touch enough to cause her pain as he begins to unwrap the bandages, revealing the wound to him. It is from a blade, that much he can tell, and while it is shallow- she must have drawn away at the right moment- he can tell it pains her. “It was a wight,” she says softly, drawing his attention back up to her face. “One had a child, I just couldn’t…” What she doesn’t say is that despite her attempts, that child was one they had to bury. What she doesn’t say is that each time she closes her eyes, she can hear the shrieks of those dying and those watching it happen. What she doesn’t say is that it took her years to overcome the trauma of what she witnessed during the riot in King’s Landing, leaving her to believe that this night would haunt her for the rest of her life.

“Oh, Sansa…” Jon says softly, his hand sliding into place against the curve of her cheek. She leans into his touch, eyes closing as she breathes in. “Let me take care of you,” he murmurs next and her eyes open, blinking with surprise. It takes only a moment for her to nod, for her to sag against him, needing this moment more than she cared to let on.

Within minutes he’s called for a hot bath and the maids bring the copper tub without hesitation; it takes no time at all for it to be full of sweetly scented water and though there would be talk tomorrow, he waves the maids away. The door to her bedchamber opens a moment later and she steps out wearing nothing but the dressing robe he’s seen her in countless times. “I’ll go…” He begins, but she shakes her head.

“Stay, please…”

He nods, but he turns around all the same, waiting until he hears the soft splash of the water sloshing over the sides to turn back around. She’s sunk deep into the warm depths, red hair floating around her as she sighs deeply, perhaps the most content she’s been in ages. He comes close as he dares, suddenly quite aware of the moment they were sharing, but she seems to not mind as she turns her gaze towards him once more. “Your arm…” He says when he finally finds his voice, drawing the stool up beside the tub, reaching for the small basket of supplies one of the maids had left behind. Inside he finds a washcloth and a small bar of soap that smells of honey and milk, which he dips into the water and rubs it into a lather against the cloth. She holds out her injured arm and he carefully, tenderly, dabs at the wound with the cloth, shooting her an apologetic glance when she sucks in a pained breath. “There,” he says when he’s decided it to be clean enough, gently lowering it back into the warm water.

There they stay until the water turns cool and she says she cannot stand it a moment longer.

He fetches her a warmed sheet, closing his eyes as he holds it out to her sopping body. She’s laughing softly at him as she wraps herself in the sheet and steps over the tub, her long red hair plastered against her damp skin. “Wait here,” she says, as if he could ever leave, and it isn’t until he hears the door to her bedchamber open and close once more that he opens his eyes. While she’s gone, the maids return to bring spiced wine and a small vial of milk of the poppy- he knows she needs it, even if she won’t admit it. A few minutes pass and she returns, wearing her ivory nightgown, bare feet padding across the rushes to stand before him. “Thank you for that.”

“I’m not quite done,” he admits a moment later, gesturing for her to return to the chair she once occupied, drawing the other one up to take himself. “Here,” he offers her a goblet of the wine, which she takes, tilting her head ever so slightly as she looks at him. “Let me see…” She extends out her arm and he gently pushes back the sleeve of her nightgown, revealing the wound to him once more. It’s stopped bleeding, but he knows infection can grow even in the most shallow of wounds, so he slathers it with the poultice the maids had brought along with the other supplies.

“I didn’t know you were such a skilled maester,” she teases when she’s drunk her first goblet, blue eyes watching his every movement.

“I learned much in the Night’s Watch,” he admits, pouring her a second, grinning in spite of himself. Hers was not the first wound he’s cleaned and dressed, certainly it was not even to be the last. “That will feel better now.” He says as he secures the new, clean bandage around her arm, comforted by the thought that she would heal in a few weeks time, perhaps even without a scar.

She had enough scars, after all.

“Drink a glass with me,” she commands next, gesturing towards the other empty goblet. Jon obliges, pouring himself one before he pours her a third. He slides the vial of milk towards her, which she glances at, before she reaches for it and takes it without a word of protest. Perhaps such a thing would help her forget all that she’s seen this night. “You are well then?” She asks next, concern written into her blue eyes. Jon nods and she seems to relax, sinking back into the chair, red hair falling across her shoulder as she shifts to find the most comfortable of positions. “Truly?” Her hand reaches out, falling into place against his thigh, a gesture so natural one might think she’s done it hundreds of times before.

A shiver races his spine and he can do nothing else but take a swig of wine from the goblet. “Aye, I am,” he finally says, recalling how it had been her hands that had tended to him, her hands that had cleaned his wounds, stitched them, bandaged them.

It had always been her to heal him.

“I’m glad,” she drains the last drops of wine and her head is spinning, though part of her knows it’s from more than the wine or the milk of the poppy. “Jon… Can I…” She trails off, blushing, looking away. “Can I sit with you…?” She asks a moment later, forcing the words from her lips before she loses her nerve. There is but a moment of pause before Jon nods, shifting his position to give her the place to climb into. Her weight is soft and warm as she sinks onto his lap, resting her head against his strong shoulder. He wraps an arm around her and he breathes her in, thankful that despite all that has happened, they still have a moment such as this one. Any instance that night could have changed things for the worst. Tomorrow, they would still have their family, their most precious loved ones, to embrace and to love.

But tonight, he only had her.

It does not take long for her to drift off to sleep, but even then Jon cannot bring himself to move her, fearful that it might disturb her slumber. And so that is how they stay for a long while, until the morning sunlight is bright as it streams in through her curtains. Only when he’s certain she is sound asleep, taken by both the wine and the medicine, does he put his arms beneath her and stand up. With her head still against his shoulder, he crosses the room and enters her bedchamber, a room he’s been in many times before. He finds her bed is unkempt, as if she’d tossed and turned within it for hours the day before, just as he’d done within his own. Carefully, he deposits her down onto the bed, tucking the furs around her, smiling as she smacks her lips and turns her head away, deeply asleep as she deserved to be.

He can only hope she dreams happily.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #i wrote this #my writing

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justagalwhowrites · 9 months

Text

Holly Jolly - Ch. 3: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Joel and Sarah celebrate the holiday with you and Sharon. The final chapter of Holly Jolly, a modern no-outbreak TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: None really!

Length: 4.8k

AO3 | Main Master List | First Chapter | Previous Chapter

“You think this is the way to go?” Joel asked, looking at the drawing in his hand as he sat on a video call with you in the middle of a Home Depot.

“Yup,” you said, glancing back to the living room to see Sarah and Sharon deep in some adventure with Sharon’s Star Wars action figures. There were active blaster noises followed by a very dramatic sounding explosion. They were pretty occupied as you stood in the kitchen, leaning against your counter, waiting for the oven timer to ding. “I think if you go totally in this direction and just build something that’s perfect for the arbiesbay and how she plays with them, it’s even better than a reamday ousehay.”

Joel was quiet for a second.

“Did you just speak pig latin?”

“You try hiding things from the irlsgay without switching languages,” you replied.

Joel snorted.

“Alright, well, just tell me what you think of these paint colors,” he said. “You’re the one with the vision.”

Something smacked into the wall with a thud in the living room and you looked up from your phone. The shoebox the girls had been using for a space ship was across the room.

“Hey,” you said. “Let’s not throw things, OK? If we throw things that means we can’t play with them anymore.”

“But how is it supposed fly?” Sharon groaned.

“Pretend,” you said. “Not by hurling it.”

“Fine,” she huffed before getting up and getting the box, running it back across the room and bringing it in for a landing with a dramatic, explosive sound.

You laughed and sighed, looking at the mess of dolls and Legos scattered all over the floor after a few hours of the girls playing together.

“I need to get a toy box for the living room,” you said. “This is getting out of hand. Alright, let’s see the paints.”

Joel held up three samples of pink.

“Um…” you squinted at the screen. “Middle one, I think.”

“I was thinkin’ that too,” he said. “Looks closest to the box color for the arbiebay I already got her.”

“Was that pig latin?”

“Utshay upyay. What about this one?”

He held up a few purples as you giggled.

“First one,” you said. “That will play best with the first one we picked.”

“Right,” he said. “Alright, just need two more…”

He held up a few options for the white and then a few for a green.

“OK,” he said. “Think that’s everything… Thanks again for your help on this, I really don’t know what the uckfay I’m doing with this.”

You had to fight to not snort laugh at fuck in pig latin.

“Any time,” you said as the oven dinged. “And I need to go pull out gingerbread. See you soon?”

“Yup,” he said. “Just gotta check out here, pick up pizza and headed your way after.”

“Oundssay Oodgay.”

Joel laughed.

“Ebyay.”

You pulled the gingerbread out and set it aside to cool and just watched the girls playing from the living room.

Considering that you’d never met Joel and Sarah Miller before Thursday night, you were suddenly spending a lot of time with them. You and Joel had lunch together while Christmas shopping and you were surprised to learn that you got along better than you thought you would. Joel was oddly funny in a dry, clever way, every teasing moment and wry one liner feeling like an inside joke even though you’d only known each other a few days. You had the same concerns about raising girls as single parents, especially as young single parents who still felt a lot like kids yourselves. He was almost strangely insightful for a man, especially one who was damn near a perfect stranger. He seemed to understand the meaning behind your hesitant pauses or why you chose the words you did. Communicating with him was so straightforward and easy going, unlike anything you’d ever really experienced with someone so quickly before. You really liked Joel and Sharon adored his daughter. You really hoped you could help give them a great Christmas. They deserved it.

You’d drawn up a plan for the Dream House on Sunday night, going in a different direction than just trying to recreate what was on the shelf at the store.

Instead, you’d made a Barbie-fied version of Joel and Sarah’s house. You’d found their house on Google Maps - it felt a little too weird to look it up on Zillow - and took a guess at the layout based on what you’d seen on the inside and what the footprint of the house was from above.

Joel had stopped by your apartment Monday after work to pick up the plans and you stepped into the breezeway outside your door, leaving Sharon watching a cartoon in the living room.

“I hope it’s not too weird,” you bit your lip as you handed the blue prints over. “If it is, I can redo it tonight and I don’t think it’ll put you too far behind…”

He took the pages and frowned as he flipped through them. Your heart sank for a moment.

“Is this… our house?” He asked, looking up from the papers to look at you.

“Yeah,” you said. “I thought… since, you know, you just bought it and you bought it to give Sarah a better life, that kind of makes it a dream house, right? And I thought she might like to have her Barbies in a house that was like hers… I’m sorry, I over stepped, that’s not…”

“This is amazing,” he said, looking back down at the plans. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

You smiled, shoving your hands in the back pockets of your jeans.

“Yeah. I think so, anyway. I would have, when I was her age. I think she will, too.”

Even though you’d just seen him three days in a row, you were looking forward to spending the evening with him tonight, too. You had the supplies for making peanut butter cookies set out - as well as the peppermint bark shortbread you’d made every year since you were 20 and looking for something simple to make in your first apartment kitchen - and Joel was coming over to bake with you and the girls.

You had a little surprise for him, too. When he’d first dropped Sarah off that afternoon, you’d gotten the girls to help make some Christmas decorations he could bring home with him. Paper chains and cut out snowflakes and Christmas trees made out of plastic spoons. Once the girls got bored you let them loose on the toys and told Sharon to bring the adventure to the living room so you could keep an eye on them as you made gingerbread. They were having a blast and you now had enough gingerbread to build a small village of houses, plus a small box of homemade decor to give to Joel. You just hoped he liked it.

The girls were so involved with whatever they were playing - lightsabers were out now and Sharon was standing on the couch - that they barely noticed when he got there with an armload of pizza.

“OK definitely feelin’ like I got off pretty easy in this deal,” he said, setting the pizza down on your breakfast bar.

“It’s fine,” you waved him off. “My downstairs neighbors work in the afternoon and evening so they’re not bothering anyone. And they’ve stayed out of my way so it’s been no trouble, truly.”

“Daddy!” Sarah yelped, dropping the lightsaber and running for him, leaping into his arms like she hadn’t seen him in weeks, instead of just a few hours. “We made stuff and played Barbies and now we’re playing wars…”

“Star Wars,” Sharon corrected, jumping off the couch and stumbling forward as she landed. “It’s so cool, it’s this real old movie…”

“Alright,” Joel cut them off. “I’ll stop ya there, I remember when some of those came out, don’t need you saying they’re that old…” He set Sarah down and turned to you. “Didn’t take you for a Star Wars fan.”

You shrugged.

“Gotta introduce the kid to classic film.”

“Oh lord,” he rolled his eyes and laughed. “Think you’re the same age as me, better watch what you say about classic film…”

You got the girls to sit still long enough to plow through the better part of a cheese pizza and some carrot sticks while you and Joel split a supreme, sitting so close to each other that your knees brushed below the table.

The first time it happened, you jerked your leg away on instinct but Joel didn’t react. So you let your leg relax a little and, bit by bit, your knee drifted until it was against his thigh and your heart was in your throat.

After dinner, you pulled two chairs into the kitchen for the girls to stand on and you supervised as they combined the ingredients for peanut butter blossoms, their little faces getting covered in a dusting of flour and a smear of peanut butter ending up in the middle of Sharon’s shirt. They gleefully rolled the balls of dough in sugar and you handled putting the Hershey kisses in the middle of each one as the cookies neared the end of baking as Joel helped the girls secure the structure of their gingerbread houses.

“This much frosting seems dangerous,” Joel said after you’d joined them back at the table, cookies cooling on their racks on your packed counter.

“Oh, it is,” you said before you put your tongue between your teeth to concentrate on adding a small chimney to your house. “This is why we do it at the end, so you can get one sugar addled child and I get the other and I’m not wrangling both of them.”

He laughed a little, adding a Twizzler window frame.

“Daddy?” Sarah looked up from her sagging house. “It’s not staying up.”

“One sec Baby Girl…” He got up and went around to help her and you watched as he carefully adjusted the roof and added a little support beam. “See, that’ll help distribute the weight better, makes it more secure. Make sense?”

“I think so,” she said. “Can I add more M&Ms now?”

“Yeah, you can add more M&Ms,” he laughed a little before sitting back next to you. You let your knee drift to his thigh again.

He looked at you for a second, a soft look in his eyes, and you thought about taking your leg back but you didn’t.

“In case I haven’t said it,” he said. “Thank you for just… everything you’ve been doin’. Sarah’s been so happy this last week and I know you and Sharon got a lot to do with that. I’m real glad Sarah met her.”

You smiled a little.

“I am, too.”

Joel took a deep breath.

“And I’m real glad I met you, too.”

Your heart picked up.

“Yeah?”

You leaned in a little closer to him.

“Yeah.”

“Aunt Cocoa, look!” Sharon piped up from across the table and you turned away from Joel to look at her gingerbread house that was dripping frosting and sprinkles.

“That’s amazing!” You said. “You’re doing a great job girlie pop, definitely better than mine.”

When the houses were done, you and Sharon helped carry everything down to Joel’s truck, including the box of decorations. He frowned at it when you handed it to him to put in the cab.

“What’s this?”

“Just… open it when you get home,” you smiled. “Let me know what you think.”

He lifted Sarah into her carseat and buckled her in before closing the door and turning to you.

“So, I was thinkin’,” he said. “My brother was supposed to host Christmas dinner but now he’s going to some girlfriend’s place and it doesn’t sound like you’ll have anywhere to be… would you two want to come over? Don’t have to if it’s weird, I know we just met but…”

“I’d love that,” you cut him off, smiling. “Just let me know what I can bring? Or I can volunteer a dessert…”

“Dessert is great,” he said. “Just… mostly just want you there.”

You smiled bigger.

“Then I’ll be there.”

He smiled, making his cheek dimple.

“Good,” he said. “Can’t wait.”

***

Joel sent you one final picture of the dream house.

Think it’s done.

He half expected you not to respond. It was after midnight, officially Christmas Day. By all rights, you should be asleep.

You texted back anyway.

That’s perfect! Sarah will LOVE it.

Joel smiled at his phone like a damn idiot and scrolled through the messages the two of you had sent each other in the short time that he’d known you. There were the pictures he’d sent of his living room after he put up the decorations you and the girls had made him, pictures you’d sent of the gingerbread houses on your breakfast bar as you documented evidence of Sharon slowly sneaking pieces off of them, pictures he’d sent of the progress he made on the dream house.

He clicked on your contact photo and made it fill his screen, the selfie you’d sent him the first night he’d met you. He smiled a little. He couldn’t help it.

You were so pretty he wondered how he didn’t see it at first, even with the ridiculous sweater and the antlers. He must have been in a real shit mood to have not noticed because, over the last few days, he found himself pulling the picture up again and again just to look at you.

He did it when he had a break at work and was checking his phone for other messages. He did it when he was waiting for Sarah to finish breakfast as she dawdled before school. Most often, though, he did it just before he fell asleep when he felt oddly lonely and wished you were there.

It was a strange thought for him. He hadn’t really been with anyone since Sarah’s mom. There just hadn’t been time, he was too busy with work and his daughter, and he’d never longed for someone he’d never even kissed before. At least, not since he was a fucking teenager.

But he wanted to be next to you. He damn near melted the first time your knee had brushed his thigh, had to fight the urge to put his hand over that knee, trail his fingers along the inside of your thigh. And fuck, had he wanted to kiss you. You were so close and you smelled like vanilla and sugar and he knew - he just knew - that your lips would be soft and sweet.

He’d only seen you two days since then - plenty, considering you just met, but it felt like so little. Once, when the two of you had taken the girls Christmas shopping and traded kids so they could get something for each of you, and another time when you’d taken the girls to the playground together. The two of you had tried to sit on a bench and watch them play but the girls weren’t satisfied, pulling you and Joel up to play freeze tag.

Joel was looking forward to Christmas now. He’d actually been able to get Sarah what she wanted - or hoped she wanted, anyway - and he was getting to see you. He wasn’t entirely sure how but he’d gone from a man who was all but dreading the holiday to one who was almost as excited as his daughter for the day to come.

You sent him a picture of a Millennium Falcon set up for Sharon under the tree. Joel laughed a little and smiled.

She’s going to love it.

You followed it up with a picture of a sticker sheet.

She might like this more, who knows.

He wondered if it would be weird to ask you for a selfie. Probably. Still, he considered it. But he just texted, instead.

You did a great job. Really.

Why are you still up? You should go to bed, Joel. Santa can’t come if you’re still awake.

He tried to picture you saying it, the serious look you’d try to keep on your face as your lips curved up at the edges.

I will if you will.

Alright, you convinced me! See you tomorrow.

You sent a little heart after your last message and Joel tried to not read into it as he went to bed and pulled up your picture one more time, just to look at you, drifting off wondering how you’d feel curled up next to him.

Sarah tackled him at 6:17 a.m.

“Daddy!” She shook his whole body. “Daddy, wake up, I think Santa came! Daddy, get up!”

“Alright, Baby Girl,” he groaned, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “M’awake, gimme a minute, we’ll go see if Santa came…”

He shook his head a little as he sat up, his hair falling over his forehead, and he got a shirt from his dresser before pulling up the camera on his phone.

“Alright Kiddo,” he said. “You stay right here at the top of the stairs for just a minute so I can get you on video…”

He went into the living room and turned on the lights, the paper chains you’d made with the girls dangling cheerfully from the doorways.

“Alright,” he said, starting recording, suddenly nervous about Sarah seeing the homemade dream house. What if she hated it? This might be the first Christmas she really remembered, what if he ruined it? “Come on down, Baby Girl.”

Sarah thundered down the stairs and into the living room, her curls bouncing as she ran. Her eyes went wide and her mouth made a small “o” when she saw the house sitting next to the tree. She ran over to it and dropped to her knees beside it, a Barbie and a Ken standing in the kitchen, ready for her to play with.

“Daddy!” She gaped at him, a look of awe on her face. “Daddy, that’s our house! That’s our house but Barbie!”

“Is it?” He asked.

“Yeah!” She said. “See, that’s the kitchen and we’re in here in the living room…”

“Do you like it?” He asked, hoping he didn’t sound too hesitant.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen!” She looked back to the house. “Barbie has a house like us!”

“Yeah,” Joel said, trying not to tear up. “Yeah, she does.”

It took Sarah a while to even want to move on to her stocking - loaded with candy - and the gifts under the tree. Joel had never been happier to see Sarah happy and it tugged at his heart knowing that he couldn’t have done it without you.

There were two things under the tree for Joel from Sarah, one that she let him have then and one that she insisted on waiting for you to be there for.

The first one was half of a butterfly best friend necklace and he frowned a little at it.

“Hold on!” She scampered off to her room for a moment before she came running back, flopping on Joel’s lap as he sat cross legged next to the tree. She held up the other side. “See? So when you go to work you can remember me!”

There was the burning pinch of tears in his eyes when he pulled her in to kiss her cheek.

“I always remember you, Baby Girl,” he said, voice wet. “But I love it so so much, thank you.”

He put it on, the chain much shorter around his thick neck than it was around her little one. She giggled and put her half of the butterfly against his before going back to playing with the Barbies.

Joel had to pull himself away from watching her play to get dressed and make breakfast before making her get dressed, too, and then handling all the holiday things that needed doing before you arrived.

He was putting the ham in the oven when the doorbell rang and Sarah shrieked before running for the door, Joel only catching a glimpse of a red dress as he ducked back below the paper chain between the kitchen and the living room.

“I saved it just for you,” Sarah said conspiratorially as he made it to the door. You smiled at Joel over his head. “I wanted you to see, too!”

“That was very sweet,” you smiled at her. “Have you had a good Christmas?”

“The best,” she said. “Santa made a dream house just for me!”

“He did?” Sharon’s mouth dropped open. “That’s so cool! I brought a Barbie, can she come over and see it?”

“Yeah!” Sarah took her hand and the two girls tore into the living room, almost running into Joel on their way past.

“Hey,” you smiled, your eyes bright and beautiful, in a green sweater that was so far from the one he’d first seen you in. This one was a dress that clung to your frame, hugging all the parts of you he’d thought about far too much. You moved to hug him, a little awkwardly with a pie plate in your hands, but he didn’t care. He was just happy for the excuse to touch you, hoped you wouldn’t hear his heart pounding in his green flannel shirt.

“Hey,” he smiled as he gave you a squeeze.

“Told you she’d love it,” you whispered before you pulled back, giving him a wink.

The two of you went to the living room and watched the girls play, your legging clad legs brushing against him and he wondered if you even noticed, if it was all just an accident or if you were as aware of every time you touched like he was.

“Oh, Dad, I have one more for you!” Sarah went and got the other small box from under the tree. “Miss Cocoa helped me pick it. And helped me buy it because it was more money than you gave me.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” he frowned at you.

You just waved him off.

“I had coupons,” you said. “And Kohl’s Cash. And then it was only like $15 more dollars. Nothing crazy.”

He unwrapped the box and opened it. Inside was a watch with a black face, green band and a metal case, one that would actually hold up to his job.

“I wanted to get you the pink one,” Sarah said. “But she said she didn’t think it would fit you.”

“Yeah, your dad is a big guy,” Joel could hear you smiling. “That pink watch looked a little small. I think this one will work better.”

“Try it on!” Sarah said, bouncing a little beside him. “I wanna see!”

“Alright,” he said, taking off his old watch that had seen far better days and sliding on the new one. He turned his wrist in the light, admiring it. “It’s perfect, Baby Girl.”

“You like it?” Sarah asked, her eyes wide.

“I love it,” he said, pulling her in to kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you so much.”

She clapped before going back to playing with Sharon.

You were looking at his wrist, a small smile on your face.

“Really shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “It really is perfect, but…”

You smiled bigger.

“She was just so excited about it,” you said. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Well,” Joel said. “I do have somethin’ for you, too.”

“Yeah?” You asked brows raised.

He stood up from the couch, holding his hand out for yours. You took it and he tugged you to your feet.

“You two behave yourselves for just a minute,” Joel said. “We’ll be right back.”

They didn’t even seem to notice, too busy moving the barbies through the house.

“C’mon,” he said, still holding your hand and guiding you toward the garage. “Now if you don’t like it, I can redo it…”

He led you to his garage workshop and turned on the lights, your gift sitting under a sheet on his workbench.

“Couldn’t really wrap it,” he nodded to it. “But it’s under there.”

“I can just…” You raised your eyebrows at him and he laughed a little.

“Yeah, go for it.”

You made an excited little sound before pulling back the sheet. You gasped at it and Joel smiled as you went to run your hands over the sides.

“This is gorgeous!” You said, looking from it to him. “What is it?”

“Well,” he said, coming and standing so close to you that he could feel you breathing. You smelled like sugar and cinnamon and clove. “When we were on the phone while I was at Home Depot the other day, you mentioned needing a toy box for your living room. Seemed like you care about things like your furniture and things so I wanted to make you one that looked like it’d be your style. It opens at the top…” He demonstrated, lifting the lid. “Put some bumpers on the lid, too, so if Sharon throws it around it won’t hurt anything… top can be a bench if you wanted, too, you got all those nice pillows on your couch and stuff… Anyway, like I said, I can change it if you don’t…”

You turned and threw your arms around his neck, pressing your warm, soft body against him. He hesitated for a moment before he hugged you back, his fingertips gripping you tight.

“I love it,” your voice was muffled by his shirt before you pulled back from him just enough to look at his face. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, where did you find the time?”

“I ain’t slept much this week,” he laughed a little. “But that’s OK. It’s… it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and warm and soft and all he wanted to do was kiss you. Joel thought it might be the only thing he ever wanted to do.

“Joel,” you breathed, pressing yourself a little closer to him.

“Is it OK if I kiss you now?” He asked softly, one of his hands slipping from your waist to gently hold your face. “Because damn, do I want to kiss you.”

You nodded eagerly and he tightened his hold on you, tilting your head just so to press his lips to yours.

You felt just like he thought you would but somehow so much better, your mouth so soft and warm against him, the taste of mint on your tongue. Your lips fit on his own the way that no one else’s ever had, he’d never kissed anyone and felt this desperate to keep kissing them, keep doing just about anything with them.

Eventually, you pulled back from him, breathless, and trailed your fingers through his hair. He smiled a little at you, panting a bit himself.

“Think we can get a babysitter and go out sometime?” He asked. “Just the two of us?”

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. “Yeah, I think we can.”

The two of you went back in the house, holding hands as you sat watching the girls play, giggling and chattering back and forth like they’d known each other for years. But Joel understood that now. He’d never seen Sarah latch on to anyone so fast but then, he’d never had feelings like this for someone so fast, either.

At dinner, he sat next to you, all four of you laughing, Christmas music on the background. When your knee came to rest against his leg, his hand slipped below the table and cupped your knee, his thumb stroking your thigh. You looked at him and smiled a little before your hand drifted below the table, too, giving his leg a squeeze.

When the girls wore themselves out, he left Sarah asleep on the couch, The Grinch on in the background, before he loaded the toy box into your trunk and then carried Sharon out, lowering her gently into her carseat. You buckled her in as she sleepily clutched her Barbie in one chubby hand and her Princess Leia action figure in the other.

“Thanks for comin’,” Joel said, stepping close to you. “And for everything you did for me and for Sarah the last few weeks.”

You smiled, leaning back against your car and tugging Joel against you, he smiled and laughed a little.

“I was happy to,” you said, eyes shining in the moonlight. “So what do you think? Good Christmas?”

He searched your eyes for a moment and slowly leaned in to kiss you again. Your smile broadened and you met him halfway, your fingers knotting in his shirt as you held him against you.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling just far enough away from you that he could look in your eyes again. “Best Christmas ever.”

A/N: Thanks for reading this little holiday fic! I hope you enjoyed it, even though it went up a few days later than I'd really hoped.

Wishing you a beautiful holiday season with lots of love and laughter. Thank you for being here and spending some of it with me ❤️

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #holly jolly

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